Thursday Legends

by Quintin Jardine

  "You can be forgiven for thinking it, my friend; yes, even you. But

  this is not me. No, this is a photograph of my father."

  "Your father?"

  "Sure as God made wee green apples." He looked to his left into

  Martin's green eyes. "The man in the river: how old was he?"

  "Bob, he'd been down there for a week and more, first in water, then

  half buried in mud."

  "I don't want his date of birth, son. Roughly, how old was he?"

  Andy frowned, and looked out to sea. "If I have to guess, I'd say he

  was mid to late fifties."

  Skinner stood up, rising off the wall in a single movement. "Come on."

  He was heading up the path towards Muirfield Golf Course even as he

  spoke.

  Taken by surprise, Martin had to break into a trot to catch up. "Do

  you think you know who he is?" he asked.

  "I'm coming back up to Perth with you," his long-striding friend

  announced.

  "Fine, but do you think you can identify him?"

  "I'm bloody certain of it."

  "So?"

  "Let me see him first, Andy, and before the pathologist starts to hack

  him about, too. After that, I'll tell you all about him."

  Ten.

  Rufus was asleep when Mario carried him into the house, through the

  kitchen door. Maggie was waiting there; she looked him up and down.

  "Couldn't you have rubbed some of that sand off at the beach," she

  complained, 'instead of bringing it in here?"

  He gave her a broad, innocent smile, straight from the Irish side of

  his ancestry. "You should see the car," he replied cheerfully. "Don't

  worry, love. I'll hoover it all up later."

  "It'll be well into the carpets by then," she grumbled. "Go on, get

  him ready for bed and yourself cleaned up. I'll get the vacuum out.

  Has Rufus eaten?"

  "Yes, we stopped in the Burger King at that Big W place."

  "How about you?"

  "No."

  "That's good. I've got a sitter coming at seven ... unless you've got

  other things to do, that is." She snorted, almost to herself. "Even

  if you have, I fancy a Saturday night out. If it comes to it I'll go

  on my own."

  She took him by surprise, but he said nothing as he carried Rufus off.

  The boy was coming back to a complaining wakefulness as he climbed the

  stairs. "Come on, chum," he whispered in his ear, 'let's get tidied

  up. Then you can dream about more sand castles and your sister and I

  can go out to play... or eat, at least."

  He turned straight into the bathroom, stood Rufus on the floor, and

  took off his clothes, then stripped off his own shirt and shorts and

  stepped out of his sandals. He turned on the shower above the bath and

  lifted the boy in. They stood together under the warm power spray,

  Rufus squealing with renewed pleasure, for he loved the water, as the

  last of the sand washed off them and swirled away down the drain.

  Finished, he took his to welling robe from behind the door and put it

  on. Then he took a big bath towel and rubbed the child gently dry.

  "Okay, pal," he said, straight faced "Bedtime?" Heavy-eyed, Rufus

  smiled and nodded.

  "Good boy." The child ran through to his bedroom; when Mario stepped

  in afterwards he saw him taking his pyjamas from under the pillow where

  they were always kept. As the big detective helped him put them on, he

  felt a lump rise suddenly in his throat.

  "This isn't forever, wee man," he said, quietly, as much to himself as

  to Rufus. "You'll have to go and live with someone else soon." The

  boy's face fell; Mario hugged him. "Don't worry, wee fella, you'll

  love it; you'll have even more toys, and other kids to play with, too.

  But when you do go, you'll come back and visit us every so often, won't

  you?" Reassured, he smiled and nodded.

  He was asleep seconds after his blond head hit the pillow. Mario

  looked at him for a while, and then went through to his own room. He

  selected clothes for the evening.. . brown slacks, white shirt, and a

  lightly checked Daks jacket with brown leather patches at the elbow.. .

  but before dressing he picked up his mobile, which he had retrieved,

  with his wallet and his keys, from his shorts, and called Paula.

  "Hi," she answered warmly, knowing from her telephone read-out who was

  calling. "Had a nice day?"

  "Been to the beach."

  "En famille?"

  "No, just me and Rufus. Maggie had to work. How about you? You had a

  good one?"

  He saw her smile, in his mind's eye. "The morning was best," she

  replied, 'but the rest's been okay. I went to the shops and spent lots

  of nice money. Here, there was something going on in Princes Street.

  It was blocked."

  "A fire," he told her, 'in an art exhibition. That's where Maggie had

  to go-'

  "Which one?"

  "The RSA, I think."

  "Oh no, I was going to take you there."

  "You probably still can. I don't know how bad it was. What you doing

  tonight?"

  "Taking my mum to the pictures. Why? Do you want to come?"

  "She'd love that. Anyway, I can't."

  "Mmm." Paula was silent for a second. "What's up, love?" she asked,

  eventually. "You're not having a guilt trip, are you?"

  "No, I'm having none of that. It's Rufus; I think we're going to lose

  him."

  "Oh no," she said. "How? Why?"

  "I'll tell you when I see you. What are you doing on Monday

  evening?"

  "From the sound of things I'm having a visitor."

  "Is that okay?"

  "Of course; if you'd made it any later you'd have been in trouble. Will

  you want to eat?"

  "That too," he replied. "See you then."

  The sitter arrived just as he was slipping on his jacket, freshly

  shaved and with his thick black hair as carefully brushed as he could

  manage. Maggie was finishing her own preparations in what had been

  their bedroom once upon a time, and so he went downstairs to let her

  in.

  She turned out to be a couple; PC Harold "Sauce' Haddock, a probationer

  from Maggie's division, and his girlfriend, Imelda. He wondered about

  the name; the girl looked pure Scottish. He guessed that either her

  parents must have had an interest in Filipino politics or her mother

  must have had an interest in collecting shoes.

  They had sat for them before, but he still showed them into the living

  room. As his did so, his wife appeared behind him, in the doorway.

  "Hi, Sauce," she said brightly. He turned to look at her, and felt the

  flutter that came to him occasionally when she caught him off guard.

  Her red hair was shining and she was dressed in a sheath-like green

  dress and a short, matching jacket. Her eyes seemed to shine too, as

  she took his arm.

  "You remember how everything works from the last time, don't you:

  telly, DVD, music, all that stuff?"

  "Yes, ma'am," the young PC nodded, holding up a slim carton. "We've

  brought a film, Con Air, we'll leave it for you to watch if you like."

  Imelda stayed mute; she was even more shy than her boyfriend.

  "Thanks, but we've seen it. Look, Rufus is asleep upstairs, you won't

&n
bsp; have any trouble with him, because he's been at the seaside this

  afternoon and he's bushed. There's drinks in the fridge and sandwiches

  in cling film on the work surface. Help yourselves. We won't be late,

  but you've got my mobile number if you need us."

  She took Mario's arm. "Bye," she called, as she walked him to the

  door. He said nothing, just gave an easy smile that he hoped would

  confirm the appearance of a normal couple. He was a shade nervous

  about Maggie's choice of a serving copper as a sitter, but she liked

  the lad and trusted him.

  She released his arm as soon as the front door closed behind them.

  "Where are we going?" he asked, as they climbed into her car, which

  was parked in the road, rather than in their driveway.

  "I've booked a table in Kublai Khan," she replied. "I fancy something

  exotic, and I reckoned Mongolian was about as way out as we could

  get."

  "That's okay by me." He smiled, easily, to cover the fact that he was

  lying. Her CD player came on with the engine as she turned the key in

  the ignition. Maggie was a major fan of Mary Chapin Carpenter; "State

  of the Heart' was playing, loud. A good choice, he thought; it was

  more upbeat and less sorrowful than some of her more recent stuff,

  although it did include a track called "Never Had it So Good', with a

  lyric that he found rather pointed in their situation. Fortunately, he

  thought, they reached the restaurant just before Mary came to

  "Quittin'Time'.

  His private worry was eased as soon as they walked into the Leith

  restaurant. The big detective had been there before, a week earlier,

  with Paula: it was one of her favourites. Fortunately the maitre d'

  was indeed masterful; if he recognised his guest.. . and Mario was

  aware that he was not someone who was forgotten easily... he gave no

  sign as he greeted them and showed them to their table.

  He selected a bottle of an unusual Canadian red from the wine list, and

  a bottle of still water, then glanced at the menu. "Your choice," he

  said to Maggie, 'so you pick for us both."

  "Let's just go for the banquet, then," she said, as the wine waiter

  returned, then sat in silence as her husband approved the wine.

  Once they were alone again, he looked across the table at her. The

  smile had gone, and he saw that her underlying tension was working its

  way back to the surface. "How was Rufus?" she asked. "Did he enjoy

  the beach?"

  "Does Santa Claus have a beard?" he answered. "Of course he did."

  "And have you thought about it, about the situation, and that

  letter?"

  "Of course."

  "And do you agree with me, about what we have to do?"

  "He's your brother. It's your decision."

  "There's no decision," she retorted, plaintively. "I've got no

  choice."

  His eyes dropped from hers. "I know," he murmured; he looked up again.

  "Do a deal with the Chamberlains. Tell them we won't contest if they

  give us visiting rights. I reckon they'll accept that, rather than

  risk a court action that they could well lose."

  She looked at him, gratefully.. . for reasons which he did not grasp

  entirely. "I'll try."

  "Good. I'll speak to Alex about finding an appropriate lawyer to act

  for us."

  "There may be no need," she said. "I may have met one."

  She told him about her business at the Royal Scottish Academy, and her

  meeting with David Candela. "His firm has a two-hundred-year-old

  letterhead, and he has a simple approach to what he does. He's a dry

  old stick, and I don't suppose he'll act himself, but I'm sure he'll

  take us on. I'm also pretty confident he'll get the result you

  want."

  "We want, Mags," he interrupted. "The result we want."

  "Of course;' she agreed quickly, but not quite in the right tone.

  "You want rid of him, don't you: you want him to go."

  "No."

  "Mags, love, be honest."

  She shook her head. "I just can't, Mario. I'm sorry. I've tried, but

  it's too difficult for me. If I'm being really honest, when I got that

  letter this morning, I said to myself "Thank God". He may be my

  brother, and he may be just a child, but I can't love him. It's too

  much to ask."

  He looked away, across the room, and gave a huge sigh. "Of course it

  is," he exclaimed, so firmly that at first she thought he was angry. "I

  really am a stupid, selfish, insensitive bastard. I never asked you,

  did I? I just told you that this was what we were going to do. I

  never asked myself either, how you would feel bringing up your father's

  son. I am so sorry, Mags," he told her. "I had it in my head that

  Rufus would be the cord that would tie us together. Now I look at it

  through your eyes, I

  agree with you. Thank God that these people exist, and that they

  appear to care for him as they do."

  His eyes came back to her. "So where will it leave us, when he

  goes?"

  "Where do you want it to leave us?" She hesitated, then leaned

  forward. "I'll ask you this straight out, just this one time. Do you

  want to leave me and go and live with Paula?"

  "No, I want to live with you."

  "Even though I can't bear you to touch me?"

  "Maybe that'll change."

  "Mario, all our married life, and before, I've been as good an actress

  as Louise Mcllhenney used to be. Maybe in the future, every so often,

  I could get drunk enough to let you get your end away. But would you

  want that?"

  "I don't have to answer that, do I?"

  "I hope not. So what's to keep us together?"

  "I love your soul, Mags, as much as I love your body. If you had motor

  neurone disease, or MS, or some other crippling thing, I wouldn't leave

  you, and I wouldn't force myself on you, either. So why's this any

  different?" He dazzled her with his sudden smile. "Let's give it a

  name. Let's say you're suffering from chronic post-traumatic paralysis

  of the pussy, and leave it at that. If there's a miracle cure, great;

  if not, no matter."

  Her face stayed straight, but she flashed him a quick grin with her

  eyes. "Do you really mean that?"

  "I really do."

  "What about Paula? Let's take it as read that I know you're sleeping

  with her, and I don't mind. I know what a horny bugger you are, and in

  truth I'd rather you were going to her than to one of her saunas. But

  does she want you to move in with her?"

  "No."

  "What if she did?"

  "She won't, and you can take that as read too; Paulie is a truly

  independent girl. Nobody could live with her, and she knows it."

  "Do you love her?"

  "I love her body, although not as much as yours. As for her soul, it's

  too like mine for me ever to love." He glanced over her shoulder.

  "Here comes the waiter. Get ready to order."

  She gave him their simple order. The young man wrote, nodded and left.

  As he did, she took Mario's hand in hers, if only for a second. "Okay?"

  she asked.

  "Okay," he replied. "Just try to believe in miracles, that's all I

  ask. Do that and you never know."
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  "I'll try, but I do know."

  "We'll see. Let's talk shop. I heard a radio report about what

  happened at the RSA. You got a result yet?"

  She shook her head. "No. We let all the guests back into the building

  and we took a lot of statements but they all say the same thing; the

  painting just went up in flames .. . whoosh! Stevie and I looked at

  the security videos, but there wasn't a single lead on them that we

  could see. Arthur Dorward's got the debris in the lab; I'm waiting for

  him to report."

  "What do you reckon?"

  "We have Christian fundamentalists too; from the reproduction of the

  ruined picture that I saw in the exhibition catalogue, that's what I

  reckon."

  "And you're probably right." He paused, as the first of their dishes

  was brought to their table. "Here," he continued, "I almost forgot. I

  took Rufus to Gullane today, instead of North Berwick, and guess who I

  saw on the beach? Bob Skinner and Andy Martin, that's who. They gave

  me a body-swerve too; thought I didn't notice them, but I did. They

  were doing some serious talking. I wonder what it was about?"