Thursday Legends

by Quintin Jardine

  "Right; you all know the gist of what happened yesterday, but the

  forensic people, ours and the fire specialists, have taken it a bit

  further. Detective Inspector Steele will bring you up to date."

  She leaned back from the table and picked up her mug, looking sidelong

  at Steele. Since his promotion he seemed to have grown in authority

  every day; she knew that Bob Skinner had marked him out, and that the

  DCC was rarely wrong ... on a professional level at any rate. Quickly,

  but comprehensively, the DI set out the results of the forensic

  investigation. He explained that while there was a possibility of the

  device having been triggered from outside the gallery, the thickness of

  the Royal Scottish Academy's walls and the timing of the detonation

  made it, in his view, unlikely.

  "Too risky; the device was an expert job, and I don't believe that

  whoever planted it would have taken any chance that it might not have

  gone off. So, what we're left with, potentially," he concluded, 'is a

  room full of blue chip suspects. But before we get there, before we

  start digging into everyone's background and interviewing people who

  might try to make very big waves about it, we have to make sure that

  the perpetrator isn't right before our eyes, thanks to the Academy's

  security cameras.

  "So all of us," he glanced at Haddock, 'and that means you too, young

  Sauce .. . you're not just here as the gopher... are in for the job we

  love to hate, identifying people from poor quality security videos, and

  looking for someone who shouldn't be there."

  Steele paused and smiled. "I know, I know. You're going to tell me

  that you don't know everybody there, so how can you identify them. But

  we do know everyone who's signed in, and thanks to the very discreet

  cooperation of DI Mcllhenney's friend, the Scotsman picture editor,

  who's in charge of the biggest photo library in town, George and I have

  come up with a list of mug-shots to match most of the people on the

  guest list.. . not just the signed-in list, because we have to allow

  for the possibility of people just walking past the reception table.

  There are those who expect everyone to know them, and who won't wear

  badges for that very reason.

  "Those whose photos we don't have will be mostly the partners of

  guests, but quite a few of them are on that list as well." He stopped

  as DS Wilding raised a hand. "Ray; question?"

  "Yes, Stevie; why don't we bring in the organisers to help us spot all

  the legit, guests?"

  "I'll bring in David Candela if and when we have to, but I don't want

  to trouble him at this stage. And anyway, there's no guarantee that

  he'll know every spouse of every business associate. We do have one

  secret weapon, though."

  "Who's that?"

  "My mother-in-law," Maggie Rose answered with a smile. "Mrs. Christina

  McGuire. She was on the guest list, and although she didn't attend,

  she knows just about everybody who's anybody in Edinburgh on a business

  or social footing. She's agreed to look at all the faces we can't

  identify. There won't be many left after that, I can promise you."

  "In an ideal world," Steele went on, 'we'll be left with just one

  unidentified face. Correction, in a truly ideal world we'll spot

  someone who isn't on the list but who is on a Special Branch file .. .

  that's why Alice Cowan is here, by the way.. . and we'll have our

  prime suspect."

  He leaned forward on the table, showing Maggie his clean, sharp

  profile, and making her think, unexpectedly, of Paula Viareggio. "The

  tapes we're really interested in," he said, 'run for about an hour and

  a half, from the arrival of the first guest, through the incident, and

  thereafter. They come from four different cameras. I've had them

  copied, and enhanced as far as is possible ... which isn't very much

  ... and I've split them into six lots. We'll each have a video player,

  we'll each have a different section of tape and we'll each have a

  complete set of mug-shots, with a name along side it. With all of us

  working at it, Ms Rose and me included, it's shouldn't take too long.

  "So let's get at it, and see if we get lucky."

  Nineteen.

  Bob Skinner felt his spirits rise as he saw his daughter walk through

  the domestic arrivals gateway of the Edinburgh Airport terminal

  building, towing her cabin luggage behind her on its small wheels. She

  had that effect on him every time he saw her; she was a beacon of light

  within him, and had been since the moment of her birth, around a

  quarter of a century before.

  Every time they were reunited after a separation, he saw something new

  about her; on this occasion he thought of the movie Lord of the Rings,

  and of Liv Tyler. Yes, put some bounce into the actress's hair and she

  definitely had a look of his Alexis. Maybe that was why he had seen

  the film three times. Quickly he wondered whether that made him look

  like Ms Tyler's father, but decided that there was no way he would pass

  for a seventies rock star.

  Alex ran up to him and hugged him, letting the small suitcase find its

  feet beside her. "Oh, I am so glad to see you," she exclaimed. "I

  know we had that net meeting chat from the States, but I still didn't

  know how you'd be." She stood back and gave him an appraising,

  up-and-down look. "And you're great. Is this pacemaker

  nuclear-powered or what?"

  He laughed. "If it is, it's like your tongue. Shut up, girl and let

  me look at you."

  "But I mean it," she insisted. "You're glowing with health."

  "I've been working on it," he admitted. "I'd been getting sloppy

  before the incident, but I'm back in top shape now."

  "So what do these idiots mean, saying that you can't go back to

  work?"

  "That's what your boss is going to ask the court, if they persist in

  it."

  "They'd better not then; Councillor Maley and her pals don't want to

  mess with the might of Curie, Anthony and Jarvis, and especially not

  with Mr. Laidlaw."

  "They especially don't want to mess with me, but that's tomorrow's

  agenda. In the meantime, let's go over there and have a coffee.

  There's something I have to talk to you about. Have you got any other

  luggage?"

  Alex shook her head, making her shoulder-length hair ripple and shimmer

  in the neon light of the arrivals hall. "No. I've got the power suit

  packed in here. I'm only up for a couple of days, remember."

  "Yeah. Sorry it's so brief. How are you liking London anyway?" He

  picked up her bag by its handle and walked her towards the escalator.

  The cafeteria space on the first floor was always less crowded, even on

  a Sunday morning.

  "I like the professional atmosphere, and the people I'm with, but I'm

  not so keen on the city. You spoiled me, Pops, bringing me up in the

  country. How's Andy?" she asked, abruptly. "And the baby?"

  "And Karen," he reminded her. "They're tip-top, all three of them.

  Andy's looking at home in Tayside already, and Karen's enjoying being a

  mum. You know, I still don't think you w
ere very clever the way you

  went about it, but I reckon that breaking off your engagement has

  turned out to be the best thing you could have done for him."

  "I think I should be offended by that," said his daughter they walked

  towards a table by the window.

  "Don't be. It was the making of you too. It was all fine at the time,

  but really, you were infatuated, and long-term, Andy was looking for

  something you weren't ready to give him."

  She reached up and patted his cheek as he laid down her bag. "You're a

  fine one to be lecturing me about relationships, Pops."

  He gave a half-snort, half-laugh. "You could be right. Cappuccino?"

  "No, latte."

  "Okay." He wandered off to the coffee booth and returned with a cafe

  latte and a tall beaker of Coke for himself.

  "So," said Alex heavily. "What gives with you and my stepmother? I

  called her last night, you know, to ask after my various small

  siblings. She sounded strange, and awkward in a way that I've never

  known Sarah to be before. She and I have always really been two girls

  together; we've got on like a house on fire. Whatever you've done,

  you've really upset her, Pops."

  "Did she say anything to you, about us?"

  "Not really. I had a feeling that there were things she wanted to say,

  but stopped herself short. Maybe she thought I'd automatically take

  your side."

  "And would you?"

  "Yes, of course. But I'd try not to let Sarah know that. Come on,

  tell me; what's up?"

  "Simple. She thinks I should be there supporting her, I think she

  should be here supporting me."

  "Against the powers of darkness, in the shape of Councillor Maley and

  her faction?"

  "That's part of it, yes."

  "Then it's rubbish. You've never needed anyone's support against the

  likes of her. You're just putting it that way to cover your guilt over

  leaving Sarah with the kids in the States and charging back over here

  like a mad bull."

  "Did Sarah suggest that to you?"

  "No. She didn't have to. I know you even better than she does,

  Father. I know exactly how you feel and how you think. But I'm a

  woman too, so I know what Sarah's feeling."

  "Listen, girl," he retorted, 'my job's under threat. These people are

  trying to use my condition to get rid of me. What else could I have

  done but come home to deal with them?"

  "If you want my legal opinion, it'll cost you dinner tonight, in the

  Roseberry."

  In spite of his indignation, Bob grinned. "Deal."

  "First, you could have sought two objective medical opinions in the

  USA, ideally from practitioners who are consultants to the county or

  state police. Assuming they certified you fit, you could have

  instructed Mitch Laidlaw to present them to the police authority and to

  demand that you be returned to the duty list immediately, with a

  Supreme Court interdict in his hand if necessary. That done you could

  have phoned Uncle Jimmy and asked him to put you on compassionate

  leave."

  "Mmm. And you think that would have worked, do you?"

  "You could have instructed me, never mind Mr. Laidlaw, and it would

  have worked. If you'd passed the medical, under the present rules the

  Court would have given you the interdict and Maley's lot would have

  been held in contempt if they'd gone against it.

  "It's still not too late to change your tactics though," she pointed

  out. "Why not set up a full medical examination by two independent

  cardiologists up at the Murrayfield? If they clear you, my boss can go

  to Maley and demand your reinstatement, or by-pass her even and go

  straight to the chair of the Police Authority." Alex smiled, and put

  her hand over his. "That would be the sensible way of doing it. But

  you are you, Pops, and when it blew up I'd never have expected you to

  react in any other way than you did."

  "So Sarah's right?"

  "I won't say that, because I don't know the whole story. Didn't she

  suggest what I just did?"

  "No. She told me I should let them get on with it. She told me I

  should take my collapse as a sign from God and give up my job."

  "Oh dear," Alex whispered. "Mistake. Then again," she continued,

  firmly, "I thought exactly the same thing when she called to tell me

  you'd had an incident. And that coming, as it did, right on top of

  what happened to your poor friend Joe Doherty dying so suddenly as

  well. I'd have thought twice about saying it to your face, though."

  "And you'd have been right. What happened to Joe and what happened to

  me are in no way related." He looked out of the cafeteria window,

  across the airport car park. "Still, I will do what you suggest. I'll

  line up a couple of specialists to give me a going over, tomorrow, if

  possible, and we'll take it from there.

  "But that is tomorrow; all that apart, the God that Sarah mentioned

  does indeed work in mysterious ways, and because I did come back, I was

  on the spot to become involved in something very important, and very,

  very personal. It's really what I have to talk to you about, before

  you hear it on the telly."

  Alex raised her eyebrows. "Sounds intriguing; I'm glad I came."

  "So am I. Let me ask you a strange question. Does the name Michael

  Niven Skinner mean anything to you?"

  In an instant, all of the mischief went from her expression; looking at

  her, Bob imagined he saw her lawyer's face. "Ah," she exclaimed. "So

  that's it. Yes, it does. He's my uncle, isn't he?"

  Very few people had the capacity to take Skinner completely by

  surprise, but Alex had always been one. "How did you.. . When did

  you.. .?" At the third attempt, he found words. "How long have you

  known about him?" he gasped.

  "Since I was sixteen; we did a genealogical study at school, as part of

  Modern Studies. Some of us were taken up to the General Records Office

  and shown how to go about constructing our family trees. I knew about

  you and me, so I started with Grandpa and Grandma Skinner. I fed in

  their names to the computer. Maybe you can imagine how surprised I was

  when I found our tree had an extra branch, and that according to the

  records, it was still alive, although not bearing fruit."

  "Bloody hell," he whispered. "Why didn't you ask me about him?"

  "Pops, I've always trusted you; always. I knew that if you had kept

  his existence a secret from me for sixteen years, you must have had a

  bloody good reason, and that you would tell me if and when you were

  good and ready. Now you have done, there's something I have to ask you

  straight out, something that's been on my mind, given what my mum was

  ..." She hesitated, as if she was afraid to utter the words on the tip

  of her tongue. '.. . Given that we know she had affairs," she

  exclaimed, at last. "He isn't my real father, is he?"

  It was one of those times: Bob Skinner was taken aback, completely.

  "God, no. Not a chance. You can rest easy on that score; you are my

  daughter. You were conceived on holiday in a cottage on Mull; even if

  Myra had been that way inclined at the time, she'd
have had to walk a

  bloody long way to find anyone else to do the deed. Besides, every

  time I look in the mirror I see in me your eyes, your mouth, and your

  chin; a bit careworn perhaps, but yours for sure."

  For a second Alex's own chin trembled, but she held herself together.

  "Thanks, Pops; silly or not, that's been my private nightmare, for a

  while now. So tell me, how did my uncle Michael become a

  non-person?"

  And so he told her, the same story he had told Andy, and more. He

  confessed that after Michael's expulsion his mother had had a

  breakdown, and that she had become an alcoholic herself, neglecting