it brown from black.
He turned back towards her. "I guess your name hasn't been linked to
the investigation yet," he said. "No media outside."
"No," she said. "Sheriff Dekker and the DA made sure that I was kept
completely incommunicado. They took me away from Ron's house very
quickly and I was held in the DA's office, not at the police building.
The press assumed I was there, so they camped outside. They were only
told that a suspect was in custody; no name, no gender even."
"A remarkable show of discretion in the States."
She nodded. "Yes, I admit that's puzzled me too."
"I can guess the reason," he grunted, darkly. "When did they give you
bail?"
"A judge granted it last night, in chambers; she set a million-dollar
surety, but John Vranic assured her there was more than enough in the
estate. It's temporary, though; if I'm indicted and arraigned, it'll
be considered again then."
"If?"
She winced and looked away. "No," she whispered. "When. John told me
to expect to be in open court this afternoon. Then the whole media
thing will explode."
"We'll see about that."
"Bob, I'm lucky it hasn't happened before this." She walked over to
him. "You look beat; do you want me to make you something to eat?"
"Wouldn't do any harm. Eggs, bacon, that sort of stuff; my
cholesterol's fine, remember. So, you'll be glad to hear, is
everything else."
"You slew your dragon, then."
"Let's just say she's wounded; slaying's a bad topic around here. I'm
back in post, and that's the main thing."
"I'm glad for you," she said quietly as she opened the fridge, and took
out a box of eggs and a pack of bacon.
"Thanks." He turned his head and looked out of the window at James
Andrew as he attacked a climbing frame that had not been there when he
left. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I got obsessed; I admit it, I went off at
half cock and let it come between us. Now all this shit's come down on
you, and I feel it's my fault. It's been my week for guilt and no
mistake."
She lit a gas ring, under a big frying pan. "Bob .. ." she began, a
catch in her voice. "I have to ..."
He put up a hand. "Don't do that just yet, love, please. Just answer
me something. When you found the guy, was the door of his house lying
open?"
"No."
"In that case, since he was dead, who opened it for you?"
"Nobody," she whispered. "I had a key."
He felt his head swim, and for a moment thought that he might be having
another attack, in spite of his pacemaker. But the thump of his heart
in his chest told him that he was not. "Okay," he said, in a flat,
OK
emotionless voice that was a masterpiece of self-control. "Just so as
I know when I see the police."
"You're seeing the police?"
"This very morning. I phoned Brad Dekker on my way here from the
airport and told him to be ready for me, with Eddie Brady, at ten
o'clock."
"Bob, you can't get involved in this," she exclaimed.
He smiled at her, for the first time since she had opened the door.
"Who can't?"
Forty-Five.
Angus dAbo had known many an unexpected visit from the police, but he
had never rated a detective chief superintendent before, so he was
understandably rattled as he looked across the bar table at his
visitor.
"How did ye ken to find me here?" he asked, nervously.
"You're a creature of habit, Mr. dAbo," Rod Greatorix told him. "Our
local uniformed officers told me that you have your lunch here in the
Cannon every day in life." He looked at his plate. "Do they do a
decent bridie in here, by the way? I feel a bit peckish myself."
"No' bad," the man replied. "The haggis is best though."
"Why are you not having it then?"
"Ah could dna have it every day."
"You're a bloke who believes in a balanced diet, then?"
Angus dAbo shrugged his shoulders. "Ah like what ah like, ken. There's
plenty tae eat up at the Lodge; ah hae the choice frae the kitchen at
night. But it's a' salmon or game. The guests that come there dinna
expect pie and chips, like."
"Unless it's venison pie and game chips."
"Aye, that's right." He looked down at his plate; the baked beans were
starting to congeal.
"Go on," said Greatorix, 'get stuck in. I'm in no rush."
He sipped his ginger ale and watched as the bald, nut-brown handyman
bolted down his Forfar bridie. He knew from his file that dAbo was
fifty-two years old, and that his last conviction had been ten years
earlier, but he noted that the man still looked fit enough to climb a
drainpipe without difficulty. He waited, as dAbo mopped up the last of
his beans with the last of his chips. "How long have you worked at Fir
Park Lodge?" he asked, the moment he was finished.
on
"Three year; since Mr. Williamson bought it. Ah've never been in ony
bother, like," he added, defensively.
"I'm not saying you have. Does your employer know all about you,
though? Does he know you've been in prison?"
DAbo blinked, nervously. "He never asked," he exclaimed. "Has someone
telt him? Are you goin' tae tell him?"
The detective shrugged his shoulders. "If he's going to hire people
without checking them out, it's not down to me to mark his card. Relax,
Angus, this isn't about you."
The handyman looked at him as if he required a lot more persuasion if
he was going to believe him. "I've asked about you, don't worry,"
Greatorix continued. "The local people vouched for you. They've got
their ear to the ground; if you'd gone back to your old profession,
they would know."
"Well, what is it aboot?" DAbo looked only a little less suspicious.
"We're making enquiries about a man whose body was found in Perth last
Saturday."
The man's de fences went back up so quickly that Greatorix smiled.
"No, Angus, I'm not going to ask if you did it. This guy died of a
heart attack, and fell into the river somewhere. All we're trying to
find out is where he was. He wasn't reported missing, and he was only
identified by chance. We think he might have been a guest at a big
house along the riverbank."
"Why no' ask Mr. Williamson?"
"Because we're asking you. We don't know Mr. Williamson. What's he
like to work for, as a matter of interest?"
"He's aright. He kens nothing aboot fishin' though, a lot less than
most of the guests he has. Ah think he only bought the place because
he fancied bein' a country squire."
"Is there a Mrs. Williamson?"
"Naw. There's folk think he's havin' it off withe hoosekeeper, but
he's no."
"What makes you so sure?"
DAbo shot him a sudden lascivious grin.
"Ah, I see," Greatorix chuckled. "Tell me, is the Lodge busy?"
"It does a' right. It's fu' this week, but no' every week."
"This man I'm looking for; he'd have been there about two weeks ago."
DAbo frowned. "A fortnight since?" he muttered. "Aye, we were qu
ite
fu' then. What would he look like, this man?"
"He'd have looked in his late fifties, grey, overweight, and poorly
dressed."
"Poorly dressed? He'll no have been at the Lodge, then. They're a'
fuckin' bandboxes we get in there."
Greatorix hesitated, and then took a decision. He reached into an
inside pocket of his jacket and took out a photograph. It showed a
man's head, viewed from above and in half profile. It was of Michael
Skinner, and it had been taken in the mortuary, once he had been
cleaned up. It was presentable, but in no way did it look as if he was
merely asleep. He handed it to dAbo. "Are you sure?" he said. "That
was him."
The handyman took the photograph and gulped, then gagged. For a second
Greatorix thought that bridie, beans and chips were about to come
flying his way, but the initial shock seemed to pass. The policeman
studied dAbo's face, as he studied the photograph.
"This man was never a guest at the Lodge; Ahim sure o' that." DAbo
frowned, and scratched his chin. "And yet.. . Ah've got a feelin'
Ah've seen him somewhere." He picked up the remains of his shandy and
took a drink, swilling it around his mouth before he swallowed, as if
to wash away a bad taste. He looked at the photograph again, then
across to the bar.
"Aye," he exclaimed. "That could have been him; Ahim no certain, but
it could have been. If it was, Ah saw him the week before last, in
here, yin lunchtime. He was wi' another bloke, aboot the same age as
him." His eyebrows went up, as if a light had been switched on in his
head. "Wednesday, it was; Ah ken that because Ah had a bridie for ma
lunch, like the day."
"Did you know the other man?"
"Ah never seen him afore; never seen either o' them afore." He tapped
the photo. "But this man here, he was awfy fond o' the drink. He was
only in here for less than an 'oor, but by the time he left he was as
fu' as a fiddler's bitch. The other bloke had tae help him oot the
door."
"Was Mr. Williamson in here at the same time? Could he have known
them?"
"Neither of them has ever been at the Lodge; Ah kin tell ye that. As
for Mr. Williamson, he could dna hae been here. He was at his place
in Florida then; he was awa' for three weeks, and Mae the hoosekeeper
was runnin' the place. He only got back last Wednesday."
Forty-Six.
"You believed him, did you?" asked Mario McGuire; then he nodded, to
himself, rather than to Mcllhenney. "I suppose you must have, or you
wouldn't have come bombing down to Galashiels to talk to me about
it."
He pulled open a drawer of his desk, took out a KitKat biscuit and
tossed it across to his friend. "Here, chew on that. You're looking
unnaturally fit these days."
"You, on the other hand," said Neil cheerfully as he unwrapped the
biscuit, broke off one finger and used it to stir his tea, 'are looking
knackered. Are you not getting enough sleep?"
McGuire glowered at him. "Just because you're my best pal, inspector,
don't think you can push your luck."
"Some would say that's what you're doing, Mario. But I won't be one of
them. I've got to say something serious, though, as your best pal. You
have to resolve your situation, and sooner rather than later. I know
how things are with Mags, and I know she's given you the biggest pink
ticket in history. But no one else in the force knows the real story,
not even the Big Man. All they see is you living with your wife, and
playing away games with Paula. The grapevine is talking of nothing
else these days, and that's not good."
"I might be inclined to say "fuck the grapevine"," Mario retorted.
"You might, but you can't, and you know why. It's not just you who's
the subject of the station gossip; it's Maggie as well. It's one thing
you being Jack the Lad; you're not the first copper in this situation.
But you are the first one whose wife's a senior officer too. We all
know there's talk of Mags leaving CID and going to chief super. What
sort of command authority is she going to have among the uniforms if
they're all whispering about her behind her back?"
T71
His friend looked at him for a while, as if he was trying to form a
reply. But when he spoke it was to ask a question. "So what should I
do, Neil?"
"You have to give one of them up, man. You either keep your relations
with Paula business only, or you leave Maggie. Since you're giving up
the wee boy, there's really no obstacle in the way of you doing
that."
McGuire's face twisted. '1 don't want to leave her!" he protested.
"She won't sleep with me, but there's more to us than that."
"Then give up Paula."
"And embrace the celibate life? Is that what you're saying?"
"I might say it, but I know you too well to see it happening," he
conceded. "Listen, I care about you, and I care about Mags, but you
have to sort this out."
"Get it through your head, man. I don't want to."
"No, you get it through yours; you have to. It's not about what you
want; it's something you have to do for Maggie's sake, for her
self-respect and for the good of her career."
"I have to leave her for her self-respect?"
"Yes, and you have to tell everyone that she's chucked you out."
"You don't ask much of a friend, do you?"
"I'll ask whatever I think it's going to take. Just talk to her,
Mario, please. The pair of you have to realise that you are two bloody
goldfish swimming about in a bowl with the whole bloody police force,
or near as damn it, looking at you. And not just the force," he added.
"Lenny dropped a big hint this morning that he's heard about it."
"You're kidding!"
"No I ain't. Big Lenny's a remarkable man. He knows your mother's a
silent partner in Paula's saunas, for a start."
McGuire's jaw sagged. "He does?"
"Yes, and it's more than I did, pal. Doesn't look too good, the head
of Special Branch being taken by surprise by a lifer. They bought the
things from Manson's estate, remember. Effectively that means from
Lenny. Your mum didn't cover her tracks very well."
"Obviously not. I wouldn't want it getting out either."
"Don't worry. Lenny won't tell anyone. He regards information as
currency, and he's not going to spend any without a purpose."
"So he's got a hold over me?"
"Of a sort, but he won't use it. If he did, the boss would find out,
and he wouldn't like it. For some reason, odd since he once tried to
kill him, Lenny values big Bob's friendship more than anything else."
"Mmm," said McGuire. "You have had an interesting morning. Especially
the bit about Maley."
"That's why I came down here. I wanted to talk to you about it. When
you were in my job, did you ever take a look at her?"
Thursday Legends Page 29
