'Okay. Getting on with the job.'
'I heard you've moved house. Dean Village, eh? Going upmarket.'
He shrugged, self-consciously. 'It was just something I felt I had to do. It's better for the collection,' he added lamely.
'Collection?' She smiled, her eyes sparkling — a flash of the old Alex. 'Ah, you mean the paintings…'
'Call in and see them if you like.'
'What? As in "Come up and see my etchings?" We're a bit beyond that.'
A corner of his mouth flickered; more of a grimace than a grin. 'Maybe… But come up anyway. I've missed you.'
For a second, her eyebrows came together in a frown, a trademark gesture inherited from her father. 'I've missed you too. And I'm sorry for the way I behaved… for everything but one thing, that is,' she slipped in, quickly. 'But when we split up, Andy, we didn't just burn the bridges between us — we mined the bloody river.'
'Maybe, but we were friends before we were ever lovers. Can't we get back to that?'
'I didn't think you wanted that.'
'Come on, I hated what you did, but I couldn't hate you, not ever. Anyway, I was way in the wrong too, before then.'
She picked at her fingernails. 'Friends then?' she murmured. 'Okay. I'll come and see the paintings in your new house. I'll call first, of course, just in case you've got company.
As a matter of fact, a colleague of mine called me last night to say she saw you muscling your way into One Rutland Place with a very tasty blonde.'
He flushed; there was no way of preventing it. The girl next door,' he protested.
'That'll be handy for you.' She smiled again, wickedly. 'Does Karen Neville know about her?' His mouth dropped open as he stared at her, as the smile became a laugh. 'Andy, this is a village. When will you realise that?'
'Hey, since when did you listen to gossip? Karen's an off-duty pal, that's all. Just like McGuire and Maggie.'
'Maybe, but my friend Liz's taxi-driver brother didn't pick you up from their house at ten o'clock on a Sunday morning a couple of months back.'
It was his turn to laugh. 'Jesus wept, woman, I'm supposed to be the detective in this relationship.' The last word hung awkwardly in the air for a few seconds, until he pressed on. 'But you tell your pal Liz to tell her brother to be a bit more discreet. One word from me to the traffic boys and he could find life becoming very sad. There are so many reasons for us to pull a black cab over, he could wind up spending more time in the garage than on the road.'
'Andy,' Skinner's voice boomed from the doorway. 'It looks as if you're making your own breakfast at this rate.' He was carrying the baby, carefully, in the crook of an arm. 'Alex, your sister was crying. I think she needs changing.'
'So change her. I'll do a couple of bacon sannies for my ex — just this once, mind.'
He helped Alex make his breakfast, then ate it with her watching him across the kitchen table. 'I couldn't help noticing,' she said, as he sipped his coffee, 'that all that time I was ragging you about your sex life, you were gallant enough not to interrogate me about mine.'
He flashed a look across the table. 'None of my business — as you told me once, I seem to remember.'
'I remember; and I suppose I have to admit to having been wrong, since we were still engaged at the time. Anyway, for what it's worth, I don't have one right now. One thing that you and I did have in common — we were neither of us very good at celibacy. When we broke up, I decided that I should learn. You know, it's quite good for you, really.'
'What is?' asked her father walking back into the room, carrying a newly changed Seonaid.
'Bacon.' Alex looked up from the table. 'You staying for a bit, Pops?'
'No. I've got to go and see Jimmy.'
'Give me ten minutes before you leave. Come on, Andy; finish your coffee and take me for a spin in this new car I've heard about.'
He did as she asked, handing her the keys and allowing her to drive the two-seater out of Gullane, down the Luffness straight, around the Witches Hill Country Club, as far as Ballencrieff, then back through Drem towards the village. He watched her as she flicked the car through the gentle curves of the road as it ran alongside the railway line, nodding approval at the smooth way in which she took the tricky hairpin beyond Drem and accelerated away. She looked as if she had been driving an MGF all her life.
'I like this,' she said, as she cruised back into the driveway of the bungalow.
'Get yourself one then.'
'I'm still too young; the insurance would cripple me.
Besides, Dad wouldn't like it. He has a thing about fast cars and me, after what happened to Mum.'
'Your mother's death wasn't her fault. We know that now.'
'She went like the wind all the same; Pops told me once that he was sure that if she hadn't bought it then, it would have happened another time. He never let her drive him if he could help it.'
'He doesn't have a problem with your driving,' Andy grinned. 'You're nearly as good as me.'
'How could I aspire to that?' She kissed him; for a second or two beyond friendship. 'I'll come to see the pictures soon,' she promised as she climbed out of the driver's seat. 'And don't worry, I'll phone first.'
He thought about Alex all the way back to North Berwick. Was she offering him a way back? Maybe, but on her terms… and he could never forget. It wasn't a matter of forgiveness any more, he knew that. No, he could never forget.
Detective Inspector Mario McGuire was in the mobile headquarters, alone, when Martin arrived back from Gullane. 'Maggie gone for a kip?' the Head of CID asked.
'Yeah. I told her she should go home, but you know her. She wants to co-ordinate the door-to-door results as soon as she's got enough in. Stevie's round at the local office too, getting catering organised for later.'
'What's Mags got you doing?'
McGuire frowned. 'It's not a matter of that, sir. I've got my own locus in this investigation. This guy used to do my Special Branch job. Unless we find out very quickly that he was shagging the woman next door and her husband took revenge…'
'Unlikely,' said Martin. 'She's about eighty-five.'
'Two doors along, then. Unless it's a local vendetta or a family thing, I'm going to have to look back through the stuff he was involved in as a copper, to see if there might be a connection. You've sat in my chair too. You know how sensitive it can be.'
'Aye, and how confidential. You're right; you do that. Report anything you find to Maggie privately, but keep me in touch as well.'
'Of course. There's one thing I did say I'd do for Maggie this morning, though.' He glanced at his watch. 'I have to see the owner of the pub along the road — or last night's bar staff — to get a list of all the people who were in there.'
'Sure. The alarm was raised by one of their punters; maybe another one saw someone going into Alec's house. The Auld Hoose isn't the only pub in town, though. We should check the others, starting with the Golfer's Rest round in the Main Street. I'll tell you what; you take that, I'll take the Auld Hoose.'
McGuire nodded, stood, and turned towards the door. Before he and Martin reached it, it opened, and a young woman constable, in uniform, appeared. The DCS recognised her at once. 'PC Cowan. What brings you here? Finished your door-to-doors?'
She brought her left arm round from behind her and raised it. She was clutching a plastic supermarket bag, wet and encrusted with dark sand. Martin took it from her and looked inside; it contained a blowtorch, a knife, and a heavy steel wrench, all still soaking. 'I was on the beach search team, sir. I went round to the harbour when the tide was low enough, and I saw that on the bottom.'
'Where?' asked Martin, urgently.
'Near the wall beside the car park, sir.'
'Good for you, PC Cowan. Did your sergeant tell you to do that or did you work it out for yourself?'
The woman looked diffident. 'I sort of worked it out, sir.'
'Well done, you. Is the beach search still going on?'
'Yes, sir. There
are people out in the east bay.'
'Get on your radio, then, and tell them to chuck it. We won't find anything else. Call everyone back in here.' He pointed to the desk at which McGuire had been sitting. 'There are still streets to be allocated for door-to-door interviews. I want you to dish them out to the search teams as they get here, along with interview sheets and clipboards.
'Before that, though, I want you to tag those three items, put them in the evidence bags which you'll find in that cupboard over there, and call for a car to take them to DI Dorward in the forensic lab. Got all that?'
'Yes sir.'
'Good; get on with it, then. The Inspector and I have a couple of calls to make. You're in charge till Sergeant Steele gets back.'
The two detectives stepped out into the street. 'Bright girl, that,' said Martin. 'Ready for CID, if she wants it.'
'Don't they all want it?' McGuire suggested. 'I couldn't wait to get out of uniform.'
'Me neither; but they're not all like us. Besides, this force needs good people in every department. Cowan's divisional commander might kick up hell if I try to pinch her.'
'You can fix him, though.'
'Probably, if I brought the Big Man into it, but I'd rather not have to. Ask Maggie to have a look at the girl; if she'd like her on her strength, she can ask for her. It'll make it easier if it comes from within the division.'
They set off across Forth Street; on the other side they walked directly into a television cameraman, with a reporter by his side, microphone in hand. 'A quick word on camera, Andy?' asked Julian Finney, of Scottish Television.
'No way. This is Maggie Rose's investigation; ask her when she gets back.' He nodded towards McGuire, who was heading in the direction of the Golfer's Rest. 'Don't go pointing that bloody thing at Mario either; that ain't allowed, and you know it.'
'It's okay, we won't do that. I know the SB people are off limits. Alec Smith wasn't though, was he? I've just spoken to the guy who found the body. The way he described it, this was a torture killing. But, don't tell me, that's not for quoting, is that right?'
Martin looked at the journalist. 'Yeah, I guess that having your balls burned off with a blowlamp could be described as torture.'
'Ahhh!' Finney winced.
'That was only the start. It could happen to you too, if you cross-examine our key witnesses.'
'Point taken, Andy, but the guy approached me, honest. Have you got a precise cause of death yet?'
'I honestly don't know. It could have been head injuries, but we'll need to wait for the post-mortem. Sarah should be starting it soon.'
'D'you expect a quick result?'
'We'll let Maggie answer that one; at the moment we're doing the usual, asking lots of people lots of questions and hoping that at least one of them saw something that'll help us.'
'What's your gut feeling, though? Still off the record.'
'My gut feeling is that there's a very dangerous man walking about. If he lives in North Berwick we'll catch him easy, but I doubt if he does. After he killed Alec he walked round to the harbour and dropped the murder weapons into the sea, right beside the car park. My guess is that after he did that he got into a motor and drove off.
'This guy's long gone; and I'll tell you something else, Julian — very much off the record — he hasn't left a ghost of a trail.'
9
They did it all: all the routine slogging that is part of every murder enquiry. By the end of the afternoon every one of Alec Smith's neighbours in Forth Street had been interviewed by CID officers. Most of the other houses in North Berwick had been canvassed by senior officers. All of the Friday evening customers listed by publicans had been located and questioned.
With DCI Maggie Rose back in command in the van, the Head of CID had taken on foot-soldier duties. He and McGuire had visited every resident of the converted Granary flats, and of every other house clustered around the small tidal harbour. No-one could recall seeing anyone drop anything into the water late in the evening. No-one could recall anyone being parked there, or driving away.
Andy Martin was dog-tired when he arrived back in Dean Village, just before seven. It had been a blazing day, and there was still real heat in the sun. He slid the MGF into his garage and was about to pull down the up-and-over door, when Rhian stepped inside.
'Hi,' she murmured. 'I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it.'
'So was I.'
She slid her arms around him as he pulled down the door. 'That would have disappointed me. I hate disappointments. I don't think I could stand two in two days; you're not going to disappoint me again, are you?'
He grinned down at her. She really was very attractive, in a bikini top and shorts, her tan dark and shiny; very much a woman, not a girl at all. 'I think there's every chance of that,' he chuckled, as she reached back to flick the catch of her top. 'But I'll do my best.'
He picked her up and carried her, through the garage exit and into the house, up the first flight of stairs, then up the second, and into his bedroom.
Yes, you surely are mad, Martin, he said to himself, but right at that moment he cared not a bit.
Rhian was a screamer and the window was open; at first he hoped like hell that the music next door was loud enough to cover her cries, but after a while he stopped caring. 'You have definitely done this before,' he said, afterwards, as the air seemed to sizzle round them.
'I did tell you that. You're not too shabby yourself, officer, definitely not a disappointment.' She nestled into the crook of his arm. 'There. Feeling better now?'
'And how.'
'Has it been a bad day?'
'Yes, but don't let's talk about it.'
'Have you caught anyone yet?'
'Nah. Fact is, we haven't got a bloody clue. All those folk in North Berwick, but no-one saw a damn thing. They don't, you see; most of the time, people just don't notice other people. They only register them as part of the background, and that can make life very difficult for us.' He glanced at the bedside clock. 'Here, we'd better get ready.'
She chuckled; deep and wicked. 'You don't think I'm finished with you yet, do you?'
If Juliet Lewis had noticed her daughter's absence, or marked the fact that Andy was over an hour late for the barbecue, she said not a word about it, only, 'Welcome,' and 'You shouldn't have,' as he handed over two thick fillet steaks, bought in Struth's of North Berwick and wrapped in greaseproof paper, and a bottle of reserve claret from the delicatessen in Gullane. She was beautifully dressed, in a close-fitting skirt and a long-sleeved blouse, in stark contrast to many of her younger guests.
Rhian had gone upstairs after showing him through to the garden. Just as her mother was handing Martin a goblet of red wine she reappeared, dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, and with her hair tied back in a pony-tail. She picked up a bottle of Belgian beer from the serving table, took his hand and drew him towards his fellow guests, who were gathered on the lawn.
'Come on, let me introduce you around.' As he had expected, most of them were young, around Margot's age. She pointed to a group gathered around the younger Lewis daughter, a tall dark girl, in a light blue dress. 'You know the guest of honour, of course.' Actually, he had never exchanged a word with her. From what he had seen she was a serious type, who looked, as did Rhian, a year or two older than she really was. He gave her a smile and a wave. She responded, almost shyly, sneaking a quick look at her sister. For an instant, he detected a hint of a smirk on her face, and wondered.
'These are the serious people, though.' she led him over to a group of half a dozen men and women, older than the rest and standing a little apart. 'Hi everybody,' she called out.
One of the men, who had been looking down on to the dark, slow-moving Water of Leith, glanced over his shoulder. 'Ah, it's herself,' he said, turning. 'I wondered where the hell you'd got to.' He grinned at Martin. 'Can I guess?'
'I've been changing,' Rhian answered.
'That'll be the day, honey. You'll never bloody change.' Th
ere was a familiarity in the exchange; two people comfortable with each other. Andy eyed the other man appraisingly, remembering Rhian's remark about older lovers, trying to guess his age. He was small but trim, with dark, grey-flecked hair which was thinning on top; well-preserved, but probably in his early forties.
She brought him back by squeezing his hand. 'Don't listen to this so-and-so. Have you two met before? Andy, this is Spike Thomson, Edinburgh's oldest teenager and a legend in his own mind. Spike, this is Andy Martin; he lives next door.'
The man's eyebrows rose. 'Ah. I've heard of you. You're Bob Skinner's pal, aren't you?'
The detective looked at the other man warily, although he was not certain why. 'You know Bob?'
'Of course. I'm one of the Thursday mob.'
Spike Thomson. Get the brain in gear, Andy boy. How many Spike Thomsons can there be? 'The disc jockey? Fair footballer too, according to Bob.'
'That's kind of him. How come we've never seen you on a Thursday night?'
The detective grinned down at his new acquaintance. 'I've been asked, but football's definitely not my game. I used to play rugby.'
'Me too. I played scrum-half for North Berwick High, then for the rugby club for a while. What was your position?' He took a pace backwards and looked Martin up and down, noting the thickness of his neck, the breadth of his shoulder. 'Prop?'
'For a while, at school, but I played all my senior stuff as a flanker.'
'Ah. That explains why you're not a football man. Bloody lethal on the football field are flankers, to a man. Who'd you play for?'
'West of Scotland.'
'Any good?'
The policeman smiled at the directness of the question, sportsman to sportsman. 'Some folk thought so. I played for Glasgow District a few times; got as far as an international trial, but that was it. I joined the force and packed it in.'
'Why, for God's sake? Couldn't you have carried on playing as a policeman? Others do.'
'Maybe, but working shifts in Edinburgh meant that I couldn't guarantee to make training in Glasgow. I could have played for Edinburgh Accie Firsts at one point, but I decided against it. I took the view that, since the force was going to be my career, I'd better devote myself to it full-time if I was going to make a success of it.'
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