'Okay,' she said, asking the begged question. 'What's the first part of your life-support system?' 'You are.'
She felt warmth that was almost orgasmic flood through her whole body and struggled in vain to keep it from showing on her face.
'Oh yes? And when did this come to you?'
'I began to realise about three days ago, but it came to me as a great certainty when I knew I was going to die. You guessed right, Karen; I've been in trouble. Serious, life-threatening trouble of my own making. It was very bad, and then it got worse, until there came a point when all common sense told me that there was no way out. I felt Death descending upon me and, as it did, all that filled my mind was you.
'I saw your face, I felt you with me and I knew all at once that, whatever logic told me about my situation, I could not die. So I declined Death's kind offer — You know how Death is always depicted as a great robed skeleton with a scythe? Actually he's a thin bloke with a gun — and eventually Bob Skinner turned up and, as he does, made everything all right'
'What happened to Death?' she whispered.
'He went away; for good. All that he's left me is a compulsion to brush my teeth every couple of hours. That'll pass, though.
'And you know what? You're still there, filling my mind, with your strength, and your warmth, and your goodness and your sheer bloody niceness. He tapped his chest. 'You've been in here for a while now, but I was too stupid to figure it out, hell-bent on making a virtue out of loneliness. It took Sarah Skinner, who is my best friend after you and Bob, to tell it to me straight.
'Now it's just so bloody obvious.'
She looked at him. That's what you had to tell me?'
'Not all of it.'
'What else, then?'
'I had to tell you I love you, before I could die.'
'And what do you want to ask me?'
'Forswearing all others, I wanted, want, to ask you to marry me. You saved my life, now I'd like you to live the rest of it with me. What d' you say?'
She frowned at him and his heart sank. 'I have to choose my words carefully here,' she began. 'I love you too. Yes.'
They gave simultaneous gasps of exultation and relief. The space between them closed in a second as they locked in an embrace.
'When?' she murmured.
'Soon as we can.'
'Can I stay here from now on?'
'Too right. We'll find a new place though; one that's ours together. This place has picked up some bad memories already, just like the last one.'
'That's all they are, though, memories. I've got my own, remember. We can live with them, no problem.' She reached for the top button of his shirt once again; this time he made no move to stop her.
'What about the job?' she asked. '… Sir.'
'You're not going back to my office, that's for sure. Do you want to chuck it?'
She nodded. 'Yes. It might suit the McGuires — they're zealots — but one copper in the house will be enough for us. I trained as a teacher before I joined up. I'll do some supply work, maybe… until I get pregnant, that is.'
He put his forehead against hers as she pulled his shirt free. 'Let's attend to that right now, shall we?'
52
That was a bombshell, was it not?' Bob Skinner gazed after the little red car as it turned out of the driveway, half an hour after noon on Sunday. 'When he phoned I thought he was just coming to return the clothes I lent him.'
Sarah smiled. 'A bombshell maybe; but think of the man who left here yesterday, then look at the Andy who's just left now. When did you last see him as happy as that?'
'Maybe never,' Bob conceded. 'Maybe not even when he was engaged to our Alex. But still… don't you think that this could all be a hysterical reaction to what happened to him on Friday?'
'He didn't seem hysterical to me. Nor did she. No, I'm going to take it at face value; I'm going to be pleased for them both. I don't know Karen very well, but I've heard a few stories about her from you and others. Nobody has ever failed to make the point that she is a thoroughly nice woman. She will add a stability to his personal life that's never really been there before. You just watch him go from now on.'
He looked at her, a little doubtfully. 'Okay, Sarah. But he must have some recovery to get through still.'
'With which she can only help him,' she replied. 'Andy is a very strong man, both mentally and physically. The only worthwhile things you can do for him are to fix him up with some private counselling with Kevin O'Malley, to head off any possibility of post traumatic stress, and to wish him and Karen the best of luck.'
'He's got both of those. Christ, after seeing it, I think McGuire and I should have counselling too.'
'Hah! This from the man who swore he'd never again let O'Malley or anyone else inside his head. No, you take those two boys for a walk, as you said you would; that's the best form of counselling. While you're doing that, I will phone Alex, as Andy asked me to.'
Bob nodded. 'You're right.' He called back into the house. 'Mark, Jazz, come on.' He picked up his younger son's carry-frame, slipped his arms through the straps and fastened it across his chest.
The two boys came rushing through the hall: Mark, incredibly bright for a boy just verging on eight, cut out already for academia rather than athletics; James Andrew, still short of three but a toddler no more, a sturdy child with his mother's eyes and the promise of developing his father's physique.
'Where are we going, Uncle Bob?' asked Mark, the adopted son. 'The beach?'
'The beach will be mobbed today; no, we'll go for a long walk round by Luffness to West Fenton, then back up to the village. You can see the horses and the cattle, and look out for the different sorts of birds, then look them up in your book when we get home.'
He loaded Jazz into the carrier, up and over his head, then set off down the drive on the forced march. Beyond the gate, Hill Road was lined with parked cars; he saw a red Ford, a silver Toyota, a big black off-roader of some sort with impenetrable smoked glass windows, a Mercedes, and more lined all the way up the slope past the Diddler's house. It had been abandoned finally by the journalists who had kept vigil there the night before, hoping for a glimpse of the grieving Edith. The vehicles were parked all the way up to the golf course gate. Either the Bents car park was full, or drivers were avoiding the small charge. Whatever, Skinner noted mentally, there was trouble heading the way of the local traffic warden.
He forgot the nuisance almost at once as he walked the boys out, down Sandy Loan, right and across the main street then westward, out of the village. Mark chatted incessantly as they headed down and round the bend in the road, Jazz joining in as they reached the part where the walkway was wider and he could be lifted safely out of his carrier. Eventually, they passed Luffness New Golf Club with its commemorative cairn outside, passed the sweeping Luffness corner itself, and turned into the rarely used road which twisted through the farmland and up to West Fenton.
'This is where we saw the albino squirrel, Uncle Bob, remember?' Mark called out, walking with Jazz a few paces in front. Bob smiled as he remembered the odd little animal, with its pink eyes.
'Want to see it, Dad,' James Andrew shouted. 'Want to see it.'
'I doubt if it will still be here, son,' he answered. 'It was so white that it might as well have been wearing a sign saying "Eat me" on its back. There are hawks and owls around here, looking for small game like that.' Never in his life, had Bob Skinner told a 'cute furry animal' story to any of his children; he believed in teaching them about nature rather than cartoon characters.
They walked on, past the stream which ran on their left through a narrow stretch of woods, round a curve, past an isolated, white, art deco house, planted bizarrely on the edge of the fertile farmland like a great iced cake, then out into a straight stretch of road, between two flat fields, one ploughed, the other sowed.
'What's that, Uncle Bob?' There was something subdued about the boy's tone.
'Barley. It'll be harvested in August then sold to a
brewer.'
They walked on until they reached the old railway bridge; the railway itself had been gone for sixty years, but the bridge over the ghost line still stood, fulfilling no function other than to offer a better view of Gullane from its crest. Bob picked up Jazz and reinstalled him in his carrier, for the climb at least.
They stopped at the top, and looked back up towards the village, even though Mark could barely see over the iron parapet. 'Uncle Bob,' he asked as they walked on. Jazz was still in his carrier, his brother a few yards in front, so Skinner strained to hear. 'Will that albino squirrel really be dead?'
He cursed himself for a fool at his abruptness. The child's parents had met violent ends; death was still a dangerous topic with him.
'Maybe yes, maybe no,' he replied as they descended the far slope of the bridge.
Change the subject. What? Anything. 'What do you want to be when you grow up, Mark?'
'Alive.'
The maturity, the perception, the sadness of the boy's response; all of them stunned him, left him staring speechless at the back of his little bowed head.
'You will be, son, you will be,' he promised.
And then a sound broke in, the sudden revving of an engine, a big powerful engine. Tyres screamed as they took a grip of the rough, tarmac road, gathering pace. He swung round, looking back over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the big, black vehicle and the sun reflecting off its dark, smoked windscreen, a quick blinding flash as it roared over the hump of the railway bridge and hurtled downwards, racing straight and unmistakably for him.
As fast as he could, yet feeling as if he was running on soft sand rather than tarmac, he turned back and raced towards Mark. He stretched out his right hand and scooped the boy up, throwing him up and over the roadside fence and the bush which was twined through it, into the field beyond. Then, in the same movement, with the roar of the car sounding ever louder in his ears he threw himself, and his burden, after him.
He was in mid-air when he felt the blow on his left leg, harder than a Mcllhenney tackle; it spun him round in his flight, sending him even further through the air, even further into the sanctuary of the field.
He lay there for a second, aware of Mark crying beside him. He tried to stand, to catch a glimpse of the vehicle's number plate as it roared away, but his leg was numb, and gave way under him. And then he realised that the carrier on his back was empty. He looked around and saw Jazz, yards away, lying on his back in a ploughed rut, motionless, looking up at the sky.
Desperately, he crawled and scrambled across the field towards him, over the newly turned land, until he reached him. Ignoring the growing pain in his leg, he pushed himself to his knees.
There was a light smile on the little boy's lips as he gazed upwards. Bob's mouth twisted into the start of a scream…
Until James Andrew looked at him and chortled. 'That was good, Dad. Can we do it again?'
53
Janine Bryant had insisted that Pringle meet her at the Daybelge offices in Melville Street. He assumed that she did not want a policeman, even one out of uniform, calling at her home on a Sunday, but when he arrived for their appointment, he found that the place was a hive of activity.
'All of the partners and the senior people are in,' the tall, trim woman told the Superintendent, as she carried two cups of coffee into the main meeting room, laying them on white coasters on the long table. 'Mr Johnston-White has been appointed acting head of the firm, and he's instructed everyone to call round their contacts and reassure them that our operations and strategies will be unaffected by Mr Shearer's death.'
She frowned. 'Whether or not they believe us; that's something else.'
'Won't Mrs Shearer have a say in what happens?' the detective asked. 'I've been assuming that her husband's share of the business will pass to her.'
'It's not as simple as that,' said Ms Bryant. 'The firm has a Keyman insurance policy in place which provides funds for the purchase of the interests of a deceased partner, and the partnership agreement incudes an undertaking to sell which is binding on the heirs.
'Not that Edith will be thinking about that right now, though. I spoke to her this morning before I came here. The poor woman; she's distraught. We all are, of course, but for her… Their son is catching a flight from Sydney around now, but it'll be the middle of tomorrow before he gets home.'
'Give me the flight time,' Pringle said. 'I'll have a car meet him and take him out to Gullane.'
He sipped his coffee, then picked up a chocolate digestive biscuit. 'So Mrs Shearer will be looked after by the firm?' he continued.
'Mmm.' The secretary nodded. 'That's the theory of it. There is one big practical difficulty, though. The Keyman policy pays out at various levels, depending upon who the deceased partner is, but there's a cap of five million pounds. That's the amount which will be available to Mrs Shearer.
'The problem is that when he died, Mr Shearer was about to conclude the sale of the partnership to the Golden Crescent Bank of Malaysia for eighty-five million pounds. Since he owned sixty per cent of the partnership equity, that rather makes a nonsense of the Keyman policy cap.
'The surviving partners are still keen that the sale should go ahead. In fact, Mr Johnston-White is flying to Kuala Lumpur tonight for a meeting with the Golden Crescent people. If it does, then Mr Shearer's estate will benefit accordingly. But if it doesn't… it can still be argued that the negotiations have established a valuation of his holding which is far in excess of the sum available from the Keyman policy.
'The business is cash-rich, but it couldn't afford an extra forty-five million pounds, not to buy back its own equity, at any rate.'
'I see what you mean,' murmured the detective, through his moustache.
'Who knew about this deal?' he asked.
'The industry has known for some time that Golden Crescent was in the market for an independent British fund manager, to kick-start a European expansion programme. There have been newspaper references, and, obviously, as the leading investment house in Scotland, Daybelge has been the subject of a lot of speculation.
'Other firms have been mentioned too, of course. Mr Shearer was aware that Golden Crescent had been talking seriously to another Edinburgh house, but he saw them off.'
'How important was Mr Shearer personally to this deal?'
Janine Bryant looked into her coffee cup as if it was tea, and she was trying to read the future in its leaves. 'We'll find that out when Mr Johnston-White gets to Kuala Lumpur. He's worried enough to be taking Mr Laidlaw, our solicitor, and one of his partners along. My feeling is that he was almost essential. Golden Crescent may well look elsewhere.'
'Where?'
'I'm afraid they may be tempted to go back to Paris Simons, the house they turned down in favour of us.'
'So Mr Shearer's death could turn out to be worth a hell of a lot of money to their partners?'
The woman gave him a knowing look. 'Oh yes, Mr Pringle, it could indeed.'
54
'We've got to stop meeting like this, pal, or people will talk,' said Bob Skinner, grimly, as Andy Martin looked down at him on his hospital bed, in a small private room in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. 'A couple of days ago and it was me doing the sick visiting.'
'What's the damage?' his friend asked, gesturing at his left leg, which lay outside the sheets, encased in plaster from the knee down.
'They're not sure yet, although they say there's nothing broken. It could be no more than severe bruising, but there's the possibility of ligament damage in my ankle. They've put this pot on for a week, to immobilise it and keep me from putting weight on it.'
'I wanted them to plaster the other leg too,' Sarah chuckled from the doorway, 'to make sure he stays off it. They wouldn't, though.'
Her husband looked at her, unsmiling. 'When I find the driver of that car,' he growled, 'I want at least one good leg to stand on… so I can kick his fucking head in with this stookey.'
'You're still sure it was deliberate?' Mar
tin murmured, gently. 'Couldn't it have been just an accident? A learner driver out on a back road.'
Skinner glared at him. 'I'm as sure as you were on Friday morning,' he snapped. 'The bastard was aiming at me — aiming at us! Christ, when I think of it…' His eyes were chilling.
'How are the boys?' Andy asked.
'Mark got a hell of a fright. As for the wee fella, he thought it was the best game I'd ever invented; he wanted me to do it again.' He grinned at the memory, through his rage. 'He's like a big rubber ball, that one…' The smile vanished as quickly as it had come. 'But he flew right out of the carrier, Andy. He could have hit his head on a rock or anything; for a moment I thought that he had.'
'Where are they now?'
'Alex is with them, out at Gullane,' Sarah answered. 'Alex?'
'Yes. And yes, Andy, I told her. She sends her very best — to both of you — and she really means it. She was as surprised as we were at first, but when she'd thought about it, she reckoned that it was the best thing that could happen to you.'
Martin nodded. 'That's good. I was just a bit worried about how she would take it.'
'Me too. But maybe it's the best thing that could happen to her too. It'll finally allow her to get over you.'
'Sure, she will.' He assured her, then turned to Skinner once more. 'But back to this car. As soon as I heard, I put an "all vehicles" call out for anything answering that description. I dropped Karen at the office to wait for any response, but to be honest, Bob, I thought at the time that we were way too late.'
'Aye, I know, Andy, but there was no more I could have done. My mobile was buggered by the impact, and it took me Christ alone knows long to get out of that field. I had to calm Mark down before I did anything else. Then I found that where we had landed up, we couldn't be seen easily from the road. I thought about asking Mark to go out on to the roadside and flag down a car, but he'd have been too frightened — and anyway, there was the outside chance that bastard might have come back.
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