'I didn't appreciate ...' he heard her begin in a chil ingly calm voice
. .. not hers, someone else's ... as he left Mario to what he had to do.
In the kitchen, he fil ed the kettle, found three mugs and dropped a tea bag into each one; he had no idea why he was doing it, other than to pass the time. He stood there and waited, trying to imagine how Pat Dewberry would embellish her story, now that no one was left alive to contradict her.
They had had no time to arrest her formal y; al they had been able to do was call two constables from the nearest patrol ing car to sit with her until DC Alice Cowan from Mcllhenney's Special Branch team could get there to relieve them.
'Neil.' McGuire's voice came from the hal . Mcllhenney stepped out and found him on the stairs, one hand on Maggie's waist as if he was steering her. He had put her bathrobe around her shoulders, but it hung loose on her and he looked away, embarrassed. Mario tossed him a car key, on its dealer fob. 'I dug that out of his pocket. His motor'll be outside; find it and run it into the driveway, as close to the house as you can get it.'
'What are we going to do?'
'I'm going to take him somewhere else. You don't need to have anything to do with it.'
'Fuck off
The big superintendent's smile gleamed. 'Since you put it that way, I'd welcome your help.'
Neil nodded and headed off, out into the night. He looked at the key and saw that it was for a Ford. A Mondeo and a Focus were parked close to each other, less than fifty yards away. Squinting in the street light, he found the button which operated the remote central locking. He pressed the unlock sign as he approached the two vehicles, heard a 'clunk' and saw the courtesy light come on inside the Focus. He slid in behind the wheel, adjusting the driver's seat to give himself more leg-room, then started the car and reversed quietly up his friends' drive, positioning the front passenger seat less than six feet from the side door of the house. He glanced around as he stepped out. Mario and Maggie lived in the sort of neighbourhood where people kept conventional hours; all the curtains were drawn in both of the houses that overlooked the drive.
McGuire was back in the living room, waiting for him. He winced as he took his first close look at the body. 'Ouch! What did she shoot him with? A cannon?'
'More or less. Here, help me get him into this.' He held up an old parka he had unearthed from the depths of his wardrobe; it was a winter garment with a big hood. 'Come on,' he said. 'Kevin O'Mal ey the consultant shrink's on his way here and I don't want him to see any of this.'
'Where are we taking him?'
'Home.'
Together they heaved the dead weight of George Rosewell into a sitting position, forced his arms into the jacket, which was, fortunately, two or three sizes too large for him, and zipped it up. Then, pul ing the hood as far over the ravaged face as they could, they pul ed him upright, and hauled him out to the car, looking to any distant observer, had there been one, as if they were seeing off the last drunk to leave the party.
They wedged him into the passenger seat, where Mario fastened the 300
safety belt as tightly as he could across his chest and round his waist.
'Last bloke I saw looking like that,' said Mcl henney, as they finished, 'was Dan Pringle after a CID dance.'
'This bastard's luckier than Clan; at least he won't feel like shit in the morning.' McGuire went back into the house and returned with the rol ed-up, bloodstained rug, which he shoved behind the front seats. 'On
you go now; you head off to Bonnington. Don't park, just drive around till you see me there. I'll be as quick as I can.'
Neil nodded. 'How's Mags?' he asked.
'In a trance; lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.'
'What have you told Kevin?'
'That she's had a breakdown, and that I want it kept quiet. He's going to take her to his clinic and keep her sedated and under observation for a couple of days. He's used to working with us; he'll keep it under wraps al right.'
'Wouldn't she be better here? I mean, shouldn't you be with her when she comes out of it?'
'She may not want to see me when she comes out of it. And to tel you the truth, old pal; I don't know if I want to see her.'
The bathroom was lit only by the strip-light above the mirror, in which he had shaved less than a day before. He lay back in the great oval tub, in the middle of the night, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life.
Paula sat beside him on the lid of a laundry basket, nursing a mug of coffee; with her hair tied in a ponytail and wearing only the long tee shirt in which she had been sleeping when he had leaned relentlessly on the entry-phone buzzer, after Mcl henney had dropped him off.
'Is this going to become a habit?' she asked.
'I couldn't honestly tell you,' Mario sighed.
She stood, drew her makeshift nightgown over her head, and lowered her long olive-skinned body into the bath beside him. 'Come on then, move your bum,' she murmured. He made room for her; it was big enough and then some.
'It won't do you any good,' he murmured, 'you know that, don't you.'
'Maybe not,' she replied, 'but I know when a man needs a hug. It's been a bad day, then?'
'The worst of my life,' he told her, truthful y. 'Remember wee Ivy?
She's dead; Neil and I found her at her place this afternoon.'
Paula sighed. 'Oh, no; the poor kid. What was it? An overdose?'
'An overdose of life.'
'And what about the man who kil ed my dad? Are you any nearer catching him?'
He nodded, sending ripples across the surface of the bathwater. 'We know where he is. We'l go and get him tomorrow.'
'You wouldn't kil him for me, would you?' She smiled as she asked, but he knew that she was deadly serious.
'I won't have to go that far.'
She pul ed back an inch or two, focusing on his face. 'What do you mean by that?'
'Don't ask. Don't ask any more questions. In fact, shut your bloody mouth.' He turned half round towards her, drew her to him and kissed her. Even in the warm bath, she could feel him shiver.
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'Here,' she whispered. 'I thought you said this wouldn't do me any good.'
'It won't,' he told her. 'We're going to hate ourselves in the morning.'
'You speak for yourself, big boy.'
They arrived outside the tenement building just after ten on Thursda morning; Mcllhenney looked the fresher of the two, but it was marginal.
Mario had awakened in Paula's bed three hours earlier, to find her propped up on an elbow beside him, looking down at him with a smile on her face. 'You did it again, you big bastard,' she had chuckled. 'You fell asleep on me.'
'Oops, sorry,' he had murmured in reply, reaching up to draw her down beside him. 'But I'm half-awake now.'
'You real y know how to make a girl feel wanted.'
He had barely finished shaving . . . the sign of the modem single woman, he had decided, was a Gil ette Mach III, stil in the wrapper, and a can of foam, in her bathroom cabinet... when his friend had arrived to collect him. He had asked no questions on the drive out to Ormiston, and Mario had told him nothing.
Pat Dewberry was cleaned up, made up and composed, when they walked into her living room, after Alice Cowan had let them in. 'He hasn't come home, you know,' she had said.
McGuire had simply shrugged. 'We'll have to look somewhere else, then.'
They had cautioned her and had told her that she would be taken into custody for questioning in connection with fraudulent claims from several insurance companies, and had called in a team from Detective Superintendent Brian Mackie's division to take her to their office in Lasswade.
And then they had headed for Bonnington, where they had found Willie Haggerty, Dan Pringle, Stevie Steele and four armed, uniformed officers, a sergeant and three constables, waiting for them.
'What's this about then, Mario?' asked the head ofCID. 'Stevie said you wanted me here, and an armed response team, but that was a
l . I thought I'd better tell the ACC too, then I found you'd phoned him.
You're fuckin' about with the chain of command here. Superintendent, and I don't like it.'
'Easy, Clan,' said Haggerty, calming the belligerent DCS. 'The lads 304
have been operating under my orders. You want to shout at anyone, shout at me.' He looked at McGuire. 'Okay. Tell us al your story.'
The big, swarthy detective nodded. 'We have information that the man who called himself Magnus Essary ... his real name is George Rosewell.. . may be holed up in a flat here; the one next door to where the girl was killed yesterday. We also believe that he killed her; we should be able to prove that when we get hold of him.'
'What else do you know about him?'
'He shot my Uncle Beppe. He also killed the priest Father Green, and the doctor who certified the death; we have his accomplice in custody.
She's spilled the lot.'
Haggerty frowned. 'If he killed the girl, what the hell's he doing hiding next door?'
'We think he probably watched the place,' Mcl henney volunteered, 'and came back here after our guys had finished. Not entirely daft when
you think about it.'
'And you think he's armed?'
'We must assume that.'
'Agreed; let's do it.'
The ACC nodded to the uniformed officers; weapons drawn, they led the way upstairs, moving silently until finally they reached the landing for which Ivy Brennan's taped-over apartment told them they had been heading. McGuire pointed to Rosewell's flat, and one of the constables stepped forward. He swung a heavy wooden bludgeon at the door; the frame shattered, it swung open, and the armed team rushed inside, their shouted warnings announcing their presence.
Inside a minute, the sergeant stepped out on to the landing. On floors above and below, they heard doors opening. 'He's in here, sir,' the officer told Haggerty.
The ACC led the detectives into the flat, following the armed sergeant. George Rosewell lay on his back, on a bloodstained rug, with half his
face gone; a great silenced automatic hanging loosely in his right hand.
Haggerty looked down at him. 'You've done us a favour then, pal,' he said, as if the man could hear him. 'Good idea, bad bastard that you were.'
'He's had two whacks at it,' Steele murmured, pointing at a shattered mirror, above the cold fireplace. 'His hand must have been shaking the first time he tried.'
'Made no mistake next time,' Haggerty grunted. 'Okay, that's it; cal up the meat wagon, Stevie, and let's have him carted off for post mortem.'
'Are you not going to get Dorward's team in before we move him?'
asked Pringle.
'Nah. No need for them. It's clear what happened; we'll do a residue test to prove he fired the gun. That'll be enough for the report to the fiscal.'
He looked at McGuire and Mcllhenney. 'That's it all sorted then, lads is it?' '
'Everything.'
'What about the woman, this Dewberry?'
'She's co-operating, sir. We've got her for the insurance scam, and she'll admit to dropping Rosewell off at Beppe's place the night he was shot.'
'What about the priest?'
'That'l have to stay unsolved. The priest, the doctor, and Rosewell are all dead. No decent brief will let her incriminate herself
'True. Well, come on; let's get moving. I haven't got al day; I'm the only bugger in the command corridor this week.' The squat Glaswegian headed for the door, McGuire by his side. 'How's Maggie, by the way? I heard you called her in sick.'
'She's got flu, sir. She'll be off for the rest of this week, at least, I'm afraid.'
'Not to worry. Manny English is back tomorrow, a bit early, and you've just sorted her investigation for her. Tell her I was asking for her.
In fact, you and Mcl henney take the rest of the week off yourselves. The pair of you look fucking knackered. Anyone would think you'd been up all night.' v
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He sighed inwardly when he saw her; she lay on the white single bed, on a mound of pillows, staring at the ceiling, as she had done almost two days before. 'Mags?' he whispered.
She turned towards him; she was deathly pale, her eyes were hollow, her red hair was lifeless. 'Well?'
'How much do you remember?' he asked.
Her face twisted. 'All of it,' she hissed. 'Every last bloody second; being paralysed with fear, thinking I was dead, him, the beast, getting down on me. I remember al of it, and I know for sure that I always wil .'
She grinned but there was only bitterness in it. 'Kevin says I'm suffering from some sort of post-traumatic shock. He thinks it might go back to the plane crash. How gallant of you, not telling him what I did
... or what he did, either.'
The brief smile became a scowl. 'You've stuffed me too, you realise, getting me out of there. Nobody took a vaginal swab, nobody went over me for body hair; there was no forensic examination, nothing. I'l have no defence now. Have they decided what they're going to charge me with? Are they going for murder, or will they accept a plea to culpable homicide? Or is Kevin going to certify that I'm crazy? Is that what this is all about?'
He sat on the bed and tried to take her hand, but she yanked it from his grasp. 'We recovered George Rosewell's body in his flat, yesterday morning. He shot himself. We believe that he saw a police car outside his accomplice's house and realised that we were on to him.'
She gazed up at him, her fuzzy brain trying to fol ow what he was saying. 'But he didn't.' Her voice was hoarse. 'I shot him; right in the fucking face.'
'We did a residue test which proved that he fired the gun. Would you like us to do one on you? It'll be clean, I promise. He committed suicide; that's what it says on Stevie Steele's report to the fiscal, approved by the head ofCID in your absence. Accept what Kevin says.'
She resumed her examination of the ceiling. 'And suppose I do?' she said. 'And suppose you're right and my father's death is written off that way? I still don't have a career left, do I?'
'You have flu, which will turn into viral pneumonia, which will require a period of convalescence. The ACC sends his best wishes for your speedy recovery.'
'Does Willie Haggerty know?' she asked him, her eyes suddenly sharp.
'Mr Haggerty knows what I've told him. He didn't get to be an assistant chief constable by asking the wrong bloody questions.'
'You are a cunning bastard, aren't you. I suppose I should be thanking you now.'
He shook his head. 'No, you shouldn't, not now, and not ever if you don't want to. If you want to thank anyone, thank Neil. He put his arse on the line for you and he really didn't have to. He had more to lose than me. I can walk away from the police if I want, and run the Viareggio Trust with Paula. If he was disgraced, al the shit would come down on Lou and the kids, and heavy at that, because of who she is.'
'Then thank him for me.'
'No. You have to do that yourself, when you're ready. Meantime, just get over that flu. While you're doing that, I'm going to give you something to think about.'
He left the room, only to return a moment later, carrying a toddler, a young, fair-haired boy. 'This is Rums,' he told her. 'He's Ivy's wee lad.
She's dead, and he's lost his mum, only he doesn't realise it yet. He has a grandmother in Portugal, but she doesn't want to know about him . . .
not that I'd let her anywhere near him even if she did. That makes him our responsibility, yours and mine . . . because you see, Mags, he's your half-brother. Who said I couldn't give you a kid?' Mario said, bitterly, and sat the child on the bed, beside her.
If he had expected her eyes to fill with tears at the very sight of the boy, he was disappointed, for what she did was look at him with something akin to fear in her eyes. 'I don't know if I want this particular kid,' she whispered. 'If what you're saying is true, as I look at him, al I can see right now, is our father, his and mine. I don't know if I can handle that.'
'But you have a sister. Where's the diffe
rence?'
'Why do you think I don't see her?'
He lifted Rufus again, betting him up on to his shoulder. 'Well, I tell you this, Mags. I'm looking after this boy from now on. I'm going to bring him up and teach him my values and beliefs, and I'm going to 308
prove that when it comes to character, heredity counts for fuck all. But I don't have to do that real y, because you're living proof yourself.
'Paula's helping me take care of him right now, until you're ready to play your part in raising him, with me or without me, however it works out.'
She shook her head. 'I don't know, Mario; I don't know.'
'No? Well I know this. If you stay huddled up in that bed then your old man's done for you right enough, because you'l have let him take away your strength, your self-belief and your pride. If you do that, you'l no longer be the woman I love, the woman I married.'
He looked at her, and suddenly he knew once more where he had always belonged, and he knew the one last thing he had to do to bury Jorge Xavier Rose. 'God damn it,' he exclaimed, 'I'm not going to let the bastard have that satisfaction.
I'm overruling O'Mal ey, right now. So do
what you're told. Detective Superintendent; get your shapely arse out of that bed and come home with Rufus and me.'
For a long time, Maggie looked at him, and at her brother. Then at last, she sighed, and with an act of will greater than ever before in her life, she threw back the covers.
The confirmation hearing had been postponed; the senator and heri husband were there after al . Skinner and Sarah stood by the graveside as Ian Walker recited the words of committal... they had gone on the minister's house after leaving Brand at the church. Nothing had been said about Bob's angry departure, and in the presence of her childhoo friend, Babs had become the perfect hostess.
Now it was almost over, the journey which had brought him from th Far East to stand beside the coffins of his parents-in-law. Along the way, he had seen more than any of them knew, and had lost more too. He let his gaze pass over the congregation in the cemetery, unable to guess their numbers, noting the irony of the Secret Service presence.
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