‘Sit yourselves down,’ I said, moving across to my table. I was ready for another coffee, but Mackenzie doesn’t, Payne was a guest, albeit a hired one, and if I’d asked McDermid, as junior officer present, to go and fetch four from the canteen, there would probably have been a sexism complaint, for that’s the reputation she carries, so instead I looked in my fridge, found a six-pack of Pepsi with four left in it and handed them round.
I looked at David. ‘Fire away,’ I told him. ‘What have you got?’
‘Varley,’ he replied, with a vehemence that I hadn’t seen in him since the old days. ‘By the balls.’
Payne held up a cautionary hand. ‘Maybe,’ he murmured.
‘Come on, Lowell,’ Mackenzie exclaimed. ‘Of course we do.’
‘Yes, I know,’ the Strathclyde man said. ‘On the face of it we have, but on the basis of what we’ve discovered, what charge could be laid against him?’
‘Guys,’ I interrupted, ‘I’m not here to chair a debate between you. Enlighten me, and I’ll tell you what we can do and what we can’t.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ The superintendent’s tone was even but his eyes let me know that I must have barked at him just a little, and that if he ever overtakes me in rank he’d remember it.
‘The Varleys’ domestic accounts are unexceptional,’ he began. ‘They take us nowhere. However, there’s another that we weren’t meant to know about. It’s in First Caledonian’s offshore division, and there’s a hundred and thirty-seven grand sitting in it, paid in, over an eight-year period, by a company called Holyhead SA.’
‘Spanish?’ I asked.
‘Andorran. Lowell’s been in touch with the British consulate in Barcelona and they’ve checked for us. The titular is an Andorran lawyer, but the beneficial owner of the company is Freddy Welsh.’
I shrugged. ‘Bloody obvious, that; Anglesey Construction, Holyhead SA. . the Welsh connection, get it? The offshore account: whose name’s it in? Jock’s?’
‘No,’ Mackenzie admitted. ‘It’s in his wife’s.’
‘Then DCI Payne is right. What are you going to charge Jock with? We might be able to do her for money-laundering, but if the cash in Holyhead’s come from Anglesey Construction, tax paid, then we’re stuffed on that too.’
‘But it hasn’t.’ I turned to McDermid as she spoke. ‘There’s no connection between the two,’ she continued. ‘Welsh’s accountant swears he knows nothing about it. I’ve just spent some time interrogating him. He wasn’t pleased either; we had an extended session last night. All the money going in and out of Anglesey Construction is accounted for.’
‘So the Holyhead cash comes from another source, or sources,’ I muttered, to myself mainly. ‘How much is in it?’
‘About seven million,’ Payne said.
‘Jesus,’ I gasped.
‘It’s an investment vehicle and it’s done very well over the years; external deposits are about four and a half, over an eight-year period.’
‘Eight years,’ I repeated. ‘Same length of time as Ella Varley’s offshore account’s been open?’ I asked McDermid.
The sergeant nodded. ‘Exactly.’
‘How do we know all this detail?’
‘The Andorran lawyer coughed,’ Payne replied. ‘He didn’t fancy the Spanish police turning up on his doorstep.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘So where are we? We’ve got Welsh owning an offshore company holding funds that don’t relate to any legitimate taxed income that we know of.’
‘Or that the Revenue knows of,’ McDermid volunteered. ‘DI Regan’s checked that.’
‘Thanks. That gives us cause to pull Welsh in. Going on from that, Mrs Varley’s account gives us reason to lift her. However it still doesn’t let us lay a finger on Jock, and based on what he tried to do to Alice, he isn’t likely to lay down his life to save his wife’s.’
‘No,’ Lisa ventured. She doesn’t smile a lot does DS McDermid, so when she did I had a feeling a nice one was coming. ‘But there is the conservatory.’
I grinned back at her. ‘Tell me more,’ I invited.
‘About ten years ago,’ she began, ‘the Varleys added a big extension on to their house in Livingston. Alice says it’s enormous, and must have cost a packet, but that can’t be verified. It was built by Freddy Welsh, but there’s no record of the job in his firm’s records, and there’s no record of the Varleys ever having paid a penny for it.’
‘Whose name’s the house in?’
‘Joint.’
‘Lisa,’ I laughed. ‘You win the major prize. Time we paid another call on Inspector Varley.’
Sarah Grace
I didn’t invite him for anything more than dinner, I promise. Enticing him into my bed was not on my agenda.
It was supposed to be a discussion about the kids, until I asked him what was troubling him and it turned into something else. Cards were laid on the table, by both of us. I told him what I thought about the witch and how she’d operated, how I believed she’d sensed his needs and manipulated him. He didn’t deny any of it. Looking back, I realised just how easily and smoothly she’d done it, and when I did, I saw, for the first time, that she’d been even cleverer than I’d thought. She’d manipulated me as well.
I’d been persuaded that the gulf between Bob and me was too big and that the most important thing for us to do was whatever would be best for the children. He said the words, but I’m sure she put most of them in his head. I went along with it with nary a murmur. I decided to make myself scarce, to accept a no-fault divorce and go back to the USA, seeing the kids in the holidays, with their father having custody during term time. For the only time in my life, I gave up without a struggle. Yes, it may have worked to my advantage financially, but if I’d believed that the children would have been better off in America, that wouldn’t have mattered.
When I told Bob to get me a glass and pour me some of the wine he’d brought, what I was really saying was, ‘To hell with that! Let battle commence.’ And when I fight, there are no rules.
Just before that I’d made a crack about indifferent sex, and I reckon it was right on the button. I’ve never known him hungrier. After I’d kissed him. . I’m not certain who made the first move, but I suspect it was me. . the only thing I said to him, for the rest of the night, was ‘Phone Trish.’ He did; I heard him tell her he’d be very late and that she should lock up. By the time he’d finished, I was waiting for him, in the bedroom where only Seonaid and I had slept since I moved into the house.
I have no idea when I finally nodded off, but I do know it wasn’t for long. I have difficulty describing how I felt when I woke and saw him there, his grey-stubbled face half-buried in the pillow, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. It took my mind a second or two to adjust, to reassemble the pieces of the night before, and as it did a feeling washed through me like a great cleansing wave, leaving behind it a sense of. . What?
Not deja vu, for this was no vague feeling, it was reality.
Not triumph, for Bob could never be a trophy, another notch on my bedhead.
Not guilt, hell no, for we hadn’t done anything that was going to trouble my conscience.
Homecoming. A sense of homecoming; that’s the phrase that fits it best, the way you feel at the end of a long journey, when you’re back where you belong, in the place you love.
His right arm lay across my hip. It moved, very slightly, then he farted, quietly. That made me smile; it was just like old times. His eyelid lifted slightly and I caught a glimpse of confusion, then it widened and he was awake.
He rolled on to his side, facing me, then pushed himself up on his left elbow. I looked at him properly, in daylight, for the first time. His body hadn’t changed much, since the last time I’d seen it. If anything it was leaner, and his muscles were firmer; to most eyes, that would seem good, but not to mine. When Bob’s content, he tends to put on a little weight. ‘Where is it?’ he murmured, drowsily.
‘What?’ I was still grinning.
‘The fuel can.’ He yawned. ‘Christ, talk about pouring petrol on a fire.’
‘Are you going to blame me for that?’ I asked.
‘No, not for a second.’
‘Are you going to blame yourself?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘For what?’
‘I think it’s called adultery. There are cultures where it’s still a capital crime.’
I reached up and grasped a clump of chest hair; that’s still dark, unlike his beard and his scalp. ‘And you’re very good at it. And you’ve got form. You’ve got a rap sheet as long as your arm.’
A corner of his mouth flickered. ‘Pot. Kettle. Black.’
‘Yeah. So?’
‘Are you going to grass me up?’
I shook my head. ‘Never. I will never compromise you in any way, not ever again.’
‘Why not? You’ve got cause.’
‘Because I love you, fool.’
‘Honey,’ he began.
‘That doesn’t mean I want you back,’ I added, very quickly. ‘I’m settled here. I don’t want to uproot myself again; hell, I won’t. Also, the kids are used to us now, the way we are, and they’re happy with it. Change that and we’d only confuse them. No, lover. Whatever happens to your domestic situation, I’m happy with mine. If this is a one-off,’ I flashed my eyes at him, ‘or rather a three-off, so be it.’
He sighed. ‘You’re some woman, you know that.’
‘Yes, I do know.’
‘Maybe too much for me.’
‘Don’t bullshit me,’ I told him, ‘or lie to yourself.’
‘In that case,’ he said, his smile widening as he slid down beside me once more, ‘remember that quirk of mine when we went out for a drink?’
I got his drift. ‘Oh yes,’ I edged closer to him. ‘You never finished on an odd number.’
Later, I made him breakfast, while he showered. I know, without asking him, that he checked the cabinets in my bathroom for razors, shaving cream and all the other guy stuff. . you can take the man out of CID, etc. . but there’s never been any for him to find. If I’d known that our encounter was going to happen I might have bought some, out of pure bitchiness, but on reflection I’m glad that I didn’t.
Just watching him eat, up at the kitchen bar, unshaven and still drowsy, gave me the wobbles again. ‘What are we going to do, babe?’ he asked, after he’d washed the last of his toast down with the orange juice that I’d made him take, instead of coffee. He drinks way too much of that stuff.
‘We?’ I began. ‘I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. Once you’re gone I’m going to lie in a warm bath and soothe some parts that haven’t seen any action for a while. Then I’m going to do some housework and prepare some lectures for next week. That’s the short term. After that, I plan to carry on as before. How about you?’
‘Honestly?’ he said.
‘There can be no other way between us from now on.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll buy into that. In which case. . I haven’t a fucking clue. I don’t know anything any more. I’m not sure why I married Aileen, I’m not sure why you and I divorced, I’m not even sure why we married in the first place.’
I laughed. ‘Bob, you’re a serial marrier; you’re an automatrimonialist. How about that for a new word? You can’t help it; it’s what you do. That’s what. .’ I had been going to say, ‘. . made you a soft touch for her,’ but that might have ruined the moment.
‘Never again,’ he declared. ‘Seriously though. What should I do? Tell me. I’ll make allowances for your natural bias, I promise.’
‘Don’t let it fester, that’s all I can say; we did, and that was wrong. Clearly, you’ve got a problem. You have to face up to it, both of you. But whatever you do you, big boy, have to be able to look me in the eye afterwards and make me believe it was worthy of you.’
‘What if Aileen comes back from Glasgow tonight,’ he asked, ‘and tells me that I was right and she was wrong and she’s withdrawing support from the police bill? Will we have a problem then?’
I frowned at him. ‘Will she say that before or after she tells you that she’s pregnant by the Holy Spirit?’
He chuckled. ‘Sure, I know it’s that unlikely. . but what if?’
‘Then she’ll have compromised her principles. How will that make you feel? Are you gonna admire her for her courage or think less of her for her weakness?’ I put my hand on his cheek and made him look at me.
‘Bob, my darling,’ I said, ‘you’re asking me questions that only you can answer. All I can tell you is what I see in you, now, with the benefit of time apart and a little objectivity. I see a man who’s put so much into his career that he has nothing left for himself. I see a man who’s in a state of complete emotional confusion, because he can’t define his existence outside the police force any longer. You said as much last night.’
‘I suppose I did,’ he conceded. ‘And how long do you think it’s been going on?’
‘Probably since Alex left home; but it’s coming to an end.’
‘What makes you a psychology expert?’ he asked, but lightly, not challenging me.
‘I’m a Bob Skinner expert, that’s all; number one in my field.’
‘You’d rank yourself above Alex, would you?’
‘Yes, because she’s too close. I’m standing a little further back than I used to, so I can see you better.’
‘If you’re right,’ he ventured, ‘given your diagnosis, without treatment what’s the prognosis?’
‘You crash and burn as a husband. That’s happening already. Then it begins to affect your judgement and you’re no longer the cop you were either. You probably still function in the job, but you become what you’ve never wanted to be, a wholesale delegator, like Jimmy Proud, but without his skill and subtlety. Effectively, you let Maggie and Mario lead the force, and you push paper around your desk till gold watch time. Then you retire and you have no idea who the hell you are, or what. You pick up a few non-executive directorships, but you don’t contribute much and feel like a prostitute. At home, Mark’s at college, James Andrew’s halfway through high school, and Seonaid. . you still won’t really know who she is. Anyway, by then she’ll be living with me; maybe they all will and you’ll be alone, playing golf obsessively and drinking too much.’
‘Only there won’t be a force for me to have left,’ he pointed out, ‘once this bill goes through, not one that I’ll want any part of.’
‘And that’s what scares you most. That’s what’s brought you to the tipping point, the prospect of losing the only stable part of your existence. She can see that fear, because she isn’t so close to you that she’s blind to it, and she thought she could play on it to make you back the bill.’
He stared at his plate for a while. ‘That’s not the only scary part,’ he whispered. ‘What you said earlier, that future you painted for me. The man you described just now was my father. That’s what he’d become by the time he died. Alex has virtually no memory of him.’
He blinked, hard. ‘So, Doc, what’s the treatment?’
‘The facing of some facts,’ I replied, ‘the main one being that Myra is dead, that she ain’t coming back, and that she was a one-off you can’t use as a template for a living partner. The second is that you are far bigger than any police force, not the other way around. If circumstances make you quit, it’s not the end of your useful life; it may be the beginning. Accept those truths and everything else will work out, for you will be able to see clearly again.’
‘So I should back off from opposing the single force?’ he ventured. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Hell no! You truly are opposed to it, and you alone can put the case against; nobody else will. You’d hate yourself for ever if you ducked out of that. You’d feel like her fucking lapdog. And by the way, if Aileen did come over to your side, you’d think she was yours.’
He reached out for the orange juice carton a couple of feet away and poured himself some more. ‘Did I rea
lly do that to you?’ he asked. ‘Try to turn you into Myra?’
‘Not so much that; you tried to make me live up to her, at least to your vision of her. You may not have realised it, but there wasn’t a single day went by without you talking about her. “There was this time,” you’d begin, or “You know what Myra would have done, don’t you,” as if I possibly could.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, contritely. ‘That must really have pissed you off.’
‘It didn’t until after you were stabbed, and recovered, then you started to reject me, because you had an obsession about her accident not being an accident. I could handle it until then.’
‘Every day?’
I nodded. ‘Every day.’
‘Now that is odd, because I’m sitting here thinking, how often do I mention her to Aileen, and you know what? I don’t believe I do, not ever, not at all. What do you make of that, quack psychologist?’
For a moment I thought he was being sarcastic, but he wasn’t. ‘No,’ I countered. ‘You tell me.’
‘That I can’t see her in the same picture as Myra at all. See, if I did talk about her to you as often as that, I wasn’t comparing you, babe, honest. It was because I had this vision of her being there with us, and looking on, and approving of us. Sometimes I felt her presence, love, I really felt her presence.’ He looked me in the eye. ‘What I’m about to say now, you’ll think is bullshit, but it’s not. That doesn’t happen any more. When I’m in the house with Aileen, in the kitchen or in the garden room or wherever, the only other person I ever think about is you.’
I didn’t know what to make of that one so I didn’t begin to try. Instead I went round to the other side of the bar, to where he sat, gave him a quick hug and told him, ‘You have to be going, honey. Back to our kids.’ I looked up at the kitchen clock: seven twenty five. ‘With a bit of luck, you’ll be there before they’re up and about.’
Funeral Note bs-22 Page 23
