Lethal Intent (23 page)

Skinner was aware of Elma, taking a seat on the couch beside him. 'They're not giving us any hope at all, Bob,' she said quietly, more in control than her husband. 'The doctor we spoke to said that there are only minimal signs of brain activity. They're going to observe her for a wee bit longer. Then, when we've all had time to reflect, they're going to talk to us about what her future might be. At least, that's how they put it.'

The DCC thought of Alex: she was only a few years older than Ross Pringle. 'Jesus,' he whispered. 'They haven't pulled any punches with you, have they?'

'We wouldn't want them to. Dan and I find that it's better to face the truth from the start than to have the rug jerked out from under us later.'

'Have you thought about what you'll do?'

She nodded. 'Yes, we have. Whether we'll be able to do it when the time comes, that's another matter, but we've reached a decision, one that we believe Ross would support.'

'Have the crime scene people finished?' asked Dan, abruptly.

'Yes, they have. In part, that's what I came to tell you. Arthur Dorward told me that the supply pipe to the heater was loose. There was enough getting through to make it function, but some gas leaked very slowly into the room. It built up over a matter of hours, until it reached lethal levels.'

'Was the room not ventilated?'

'Yes, but the vent was closed. It's winter and the things can be draughty, so they're often slid shut. To be honest, mine often are at home, the way the wind comes off the river sometimes.'

'The pipe was loose? How could that happen?'

'More easily than you'd imagine, according to Dorward. The two sections were linked by a bolt, and it's probable that it was accidentally kicked loose. A bump against it at the right angle might have been enough.'

Elma sighed. 'By what a fine thread a life can hang. We are all clinging to the planet by our fingernails, when you think about it.'

'Maybe it's best not to think about it,' said Skinner, quietly. 'If we did, we'd never get up in the morning, and we'd never let our kids outside.'

'George Regan will be wishing he hadn't,' Dan muttered morosely.

'No,' the DCC countered. 'George will not wish that. He let his boy grow up in the real world, and he didn't try to stop him being all the things a boy is. Suppose wee George had been locked in every night, likely he'd have found a way out. Give them freedom you're giving them respect, and respect is what you get back.'

'So what made him try to climb the castle rock by moonlight?'

'The romance of it, puberty… who knows? It beats me. But he did, that's all there is to it. What made Ross, or one of her pals, bump against that bolt and loosen it? Fate, Dan.'

Pringle gave a huge sigh. 'I suppose,' he exclaimed, glancing at Skinner. 'Do you ever worry about your own kids?'

'All the bloody time, man, in every way. My five-year-old son beat up two kids at his school not so long ago for calling him a copper's bastard or some such. My older one's so mathematically bright I fear it might consume everything else in his life. My younger daughter would stick her finger in an electric socket to see how it worked, if her nanny didn't watch her constantly. And even my older daughter isn't immune to trouble, although she seems to be living a very quiet life since her engagement broke up.'

'That won't last,' Pringle growled.

'Probably not.' He paused. The conversation was beginning to unsettle him. 'Listen,' he said, 'back to you. Is there anything, anything at all, that we can do to help you? Transport to the hospital, for example: just call the office and there'll be a car here for you. If things go better than you expect, and you need advice on care of the disabled, that sort of thing, ask and we'll arrange it.'

'That's good of you, Bob,' said Elma Pringle, evenly, 'but there's really only one thing you could do for us. Would you please process Dan's retirement as quickly as you can? We've discussed this over the last few hours, and we're agreed. However it goes with Ross, even if there's a miracle, I want my husband at home with me, for his own good and mine.'

Skinner looked from one to the other. 'Are you sure?' he asked.

'Dead certain,' Pringle replied. 'I'm sorry if it causes problems for you; I know you were looking to me to stay the course until you had an obvious successor ready, but the truth is, man, I'm done. I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me to wait until I'm less emotional, then think it through again. I'll do that if you insist, but I tell you now, the decision will be the same. Guys like you and me, we evolve backwards, Bob. Alongside these young guys, I feel slow, I feel tired, and I struggle to keep up with them, let alone command them. I wasn't always one, but now I've become a dinosaur, and I know it. So's Jimmy Proud, only it hasn't dawned on him yet. You should watch for the signs yourself… they might be a few years off yet, but you'll see them, and when you do, you'll know, if you're honest with yourself, that your time's up too. So let me go now, eh?'

The DCC looked down at the carpet, then back at the head of CID. 'You want it, Dan,' he told him quietly, 'you've got it. Give me a formal request to retire when you feel like putting it on paper; meanwhile I'll get it under way.'

'Thanks, Bob,' the veteran replied. 'I'm sorry I barked at you earlier on. You know, even when you were working for me and I was giving you a chasing, I always knew that you were a good guy.' He forced a smile. 'And there's one good thing. At least you won't have Greg Jay lobbying you for my job.'

Skinner would have laughed, but in that room of mourning he found himself unable. 'As if I'd ever have listened to him,' he said, as he rose.

Forty-two

'Delight' was pitching it a bit strong, Sean Green thought, but overall the place was not too bad. The furnishings were reasonably comfortable and, from what he had seen on his way through to the small office behind it, the kitchen looked clean.

'Hello,' said the bald, thick-set man behind the desk, as he rose to his feet, 'I'm Peter Bassam. You're the guy who phoned about the job?'

'That's right,' he said, extending his hand. 'John Stevenson.'

'Do you have references?' Bassam's English seemed impeccable, although his accent reminded Green of a Turkish villain in an old James Bond movie.

'Sure.' He took an envelope from his jacket and laid it on the desk. 'Plus there's a list of the places I've worked.'

'Where are you from? You don't sound Scottish.'

'Neither do you,' he responded, with a grin. 'I'm from Sussex originally; I came to Scotland a couple of years ago.'

'Why?'

'Girlfriend. I met her in Brighton, and followed her up north. She lives in Stirling so I took a job there.'

'Why are you moving on?'

Green fingered his nose, tenderly, under the new, plain-glass spectacles. 'Because her husband found out.'

'Ahh,' Bassam exclaimed. He grinned, and Green knew in that instant that he had the job. 'Always a risky game, my friend. What did the husband do?'

'He was a wholesaler; only a little guy, but he knew a couple of big guys.'

'This place you worked in Stirling, what was it?'

'Asian.'

'And before?'

'In Brighton? Asian again, but before that a couple of Cordon Bleu places, the kind where you're embarrassed about the size of the portions you're bringing to the table.'

'You won't have that problem here, I promise.' Bassam opened the envelope and slid out five sheets of paper, all different colours. 'These are all glowing, I take it,' he said.

'They're all honest. You'll find addresses and phone numbers on every one. Please, check me out.'

'I will, don't worry.' Somehow Green doubted that he would phone them all, but if he did, each call would be switched to an operative who would endorse the testimonial. 'When will I hear from you?' he asked.

'Where do you live?'

'I've rented a place in the West Port.'

Bassam glanced at his watch. 'That's good. Get yourself home and make sure you've got the proper dress for the job. My waiters are all expected to come to work in a clean white shirt, black trousers, black shoes and socks; we supply the red tie. Come back for six this evening, John, and I'll give you a trial.'

Green smiled. 'Thanks very much,' he said, meaning it. He shook Bassam's hand again as he rose.

'Just one thing,' said his new employer, with a raised eyebrow. 'If you ever meet my wife, don't get any ideas. The people I know break much more than noses.'

Forty-three

Andy Martin had passed through Broughty Ferry only once or twice since his move to Tayside, and he had never stopped there. It was not the type of place to give the police any trouble, and so there was little reason to go there other than to show the flag and keep its people content that they could sleep safely in their beds.

Councillor Diana Meikle, retired, slept safely in hers, that was for sure, thought Martin, as he approached her house, in a leafy street a few rows inland from the esplanade. Two large alarm bells were fixed to the facade of the detached villa, one above the garage, the other above the front door, and a sign on the wall advised that the premises were monitored by a security company. Since the house was probably listed, the policeman wondered if it had occurred to Mrs Meikle to seek planning permission for the installation, but he dismissed the idea as none of his concern.

The front door was opened by a maid attired in a black uniform. Andy remembered his father telling him, long ago, about an old doctor he had known whose household had a domestic servant, but he had supposed that, in urban Scotland at least, those things had died out with the tramcars.

'Who shall I say is calling, sir?' asked the woman, who looked not far short of sixty.

'Deputy Chief Constable Martin,' he told her. He had come in plain clothes, not wanting to advertise his visit. 'Mrs Meikle is expecting me.'

Clearly, the maid had known this all along, but she had been following the routine of a lifetime's service. 'Come this way, sir,' she said, 'and I'll announce you.' Stifling a smile, he followed.

He was shown into a conservatory, a great solid construction that had probably been built with the house itself, rather than one of the mass-produced extensions that the previous owners of his own home had added. Diana Meikle was pruning a bush as he entered. He had no idea what it was: he left gardening to Karen. The former councillor turned to greet him. 'Mr Martin,' she boomed, extending a hand in a way that seemed to invite either a kiss or a handshake. He chose the latter. 'Thank you, Gretchen,' said Mrs Meikle, dismissing the maid. He noticed, near two wicker armchairs, a table set for afternoon tea, complete with an old-fashioned cake-stand, adding to the impression that he had stepped back into his grandparents' time.

'Come and sit down,' his hostess instructed. For all the trappings around her, she did not seem in the least old fashioned. She was not much older than her maid and was dressed in slacks and a light blouse that had probably come from Marks & Spencer. 'Find me odd, do you?' she asked, reading his mind. 'Don't blame you. My late husband, God bless him, was quite a bit older than me, and I was middle-aged myself when we married. Gretchen was his maid; he was in shipping, and it was the norm in those circles. After he died I kept her on because I knew that's what he would have wanted. When you've been in domestic service for as long as she has you can't just go and work in a shop, can you?'

She poured two cups of tea and offered one to him. He took it, adding a little milk, but no sugar. 'Cake,' she offered, 'or a meringue?'

'No, you're quite right,' he said, helping himself to a plate, and a chocolate eclair.

She smiled at him as she sank into her chair and he perched uncomfortably on his, balancing the crockery. 'So, Deputy Chief Constable,' she began, 'what brings you here? When Graham Morton called to arrange your visit, he said there were a few things you wanted to discuss with me, but he wasn't specific. He did, however, use the word "discreetly". That suggests that you want me to spill some beans. Since there's nothing in my life of any interest other than my days on the council, I assume that's what you want to talk about.'

'Correct,' said Martin, laying the plate on the floor while he sipped his tea. 'You were a regional councillor rather than city, yes?'

'Indeed; and I still think that abolishing the regions was a great mistake. I served for ten years till the electors bumped me off. The Tories are an endangered species in most of Scotland; here we're pretty much extinct.' She looked at him sagely. 'I suspect that doesn't bother you.'

'It does, though,' he countered. 'How I vote isn't relevant; I believe that there should be the widest possible choice.'

'Say no more,' she announced. 'You're a Liberal.'

'Whatever I am, don't hold it against me, please.' He was warming to the woman.

'I promise you, it's nothing to me,' she said. 'Politics are a thing of the past for me; I often wonder why I became involved in the first place. Because of my husband, I suppose: he talked me into standing for the council. Now he would have held it against you. He hated the Liberals; he was very proud of the fact that his father was active in the defeat of Winston Churchill in Dundee in the 1922 election.'

'Churchill was a Conservative, surely,' Martin exclaimed.

'Only when it suited him, my dear. But you didn't come here for a history lesson, did you?'

'Not that far back, no.' He looked at her. 'Mrs Meikle, can I count on your absolute discretion?'

'When you can't I'll stop you,' she promised.

'Fair enough. In that case, what can you tell me about Tommy Murtagh? I gather that you and he were on the council at the same time.'

'That odious little man!' she exclaimed. 'Yes, we were, more's the pity. If the people of his ward had seen through him thirteen years ago, the first time he stood, we might have been spared a lot. You'll be familiar with the phrase "something of the night". When I sat opposite him in the council chamber I found it difficult to see anything of the day in Mr Murtagh. It simply appals me that he's now our country's First Minister. I argued long and hard against devolution, and I was in the foreground of the "No" campaign in the referendum. I warned that something like this would happen and now I've been proved right.'