Lethal Intent (30 page)

He sat on the bed and dialled Dan Pringle's mobile number, the one that he had left. He did not expect good news, and when his veteran colleague answered his call, he could tell in an instant that there was none. 'She's gone, Bob,' he said. 'Peacefully, this afternoon. Her mother and I were with her when they . . . when it happened.'

'I can't tell you how sad that makes me, old friend. My condolences to both of you. I'll call on you soon, once you've had some time to grieve together.' He replaced the phone in its cradle. He was back in the real harsh world, ripped away from the happy island that his day with the kids had been. 'Maybe Sarah's right after all,' he whispered to himself. 'Maybe I should turn all this in.'

He pushed the notion away and dialled McGurk. 'Hi, Jack, it's the DCC. Have you heard from Dan?' he asked at once.

'Yes, sir,' the sergeant replied, quietly.

'It's just too bad, isn't it? And her just a kid too. Was that what you called to tell me?'

'Not that alone, sir; there's something else. About twenty minutes ago, the control room at Fettes had a call from a kid. She told them that her name was Lauren McIlhenney, and that she was calling from the top of the ski slope at Hillend. She said that she was with Detective Superintendent McGuire and that someone had abducted her brother. Mr McGuire had set off in pursuit and wanted snow-equipped officers there, pronto.'

Skinner could barely take in what he was being told. 'Jesus!' he whispered. 'What did they do?'

'They took her at her word. They had caller ID; it was the superintendent's phone she was using. The duty inspector in the control room ordered all available units to the scene.'

'Good. And Neil? Have you, has anyone, called Neil?'

'I vetoed that, sir, until I'd spoken to you. I hope my judgement was right, but I didn't want him charging up that hill like a one-man army.'

'Your judgement was spot on, Jack. Having Mario there is enough; my main worry is that if he catches the abductor, they'll have to scrape him off the hillside. Leave Neil to me. I'll call him, and while I'm doing that I want you to get a car to pick me up from Gullane and take me to the scene. I'd drive myself, but I've had a couple of beers.'

'Very good, sir. Er, you'll let me know how it turns out, will you? With the boy?'

'Sure.' He hung up once more, and took a deep breath; when he was ready he dialled McIlhenney's cell-phone number.

'Yes?' Skinner could tell by the background noise that his friend was on the road.

'Neil, it's me. Where are you?'

'We're on the M8, just short of Livingston, heading for Glasgow. Bandit's taking me to his favourite curry shop before we go to the pub.'

'Forget it for tonight: your stake-out has been cancelled.'

'By whom?'

'By me, for fuck's sake! Isn't that enough?'

'Sure. Sorry, boss. What's up? Is the situation resolved?'

'No, and it won't be tonight either. Who's driving?'

'I am.'

'Well, come off at the first exit, head back to Edinburgh, check in your firearms, drop off Mackenzie and go home. Understood?'

'Yes, but…'

'But nothing; that's a direct operational order, so obey it, please… to the letter.'

Sixty

George and Jen Regan were the last people Stevie Steele had expected to find on his doorstep when he answered the ringing of the bell.

He and Maggie had made no announcement in the office of the fact that they were living together, although their relationship was known to Mary Chambers. She had her own reasons for discretion but, grapevines being grapevines, they had assumed that sooner or later it would become common knowledge. Still, there was a moment's awkward silence when he saw them, ended the instant he realised that they might misunderstand the reason behind it. 'Hey,' he exclaimed, 'this is a surprise. Come on in.' He led them up the stairs to the hall.

'I hope we're not interrupting anything,' said George.

'Not at all. We're in the play-room, where we keep the music and the telly.'

'We?' Jen quizzed him. 'Have you got a new girlfriend, Stevie?'

'House-mate, actually.' He stood to one side. 'Go on in and say hello.'

For the second time inside two minutes there was a period of stunned silence, until Maggie broke it. 'You mean you didn't know, George?' she asked, with a smile.

'Well… no, I didn't. I knew you two were friendly, but…'

'Not this friendly? We've been living together for a few weeks now. The bosses all know about it, so that's okay; we just haven't put it on the Torphichen Place notice-board, that's all.'

George looked from one to the other as he struggled for words. Eventually Stevie let him off the hook. 'Mags, get some glasses. I'll get a bottle of something from the rack.' He disappeared into kitchen, returning with a bottle of Bornos, a Spanish
sauvignon blanc
that they had found on a website. He filled the glasses and handed them round. 'Grab a seat,' he told their visitors. 'Saturday tends to be a chill-out day with us. We do all the domestic stuff on a Sunday morning.'

'I'm amazed,' said George, finally, 'about you two. I won't say I hadn't wondered, but I never suspected that you were…'

'Shacked up?' Stevie suggested.

'If you want to put it that way, yes. You've covered your tracks well.'

'The remarkable thing is that we haven't covered our tracks at all,' Maggie told him; she dug Stevie in the ribs. 'It makes me wonder about the efficiency of our divisional CID.' She paused. 'But enough about us: how are you two getting along?'

The question seemed to bring a cold draught into the room. 'As well as we can, Maggie,' Jen replied. The two women knew each other, having met at several social events. 'We've tried to keep busy; it's only since we've run out of things to do that we've really hit the wall. Neither of us can get our heads round it yet: it's all a bad dream, only we know we're not going to waken up.'

'Have you been sleeping?'

'The doctor had to knock me out eventually. The Valium, they keep it at bay… until they wear off, that is.' She looked at her husband, in a chair opposite hers. 'As for him, he's had his own form of therapy.'

'I know,' said Stevie, looking at his colleague. 'He told me about it.'

'And that's what brings us here,' George announced. 'Out of the blue, I had a call this afternoon, from a woman I spoke to when I went to the car park. She remembered something, and phoned to let me know about it' He repeated Betty Bee's story in every detail, laying particular emphasis on the time of her encounter with the running man. 'What do you think?' he asked. 'I need an objective view on this. Does that witness statement alone offer sufficient grounds for keeping the investigation open? If it was Mr and Mrs Joe Public's son, not ours?'

Stevie looked at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the line of the fine plaster cornice. 'Do you mean will I take it to Mary Chambers?'

'I suppose so.'

'Yes, I will.'

The room seemed to brighten as a wave of hope swept across George Regan's face. 'Thanks, Stevie,' he sighed, with pure relief in his voice. 'I was afraid you'd say I was grabbing at moonbeams.'

'No way. Sarge, you've forgotten something: you're a bloody good detective. For as long as we've worked together, I've always trusted your instincts.'

'Well, that's good, because I'm going to fly another kite at you. Our son dies in a freak accident. A few days later, another policeman's child is as good as killed by a dodgy gas fire. Coincidence?'

'Bob Skinner once told me,' said Maggie, quietly, 'that he flat out does not believe in coincidences.'

'Let's try it on him, then,' Stevie declared. 'I'll talk to Mary Chambers first, as I must, since she's our boss; if she clears it, I'll take Miss Bee's story to the big man himself, and see if he lets me run with it.'

Sixty-one

'Uncle Mario! Uncle Mario!'

The voice was that of an angel. Everything around him was white; he was floating on a cloud.
'I am dead,'
he thought.
'And there is another side, even if it is bloody cold.'

'Uncle Mario!' The angel's call sounded again, but closer this time. But then he felt a slap across his face and a blinding pain shoot through his head, advising him forcefully, that alive or dead, he was not in heaven. Since the alternative was not to his liking, he pulled himself to a sitting position and rejoined the real world.

Lauren had been four years old when last he had seen her in tears. She was on her knees beside him, her right mitten clutched in her left hand, the other red from hitting him.

'Hey,' he muttered, his voice weak, his breath forming a cloud in the snow. 'I'm all right, kid.' He tried to wink at her and the flash of agony returned, drilling a hole in his head behind his right ear, to make it clear to him that he was not.

'What are you doing here?' he asked. 'I thought I told you to ski down.'

'There was too much fresh snow,' the girl replied. 'It looked too dangerous, so I followed you instead. What happened to you?'

The memory came flooding back, and with it the fear, renewed. 'I was ambushed,' he told her. 'Whacked on the head.' Shakily, he pushed himself up, finding a precarious footing on the hillside. 'Did you make the call?'

'Yes. They said they would do what you said.'

'Good. This time I really do want you to wait here.' He looked around, trying hard to focus. There were more tracks on the ground, heading into the gloom. The snow had eased to little or nothing, but it was almost dark. In the distance he could see the glow from the floodlit slope and, beyond, the orange halo that covered the night city, offering the false illusion of safety, 'I'm going after them again. You should hear policemen soon. When you do, yell for all you're worth. You're good at that.'

He turned and headed after the tracks once again, but much more slowly this time. His legs were trembling under him, and the pain in his head would not abate. He drove himself on, though, ready in his heart to kill his attacker with his bare hands when he found him again. But if he did not find him again…

He did his best to banish his worst fear and pressed on. Gradually the light changed before him, and the landscape changed with it. He realised that he had come to the edge of a plantation of trees, and that the tracks led inside. He closed his eyes and prayed.

When he opened them again, a cloud had cleared away and the scene was moonlit. He looked into the forest. It would be impossible to follow the tracks; from that point on it would be guesswork. 'Please, Spence,' he murmured, 'please be alive.'

He stepped into the wood, knowing that there was no finer place for another ambush. At once it grew pitch dark; a branch slapped across his face, and round the right side of his head, setting a new fire burning within it. He stopped: a few yards in and he was totally lost. He was effectively blind: there was no way forward.

And then he heard a sound; distant at first then louder, coming towards him. He backed away, retracing his steps without turning, his eyes on the direction of the crashing din. He wondered whether there were deer that high up, in such weather.

Before he could dwell further on the question, the noise was upon him, a small dark bundle, running for his life, scraped and cut by the lashing branches, but safe, crashing into his arms. 'Spence!' he cried, a sob choking him. 'Are you okay?'

Without waiting for an answer, he turned towards the light and to the way out of the woods. The snow had turned heavy once again, although not as bad as before. He looked at the boy and realised that his weather-suit had gone. 'How did you get away?' he asked.

'He had a strap attached to me,' Spencer told him. 'In the dark he couldn't see me unfasten my snowsuit. When I had it done, I fell over, rolled out of it and ran away.'

'Is he coming after you?'

'I don't know.'

Mario's head swam. He knew that he was concussed, and that flight was beyond him. And so he stripped off his own suit and made the boy climb inside it, then turned, shivering already in sweater and jeans, but more than ready to face the kidnapper, should he be foolish enough to risk his wrath.

Sixty-two

Alex heard the front door open; a few seconds later, her father appeared in the doorway of the sitting room. She checked her watch. 'It's nearly nine. What sort of time is this to be crawling in at?'

'Stop it,' he pleaded. 'You sound just like your mother when you say that.' He walked towards her. 'Have you eaten?'

'No, I waited for you. I've got a table booked at the Golf Inn, if you want. They said as long as we got there before nine thirty they'd feed us. Don't worry, I'm paying.'

'Trish is in?'

'Yes, her boy-friend's working tonight.'

'Come on, then. I'll change my shirt and we'll go.'

As he stepped into the light of the hall she saw him more clearly. 'God,' she said, 'you look bushed. Are you sure you want to go? I can always whip something up.' And then a memory came back to her. 'Oh, shit, I forgot: Stevie Steele called earlier. He said he needs to talk to you.'

'It had better be urgent,' Bob growled. 'Bugger the shirt, they can take me as I am. Come on, I'll phone him from the restaurant.' He fetched a heavy leather jacket from the cloakroom off the hall, and they headed for the door.

The restaurant was a few hundred yards away from the house; in less than ten minutes they were seated at a corner table, and Alex was ordering wine from the extensive list. As soon as the waiter had gone her father took out his phone and dialled Steele. It was Maggie Rose who answered. 'Hold on, I'll get him,' she said.

'Thanks, Mags. Oh, and before I forget, I want to see you in my office next week, as soon as we can both fit it in.' He waited, until her partner came to the phone. 'You wanted me,' Skinner grunted.

'Yes, sir. I'm sorry about the timing, but I don't think it can wait. I've spoken to Superintendent Chambers and she agrees. I want to reopen the investigation into George Regan's son, and link it with DCS Pringle's daughter's so-called accident.'