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Within a minute he had Sharp back on line.
"It's on the way, sir," the inspector reported, briskly.
"That's fine. Now, still without causing any fuss, I want you to call
the head of CID for me. Get him here, with whoever's on duty in the
Western Division office, plus a full scene-of-crime team, including a
medical examiner. And do not, repeat do not, let anyone into this
house."
Five.
"Busy Friday in the Borders, was it?" Maggie flashed a smile as she
asked the question, but nothing but indifference showed in her eyes.
"You know what Fridays are like, Detective Superintendent Rose," he
answered; nothing had been asked directly, no lie had been told. "What
about yours?"
"My division's always quiet on a Friday. All my criminals are out
getting drunk."
She peered at him as he came to stand beside her, filling the kettle
from the kitchen tap. "You should keep an electric razor in that
office of yours, McGuire. You need a shave."
"It's my new weekend look."
She sniffed. "At least you don't need a wash. That's a very fetching
shower gel you've been using."
He ignored her jibe. "Where's Rufus?" he asked.
She nodded towards the window. "Outside, in his den."
He looked out into the garden and saw that the door of the new
summerhouse, where the toddler kept his larger toys, was open. "He's
happy, then. I thought we might take him down to North Berwick later
on."
"If you like, "his wife muttered.
As he put the kettle on its stand and switched it on, he saw the
tension in her jawline. "Mags, what's up?" he asked.
She turned and stared at him, incredulity in her eyes. "Are you
serious? You come swarming in here at going on eleven on a Saturday
morning, and you ask me what's up?"
"Mags
"Don't." She held up her hands as if to fend him off, although he had
made no move towards her. "Just don't. I know it's all my fault. I
can't be a wife to you any more, so how can I expect you to be a
husband to me? I'm sorry; I shouldn't have got sarky with you. Things
being as they are I suppose I should be grateful that you come home at
all."
"I'll always come home, honey. You know that."
"God knows why."
"Yes, he does, because I stood before him and told him. I love you."
"What's to love?" She slapped her abdomen, violently.
"There's more to you than that."
"Just as well," she retorted, 'for I was never very good at it
anyway."
He winced. "You weren't.. ." he began, but she cut him off.
"Don't look at me like that, it's true. That particular part of
marriage has always been an effort for me, especially since we found
out that we couldn't have kids. It was difficult enough when there was
some point to it. I tried, for your sake, but now I just can't, not
any more."
The sound of boiling water reached a crescendo, then subsided as the
kettle switched itself off. "Okay," he said, reaching for two mugs.
"I've told you; I understand."
"Yes, and I understand you too. Here, let me do that." She brushed
him aside and took the mugs from him, then spooned coffee granules into
each one. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch."
He sighed. "You're not. Shop; let's talk shop," he exclaimed,
suddenly.
"If you insist," she agreed, brightly. "I had a chat with our
colleague Detective Superintendent Jay yesterday. He and I are
thinking about having a joint raid on those saunas your cousin Paula
owns. We have some in each of our divisions."
He gasped. "Don't you bloody dare!" he snapped. "Those places are
licensed and they're above reproach."
Her laugh was filled with sarcasm. "They're sex shops, Mario."
"Maybe, but that's how we control the game in Edinburgh, and you and
Greg Jay know it. Paula doesn't take a penny from the women who work
there and she makes sure they're clean and drug-free."
"I know, you've told me this before. She's really a social worker."
"In her own way." He looked at her, eyes narrowing. "You're pulling
my chain, aren't you?"
"Just a bit."
He returned her faint smile. "I've changed my mind; you are a bitch.
Anyway, she's selling them."
"She is? Why?"
"Because I asked her to."
"Ah, you do find it embarrassing, then."
"Just a touch, but that's not it. I don't believe that her ownership
of those places is compatible with her position as a trustee of the
Viareggio businesses. That is definitely not a business sector we want
to get into, or even be associated with, by implication."
"Her late father thought that too when he was a trustee, and she paid
no attention to him."
"Uncle Beppe wasn't thinking about taking the businesses public'
"And you are?"
"It's an option."
"Whose idea is it? Yours, or Alexis Skinner's."
"It's Alex's, but I'll take a bit of the credit; I asked her to do a
report for us on possible ways forward."
"Very good." She smiled again. "You know, of course, that a lot of
people are calling you an arse-kisser, for appointing the boss's
daughter to look after your business affairs."
"Give me their names," he said, grimly, 'and I'll go and see them, one
by one. Or are you one of them?"
"No, I'm not," she retorted. "Give me credit for knowing you better
than that. Anyway, I know how good a lawyer she's become. You don't
get to be an associate of her firm at her age if you're not. She must
be costing you, though, and in travel too, with her being based in
London."
"It's worth it."
"How's she taking what happened to her dad?"
"How do you think? She's in shock, like the rest of us."
"No surprise." Maggie picked up her coffee, walked over to the back
door, opened it and stepped out into the garden. Mario slipped off his
jacket, threw it across the kitchen table and followed. Hearing them,
Rufus toddled out of his playhouse and waved.
"Does Alex's firm do family law?" she asked him, as she waved back at
her tiny half-brother.
He blinked, caught by surprise. "No," he replied, feeling a sudden
lurch in his stomach. "Why do you ask? Do you want a divorce?"
It was her turn to be taken aback. "What? No, don't be daft. There's
no such thought in my mind, for all that I've been bitching. You asked
me if there was something wrong earlier on, when I got tore into you.
As usual, my dear, you read me right." She reached into the back
pocket of her jeans and took out a folded white envelope. "This came
in today's post."
Mario took it from her. He looked at it and frowned when he saw that
it was addressed to Mrs. Margaret McGuire, a name his wife had never
adopted. He flipped it open and took out the letter inside. The
heading was the first thing that caught his eye.
"Redway Chatham, Solicitors, Guildford," he read aloud. "What the
fuck's this?"
He looked at Maggie and saw that her earlier tension was back. "It's
>
all in legal language," she said, 'and English law at that. I'll save
you the trouble of wading through it. I've done that often enough now;
I understand exactly what it says. Redway Chatham are acting for
Rufus's great-uncle, Mr. Franklin Chamberlain, of Alton, Hampshire,
and his wife Lydia.
"They are asking us, very politely so far, to hand him over to them. If
we refuse, they say they'll instruct solicitors up here, and counsel if
necessary, to petition for custody in the Scottish court. They say
that it will be up to me to defend that if I choose, and to prove my
claim to a blood relationship with Rufus. If I do, it'll be for the
court to decide between us, as potential parents."
"Jesus!" Mario exclaimed. "Who is this guy Chamberlain, do we know?
What is he? His sister, Rufus's grandmother, has a shady background;
that we do know. What if he's from the same school? No, no, bugger
that for a game."
"The man is Rufus's mother's godfather," she told him, 'as well as
being her uncle. And he's legit.; very much so. I've had him checked
out already. He's forty years old, he's deputy chief executive of a
major insurance company, and his wife is a county councillor. They
have two children themselves, one only a year older than Rufus."
"So what?" He waved the letter in the air in anger. "Are we poor
people? Are we, hell. Do they think we can't bring him up? Too
bloody right we can. Who the fuck do they think they are? What makes
them think the sheriff will find for them ... or the Court of Session,
if it goes that far? Like I said, Alex's firm don't handle this sort
of stuff, but they'll recommend someone, the best. I'll call her
now."
He started for the house, but she caught his arm and held him back.
"Wait," she said, softly. He looked at her and saw that she was on the
edge of tears.
"I can't, Mario. I can't go to court over this. If I did, I'd have to
prove that my father and his were one and the same man. DNA would do
that beyond doubt, but what if Chamberlain's counsel wouldn't leave it
at that? What if he asked me questions about our estrangement, about
why he left and why I never tried to find him, even though I was better
placed to than most, as a police officer? And I'd be under oath; I
would have to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the
truth. Can you imagine the press coverage? I can, and I know that I
could not take it. I'm having enough trouble holding myself together
as it is. If we fought this, and if that happened, as it would .. ."
She shook her head slowly, from side to side. "Everything would be
over; my career, me, everything. Love, if that can of worms gets open,
there's no telling where they'll burrow."
He stood there, white-faced where before he had been red with anger,
knowing that everything she had said was true.
"The Chamberlains sound like responsible people," she went on. "They
can only be doing this because they care about Rufus. We have to give
him to them."
Mario's shoulders slumped. "And where does that leave us, Mags? What
does it leave us?"
"It leaves us each other," she answered. "For as long as you want,
that is."
He pulled her to him and hugged her, but she stiffened in his embrace,
and he released it, at once. They stood there, awkwardly, listening to
Rufus chattering to his toys, in the playhouse they had built for
him.
And then a phone rang; the song of a mobile. He strained to hear it.
"Yours or mine?" he asked.
"Mine." She left him and trotted back into the kitchen.
She returned a minute later, her cellphone still in her hand. "I've
got to go. There's a fire in the Royal Scottish Academy in Princes
Street, and they're saying it's arson."
Maggie looked at her half-brother, who had emerged from his hut and was
smiling up at them both. "You take him to the seaside," she told her
husband. "It'll probably be the last chance you get."
Six.
The medical examiner was not best pleased; his putting stroke had never
been better and he had been looking forward for weeks to the summer
meeting at Rosemount Golf Club.
He looked up at the two men who stood in the doorway of Miss Bonney's
kitchen. "What can I tell you?" he exclaimed. "I can tell you he's
bloody dead. That's self-evident. Did you really have to drag me down
to this morass to tell you that?"
"I'm sorry, Doctor Duck," said Detective Chief Superintendent Rod
Greatorix, the Tayside head of CID. "You know it's the form in a
situation like this."
It was untypical for the even-tempered Andy Martin to be irked by the
doctor's attitude, but he was. The man had moaned from the moment he
had come splashing awkwardly down the stairs. "I've got fifty officers
in this street," he snapped at him, suddenly, 'shovelling all sorts of
shit. They're getting paid a hell of a lot less than you, so please,
spare us your troubles."
The doctor rose to his feet and turned belligerently towards him. "And
just who the hell are you, sir?" he demanded. "And who do you think
you're talking to?"
"My shoulder-flashes are covered by this scene-of-crime tunic," Martin
replied, 'but if you could see them you'd know that I'm the new deputy
chief constable. Now I don't care, frankly, whether I get off to a
good start with you, but you'd be well advised to start impressing me.
I expect the highest standard of professionalism at crime scenes, and I
will not tolerate anything less .. . from anyone."
"Are you questioning my professional competence?" the man shot back.
Even in the murky cellar, Martin's green eyes seemed to flash,
dangerously. "No," he said, evenly and quietly. "I'm telling you to
get on with your job."
Dr. Duck looked at him for a few seconds longer, as if he was weighing
him up, then he squatted down beside the body once again. The deputy
chief and DCS Greatorix backed off and left him to his work.
"Is his name really Duck?" Martin whispered.
"Yes; first name Howard."
"Mmm. In that case I can see why he was golfing today, rather than
shooting."
"Gentlemen," the doctor called from the corridor. "I've done as much
as I can here; it would be helpful if the body could be moved."
The head of CID looked at Martin, as if for approval. "I know I made
the call that this is a suspicious death, but this is your show, Rod,"
the DCC assured him, answering the unspoken question. "It was wrong of
me to go for the ME, but he got under my skin. I won't interfere
again."
Greatorix nodded, then spoke quietly to the police photographer,
white-clothed like the rest of them. "Okay, doc," he answered,
eventually. "We'll lift him out for you." He moved towards the hall,
waving to a detective constable to join him.
"Careful," the doctor warned.
"Why?" the DCS asked, warily. "He's not going to fall apart, is
he?"
"No, no; not yet, at any rate. But he's waterlogged and so are his
clot
hes. He'll be heavy."
"I'll help," Martin volunteered. "You two take a leg each, I'll manage
his shoulders." The detective constable looked at him, doubtfully.
"What's up?" he laughed. "Have you never seen a chief officer lift
anything heavier than a pen before?"
"I've never seen one offer to do it, sir," the man replied.
"Well, you have now. I'll take the top end; you guys take the feet."
He considered the massive kitchen table, which looked as if it had been
there since the house was built. "We'll plonk him on that."
The fact that the body was lying on its side in a confined space made
their task all the more difficult. Martin had trouble easing his hands
under its trunk, but eventually he managed, and pulled it clear of the
mud. It came free with a great sucking sound; together, the three were
able to turn it onto its back and lift it clear of the floor. Rigor
mortis had come and gone, so the body was pliable, but the trickiness
of their footing meant that they had to inch along, until finally they
were able to lay the burden down on the table, face up.
"Thank you, gentlemen," said Dr. Duck. "I wonder if I could have some