Thursday Legends Page 4

  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