‘Did you ask her anything else while you were there?’
‘Of course I did. I asked her how well she knew Whetstone. She told me that he and her husband were pally, and that they played golf together. I asked her about his demeanour recently. She said that he’d been on top of the world, and really chuffed with himself over the way his job was going. She said that he was a workaholic as well, by the way, but that at least he found time for his golf.’
‘But not for his wife?’
‘She didn’t say that, but now you mention it that may have been implied.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve got a niggle yourself?’ he asked.
‘No, not really. It’s just . . . I’ll be happier when there’s a clear line of inquiry. I’ll be happier when we have Dorward’s crime-scene report, and I’ll be happier when we’ve got the post-mortem report. With those together we should be able to say whether we have a suicide, or something else.’
‘If we do, I’m pretty clear where we go after that,’ said Steele. ‘Straight back to the bank. We should talk to his golf pals, just in case he had any worries that he mentioned to them, but I’m sure our best way forward lies in looking at his client relationships. Nobody loves their bank manager; maybe one of Mr Whetstone’s customers was in trouble and had good reason to hate him.’ He chuckled. ‘We could always charge wee Moash, of course, but even the rawest advocate would get him acquitted if we did. He didn’t nick the bike till this morning, and he didn’t make the phone call till then, but the man died last night.’
‘Agreed,’ Rose murmured, ‘but what if . . . We know Glazier didn’t kill him, but what if it was just a random mugging that went wrong? What if the hanging was an attempt to cover it up?’
‘The autopsy should tell us that. When’s that happening, by the way? And who’s doing it?’
‘Sarah Grace is handling it, but she can’t do it before tomorrow morning. It’s longer than I’d have liked, but it’s acceptable. Rigor mortis will have passed off by then. I want you to go along, incidentally: nine a.m. tomorrow, at the new Royal Inf irmary.’
A corner of his mouth twisted in a smile. ‘You’ve made my night,’ he muttered.
‘Don’t think about it and it won’t put you off your food,’ she said, as the waiter approached.
16
‘This is excellent,’ Sarah pronounced, as she finished her first mouthful of fillet steak. ‘Why don’t I let you cook more often?’
‘Why don’t I volunteer more often might be a better question.’
‘Okay, why don’t you?’
‘Because I like your cooking too much. How about that?’
She gave a gasp of surprise. ‘What is this? Bob Skinner the diplomat? Am I hearing things?’
He reached across and poured her some more wine, a nice light Rioja called Marques de Grinon, that he bought by the case from a website with the well-chosen name of Simply Spanish Wines. ‘Funny, you’re the second person who’s said something like that to me today.’
‘Who was the other?’
‘An MSP. A minister, in fact.’
‘Does the thought that you might be mellowing worry you?’ his wife asked, a tease in her voice. ‘Does it make you feel like Samson with a short back and sides?’
‘If it did, I’d be sure to remember who cut my hair,’ he growled.
‘Ouch. I see you haven’t lost your bite.’
He cut off some more of his steak and forked up some of the
‘Who’s been teaching you?’
‘Life’s been teaching me, honey. But it’s been a difficult process.’
‘Is this to do with your heart trouble?’
‘Don’t call it heart trouble.’ His sigh was full of exasperation. ‘It’s an inherited condition and it’s been dealt with. I have a pacemaker, and that allows me to function exactly as I’ve always done. You’re a doctor; you know that well enough.’
‘I don’t agree,’ she countered. ‘Physically you may be fine, but emotionally it’s left a scar. You’ve never had to question your health before. As a result you’re . . .’
‘There are lots of things I’ve never had to question before,’ he said, quietly, cutting her off.
A silence fell between them; they ate, not looking at each other. It was Sarah who broke it, pushing her plate to one side, leaving half of her meal untouched. ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ she exclaimed. ‘I make a remark about your new- found diplomacy and you respond by tearing into me. I bet you didn’t do that to the MSP.’
‘No,’ he admitted, looking a shade guilty. ‘I didn’t. I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m on a hair trigger just now, and I don’t know why. I even had a small strip torn off me by Archbishop Gainer today for the way I spoke to Jack McGurk. He was right: the boy’s like a coiled spring every time he comes into my room, and none of it, or very little of it, is his fault. Maybe you’re right too, may be it is the aftermath of the pacemaker thing but, honestly, I doubt it. I think it goes deeper than that. I reckon that more than my health has been called into question this year. And as I see it now many of the things I’ve believed to be true may have been way off the mark.’
‘Things about me, I assume,’ she murmured.
‘No,’ he retorted quickly. ‘Don’t assume that.’
‘It’s true, though. Let’s face it, I’m not the gem you thought I was; I’ve got flaws just like everyone else. Most married women find another man attractive at some time or another; me, I did something about it.’
‘Okay, you had an affair: but I’m no saint either. You’ve stuck by me before, and I’ll stick with you now.’
‘Is that what it’s about? Sticking with each other?’
‘For most people, I reckon that’s exactly what it’s about. It’s easy to walk away from marriage these days, once the early glamour fades . . .’
‘Like the McGuires, you mean?’
‘No, not them: there’s something deeper there.’
Sarah snorted. ‘Yeah, she’s got legs up to her armpits, silver hair and her name’s . . .’
‘Paula Viareggio didn’t break them up,’ Bob snapped. ‘She came after. Anyway, Maggie and Mario aren’t like us: they don’t have kids.’
She frowned at him. ‘You’re saying our kids are the glue that binds us together?’
‘Are you going to tell me they’re not? If we didn’t have them, wouldn’t you have been tempted to stay in Buffalo after your parents’ death?’
‘Bob,’ Sarah told him, ‘I never want to see Buffalo again. I could have stayed, with or without the children, but I chose to come back here.’ She paused. ‘Now you answer me something. Who do you love the most, me or the children?’
He stared at her. ‘What’s that? The chicken-and-egg question? I love my family, Sarah, there are no degrees involved there. It’s total.’
‘Okay, I’ll stop pussying around the real issue. If we had no children, like Maggie and Mario, would we still have a marriage?’
‘For my part, yes, I think we would. What do you say?’
She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘You “think” we would; hardly a straight answer, is it? You’ve changed, Bob, you’ve grown more remote, and I can’t help wondering whether it’s because, for all you say, you can’t really handle what happened with me.’
Bob looked down at his plate; the remnants of his meal, and hers, lay cold before them. ‘That was a fucking waste of two fillet steaks,’ he said heavily.
‘Maybe not,’ she countered, ‘if it’s what it takes to make us sit down and talk to each other.’ She picked up the bottle and refilled both their glasses, draining it in the process. He picked his up and drank deeply.
‘Why don’t we just go to bed,’ he suggested, ‘and fuck each other’s brains out? That usually sorts us out.’
