Dead And Buried

can see it all now, and I’m glad. That’s not being romantic.’

He kissed the top of her head. ‘Then here’s what you should do: whatever feels right to you. But don’t take any decisions now: max out your maternity leave by working as late as you can, and take the additional unpaid entitlement as well. After a year off work you’ll know whether you want to go back.’

She snuggled even closer. ‘What did I do for common sense before I met you?’ she asked.

‘God knows. When do you plan to make the big announcement in the office?’

‘I’ll tell people when it starts to show, and not before. At the moment, only Bob Skinner knows, and he’ll keep it strictly to himself, because I asked him to.’

‘Aren’t you going to tell your ex?’

‘No! Why should I? It’s our business, ours alone. In fact when the time comes, I’ll tell all the girls and you can tell all the boys. Deal?’

‘Deal.’ Stevie sipped his wine. ‘Now that’s sorted, I’ve got an announcement of my own. I’m being moved down to Leith.’

She sat up and stared at him. ‘You are? When was this decided?’

‘Over the last day or so, I gather. Neil McIlhenney rang me this afternoon to tell me.’

‘Have they finally decided to separate the two of us? Put us in different offices?’

‘No. I asked Neil that, and he told me that it was purely operational.’

‘What do you make of it?’

‘Nothing. When my boss tells me something I tend to take it at face value. What do you read into it, Ms Conspiracy Theorist?’

‘I think you should take it as a compliment. You’re a safe pair of hands: that’s why you’re going there. That Mackenzie’s a bit of a loose cannon. I thought so the first time I met him, when he was still in Strathclyde. Blokes like him, when they’re as flash as that, often they’re compensating for something. If they start to overcompensate, they can be trouble.’

‘That doesn’t worry me: I’ll take him as I find him. Ray Wilding’s there as well now, and he’s a pretty stable guy. It’ll be okay.’

‘When do you go?’ she asked, as he rose to change the CD.

‘As soon as we’ve caught this idiot who’s stalking Alex Skinner.’

‘Any leads on that?’

‘Nothing solid. We’re making very discreet enquiries in her workplace, but nothing’s come from them yet.’

‘Could it be linked to the thing her dad was involved in last week?’

‘A survivor out for revenge? Or even a fringe sympathiser? Those are the unspoken fears, but I don’t believe so.’ He pushed the play button on his remote and Van Morrison’s Veedon Fleece eased its way gently into the room.

‘What do you think?’ asked Maggie, as he settled down beside her. ‘By the way,’ she said, ‘you do realise that I’m only marrying you to get access to your music collection?’

He laughed. ‘My library is yours. I haven’t leaped to any conclusions about the boy, and I won’t. My brief is simple: catch him. I’m most likely to do that if I keep a completely open mind.’

‘What happens when you do?’

‘I hand him over to DCS McGuire and Detective Superintendent McIlhenney: orders from on high.’

‘God help him.’

‘No, God will be helping him by keeping him away from their boss.’

‘The very thought of that confrontation makes me shiver. Do you know where he is, by the way? I tried to get hold of ACC Haggerty today and I was told that he was at a committee standing in for the DCC.’

‘I haven’t a Scooby, but the grapevine told me that he and Dottie Shannon were seen at the airport this morning checking in for a London flight.’

‘Shannon?’

‘The new head of Special Branch.’

‘God, I never knew,’ she gasped. ‘See? I’m becoming detached from the job already.’

‘It’s all happened very . . .’ He was interrupted in mid-sentence by the ringing of the telephone. With a frown and a muttered curse, he paused Van Morrison and picked it up. ‘Steele.’

‘Sorry to disturb you, boss. It’s Tarvil here.’

Stevie sighed: he knew that DC Singh was not one to call him off duty without thinking hard about it. ‘Tell me,’ he said.

‘Alex has had another call.’

‘Did we get a fix on it?’

‘A callbox in George Street. He stayed well away from the house this time, and he’s smart enough not to hang around either. We had a car in St Andrews Square when we pinned it down, but he was gone by the time it got along there.’

‘Was anything said?’

‘Yes. Something different this time.’

‘Bring me down a tape.’

‘Now?’

‘I don’t mean tomorrow.’

‘It’d be quicker if I send it to you as an email attachment.’

‘True. Do it.’ He ended the call. Walked across to the bay window and switched on his computer, then logged on to the Internet. Singh’s message arrived in his mailbox inside a minute.

‘What is it?’ Maggie asked, as he downloaded the attachment.

‘Alex’s latest breather call hot off the line.’

‘Let’s hear it.’

He grinned over his shoulder. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He clicked on the play icon, and adjusted the volume upwards. In an instant, the room was filled by the sound of a ringing telephone. There was a faint click as it was answered.

‘This is Alex.’

Silence.

‘Ah, it’s you again. Tell me, for I want to know this after last night, are you just an ordinary pervert or are you a peeping Tom as well? Were you looking through my window last night?’

Silence.

‘You know, I really am looking forward to meeting you, and I will. I meant it, you know: my dad’s on to you. If you value your nuts, you’ll pack this in.’

Silence.

‘Okay, I think I’m going to hang up now. I was working just now, and my time’s valuable. If you want to say anything to me, you’ve got ten seconds to do it.’

Silence. Then, the sound of a breath, and, hoarsely, ‘You hurt me, Alex, you bitch.’

There was a click, followed by the dial tone, and the sound of Alex Skinner’s breathing.

Thirty-five

Sir James Proud was a man of routine: he arrived at his office at quarter to nine every morning, give or take a minute, to allow his secretary, who started fifteen minutes earlier, to filter his mail and lay it on his desk. Normally the pile was not large, as Gerry was skilled in weeding out material which he need not see and directing it to the appropriate officers.

As he eased himself into his comfortable swivel chair, he noted that the filtering process had gone very well that morning: fewer than a dozen letters had survived. He decided to check the newspapers first and was reaching for his copy of the Scotsman when his eye was caught by the heading on the document on top of the correspondence stack: ‘Scottish Secondary Teachers’ Association.’ He picked it up and read.