feelings with a straight face. ‘I haven’t done anything for you, Constable. Everything you’ve achieved so far you’ve done on your own merits.’
‘If that’s so, ma’am,’ he insisted, ‘it’s because of your encouragement. I just want to wish you luck, and I look forward to seeing you back here when you’re ready.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Sauce, and I don’t think it’s presumptuous at all.’ She smiled. ‘What I just said about not doing anything for you: that’s not quite true.’
‘I ken, ma’am.’
‘No, you don’t get me. I was going to tell you this later, but I might as well spill it now. You know that our CID’s been flying one short since my husband stole DC Montell? By the way, he swears he didn’t but he’s getting the blame. Well, I’ve had a word with my ex-husband and with Detective Superintendent Chambers, and they’re both agreed. You are the replacement.’
The young constable’s face widened. ‘Are you serious, ma’am?’ he exclaimed. ‘I reckoned I wouldn’t have a chance of CID for at least another couple of years.’
‘Normally you wouldn’t, but this force has a recent history of picking out people with potential and giving them a chance to fulfil it. Initially you’ll be working with Detective Sergeant Regan; report to him on Monday morning. Make sure you learn as much as you can from him: he’s a pretty good teacher.’
‘I will do, ma’am. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘You’ll have thanked me when you’re sitting behind this desk or one like it.’ Her phone rang. ‘On you go now,’ she said, as she picked it up. ‘Rose,’ she exclaimed, as the door closed behind him.
‘Maggie,’ a woman’s voice replied, ‘it’s Sylvia Thorpe here. I’ve got some information for you. I’m putting it in the post as we agreed, but I thought I should give you a run-down.’
There was something in her tone that punctured Maggie’s good humour. ‘Go ahead then.’
‘I’ve found both the registrations you were after. Your grandmother’s cause of death is given as uterine cancer, that’s all. Your aunt Euphemia’s is more specific: she died of pneumonia.’
Maggie whistled. ‘Terrible thing to say but that’s a relief.’
‘Maybe yes, maybe not: the underlying cause was ovarian and stomach cancer.’
The butterfly that she had fluttered the day before seemed to have evolved overnight into a rending carrion bird.
‘I’m sorry, Maggie,’ said Thorpe. ‘But if I read the reason for your request correctly, you should share this information with your consultant.’
‘I plan to do that.’
‘And with your husband.’
‘That I will not do, until it’s absolutely necessary, or unavoidable.’ She drew a breath. ‘Sylvia, you wouldn’t do anything silly, would you?’
‘No, I wouldn’t, I promise. But, please, think about talking to Stevie.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Maggie replied. ‘Be sure I’ll think about it. But that’s not my priority: our child is. She’s more important than anyone else.’
Thirty
‘Is this going to be the norm?’ Alan Royston whispered.
‘Ours not to reason, mate,’ Mario McGuire replied.
They were standing in the office of Chief Constable Sir James Proud, by a side door and far enough away not to be overheard as the head of the force extended welcoming hospitality to Davor Boras and Keith Barker. ‘I do not like these affairs,’ the media manager continued. ‘Why did you agree to it? Having parents at our press conferences, getting emotional and so on; I always feel uncomfortable.’
‘You’re a control freak, Alan, that’s your problem.’
‘Too fucking right I am, especially when we’re briefing on a very difficult homicide, with nothing positive to say.’
‘Hey, come on. Stevie and I got new lines of enquiry from our interview with the parents, and I’m going to tell the media as much.’
‘Why did the mother not come? Is she flaky, or half comatose with Valium?’
‘No, she’s together, but she’s a background player in this family. He’s the main man, or has to be seen to be at any rate.’
‘Okay, but what’s that smarmy bastard Barker doing sticking his nose in? This is the first time I’ve ever had to clear a press release with someone outside the official circle.’
‘The ACC says that’s the way they wanted it, and that he saw no good reason to interfere. Did you moan to him about it?’
‘No,’ Royston confessed.
‘Would you have moaned to big Bob if he was here, and had given it the okay?’
‘No.’
‘So why the fuck are you moaning to me?’
‘Sorry, Mario. It strikes me as unprofessional, that’s all. It has a showbiz feel about it.’
‘Now you’re getting to the heart of it. Brian Mackie didn’t say as much, but Boras’s presence isn’t about the girl. It’s about business. It’s about the stock-market analysts, letting them see that whatever happens in his private life, he’s still very much in control.’
‘You’re kidding!’ Royston hissed. ‘His daughter’s been murdered and he’s more concerned about his fucking company?’
‘That’s the way it looks to me.’
‘I’ve seen it all now.’
‘I used to think that too, but I know I never will.’ McGuire checked his watch. ‘That’s it. Twelve on the dot. Time to go downstairs and get the event under way.’
Barker caught the gesture, rose from his seat and crossed the room towards them. ‘You’re clear about how this is going to run?’ he murmured to Royston. ‘You introduce Mr McGuire, he reads the announcement for the camera, then I introduce Mr Boras and he makes a personal statement.’
‘No,’ said the head of CID, firmly. ‘It’ll just be me and your boss at the top table.’
‘But your assistant chief promised me . . .’
‘I doubt that he was that precise and, anyway, he’s far too shrewd to be here. I’m running this thing, and I’m telling you how it will be.’
Barker’s sandy hair seemed to quiver. ‘I’ll ask Sir James to override you,’ he hissed.
The big detective smiled at him. ‘You try that and two things will happen: one, the chief will tell you very politely to fuck off; and two, I’ll take it personally. Trust me, both of those events would be unfortunate for you.’ He patted the aide on the shoulder, as if in consolation. ‘Mr Boras,’ he called out, ‘if you’re ready . . .’
‘Yes.’ The man stood, and shook hands with the chief constable, who wished him luck, then followed McGuire out into the command corridor. An unfeasibly tall figure waited outside the door, Detective Sergeant Jack McGurk, Bob Skinner’s executive assistant. ‘I’ve just had word from Dr Brown at the mortuary, boss,’ he said. ‘We’ve confirmed the identification of Harry Paul. It seems he had a steel plate put in his right leg after a motorbike accident when he was eighteen. They took an X-ray of the body, and found it.’
‘Okay.’ He looked up. ‘You ready for Monday?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What about Monday?’ asked Royston, as the party moved on.
‘I’m sending Jack to CID at Torphichen Place, working under George Regan as acting DI. Mary Chambers needs reinforcements while she’s covering for Maggie. I did think about sending my guy, Sammy Pye, but my needs are greater than the DCC’s at this moment.’
The quartet walked downstairs and took a left turn along another corridor, which led them directly into the briefing room. ‘Mr Boras,’ said McGuire, ‘if you’ll accompany me, we’ll begin.’
Barker gave his employer a look that was more of a plea than anything else; it was ignored.
Seated behind a table, and before a backboard carrying the force logo, the detective chief superintendent