Maggie shook her head. 'I want the Head of CID job when Clan Pringle retires.'
'Even if it means kicking your husband into touch? You and he are on the same rung. In CID, there's only one move up. Are you saying to me you'd tramp on his fingers if you had to?'
Her eyes dropped from his and she shook her head. 'No, of course not.'
'It might come to that, though, if you set your heart on that job.
Anyhow, that's only a chief super post too, and it's a while off. And also, what's so great about it? Do you no' fancy my job?'
'ACC?'
'Why not? These are volatile days, Maggie; unpredictable too. It might come up sooner than Pringle's.'
She looked back up at him. 'The truth is, I've never seen myself as a contender for chief officer rank. I've come through CID fast, but that's because I'm good at it. I'm under no il usions that I'm cut out for anything else.'
'Well, hen, other people seem to be. But the thing is, if you decide yourself you want to get there, it would be in your best interests to broaden your experience.'
'You've been sent to tel me this, haven't you.' It was a statement, not a question.
He shot her such a look of mock offence that for a second or two she took him seriously. 'Nobody sends Willie Haggerty,' he exclaimed.
'Oh sorry. Let me put it another way; someone's suggested it to you.'
14
The grin was back in an instant. 'Wel. Now you mention it. Bob Skinner might have said something along those lines. Oh aye, and the Chief might have agreed with him an' all.' He looked at her, wholly serious for the first time. 'I'm not saying that this is going to happen tomorrow, but it pays to be ready. Al kidding aside, I've been doing my homework since I got here, as well as listening to what Bob and Sir James tell me. You got me in one, this wee chat's a sort of informal interview, and it's confirmed what they say.'
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. 'You're easy to please.'
'I make up my mind about people on the spot. It's the old CID thing; evidence is nice, but trust your instincts. In this case I've got both. So please, Maggie; think about it. And if it's just a matter of worrying about no' looking nice in the uniform shirt…'
Her laugh interrupted him. 'Another girlie thing?'
Once more, he flushed slightly. 'See me? See political correctness?
We're strangers to each other. Let me put it another way, if you're one of the many detectives who've got out of the way of wearing the blue serge, you're like me. I keep it to the minimum and I let others do the same.'
'Another reason why you and Mr Skinner get on,' Rose remarked. She took a deep breath. 'Okay, I'm duly flattered; and I wil think about it, if for no other reason than that it'l get me out of the same loop as Mario.'
'Pleased to hear it,' the ACC said. 'You've made my day.' It was his turn to pause. 'In that case, to help you make an informed decision, I want you to sit in for Manny for a week or so. There's a situation in Strathclyde that's needing investigation by senior officers from outside forces. I've been asked to provide one and I've nominated him.
'I briefed him on it yesterday; that was why he was late back. He's off through there as of now, and I want you to take temporary charge of the division. Before you ask, I've cleared it with Andy Martin and Clan Pringle. I'm not asking you to do the job actively in the way Manny does; delegate as much as you can, just take the command decisions, and keep me in touch as necessary. You game for that?'
She scratched her chin. 'Well,' she answered, thoughtfully, 'we seem to be winning the battle against crime for the moment, so… I'm game.'
'You've been on the command corridor long enough to know what I'm talking about,' said McGuire.
'Sure,' Mcllhenney agreed. 'Special Branch still keeps an eye on the bogeymen; it's just that the accents have changed.'
'Come on, man, that's too simplistic, even for you. The end of the Cold War changed what we do, sure, but less so than people think. The Irish problem didn't go away… stil hasn't… there are other international terrorist threats, as the folk in Lockerbie know too well, and there are the general nuisances we watch just in case. But on top of all that we've got a role to play alongside the mainstream police in tracking major or organised crime, and in gathering information on unusual domestic situations, when they might threaten the national interest.
'Those fuel demonstrations were a good case in point. The first time the government was caught with its drawers round its ankles, and the word went out that it wasn't to happen again.'
'I know about that,' Mcl henney chuckled. 'I saw some of the correspondence that came our way at the time.'
'Aye, of course you did. I reckon that was a real sea change in our remit… which has always been, in effect, 'Do what you're fucking told but don't let anyone find out about it.' For the first time, it got us involved in keeping tabs on ordinary people, folk who aren't political, or organised in any meaningful way. They weren't threatening the country as such, just the government, yet we were brought into the act. 'I don't think I like that.'
'It's a good time for you to be going, then.'
'You approve of it?'
'No, but the answer lies in the bal ot box…'
McGuire threw him a glance askance. 'Do you actual y believe that?'
'No, but fortunately it also lies in the hands of people like you and me and Big Bob, using our common sense.'
'Don't let the people in the Home Office or up the Mound hear you say that.'
'Worry not, pal. I'l be a conscientious Spock; I'll just do it my way, like the Boss told me to. Right; let's get into these files.'
McGuire was reaching for his keys when his direct line telephone rang. He glanced at the panel on the instrument before he picked it up.
'Hello, Ron,' he said. 'You real y should block your number, you know, especially when you're phoning people like me… not that it would do any good.' He waited. 'Yes? Excellent. I'm impressed. Hang on, let me grab a pen.'
As his successor designate watched, he made rapid notes on a pad on his desk. 'That it? Fine, thanks. Sure, our debt to you is duly recorded.'
He hung up, tore off the note, and put it into his pocket. 'Wel?'
Mcllhenney asked, heavily.
'He's alive; more's the pity, because he's bloody well here. There's a gap of twenty years in his UK Social Security record; during that time, he was living in Portugal and apparently paying contributions there. He came back to Britain three years ago. He spent a short time in London then moved back up to Edinburgh, only, according to my pal, he now calls himself George Rosewell. He lives in Newhaven Road.'
'Why would he change his name? Does he think we might still be after him for wife-battering?'
'God knows. Maybe the Portuguese police were after him; maybe someone else was.' An anxious look crossed the big detective's face, taking his friend by surprise. 'Listen, Neil,' he muttered. 'You're my best pal. You, and only you, know about Maggie's father knocking ten bells out of her mother and leaving them al. That's the way it's got to stay, okay?'
'Of course. I'm huffed that you should even say that.'
McGuire winced. 'Sorry, mate; I should have known better. It's just that she started talking about him the other night, which she's never done before. It came out the blue; something trivial happened at work and just seemed to trigger it off. Lots of stuff she'd never even hinted at, that had been bottled up in there. You think Mags is controlled? You don't know the half of it.
'I won't go into detail, Neil, but the guy was a real fucking monster, worse than I ever suspected. I just had to sit there… in a bloody restaurant, it was… and let her get it al out, doing my best to keep calm, when inside I'm
