The newest member of the Association of Chief Police Officers looked back at her. 'One more pint and it wil be. One more pint and I'd be too maudlin to say this, or probably I'd do something very embarrassing if I tried.' He started to put his glass to his lips, before remembering that he had drained it. 'I've been in the trenches with you guys… and gals. I include my beautiful wife in that, and young Pye up at the bar there, and you too, Ruthie, since you know where most of the bodies are buried, and of course our absent friend, who, even as I speak, is probably scaring the living shite out of some poor rural polisman in wild Montana. I love every last one of you.' He paused and ran his eyes around the group.
'These have been the best years of my life… so far… and for them, I thank you all. Mind you, I suppose I should extend that vote of thanks to all those vil ains who over the years have been so fucking stupid that they've let the likes of us catch them.'
Up at the bar, Sammy Pye looked over his shoulder, wondering what the laugh was about.
'So,' said Martin, out of his earshot, 'you want the serious answer, Mags? Wel here it is. Through those years, I've had some close calls… the last one closer than most of you know. The truth is, I don't want any more; I've used up al my luck. I couldn't even trust myself to govft on an armed situation any more, because I know that if I did I would pul the trigger at the first hint of a threat.
'I'm looking forward to Dundee because it takes me out of the line of fire. I'm not saying that our job's life and death every day, because we all know that it isn't. But it can be. It has been for me, and for some of you, and we can all remember a couple of col eagues who aren't around any more. It's not getting any less dangerous, either; we'd an armed robbery this afternoon… bril iantly cleared up inside two hours by Superintendent Rose and her team. Round of applause, gentlemen, and thanks, Mags, for letting me sign off without any red marks on the crime figures.'
He raised his empty glass in his colleague's direction, while the others nodded agreement.
'So yeah,' he went on, 'I'l put on my ACC's uniform on Monday without the slightest qualm or pang or any of those things. I'l miss you al, of course; but I'll have the consolation of a new job. I'm going to be responsible, believe it or not, for community policing, traffic patrols and public relations, among other things. And if any of you lot are caught speeding round the Dundee ring road, don't think I'l pul the ticket. Far from it, I'l put on my PR hat and make sure you wind up in the Courier.'
He took his replacement pint ofDeuchar's Ale from the tray that Pye had brought back. 'There is one other thing I should say. As some of you may know also, I have been round the block a couple of times and more in a personal sense. Well, final y, I've found what was meant for me al along. I'm looking forward. God wil ing, to many years of coming home safely at night to Karen, and our daughter, when she's born. I think she deserves that security. I think they both do.'
He took a long swal ow from his glass. 'Right, that's it. Speeches over, let's get on with the business of the night.' The others, rendered silent for the moment by the frankness of his admissions, took their drinks from Pye's tray, as the musicians wandered back to their corner of the bar and picked up their instruments.
They had reached the third bar of 'Stormy Weather' when a mobile phone sounded in the middle of the detectives' alcove. 'Gonnae no dae that!' said Martin, theatrical y, looking round for the culprit, and smiling as an embarrassed Greg Jay took his handset from his pocket. 'Be firm with her, Greg,' he called out.
The Leith CID commander turned his back on the group and held the phone to his ear. The rest could not hear what he was saying, but they saw his body stiffen slightly in his chair, a reaction that killed the smiles and stil ed the laughter. Jay ended the cal then turned back to face the table, his eyes picking out a col eague. 'Mario,' he said. 'Beppe Viareggio's your uncle, yes?'
McGuire nodded.
'In that case, I think we should have a talk outside.'
32
'What do you have for me, Special Agent Kosinski?' asked Joe Doherty.
'I don't have anything new, sir. The forensic specialists still haven't secured a positive result from their sampling.'
'How about our interview with the man who succeeded Mr Grace as senior partner of the Buffalo firm? Have you set that up yet? The link flickered for a second, forcing the deputy director to repeat his question.
'Yes, sir, that is arranged. The man's name is Jackson Wylie; he says he recal s meeting Mr Skinner, at a party at the Grace mansion, in his and Dr Sarah Grace Skinner's honour. Since it's Saturday, he's asked if you'd mind meeting him on board his cabin cruiser in the Bayview Marina; he told me that he always spends Saturdays on the boat doing maintenance tasks. I said okay, sir; I sort of assumed you wouldn't mind, given that Deputy Chief Skinner has met the man.'
'Sure, that's no problem. What time have you set?'
'One o'clock, sharp, sir. Your flight from Montana is due in to Buffalo at eleven forty-five, but I left you a little leeway. Mr Wylie said he'd provide some lunch on board. There wil be a fax for you at the airport showing the route to his mooring.
'I fixed the meeting through Mrs Thorpe, Mr Wylie's personal secretary; she also worked directly for Mr Grace when he was at the law firm. I asked her if she recognised the names Bartholomew Wilkins or Sander Garrett. She didn't, sir, but she has undertaken to check through his personal files… they're still held at the firm's offices… to see if either name comes up, but she wasn't hopeful. She's very efficient, sir; I don't expect results.'
'No; and neither do I, but I'm not beyond the age where I can take pleasure from a surprise, so let's just wait to see what she finds. While she's doing that, Troy, I want you to book yourself on a flight to Chicago on Monday. I want you to interview Mr Arthur Wilkins; he's the son of Bart Wilkins and he succeeded him as senior partner in the family law firm, Wilkins, Schwartz, Wilkins and Fellini.
'I want you to find out what he knows about his father's business and political life and about what he's been doing since he retired.'
'Yes, sir.' Kosinski seemed to hesitate. 'Eh, sir,' he continued, tentatively, 'about the weekend?'
'You done al you can there?' asked Doherty.
'Yes, sir, I believe so.'
'Then go home to New York, son. Just keep your cellphone switched on, so that Special Agent Brand or I, or your area SAIC can reach you.'
'I wil, sir. Thank you, sir.'
The Deputy Director ended the cal, shaking his head. 'These young guys,' he murmured to Skinner. 'I love 'em. They come out of the Academy these days trained as wel as the guys in special forces, and as committed. I worry about my country sometimes, then I think fifteen years down the road, to a time when the director and I are gone and goodhearted boys like Brand and Kosinski are running the show.'
The big Scot shrugged. 'You may not be too good at running elections… I like the old-fashioned way, where voters put a cross on a piece of paper and they're al counted by real people… but usual y you wind up with the right guys at the top.'
Doherty held up a hand, index finger pointing in the air. 'Ah, but now we live in an age when the outcome can depend in part at least on how funny the candidates are on fucking television chat shows. Now it real y has started to get dangerous. Now if the wrong guys had the power…'
'In that case, my friend, it is al the more important that you and your director get hold of the young guys like Troy and Zak, and the young girls too, and teach them the things they haven't learned at the Academy.
Teach them your values, and teach them that patriotism real y can be the last refuge of the scoundrel.'
'We haven't got all that many years left to do it,' said Doherty, lighting a cigarette.
'Fewer, if you keep doing that.'
The American smiled. 'Christ, you're getting to be a zealot yourself on that subject.'
'No one has so many friends that he can afford to lose a single one to those things.'
'Blah!' Doherty exclaimed, but he dropped his Marlboro, crushed it under his foot and kicked it into the gutter.
