'That's funny; looking like that, he reminds me of someone. But who the hell is it?'
'Search me, love. Nobody I know, that's for sure. Damn!' As he spoke, he was interrupted by a distant, muffled tone.
'What's that?' his wife asked.
'My mobile. I left it in my jacket. I must have forgotten to switch it off.'
He strode through to their bedroom. His wardrobe door was open, and as he approached, the ringing tone grew louder. He snatched the cellphone from the pocket in which it lay and pressed the receive button.
The voice at the other end was light, teasing, and very female. 'Mr Superintendent?' it began. 'This is Ivy.'
'Uhh?'
'Ivy Brennan. George's neighbour, remember?'
'Oh yes. What can I do for you? Has he shown up?'
'No, it's nothing to do with him. I saw the Sunday Mail today, about your uncle.'
'Then don't talk to me. Call the Leith office and ask for the incident room. Ask for Superintendent Jay; tell him I said you should call.'
'No,' she said, firmly. 'I need to see you, now. The thing is, I might know who killed him.'
He hesitated, picturing the dol -like girl in his mind's eye. 'Where are you?' he asked, at last.
'My place.'
'Stay there; I'll be half an hour. Oh, and by the way, you'd better not be kidding me on.'
He took his jacket from its hanger and walked back through to the living room, wondering how much he should tel Maggie and, in particular, whether he should tel her that he was going back to see her 168 father's neighbour. What if she wanted to come with him, to see the place where he lived? Would that be good for her?
His worries were academic. 'Let me guess,' she exclaimed as he appeared in the doorway. 'You have to go and see an informant. It's okay, I know by now what it means when that phone rings when you're off duty. You might as well; I've stil got a bit to do here.'
He smiled at her, more gratefully than she realised. 'Never mind, love; once Neil gets bedded into the SB job it'll al pass to him.'
'And how wil Louise take to that, I wonder.'
He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. 'With the same understanding you've shown over the years,' he whispered.
'Get out of here,' she laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. 'Just don't be late, that's al.'
42
'It's like stepping into history, Joe,' said Skinner, a man not normal y ' impressed by his surroundings, especially if they were late twentieth century and architect designed. But ugly or not, the Watergate Building was something else, having been the centrepiece of the biggest international political scandal of his life.
'That's al it is now,' Doherty told him. 'The Democratic National Committee ain't here any more; it's on South Capitol Street. I just thought you'd like to see where al that started. Head on down there, Max, please.'
'Yes, sir.' The deputy director's driver nodded and slipped the anonymous black car into gear. The Scot had never seen his old friend on his home patch before; he sensed the difference at once. He was more formal, and had seemed almost to grow in stature from the moment their flight had touched down, an impression confirmed by the deference of the chauffeur when he had picked them up.
They moved south, away from the heart of government, and came quickly into South Capitol Street. 'Should you be seen going in here,'
Skinner asked, 'with there being a Republican administration these days?'
'Ahh shit, it's Sunday afternoon. Look around you.'
It was true; for any capital city the streets were exceptional y quiet.
There seemed, almost, to be more tour buses than cars.
'Anyhow, Congress has been GOP for years,' Doherty added. 'It's only the White House that's changed hands. But suppose this was a weekday, there'd be nothing exceptional about me going to meet with Rusty. I do it fairly often, just as I keep in touch with the Republican Party organisation.'
'Who?'
'Rusty Savage; he's the guy we're meeting. He's deputy chief of staff of the DNC organisation, and he's been around for years, almost as long as me.'
'Does he normally work weekends?'
'When there's an election, yes he does, but not right now. He's here because I asked him to meet us in his office.'
The car drew up at the entrance to 430 South Capitol Street, and the two passengers stepped out. Sunday or not, there was a receptionist on duty in the foyer. She recognised Doherty at once. 'Good afternoon, sir,' she greeted him, with the same clear show of respect that Skinner had seen from Max, the driver, at the airport. 'How good to see you again.
Mr Savage is in his office; if you'd like to go on up in the elevator, I'll let him know you're on your way.'
Rusty Savage was waiting for them as the lift doors opened. Doherty greeted him warmly, and introduced his companion as they walked towards an office across the hall. 'It's an honour to meet you, sir,' said the American, taking the Scot by surprise. 'I know who you are, and I know what you did at that conference a couple of years back.'
Skinner looked at him, a touch warily, wondering how much he knew; most of the detail of that incident had been kept away from the media.
'It's okay,' Savage grinned. 'I heard the whole story at the time from the former White House chief of staff. The Man Himself is in New York for the weekend, otherwise I know he'd have wanted to meet you.'
'He might not have wanted to hear what we want to talk about, though,' muttered Doherty.
'Yeah, what is that, Joe? You were damned mysterious when you called me.'
'I had to be; I know that the Bureau isn't bugging your communications, but I can't be a hundred per cent sure about anyone else.'
'Wow,' Savage whistled. He looked around his modest office as he closed the door behind him. 'You can relax in here, though. We have these offices swept for devices once a month; there's nothing recorded here, unless we want it to be. Sit down, guys.' He poured three mugs of black coffee from a jug by his walnut desk and handed one each to his visitors.
'Now, what's so red-hot that it's come between me and my Sunday golf game?'
'A double homicide,' the deputy director answered. 'A week or so back in the Adirondacks National Park in New York State.'
'Leopold Grace and his wife,' said Rusty Savage at once. 'I heard about it. Tragic altogether, that such an eminent couple should die like that. Mr Grace was a Democrat from way back, and a personal friend of the former first family too. Matter of fact I had a cal from one of the new senator's aides a couple of days back, asking me if I could let her know about funeral arrangements.
'Still, how come the Bureau is involved? And what's your interest, Mr Skinner?'
'Mr Grace was Bob's father-in-law.'
Surprise flashed across the official's face. 'Ahh,' he exclaimed. 'So that's why you're here. When Joe said he was bringing you along, I didn't ask why. I just assumed you were on some sort of an exchange visit.'
He looked back at Doherty. 'That doesn't answer my first question, though, Joe. How come you guys have picked up on this? The man wasn't a public figure any more; although he was a former chairman of the New York State Democratic Committee, and his word was still the law, when he offered an opinion on something or someone.'
'Do the names Bartholomew Wilkins and Sander Garrett mean anything to you?'
Savage leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee as he thought.
