his phone. 'Better call it in; we can't deal with this one on our own.'
'Phone Haggerty,' said McGuire, pul ing himself together with an effort. 'Not Pringle or Jay; I don't trust either of them. Tell him where we are, and what we've found. Let him decide who deals with it.' He turned and moved towards the bedroom, where Rufus screamed on. 'But tel him to get the childcare people here, pronto.'
Bob Skinner had sensed the tension building in his wife from the moment she had wakened. In a sense he welcomed it; she had been entirely too cool for his liking when she had viewed her parents' bodies, too composed by far, but this was the day when the tough stuff would begin again. She had her meeting with her lawyer, and then the funeral run-through. lan and Babs Walker were good people, to think of easing things for her with their supper invitation, but he knew that she would not relax again… any more than he would… until she had laid Leo and Susannah to rest.
He had that burden on his shoulders too, and more besides. He had told her nothing of Doherty's discoveries, and of the awful place to which they led. He did not know if he ever would, for al of his experience as well as his instinct for self-preservation told him that the secrets buried there had to be left undisturbed. Too much time had passed for any good to be served by the truth, whatever it was, being uncovered.
He knew that, and he only hoped that he had been able to bring Joe Doherty to agree with him. Whoever was behind the deaths of Leo and the others was not kidding, not at al, and besides, similar things had happened in his own country. He dreaded to think what would happen if his own story, and that of his friend Adam Arrow, ever found their way into the public domain. Few things ever worried Bob Skinner, but that was one of them.
He was relieved when Sarah told him, over breakfast, that she planned to spend the morning indulging in retail therapy, and asked him to join her; in fact, he jumped at her suggestion.
Buffalo is not the most sophisticated shopping city in America, but it had enough to occupy them. He had already bought his funeral suit, and so while Sarah shopped for clothes for herself and Seonaid, he concentrated on the boys.
He had just bought a New York Mets cap for Mark, and the smal est basebal glove in the store for James Andrew, when his phone sounded in his pocket. When he took the call, Willie Haggerty's gravel voice sounded 278 over the satellite link. He checked the time; ten fifteen, mid-aftemoon in Edinburgh.
'McGuire was right, Bob,' the ACC said, without pleasantries.
'Mcl henney's enquiries confirmed what he suspected. But it's worse; it looks as if the man Rosewell is still around. He's getting ready to move, though.' He told Skinner about the discovery in Bonnington, and about the dead girl's link to the man they were after.
69
'Who knows that he's Maggie's father?' asked Skinner.
'Only McGuire, Mcl henney and me; I didn't see the need to tell Pringle.'
'Good, keep it that way. When was the girl kil ed?'
'Yesterday afternoon, the doctor reckoned.'
'Do we know for sure it was Rosewel?'
'He's the only runner in the field. Plus, we can check. The lass put up a fight; they found skin under her fingernails, so we have a DNA trace.
We're going to have to take a blood sample from Maggie Rose; if it matches, it's him.'
'Bloody hell. Who's going to ask her?'
'If it comes to that, it'l be down to me. Things are bad between Mario and her just now.'
Skinner sighed. 'I was afraid of that. Wil ie, I reckon we should take McGuire off this investigation as well.'
'Who else is there, Bob? He knows the case, he Joiows the people involved. If Rosewell's killed the girl, he's maybe gone already, but if not, he won't be here for long. My feeling is that we let Mario run, but have big Mcl henney at his side al the way, to keep him in check.'
'He's the only man I know who could do that,' the DCC admitted.
'Okay, do it, but keep tabs on it al the way.'
Sarah was frowning at him as he returned his phone to his pocket.
'Business at home,' he told her. 'Nasty, but you don't need to know right now.'
'BeppeViareggio?' she asked.
'Partly, but let's drop it.' She looked as if she had no inclination to do so, but he was saved by the bell, or the tone, of his cellphone as it sounded again.
'Yes,' he answered, expecting Haggerty again.
'Mr Skinner?' It was an American woman's voice, low and even.
'Yes.'
'This is Philippa Doherty. I have some bad news for you.' Bob's head swam and his stomach lurched. He leaned against the store counter feeling the blood rush from his face. 'I got back from my flight this morning. When I let myself into the apartment I found Dad dead in bed.'
'Oh no,' he hissed.
'The doctor reckons he had a massive heart attack in his sleep.' He heard the girl catch her breath, keeping hold of her control. 'We've been warning him for years about his smoking,' she said. 'I guess it's finally caught up with him. I know you were in touch with him recently, and I found your number on his pad, so I thought I'd better tell you, along with his other friends and col eagues.'
As she spoke a wholly unreal feeling swept over Skinner; it was as if he was in a room full of people, everyone on the move, steadily, not rushing, but heading somewhere. He started to slide down the counter, until Sarah caught his arm. 'Bob!' she exclaimed. 'What is it?'
Slowly he realised that he had passed out for a few seconds, but his wife's touch, her voice and that of Philippa Doherty, asking if he was stil there, seemed to have brought him back to the present. He nodded to Sarah, and spoke into the phone. 'Yes, yes. It's a terrible shock, that's all.
Poor old Joe. I wil miss him so much. My condolences to you and al the family.'
For a moment he was on the verge of asking if she had found a floppy disk in the house, but he realised that would have been pointless, and maybe even dangerous for her. There would be no floppy disk, and Jackson Wylie's recovered iBook would either vanish or yield nothing.
'Philippa,' he told her, instead, 'I'm stil in the US as it happens, so please, let me know the funeral arrangements. And thank you for thinking of me; thank you for letting me know.'
For the second time in five minutes, he ended a cal, but this time looking stunned, not just worried.
'Joe Doherty?' asked Sarah, incredulous.
He nodded. 'Coronary, they say.'
'You doubt it?'
'No; at least I'm sure that's what a post mortem will show. I've never yet heard of a cat that actual y died of curiosity.'
70
Mario McGuire hated plastic coffins, the containers the mortuary guys brought with them to murder scenes. Whatever little dignity they allowed was more than offset by their odour; a mix of polyurethane and disinfectant, and by the brutal truth that they had been used on uncounted occasions in the past, to carry victims of all shapes and sizes.
He had seen people being crammed into these things. One corpse, that of a man stabbed to death in a pub fight early in the career of young PC McGuire, had been so gross that the crew of the meat wagon had simply left the arms hanging over the buckling sides as they had carried it away.
