and he looked away, embarrassed. Mario tossed him a car key, on its dealer fob. 'I dug that out of his pocket. His motor'll be outside; find it and run it into the driveway, as close to the house as you can get it.'
'What are we going to do?'
'I'm going to take him somewhere else. You don't need to have anything to do with it.'
'Fuck off'
77
The big superintendent's smile gleamed. 'Since you put it that way, I'd welcome your help.'
Neil nodded and headed off, out into the night. He looked at the key and saw that it was for a Ford. A Mondeo and a Focus were parked close to each other, less than fifty yards away. Squinting in the street light, he found the button which operated the remote central locking. He pressed the unlock sign as he approached the two vehicles, heard a 'clunk' and saw the courtesy light come on inside the Focus. He slid in behind the wheel, adjusting the driver's seat to give himself more leg-room, then started the car and reversed quietly up his friends' drive, positioning the front passenger seat less than six feet from the side door of the house. He glanced around as he stepped out. Mario and Maggie lived in the sort of neighbourhood where people kept conventional hours; all the curtains were drawn in both of the houses that overlooked the drive.
McGuire was back in the living room, waiting for him. He winced as he took his first close look at the body. 'Ouch! What did she shoot him with? A cannon?'
'More or less. Here, help me get him into this.' He held up an old parka he had unearthed from the depths of his wardrobe; it was a winter garment with a big hood. 'Come on,' he said. 'Kevin O'Mal ey the consultant shrink's on his way here and I don't want him to see any of this.'
'Where are we taking him?'
'Home.'
Together they heaved the dead weight of George Rosewell into a sitting position, forced his arms into the jacket, which was, fortunately, two or three sizes too large for him, and zipped it up. Then, pul ing the hood as far over the ravaged face as they could, they pul ed him upright, and hauled him out to the car, looking to any distant observer, had there been one, as if they were seeing off the last drunk to leave the party.
They wedged him into the passenger seat, where Mario fastened the safety belt as tightly as he could across his chest and round his waist.
'Last bloke I saw looking like that,' said Mcl henney, as they finished, 'was Dan Pringle after a CID dance.'
'This bastard's luckier than Clan; at least he won't feel like shit in the morning.' McGuire went back into the house and returned with the rol ed-up, bloodstained rug, which he shoved behind the front seats. 'On you go now; you head off to Bonnington. Don't park, just drive around till you see me there. I'll be as quick as I can.'
Neil nodded. 'How's Mags?' he asked.
'In a trance; lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.'
'What have you told Kevin?'
'That she's had a breakdown, and that I want it kept quiet. He's going to take her to his clinic and keep her sedated and under observation for a couple of days. He's used to working with us; he'll keep it under wraps al right.'
'Wouldn't she be better here? I mean, shouldn't you be with her when she comes out of it?'
'She may not want to see me when she comes out of it. And to tel you the truth, old pal; I don't know if I want to see her.'
The bathroom was lit only by the strip-light above the mirror, in which he had shaved less than a day before. He lay back in the great oval tub, in the middle of the night, more exhausted than he had ever been in his life.
Paula sat beside him on the lid of a laundry basket, nursing a mug of coffee; with her hair tied in a ponytail and wearing only the long tee shirt in which she had been sleeping when he had leaned relentlessly on the entry- phone buzzer, after Mcl henney had dropped him off.
78
'Is this going to become a habit?' she asked.
'I couldn't honestly tell you,' Mario sighed.
She stood, drew her makeshift nightgown over her head, and lowered her long olive-skinned body into the bath beside him. 'Come on then, move your bum,' she murmured. He made room for her; it was big enough and then some.
'It won't do you any good,' he murmured, 'you know that, don't you.'
'Maybe not,' she replied, 'but I know when a man needs a hug. It's been a bad day, then?'
'The worst of my life,' he told her, truthful y. 'Remember wee Ivy?
She's dead; Neil and I found her at her place this afternoon.'
Paula sighed. 'Oh, no; the poor kid. What was it? An overdose?'
'An overdose of life.'
'And what about the man who kil ed my dad? Are you any nearer catching him?'
He nodded, sending ripples across the surface of the bathwater. 'We know where he is. We'l go and get him tomorrow.'
'You wouldn't kil him for me, would you?' She smiled as she asked, but he knew that she was deadly serious.
'I won't have to go that far.'
She pul ed back an inch or two, focusing on his face. 'What do you mean by that?'
'Don't ask. Don't ask any more questions. In fact, shut your bloody mouth.' He turned half round towards her, drew her to him and kissed her. Even in the warm bath, she could feel him shiver.
'Here,' she whispered. 'I thought you said this wouldn't do me any good.'
'It won't,' he told her. 'We're going to hate ourselves in the morning.'
'You speak for yourself, big boy.'
They arrived outside the tenement building just after ten on Thursda morning; Mcllhenney looked the fresher of the two, but it was marginal.
Mario had awakened in Paula's bed three hours earlier, to find her propped up on an elbow beside him, looking down at him with a smile on her face. 'You did it again, you big bastard,' she had chuckled. 'You fell asleep on me.'
'Oops, sorry,' he had murmured in reply, reaching up to draw her down beside him. 'But I'm half-awake now.'
'You real y know how to make a girl feel wanted.'
He had barely finished shaving… the sign of the modem single woman, he had decided, was a Gil ette Mach III, stil in the wrapper, and a can of foam, in her bathroom cabinet… when his friend had arrived to collect him. He had asked no questions on the drive out to Ormiston, and Mario had told him nothing.
Pat Dewberry was cleaned up, made up and composed, when they walked into her living room, after Alice Cowan had let them in. 'He hasn't come home, you know,' she had said.
McGuire had simply shrugged. 'We'll have to look somewhere else, then.'
They had cautioned her and had told her that she would be taken into custody for questioning in connection with fraudulent claims from several insurance companies, and had called in a team from Detective Superintendent Brian Mackie's division to take her to their office in Lasswade.
And then they had headed for Bonnington, where they had found Willie Haggerty, Dan Pringle, Stevie Steele and four armed, uniformed officers, a sergeant and three constables, waiting for them.
