He sipped his Coronas. 'You sound bitter when you say that. Personal experience?'
She nodded, looking at her glass. It was empty, so she refilled it. 'Yes. My mother and I never got on; it wasn't my fault, at least I don't think it was. There was no bond between us, that's all.'
'And your father? You realise you've never talked about your parents?'
'My father's dead. I've never talked about him because I don't want to, don't want even to think about him, ever again. Does that shock you?'
'No. If he makes you sound like that, I don't want you to think about him. I'll never ask you again, I promise.'
Her smile returned. 'You know, Stevie Steele, you can be a real love sometimes.'
He chuckled. 'Only sometimes?'
'Okay, all the time. But some times even more than others, like yesterday, when I told you my news. Honestly, I wasn't sure how you'd take it, with us still being so new to each other. But you looked so happy, you made me want to cry.'
'If you're right, I'm still just as happy, I promise you. You're still sure, are you?'
'Yes, but I'm a copper, so I need evidence.' She reached into her handbag, and held up a package wrapped in paper. 'I can't wait any longer. I left a bit early today so that I could go into a chemist where nobody was likely to know me, and I bought this. It's a testing kit:
He laughed out loud. 'I wondered why you were drinking all that water.'
Maggie patted her stomach. 'It's having its effect, too.' Still holding the kit, she headed for the door. 'I won't be long… at least I don't think I will.'
'Do you want me to come with you?' He was joking, but for a second she took him seriously.
'I know how to aim, thanks,' she retorted. 'Shut up or I'll use your beer tankard for the sample.'
He watched her as she climbed the stairs, then drained his glass. As he poured himself a refill, he realised that his hands were trembling and that his heart was beating fast. He walked to the window and looked out into the night. The weather had become progressively colder, and he thought that he could see a few snowflakes in the beams of the streetlights. He smiled as he dreamed of building a snowman in the garden.
He was lost in his thoughts and so he did not hear her come back into the kitchen, until she coughed quietly behind him, to attract his attention.
He turned. Her face was impassive, and her hands were behind her back; and then a grin turned quickly into a beam as she held up a white plastic strip. 'I got a black dot,' she said. 'Congratulations, Dad.'
Forty-one
Bob Skinner felt a pang of shame as he stepped through the front door: he had never set foot in the Pringles' house before, something that he regarded as a major sin of omission, since he was on calling terms with most of his senior colleagues. And beyond his guilt, he felt a great weight upon his shoulders. It was Friday morning; he tried to recall a more stressful week in his professional or his private life, and found it impossible. There was the time he had been stabbed, of course, but he had been out of it for the worst of those days.
Elma stood aside to let him in. 'It's good of you to come, Bob,' she whispered, making him feel even worse.
'No,' he replied, automatically. 'It's the least I could do.' He followed her into the living room, and recoiled slightly at what he saw. Dan Pringle sat slumped in an armchair; he was wearing a heavy cardigan over a white shirt; it was open at the neck and he saw the flesh hanging loose and flabby. His face was streaked and his eyes were red. He clutched a glass of whisky in his right hand, and Skinner guessed that it had just been refilled.
The chief superintendent looked up at him; for a second his eyes were blank, then as recognition set in, he made to rise, until the DCC waved him back into his chair. 'I'm sorry, Dan,' he said, as he sat on the couch to his left. 'I am so sorry.'
'Aye, Bob.' The words cracked in his throat. He picked up a glass of water from a small table at his side, and drank from it. 'It's a terrible thing to lose a child,' he went on, his voice steadier. 'I never thought it would happen to us:'
'Come on, now,' said Skinner. 'Ross is still alive; there's hope.'
'Since when were you a neurologist?' Pringle snapped at him, rejecting what they both knew was a platitude. 'She's in a deep coma. They say that if she does come round, she'll be seriously braindamaged. That's what gas does to you.'
Skinner was aware of Elma, taking a seat on the couch beside him. 'They're not giving us any hope at all, Bob,' she said quietly, more in control than her husband. 'The doctor we spoke to said that there are only minimal signs of brain activity. They're going to observe her for a wee bit longer. Then, when we've all had time to reflect, they're going to talk to us about what her future might be. At least, that's how they put it.'
The DCC thought of Alex: she was only a few years older than Ross Pringle. 'Jesus,' he whispered. 'They haven't pulled any punches with you, have they?'
'We wouldn't want them to. Dan and I find that it's better to face the truth from the start than to have the rug jerked out from under us later.'
'Have you thought about what you'll do?'
She nodded. 'Yes, we have. Whether we'll be able to do it when the time comes, that's another matter, but we've reached a decision, one that we believe Ross would support.'
'Have the crime scene people finished?' asked Dan, abruptly.
'Yes, they have. In part, that's what I came to tell you. Arthur Dorward told me that the supply pipe to the heater was loose. There was enough getting through to make it function, but some gas leaked very slowly into the room. It built up over a matter of hours, until it reached lethal levels.'
'Was the room not ventilated?'
'Yes, but the vent was closed. It's winter and the things can be draughty, so they're often slid shut. To be honest, mine often are at home, the way the wind comes off the river sometimes.'
'The pipe was loose? How could that happen?'
'More easily than you'd imagine, according to Dorward. The two sections were linked by a bolt, and it's probable that it was accidentally kicked loose. A bump against it at the right angle might have been enough.'
Elma sighed. 'By what a fine thread a life can hang. We are all clinging to the planet by our fingernails, when you think about it.'
'Maybe it's best not to think about it,' said Skinner, quietly. 'If we did, we'd never get up in the morning, and we'd never let our kids outside.'
'George Regan will be wishing he hadn't,' Dan muttered morosely.
'No,' the DCC countered. 'George will not wish that. He let his boy grow up in the real world, and he didn't try to stop him being all the things a boy is. Suppose wee George had been locked in every night, likely he'd have found a way out. Give them freedom you're giving them respect, and respect is what you get back.'
'So what made him try to climb the castle rock by moonlight?'
'The romance of it, puberty… who knows? It beats me. But he did, that's all there is to it. What made Ross, or one of her pals, bump against that bolt and loosen it? Fate, Dan.'
Pringle gave a huge sigh. 'I suppose,' he exclaimed, glancing at Skinner. 'Do you ever worry about your own kids?'
'All the bloody time, man, in every way. My five-year-old son beat up two kids at his school not so long ago for calling him a copper's bastard or some such. My older one's so mathematically bright I fear it might consume everything else in his life. My younger daughter would stick her finger in an electric socket to see how it worked, if her nanny didn't watch her constantly. And even my older daughter isn't immune to trouble, although she seems to be living a very quiet life since her engagement broke up.'
'That won't last,' Pringle growled.
'Probably not.' He paused. The conversation was beginning to unsettle him. 'Listen,' he said, 'back to you. Is there anything, anything at all, that we can do to help you? Transport to the hospital, for example: just call the
