they can tell you from that bar code.
'I don't imagine it'l identify the transaction, but it should tel you whether they sold it and when. The technicians can have a look at the yoghurt top. If they can get a print off it, I'l bet you it was left by Mark McGrath.'
Maggie Rose looked at him, astutely. 'D'you think Mark planted those deliberately, hoping that we'd find them eventually?'
'God knows,' said Martin. 'He's a clever and resourceful wee boy, no doubt, but that might be expecting too much of him.'
Rose smiled as she remembered her first encounter with the missing child. 'I only hope,' she said earnestly, 'that we have a chance to ask him.'
37
'What's wrong?' Pamela asked from the kitchen doorway. She was leaning against the jamb, wrapped in her short dressing-gown, looking anxiously at Skinner.
He was reading the Scotsman, which he had picked up from the corner newsagent's towards the end of his early-morning run. His teeshirt and shorts were plastered to him, soaked with sweat.
'Hey, Bob,' she called, as he failed to answer her. 'Remember me, the woman you sleep with? I live here. Now, what's wrong?'
He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled apologetically.
'Ach, it's the bloody press again, love. They didn't like being kicked out of the Police Board meeting yesterday, so they're having another indirect pop at me.'
'What are they saying?'
He folded the paper, and threw it down on to the work-surface.
'They've given some space to Aggie Maley's beef about the way the meeting was run, and her criticism of the Topham woman. In the process they've rehashed al that shite from the weekend, and said that my position remains 'difficult', as they put it.'
She crossed the kitchen and took his arm, squeezing it. 'Don't let it get to you. It was predictable that they'd carry something. What page was it on?'
'Five.'
'There you are then,' she said, in an encouraging tone. 'Alan was right. The story's running out of steam. We're not Page One news any more.'
He frowned. 'I don't care to be Page Anything news, thanks. Not in this way, at least.'
'I know. I'm sorry.' She took a deep breath. 'Look Bob,' she ventured, hesitantly. 'Would it be better for you if we were to call it a day?'
'No it would not,' he retorted sharply. The frown turned into a scowl. 'That would make me look like an even bigger shit. I run into some embarrassing personal publicity, and I react by giving you the elbow. Even I'd hate me if I did that.'
'We wouldn't need to make a public announcement about it,' Pam argued. 'I could get a transfer to another force, and be gone from out of your hair.'
Skinner looked down at her. 'I agree with you about a transfer. To tell you the truth,' he said apologetically, 'I've already put out feelers in Fife and Central. I was choosing my moment to talk to you about it. It would be much more… How do I put it?… Much more, comfortable, if we were with different forces, and, frankly, it's easier to transfer a sergeant than a Deputy Chief.'
'I understand that, and I don't mind, real y. Make it Central if you can, though. I'd prefer a more urban force than Fife.' She paused.
'But don't duck the main issue. It isn't about how you'd look, it's about what's best. We always said that this arrangement had no strings, and that it was based on mutual physical attraction rather than anything deeper.' She turned him round to face her. 'Would it be better for you then, if I called it a day?'
He smiled at her, lightly, for the first time that morning. 'That's what you want, is it?'
A silence hung between them, as Pam gazed at him, solemnly. At last her eyes dropped to his chest. 'No,' she whispered. 'No it's not.
I want you; and I don't feel any guilt about it, either.'
'Then enough of such talk. As for me, I'm not going to do anything to satisfy the likes of Aggie Maley or Noel Salmon.'
She frowned. 'That's your main reason for staying with me? Not giving them satisfaction?'
He growled at her, playful y. 'Don't cross-examine me, lady,' he said. 'More skil ed counsel than you have tried and failed. I have many reasons for staying with you.' In a single movement he slid her robe from her shoulders, leaving it lying at her feet. 'Let me show you a couple.' He picked her up and headed for the bedroom.
He was looking down at her, lying waiting for him, and peeling off his shorts when the phone rang. 'For fuck's sake,' he shouted,
'why does this always happen when I've got a hard-on?' He sat, naked, on the edge of the bed and picked up the receiver.
'Yes!'
'Mr Skinner? David Hewlett, here, in Private Office.'
The policeman recognised the smooth tones of the Secretary of State for Scotland's private secretary. 'You're early, David,' he said.
'It's barely gone seven o'clock. Which office are you at?'
'Edinburgh. We took the sleeper up from London,' the civil servant replied. 'Mr Skinner, the boss was wondering it you could come in to see him this morning, to give him a progress report on the McGrath murder investigation. He has a special interest, with Mrs McGrath being a fellow Member of Parliament.'
'Of course,' said Skinner. 'I'll look in before I go to Fettes?'
'That's good. When can we expect you?'
He looked round at Pam. 'Better give me a couple of hours.'
38
'I'm sorry I wasn't available yesterday,' said Graham Ross, the manager of the Haddington Transway supermarket. 'These quality training days are mandatory for al staff. We real y are in the most competitive retail environment these days.
'Anyway, I'm here now. What can I do for you?'
'I need any information that you can give me on a couple of items that I hope were bought from your store,' said Maggie Rose. From her pocket, she removed the foil yoghurt top and the portion of Mars bar wrapper which they had found in the caravan, each now encased in a clear plastic folder. She passed them across Mr Ross' small desk.
The balding manager peered at each through his spectacles. He held up the yoghurt foil. 'This is from a multi-pack, rather than an individual item sale. The only thing I can tell you is that from the
'use by' date, wherever it was sold, it wasn't any earlier than Tuesday of last week.'
'That's a start,' said DCI Rose. 'How about the wrapper? It has a bar code.'
Ross nodded. 'That's more hopeful. Gimme a minute.' He stood up and strode from the office.
In fact, he was gone for almost ten minutes. By the time he returned, DCI Rose was fidgeting impatiently in her chair, but his smile soothed her annoyance at once.
'Yes,' he said, even before sitting down. 'It is one of ours. It was sold at nine forty-three last Wednesday morning, eight days ago.' He handed over a long slip of paper. 'This is a record of the transaction.'
