she caught a glimpse of a man she did not know, a glimpse, she realised of Bob as he had been before life had cut him so deep. She shivered slightly as she realised also that perhaps it was a man she did not real y want to know.
'Aye, maybe,' he said. 'But I was trying to be serious. I was thinking of his poor bewildered wife, confronted with a team of hard-faced men and women, bursting into her home armed with a warrant. As far as I know she's back in Japan now, picking up her life, but I bet that's one experience she'll never get over.
'We've got it easy, Pammy, compared to her. Our houses are being gone over by a DCC and a Chief Super, not by Tom, Dick and Harriet, or even Neil, Mario and Maggie.'
'But what about yours?' she said. 'Won't they be tearing up the carpets and everything?'
'Nah. They'l be going through the motions. Algernon knows well enough that if I am bent, I've had time and warning enough to hide the evidence where he'll never find it. In a real search, for a single piece of paper, he wouldn't just be under the carpets, he'd be under the floor, and into the ventilation gril es and damp courses.'
'That's right, Pam,' cal ed Martin, in his chef's apron, quartering 197
S
a yellow pepper, ready for the food processor. 'Only he doesn't expect to find it, because he doesn't really believe Bob's bent.'
He stepped back into the doorway. 'Where would you hide a piece of paper?' he asked.
Skinner smiled. 'Same place as you, and I'll betAlgie looks there, too.'
Behind him, the living-room door opened. Alex stood there, smiling. 'Al over,' she said. 'Congratulations, you two. Al three houses are clear. They were very thorough. They even looked among Jazz's nappies down in Fairyhouse Avenue. But they cleared everything up too.'
'Too effing right!' said Bob. 'Did they say anything?'
'About the search, no. Salmon has agreed that Mr Laidlaw should sit in on the interview though.' She looked across at Andy, and at the pepper in his hand. 'Is that as far as you've got with dinner? Here, out of the way.'
The kitchen was too smal for four to work together, and so Bob and Pam went out together, to the nearest Oddbins, to choose the wine for the evening.
They took a conscious decision to talk about golf, music, food and drink over dinner – anything. Bob insisted, but work, politics and sex. But eventually, the meal was over; eventually, the dregs of coffee were drying in their cups.
'I've got something else for you, now,' said Andy to Skinner, at last.
'Something that Pam's been involved in. Joe Doherty cal ed today.'
Bob started in his seat. 'Nothing to do with Sarah?' he asked, but his friend stilled his anxiety with a smile and a shake of the head.
'No, no. This is some checking up we asked him to do under the Old Pals' Act, on the ownership of Spotlight. We got a result.
'Remember Everard Balliol?'
Skinner frowned. 'Yank? Golfer? Witches Hill Pro-Am? Bad loser?
Am I getting close?'
'Spot on.' Andy launched into Joe Doherty's account ofBal iol's interests, of his nature, and of his Scottish connections.
'What does that make you wonder?' he asked, when he was finished.
'A hel of a lot, my son,' said Bob. 'A hell of a lot.
'You know, I was wondering what to do with myself tomorrow.
With me having to keep back from the investigations, and away from my own bloody office, I thought that I'd be at a loose end. Not any more. Now my Sunday's laid out for me.'
'How?' asked Alex. 'What will you be doing?'
'I'm surprised you have to ask, daughter. I'll be driving up to Erran Mhor, north of Fort William. Mr Everard Balliol is one bastard that I want to look in the eye!'
59
Pamela was at work at her desk when Martin and Alan Royston returned from the stormy Sunday morning press briefing, held only to record the fact that, twenty-four hours after the murder of the Secretary of State's wife, there was stil no progress to report.
Not unnatural y, neither man was smiling.
She had offered to go with Skinner on his search for Balliol, but he had turned her down firmly. 'I can't do anything to help find these kids, Pam, but you can, even if it's only by sitting at a desk beside a telephone, waiting for it to ring.'
And so she had gone to work, to her desk, and the telephone had rung, once.
She waited for Alan Royston to leave the Chief Superintendent's office before knocking on his door. 'Excuse me, sir,' she said, impeccably formally, 'while you were away, there was a call; from a lady. She didn't leave a name, just a number.'
She handed him a note, and left.
Once he was alone, he punched the 0171 number which Pamela had given him into his direct telephone. The cal was answered after three rings. 'Yeah?' said an unmistakably American voice.
'Andy Martin, Head of CID, Edinburgh. You rang me?'
'Yeah, hi, I'm Caroline Farmer. I cal ed about the tape you sent down yesterday. No luck with this one, I'm afraid.'
'Is there anything at al that you can tell me?' the Scot asked.
'Nothing that's gonna help you. The message was recorded on some fairly average equipment, a standard ghetto-blaster, I'd say. Apart from the sound of the tape motor itself, and someone breathing next to the mike, there is absolutely no background noise.
'This tape was recorded indoors, for sure. There's no traffic noise, no birdsong, no rustling leaves, just that motor and the breathing, like I said.'
'How about the message? The news bulletin and the child were definitely recorded at the same time, were they?'
'For sure. The radio sound came from another receiver. If he'd been dubbing off the ghetto-blaster itself you wouldn't hear the kid over it as it fades. Also there's a faint click as he switches the other radio off.'
'How about the breathing itself?'
Caroline Farmer chuckled. 'What can I tell you? You breathe in, you breathe out. From the rate of respiration, I'd say that it was a man, but that's al. Sorry to disappoint.'
'Fair enough,' sighed Martin. 'Thanks, Ms Farmer. There's no disappointment; we real y didn't expect anything more. Have the tape sent back up with your report, please.'
He hung up, staring out of his window and cursing quietly, at the slamming of another door. When he looked round, there was a bul et-headed figure in his doorway. 'Yes?' he asked, curtly, 'Don't you believe in knocking?'
'Not a lot, no. We haven't met. I'm DCC Al Cheshire, and you'l know why I'm here from your fiancee, and from her father, no doubt.
I wonder if I could ask you to come with me, Chief Superintendent.
I assure you. It's necessary.'
Curiosity overcoming his annoyance, Martin nodded and rose, following his visitor out of the office, past Pamela and past Sammy Pye, both of whom looked up as they passed. 'Have you seen Salmon yet?' he asked, outside in the corridor.
'Yes,' said Cheshire, amicably. 'He is an obnoxious little shit, isn't he? Pity you couldn't make that cocaine charge stick. He didn't tell us anything new, really. Stil insists that his sources on both stories about Skinner were anonymous.'
'D'you believe him?'
