`Sorry,' said Skinner. 'You are definitely not allowed to shoot them. Although, on occasion.
Welcome laughter lightened the atmosphere.
Towards the rear of the room, a thin, middle-aged man raised a hand. 'Mr Skinner, could you say something about the level of co-operation these days between European police forces?'
`Yes. I'd say it's getting better — certainly within the EU. We're finding that it's easier for police colleagues in different countries to get together to solve problems. We're all working harder at it, I think. For example, my head of Special Branch now has general responsibility for international relations. And only this week, as you may have read, I was able to send a detective to Spain to advise the Guardia Civil in their search for a man we want to talk to back here about a current murder investigation.
`When he's caught, will it be easy to get him back?'
`Sure. The Spanish won't want to feed him for any longer than they have to.'
The questioner smiled. 'Can you tell me, if a person in this country feels that he may have been the victim of dishonesty in another country, can he make a complaint here?'
`Technically, no. As an investigator, I work for the Crown Office and the Procurator Fiscal. If the crime occurs abroad, then the complaint should be raised in that country. In practice, if anyone on my patch feels that they may have been stitched up in a foreign country, then my department will certainly listen to them. If it is warranted, we might even raise the complaint on their behalf. . unofficially of course.'
The bald man raised a hand again. 'Mr Skinner, about the traffic wardens.
The question session ran on for a little longer, growing more light-hearted by the minute, until Peter Payne drew it to a close, eliciting a final round of applause for Bob's contribution to the evening. As the gathering broke up, Skinner noticed that the thin man who had spoken from the back of the room seemed to be holding back as if waiting. Peter Payne spotted him in the same moment, and beckoned him across.
`Bob, this is the chap I mentioned earlier,' he said as the man approached.
`Greg Pitkeathly,' said the thin man, shaking Skinner's hand.
`Pleased to meet you,' said Skinner.
`Tell me, am I right in thinking that your questions back there had some purpose to them?'
The man smiled, and nodded. 'Afraid so. I rather think I've been defrauded. Probably in Spain, but I'm not certain. Is there someone who'll speak to me?'
`If it's in Spain, and you're a L'Escala dweller, that makes it almost personal. I'll take a look at it myself.'
`That's very good of you. If you're sure of that, I've got a file on it all. When can I let you see it?'
`Well, if it'll keep till Tuesday, I'll be back in my office then. Why don't you call my secretary tomorrow and fix a time. Tell her where we met.'
Pitkeathly's thin face broke into a smile of gratitude. 'That's very good of you. I'll look forward to telling you my story. It seems almost too obvious to be a fraud but, the way the figures add up, I don't see any other answer.'
`Well, let's find out on Tuesday. I must go now, I'm in danger of being absent without leave!'
He shook Peter Payne's hand and hurried off, leaving Pitkeathly staring in some surprise at his disappearing back.
Seventeen
When Bob returned to Fairyhouse Avenue, he found the scene already set in the nursery for the ritual of Jazz Skinner's first bathtime before guests in his new home.
Sarah's advance planning had been meticulous. The yellow plastic bath was in place, held in its collapsible frame beside a low changing table, and a simple wooden stool stood between the two. Andy Martin and Alex had arrived ahead of schedule and, to Sarah's surprise, together in Alex's car. They stood in a corner of the bright nursery and looked on as the new mother undressed her infant, dumped his disposable nappy, wrapped around its colourful contents, in a lined bin beneath the table, and gave him a preliminary wipe before lowering him carefully into the warm water.
Jazz chuckled as the water lapped over his skin, and he kicked his long, strong legs in pleasure, splashing his mother's apron, and his father's slacks. When the waves subsided, Sarah washed him gently with Johnson's soap. It was only when she began to shampoo his dark hair that the baby's equanimity was broken, as he screwed up his eyes and whimpered.
When she had rinsed off the last of the suds, she looked up at Bob. `How'm I doing then, Dad?'
Well, as the only person here with relevant experience, I'd say you were doing okay. So would Jazz, I think.' With the annoyance of the suds behind him, the baby had resumed his energetic kicking. 'Better get him out of there before he empties the bath!'
`Okay. You can do the next bit.' Sarah lifted him from the bath and laid him on a soft fluffy blue towel which Bob had spread on the table. She stood to the side and watched as her husband dressed his son for the night, greasing his bottom liberally with Vaseline before fitting the bulky disposable nappy, then easing him — arms first, then legs — into the one-piece white sleep-suit. All the time, he spoke to Jazz in a matter-of-fact way. 'It amazes me, you know, wee pal, looking at that last nappy, how the stuff you get out of your mother converts into the stuff that comes out of you. I suppose there are some things in life that it's better not to know. What d'you think?'
Jazz blew a bubble in response. Bob nodded. 'Yes, I suppose that's as good an answer as any!'
Sarah smiled. As he lifted up the baby with both hands, supporting his head as he passed him to Alex, she reflected on the change that fatherhood had wrought in Bob Skinner. The troubled man of the summer before had vanished. Bob seemed to have despatched his private demons. Sarah hoped that they were gone for good.
Alex's laughter broke her mood. 'Hey, brother, wrong chest!' As she cradled the baby in her arms his mouth was searching, puckering, feeling for her breast through her shirt.
Sarah reached out her arms. 'It's that time again, Jazz. Come to Momma.' She took the baby from Alex and walked over to a low seat by the window, flicking open the buttons of her blouse as she went. Seated, and holding Jazz in the crook of her left arm, she tugged at the hooks of her nursing bra.
`Goddam contraption! Necessary though, Alex. One doesn't want them to start the long journey south before their time.' She freed her left breast, and Jazz set to feeding at once, sucking hungrily. As she settled back in her chair, Sarah's eye was caught by Andy Martin, edging self-consciously towards the door. 'What's the matter, Andy? Never seen one of these things before?'
`Sure, but always in pairs, and never in use.'
`Get accustomed to it, then, man. This here is Nineties woman.' She paused, then looked up again, struck by a sudden thought. I'm sorry, you two. Everybody here's been fed but you. Alex, take Andy downstairs and find yourselves some supper.'
`Thanks, Sarah,' said Andy, 'but we've got a table booked at the Loon Fung for nine-thirty. I thought that Alex could use some lemon chicken to give her a break from all that studying.'
Sarah thrust out her bottom lip in a petulant gesture. `Lucky Alex. That just makes me think of the downside of this here bundle of joy. My social life's his from now on.'
`Hah!' said Alex. 'I weep for you. I'm sitting finals in two weeks, while you're off to Spain.'
`Yeah,' said Bob. life's a bitch, kid.
`Well, make up for it. Get us a drink. I'll call a taxi for nine-twenty.'
Bob led the way downstairs. He disappeared into the kitchen, and re-emerged with three uncapped bottles of Sol beer.
`The Loon Fung, eh,' he said, grinning, as he handed them round. 'Should I be giving you the heavy father routine, Martin?'
`Don't you dare!' said Alex with a sharp edge to her voice which was not entirely affected — and which took Bob by surprise. `I'm Nineties woman, too. Anyway, Andy's. . well, Andy's. . Andy. He's my mate. Isn't that right Super shy;intendent?' Martin smiled and nodded sheepishly, his green eyes shining. He looked suddenly younger than thirty-something, just as Alex could be taken for mid rather than early twenties.
Bob grinned and shrugged his shoulders. 'Sure, what the hell. I keep forgetting that Andy's known you since
