Thursday legends - Skinner 10 (8 page)

'I
like this,' she said, as she cruised back into the driveway of the bungalow.

'Get
yourself one then.'

'I'm
still too young; the insurance would cripple me.

Besides,
Dad wouldn't like it. He has a thing about fast cars and me, after what
happened to Mum.'

'Your
mother's death wasn't her fault. We know that now.'

'She
went like the wind all the same; Pops told me once that he was sure that if she
hadn't bought it then, it would have happened another time. He never let her
drive him if he could help it.'

'He
doesn't have a problem with your driving,' Andy grinned. 'You're nearly as good
as me.'

'How
could I aspire to that?' She kissed him; for a second or two beyond friendship.
'I'll come to see the pictures soon,' she promised as she climbed out of the
driver's seat. 'And don't worry, I'll phone first.'

He
thought about Alex all the way back to North Berwick. Was she offering him a
way back? Maybe, but on her terms
...
and he could never forget. It wasn't a matter of forgiveness any more, he knew
that. No, he could never forget.

Detective
Inspector Mario McGuire was in the mobile headquarters, alone, when Martin
arrived back from Gullane. 'Maggie gone for a kip?' the Head of CID asked.

'Yeah.
I told her she should go home, but you know her. She wants to co-ordinate the
door-to-door results as soon as she's got enough in. Stevie's round at the
local office too, getting catering organised for later.'

'What's
Mags got you doing?'

McGuire
frowned. 'It's not a matter of that, sir. I've got my own locus in this
investigation. This guy used to do my Special Branch job. Unless we find out
very quickly that he was shagging the woman next door and her husband took
revenge
...'

'Unlikely,'
said Martin. 'She's about eighty-five.'

'Two
doors along, then. Unless it's a local vendetta or a family thing, I'm going to
have to look back through the stuff he was involved in as a copper, to see if
there might be a connection. You've sat in my chair too. You know how sensitive
it can be.'

'Aye,
and how confidential. You're right; you do that. Report anything you find to
Maggie privately, but keep me in touch as well.'

'Of
course. There's one thing I did say I'd do for Maggie this morning, though.' He
glanced at his watch. 'I have to see the owner of the pub along the road - or
last night's bar staff - to get a list of all the people who were in there.'

'Sure.
The alarm was raised by one of their punters; maybe another one saw someone
going into Alec's house. The Auld Hoose isn't the only pub in town, though. We
should check the others, starting with the Golfer's Rest round in the Main
Street. I'll tell you what; you take that, I'll take the Auld Hoose.'

McGuire
nodded, stood, and turned towards the door. Before he and Martin reached it, it
opened, and a young woman constable, in uniform, appeared. The DCS recognised
her at once. 'PC Cowan. What brings you here? Finished your door-to-doors?'

She
brought her left arm round from behind her and raised it. She was clutching a
plastic supermarket bag, wet and encrusted with dark sand. Martin took it from
her and looked inside; it contained a blowtorch, a knife, and a heavy steel
wrench, all still soaking. 'I was on the beach search team, sir. I went round
to the harbour when the tide was low enough, and I saw that on the bottom.'

'Where?'
asked Martin, urgently.

'Near
the wall beside the car park, sir.'

'Good
for you, PC Cowan. Did your sergeant tell you to do that or did you work it out
for yourself?'

The
woman looked diffident. 'I sort of worked it out, sir.'

'Well
done, you. Is the beach search still going on?'

'Yes,
sir. There are people out in the east bay.'

'Get
on your radio, then, and tell them to chuck it. We won't find anything else.
Call everyone back in here.' He pointed to the desk at which McGuire had been
sitting. 'There are still streets to be allocated for door-to-door interviews.
I want you to dish them out to the search teams as they get here, along with
interview sheets and clipboards.

'Before
that, though, I want you to tag those three items, put them in the evidence
bags which you'll find in that cupboard over there, and call for a car to take
them to DI Dorward in the forensic lab. Got all that?'

'Yes
sir.'

'Good;
get on with it, then. The Inspector and I have a couple of calls to make.
You're in charge till Sergeant Steele gets back.'

The
two detectives stepped out into the street. 'Bright girl, that,' said Martin.
'Ready for CID, if she wants it.'

'Don't
they all want it?' McGuire suggested.
'I
couldn't wait to get out of uniform.'

'Me
neither; but they're not all like us. Besides, this force needs good people in
every department. Cowan's divisional commander might kick up hell if I try to
pinch her.'

'You
can fix him, though.'

'Probably,
if I brought the Big Man into it, but I'd rather not have to. Ask Maggie to
have a look at the girl; if she'd like her on her strength, she can ask for
her. It'll make it easier if it comes from within the division.'

They
set off across Forth Street; on the other side they walked directly into a
television cameraman, with a reporter by his side, microphone in hand. 'A quick
word on camera, Andy?' asked Julian Finney, of Scottish Television.

'No
way. This is Maggie Rose's investigation; ask her when she gets back.' He
nodded towards McGuire, who was heading in the direction of the Golfer's Rest.
'Don't go pointing that bloody thing at Mario either; that ain't allowed, and
you know it.'

'It's
okay, we won't do that. I know the SB people are off limits. Alec Smith wasn't
though, was he? I've just spoken to the guy who found the body. The way he
described it, this was a torture killing. But, don't tell me, that's not for
quoting, is that right?'

Martin
looked at the journalist. 'Yeah, I guess that having your balls burned off with
a blowlamp could be described as torture.'

'Ahhh!'
Finney winced.

'That
was only the start. It could happen to you too, if you cross-examine our key
witnesses.'

'Point
taken, Andy, but the guy approached me, honest. Have you got a precise cause of
death yet?'

'I
honestly don't know. It could have been head injuries, but we'll need to wait
for the post-mortem. Sarah should be starting it soon.'

'D'you
expect a quick result?'

'We'll
let Maggie answer that one; at the moment we're doing the usual, asking lots of
people lots of questions and hoping that at least one of them saw something
that'll help us.'

'What's
your gut feeling, though? Still off the record.'

'My
gut feeling is that there's a very dangerous man walking about. If he lives in
North Berwick we'll catch him easy, but I doubt if he does. After he killed
Alec he walked round to the harbour and dropped the murder weapons into the
sea, right beside the car park. My guess is that after he did that he got into
a motor and drove off.

'This
guy's long gone; and I'll tell you something else, Julian - very much off the
record - he hasn't left a ghost of a trail.'

9

They
did it all: all the routine slogging that is part of every murder enquiry. By
the end of the afternoon every one of Alec Smith's neighbours in Forth Street
had been interviewed by CID officers. Most of the other houses in North Berwick
had been canvassed by senior officers. All of the Friday evening customers listed
by publicans had been located and questioned.

With
DCI Maggie Rose back in command in the van, the Head of CID had taken on
foot-soldier duties. He and McGuire had visited every resident of the converted
Granary flats, and of every other house clustered around the small tidal
harbour. No-one could recall seeing anyone drop anything into the water late in
the evening. No-one could recall anyone being parked there, or driving away.

Andy
Martin was dog-tired when he arrived back in Dean Village, just before seven.
It had been a blazing day, and there was still real heat in the sun. He slid
the MGF into his garage and was about to pull down the up-and-over door, when
Rhian stepped inside.

'Hi,'
she murmured. 'I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it.'

'So
was I.'

She
slid her arms around him as he pulled down the door. 'That would have
disappointed me. I hate disappointments. I don't think I could stand two in two
days; you're not going to disappoint me again, are you?'

He
grinned down at her. She really was very attractive, in a bikini top and
shorts, her tan dark and shiny; very much a woman, not a girl at all. 'I think
there's every chance of that,' he chuckled, as she reached back to flick the
catch of her top. 'But I'll do my best.'

He
picked her up and carried her, through the garage exit and into the house, up
the first flight of stairs, then up the second, and into his bedroom.

Yes,
you surely are mad, Martin,
he
said to himself, but right at that moment he cared not a bit.

Rhian
was a screamer and the window was open; at first he hoped like hell that the
music next door was loud enough to cover her cries, but after a while he
stopped caring. 'You have definitely done this before,' he said, afterwards, as
the air seemed to sizzle round them.

'I
did tell you that. You're not too shabby yourself, officer, definitely not a
disappointment.' She nestled into the crook of his arm. 'There. Feeling better
now?'

'And
how.'

'Has
it been a bad day?'

'Yes,
but don't let's talk about it.'

'Have
you caught anyone yet?'

'Nah.
Fact is, we haven't got a bloody clue. All those folk in North Berwick, but
no-one saw a damn thing. They don't, you see; most of the time, people just
don't notice other people. They only register them as part of the background,
and that can make life very difficult for us.' He glanced at the bedside clock.
'Here, we'd better get ready.'

She
chuckled; deep and wicked. 'You don't think I'm finished with you yet, do you?'

If
Juliet Lewis had noticed her daughter's absence, or
marked
the fact that Andy was over an hour late for the barbecue, she said not a word
about it, only, 'Welcome,' and 'You shouldn't have,' as he handed over two
thick fillet steaks, bought in Struth's of North Berwick and wrapped in greaseproof
paper, and a bottle of reserve claret from the delicatessen in Gullane. She was
beautifully dressed, in a close-fitting skirt and a long-sleeved blouse, in
stark contrast to many of her younger guests.

Rhian
had gone upstairs after showing him through to the garden. Just as her mother
was handing Martin a goblet of red wine she reappeared, dressed in jeans and a
tee-shirt, and with her hair tied back in a pony-tail. She picked up a bottle
of Belgian beer from the serving table, took his hand and drew him towards his fellow
guests, who were gathered on the lawn.

'Come
on, let me introduce you around.' As he had expected, most of them were young,
around Margot's age. She pointed to a group gathered around the younger Lewis
daughter, a tall dark girl, in a light blue dress. 'You know the guest of
honour, of course.' Actually, he had never exchanged a word with her. From what
he had seen she was a serious type, who looked, as did Rhian, a year or two
older than she really was. He gave her a smile and a wave. She responded,
almost shyly, sneaking a quick look at her sister. For an instant, he detected
a hint of a smirk on her face, and wondered.

'These
are the serious people, though.' she led him over to a group of half a dozen
men and women, older than the rest and standing a little apart. 'Hi everybody,'
she called out.

One
of the men, who had been looking down on to the dark, slow-moving Water of
Leith, glanced over his shoulder. 'Ah, it's herself,' he said, turning. 'I
wondered where the hell you'd got to.' He grinned at Martin. 'Can I guess?'