‘What’s he doing now?’
‘Drinking.’
‘Shame. I’ve seen that before, though, an old-timer retiring, then discovering he doesn’t have a life.’
McGurk shook his head. ‘It’s not that with Dan. He lost his daughter, and it crushed him.’
‘Poor guy. You must find the new regime different.’
‘What does Ray say?’
‘We’ve never discussed it. He’s never mentioned Dan Pringle.’
‘We tend not to. But you’re wrong about Mario McGuire, and Neil McIlhenney for that matter. The Glimmer Twins might seem a bit flash. . no, scratch that, they are a bit flash, especially Mario. . but below all that, they’re bedrock. You can trust them.’
‘That’s good to know. The Met’s full of flash guys too, but they tend to be scrambling up the ladder as fast as they can, without caring whose fingers they step on.’
‘Glad to be out of it?’
‘Are you asking me if Ray was just an excuse?’
‘Hell, no!’
‘I’d forgive you if you did, but the answer would be no. Private life first, job second; I’ve always managed to stick to that.’
‘Maybe I should have too.’
Stallings gasped. ‘Oh, God, Jack. Don’t take that personally; I wasn’t thinking.’
‘That’s okay, boss. I tried it your way, but that didn’t work either.’ He looked at his watch, then back towards the court building. ‘They’re taking time turning Weekes loose,’ he said. ‘Bail formalities, I suppose. Either that or Frankie’s got another case in court and he’s waiting for her to chum him out of the building.’ He pointed towards the throng of press and television cameras waiting in Chambers Street. ‘He won’t fancy running that gauntlet.’
‘Is there a back door? Maybe he’s used that.’
‘No, they won’t let him. He’ll be coming this way.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Put it this way: if he doesn’t, some uniforms in there will be looking for a place to hide.’
‘You fixed it?’
McGurk nodded. ‘This guy’s getting no job-related favours. Every other punter comes out the front door: so does he. Besides. .’ As he spoke, the door opened and Frankie Birtles stepped out, followed by her client. As he stepped into the summer sunshine Weekes looked out into the street; a look of panic crossed his face as the camera-bearing horde sprang into life and surged towards the entrance. He started to remove his jacket, to cover his face, the sergeant guessed, as he stepped back through the gate, into the court precincts, out of bounds to the media.
‘A word before you go, Theo,’ he said, taking Weekes by the arm and drawing him to one side. ‘We’ll see him into a taxi, Frankie,’ he called to the solicitor.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘My car’s across the road. I need him back at my office.’ She stood, waiting, prepared to allow the detective privacy.
‘What is it, you great long cunt?’ Weekes hissed at him.
‘I love you too, arsehole,’ McGurk growled. ‘Here it is. I want to make sure you understand what your lawyer agreed to in there,’ he said. ‘Especially the bit about not approaching potential witnesses. I think you’ll find that PC Grey will arrest you herself if you go anywhere near her, and the girl you mentioned in South Queensferry thinks you’re a dick anyway. But if I hear of you hassling Lisanne, whether it’s by phoning her, texting her, sending her emails, whatever, your flat feet won’t touch the ground. You’ll be back in front of the sheriff and banged up on remand. On top of that, I have friends in Saughton Prison. No protective segregation for you, paclass="underline" you’ll be on open association with the other inmates from day one, never able to eat without somebody gobbing in your food, never able to take a shower without the fear that you might be gang-banged. With me?’
Weekes’s eyes flashed in a last show of bravado, but only for a second or two. He mumbled something that might have been ‘Fuck off’, then headed towards Birtles, and the cameras, pulling his jacket up and over his head.
‘Nice one, Theo,’ McGurk called after him. ‘Do that and you’ll really look guilty. Tell him, Frankie.’
The solicitor whispered in her charge’s ear. He stopped and glowered at her, but slipped his jacket back on, then followed her out into the street, under the implacable gaze of two dozen lenses as they followed him all the way to her black Mercedes.
Fifty-nine
‘But apart from that, Mrs Lincoln,’ said Bob, ‘how did you enjoy the play?’
Aileen lifted her head from the sun-lounger; her pale blue eyes stared blankly at him. ‘Eh?’ And then his meaning dawned on her. She pushed herself up on her forearms, until her nipples were just clear of the towel on which she lay; the midday sun glistened on the sheen of perspiration that it had brought to her back, her buttocks, her long legs. ‘Apart from the abortive trip to France to interview a witness. . which wasn’t too bad. . and you finding a body across the bay. . which was. . I’ve had a lovely time.’ She smiled, then blew away a strand of blonde hair that had found its way into the corner of her mouth. ‘As a matter of fact I’m still having it. I could easily stand this for another week or so.’
‘Me too,’ he conceded. ‘But you’ve got a country to run and I’ve got a job to get back to. Maybe we can fit in a week with the kids during the school half-term in October. Sarah and I are agreed that it’s too short for them to go to America.’
‘You miss them, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, love, but that’s the way it has to be.’
‘Not necessarily. I know couples who stay together for the sake of their children, and nothing else. If you went to America and said to Sarah, “Come back and let’s give it another go, for Mark, James Andrew and Seonaid,” don’t you think she might?’
‘No, not for a second. She might say, “You stay here and we’ll give it a go,” but that’s not going to happen either.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘We’ve been over this. She doesn’t love me, and I don’t love her. I love you, and that’s it.’
‘But didn’t you once?’
‘Maybe, but I’m not so sure of that any more. If I did, if we did, at some point it just stopped. There’s no way back, even if you and her new boyfriend weren’t factors.’
The killer blue eyes widened. ‘Sarah has a new man? How did you find that out?’
‘There are no secrets between the Jazzer and his dad. He told me.’
Aileen laughed. ‘Will I remember that?’
‘Cuts both ways. When I tell him we’re getting married, his mum will be the next to know.’
‘You’ve got something to do before that happens.’
‘Yes,’ he said firmly, ‘and I will, if I don’t get arrested first. It’s fucking weird, Aileen, the way that these killings all manage to have links to me. If I was running this thing on the ground, I’d be my own chief suspect.’
‘Just as well you’re not. You’re so bloody conscientious, you’d lock yourself up.’ Her laugh faded as she saw his expression. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
His frown deepened, highlighting the scar above the bridge of his nose. ‘Grave-walking. Do you ever have thoughts that cross your mind so fast you can’t catch them?’
‘No, but I reckon I know several opposition politicians who do.’ Her smile restored his. ‘And you don’t have to lock yourself up,’ she added. ‘I’m your alibi for the latest murder.’
‘Honey-child,’ he told her, ‘just about the time Nada Sebastian was killed, I got out of bed, went downstairs, swam for about twenty minutes, dried myself off and got back into bed. That’s the first you knew of it, isn’t it?’
She looked at him, as if his eyes would tell her whether he was serious.
‘Isn’t it?’ he repeated.
‘Yes.’
‘Yes indeed. I’ve never told you this before, but you could sleep for Scotland. So you’re a lousy alibi.’
‘I could lie.’
‘Thanks, but you’d make an even worse liar.’
‘No worse than you, I’m happy to say.’ She rolled off the lounger, and on to his, on to him, along his length, her arms on his chest, her palms on his shoulders. ‘That’s how I’ll know,’ she murmured, gazing down at him, ‘if the moment comes when you stop loving me.’