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"Yes, sir?" Sharp's voice was remarkably clear. "Anything up?"

"Very much so," he answered, tersely. "Have we had any missing persons reports in the wake of this flood?"

"No, sir," the inspector replied. "None at all. We had an eye out for them too, don't worry."

"Well, we've missed one. He's down here in Miss Bonney's basement. Get an ambulance along here will you, but tell them no lights and siren, I don't want any unnecessary fuss."

He ended the call, and turned back to the old lady. "Can you stand on your own for a bit?"

She gave him a withering look. "Of course."

In three long strides he stepped over to the door, then shuffled his way through, until he stood over the body. Years of experience had taught him to ignore, or at least tolerate, the smell. He crouched down and leaned over, to see better. It was in a filthy state, and there were early signs of decomposition, but it was still clearly the corpse of a middle-aged man. It was clad in what looked like a heavy shirt, rough jacket, and flannel trousers. He glanced along towards the feet and saw socks, but no shoes.

He leaned further across, meaning to use the opposite wall to lever himself upright again, then paused, unusually aware of his contact lenses as his eyes narrowed. The body was lying awkwardly, and its right arm seemed to have been twisted behind it by the water.

From this new angle he could see clearly a mark on the wrist; it was vivid, the kind of groove that could have been left by a ligature.

"Bloody hell," he murmured, then pushed himself to his feet off the wall, fumbling for his cellphone once again.

Within a minute he had Sharp back on line.

"It's on the way, sir," the inspector reported, briskly.

"That's fine. Now, still without causing any fuss, I want you to call the head of CID for me. Get him here, with whoever's on duty in the Western Division office, plus a full scene-of-crime team, including a medical examiner. And do not, repeat do not, let anyone into this house."

Five

"Busy Friday in the Borders, was it?" Maggie flashed a smile as she asked the question, but nothing but indifference showed in her eyes.

"You know what Fridays are like, Detective Superintendent Rose," he answered; nothing had been asked directly, no lie had been told. "What about yours?"

"My division's always quiet on a Friday. All my criminals are out getting drunk."

She peered at him as he came to stand beside her, filling the kettle from the kitchen tap. "You should keep an electric razor in that office of yours, McGuire. You need a shave."

"It's my new weekend look."

She sniffed. "At least you don't need a wash. That's a very fetching shower gel you've been using."

He ignored her jibe. "Where's Rufus?" he asked.

She nodded towards the window. "Outside, in his den."

He looked out into the garden and saw that the door of the new summerhouse, where the toddler kept his larger toys, was open. "He's happy, then. I thought we might take him down to North Berwick later on."

"If you like, "his wife muttered.

As he put the kettle on its stand and switched it on, he saw the tension in her jawline. "Mags, what's up?" he asked.

She turned and stared at him, incredulity in her eyes. "Are you serious? You come swarming in here at going on eleven on a Saturday morning, and you ask me what's up?"

"Mags''

"Don't." She held up her hands as if to fend him off, although he had made no move towards her. "Just don't. I know it's all my fault. I can't be a wife to you any more, so how can I expect you to be a husband to me? I'm sorry; I shouldn't have got sarky with you. Things being as they are I suppose I should be grateful that you come home at all."

"I'll always come home, honey. You know that."

"God knows why."

"Yes, he does, because I stood before him and told him. I love you."

"What's to love?" She slapped her abdomen, violently.

"There's more to you than that."

"Just as well," she retorted, 'for I was never very good at it anyway."

He winced. "You weren't…" he began, but she cut him off.

"Don't look at me like that, it's true. That particular part of marriage has always been an effort for me, especially since we found out that we couldn't have kids. It was difficult enough when there was some point to it. I tried, for your sake, but now I just can't, not any more."

The sound of boiling water reached a crescendo, then subsided as the kettle switched itself off. "Okay," he said, reaching for two mugs.

"I've told you; I understand."

"Yes, and I understand you too. Here, let me do that." She brushed him aside and took the mugs from him, then spooned coffee granules into each one. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch."

He sighed. "You're not. Shop; let's talk shop," he exclaimed, suddenly.

"If you insist," she agreed, brightly. "I had a chat with our colleague Detective Superintendent Jay yesterday. He and I are thinking about having a joint raid on those saunas your cousin Paula owns. We have some in each of our divisions."

He gasped. "Don't you bloody dare!" he snapped. "Those places are licensed and they're above reproach."

Her laugh was filled with sarcasm. "They're sex shops, Mario."

"Maybe, but that's how we control the game in Edinburgh, and you and

Greg Jay know it. Paula doesn't take a penny from the women who work there and she makes sure they're clean and drug-free."

"I know, you've told me this before. She's really a social worker."

"In her own way." He looked at her, eyes narrowing. "You're pulling my chain, aren't you?"

"Just a bit."

He returned her faint smile. "I've changed my mind; you are a bitch.

Anyway, she's selling them."

"She is? Why?"

"Because I asked her to."

"Ah, you do find it embarrassing, then."

"Just a touch, but that's not it. I don't believe that her ownership of those places is compatible with her position as a trustee of the

Viareggio businesses. That is definitely not a business sector we want to get into, or even be associated with, by implication."

"Her late father thought that too when he was a trustee, and she paid no attention to him."

"Uncle Beppe wasn't thinking about taking the businesses public'

"And you are?"

"It's an option."

"Whose idea is it? Yours, or Alexis Skinner's."

"It's Alex's, but I'll take a bit of the credit; I asked her to do a report for us on possible ways forward."

"Very good." She smiled again. "You know, of course, that a lot of people are calling you an arse-kisser, for appointing the boss's daughter to look after your business affairs."

"Give me their names," he said, grimly, 'and I'll go and see them, one by one. Or are you one of them?"

"No, I'm not," she retorted. "Give me credit for knowing you better than that. Anyway, I know how good a lawyer she's become. You don't get to be an associate of her firm at her age if you're not. She must be costing you, though, and in travel too, with her being based in London."

"It's worth it."

"How's she taking what happened to her dad?"

"How do you think? She's in shock, like the rest of us."

"No surprise." Maggie picked up her coffee, walked over to the back door, opened it and stepped out into the garden. Mario slipped off his jacket, threw it across the kitchen table and followed. Hearing them, Rufus toddled out of his playhouse and waved.

"Does Alex's firm do family law?" she asked him, as she waved back at her tiny half-brother.

He blinked, caught by surprise. "No," he replied, feeling a sudden lurch in his stomach. "Why do you ask? Do you want a divorce?"

It was her turn to be taken aback. "What? No, don't be daft. There's no such thought in my mind, for all that I've been bitching. You asked me if there was something wrong earlier on, when I got tore into you.