I’d done what I’d been sure was the right thing, but that didn’t stop me being desperately homesick every time I walked through the door of HQ in Glasgow, missing my old office in one of the capital city’s ugliest buildings, missing the streets I’d stalked for so many years, missing everyone, up to and including Maisie, the waitress in the senior officers’ dining room, who’d served Sarah and me lunch on the day that we’d had the heart-to-heart that blew away the smoke that had been obscuring my view of her and led, very shortly afterwards, to us getting back together.
With all that emotional baggage, my stomach flipped a little when I heard Mario McGuire say, in his most serious professional tone, ‘Bob, can you call me, soon as possible. A name’s come up in what’s now officially the Bella Watson homicide investigation, and before I let anyone pursue it, I need to talk to you.’
Sixteen
Mario McGuire, who had a dislike of the unexpected that he tried to keep to himself, looked up with a flash of annoyance at the sound of knuckles rapping on his door. If it had been the chief constable, he would have been fine about it, but hers was a much lighter touch, and in any event she would probably have walked straight in.
He frowned as he pressed the button that activated the green light in the corridor, staring at the door as it opened. . and Bob Skinner stepped into the office, dressed as informally as the ACC had ever seen him, in light cotton cargo trousers and an FC Barcelona top.
He was grinning. ‘It feels strange to see you in my old room,’ he said. ‘In a nice way, though,’ he added. ‘Sorry if I’m interrupting a private moment, chum, but your new secretary said there was nobody with you.’
‘No worries, boss.’ McGuire chuckled. ‘Listen to me with the “boss”: force of habit. Actually, I was dozing, to tell you the truth.’
‘I know that, otherwise you’d have spotted me coming up the drive. That’s why I always liked this room, you can see all the comings and goings from that window. How are Paula and wee Eamon, by the way? I take it he’s the reason you’re nodding off on the job.’
‘You take it right. He’s turning night into day. But I don’t care. I never thought I’d be a dad.’
‘Don’t miss a moment. I never thought I’d get a second chance, after Myra died. It makes your life complete.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ McGuire assured him, ‘or Paula either. She’s really funny, you know. She’s got a wardrobe full of designer clothes and now her boobs are so big she doesn’t see herself getting into any of them ever again. Does she care? Not a bit of it. She slops about in my T-shirts and looks great in them.’
‘They’ll fit her again. Sarah was the same, both times, but she was back to her normal cup size pretty soon after she stopped feeding.’ He laughed. ‘Hey, that’s a hell of a subject for two chief police officers, is it not?’
‘True,’ the ACC agreed. ‘Hey,’ he exclaimed, suddenly, ‘when I called you on Saturday: you and Sarah, in Spain? Bob, if you don’t mind me asking, what the hell’s going on?’
Skinner shot him a quick, self-conscious, sideways look, and a small almost shy smile. ‘We are,’ he replied. ‘Sarah and me. It’s early days yet and we’re keeping our own houses, but yeah, we’re back together, sort of. We’re keeping our heads down, obviously, but we’re both pretty happy about it, and needless to say, so are the kids.’
‘How about the big kid?’
‘Alex? She’s good with it too. She’s in much the same sort of relationship herself with Andy, for now at least, until she finally decides to make me a grandfather. . although I suspect that one of my boys might beat her to it, and Mark’s only just starting high school.’
He stretched some residual stiffness from the flight out of his back, then dropped into a chair that faced across the ACC’s desk. ‘I got your message. You sounded very businesslike so I thought I’d better come and see you rather than do it over the phone. Sorry about the gear,’ he grinned and raised his right foot to display a tan moccasin but no sock. ‘I’m hot off the plane.’
‘You’re lucky it’s warm here today. It was chilly for most of last week.’
‘The weather hasn’t been holding you back, from the sound of your message. So that definitely was old Bella that got washed up, was it?’
McGuire nodded, in confirmation. ‘Most of her; there’s not a chance of us ever finding the rest.’
‘And you know that she was killed in her house?’
‘Her flat, yes, in Caledonian Crescent.’
‘She moved up in the world then,’ Skinner observed, ‘from that fucking awful street she lived in. You know, Mario, for years I had this mad idea. I was going to advertise mystery tours for Festival visitors, fill up buses, then drive them round some of our worst housing schemes, to show them the conditions that the city council was prepared to tolerate.’
His friend laughed. ‘Nice idea, but it would have been a crap career move. Have you always been a closet leftie?’ he asked.
‘I’ve never hidden it. I was married to a Labour politician, wasn’t I?’
‘True. . but not for long. Anyway, Bella had no choice but to move up. They demolished her street twelve years ago, and there was no “down” from there. We’re not sure where she lived in the period after that, before she moved into Caley Crescent.’
‘I can’t see that mattering,’ Skinner said. ‘How’s the investigation going?’
The other man frowned. ‘At this moment, we’ve got no obvious suspects,’ he admitted. ‘In fact we know very little about the woman’s life in the years since we investigated her son Marlon’s murder. It’s a gap that I’d like to fill.’
‘Why are you talking to me about it? I know that she worked for Tony Manson after that but she was always under the radar as far as we were concerned. I can’t help you there.’
‘Maybe not, but you know a man who can.’
‘I do? How come.’
‘Bella didn’t own the flat she lived in,’ McGuire said, ‘but she didn’t pay rent on it either. In fact, she didn’t pay anything. The council tax, gas, the electric, phone, broadband and cable telly were all taken care of. She wasn’t short of cash either; as well as her state pension, she had six hundred quid paid into her bank account every month, not taxable income, but an allowance.
‘We only found out this morning who her benefactor was, when Karen Neville spoke to a partner in the law firm that manages the property. It’s owned by a company called Dominic Jackson Investments, and they cover all the costs and forward Bella’s money too.’
‘Dominic Jackson,’ Skinner repeated.
‘That’s right. The name was news to me at first, but it’s familiar to you, yes?’
‘Of course it is. Dominic Jackson doesn’t exist; the name’s an alias, set up a long time ago by Tony Manson as an alternative identity for his informally adopted heir, someone you and I both met in extreme circumstances: Lennie Plenderleith.’
‘That’s right; the team found that out this morning. Are you surprised that Lennie’s been looking after the old bat?’
‘Now you tell me, I’m not a bit surprised. You know as well as I do that Bella didn’t just work for Tony Manson. With that history, I can see that Lennie should have looked after her.’
‘Do you think he might have got fed up with it?’ the ACC asked, quietly.
‘And had her bumped off?’ Skinner exclaimed. ‘Not a fucking chance. You’re not serious about that, are you? Or do I detect David Mackenzie’s steely mind behind the theory?’
‘Hell no! Anyway, Mackenzie’s warned off; he tried to grab the glory when the body was found, and I had to point out to him a bit forcefully that’s not his role. I think he’s in the huff. He missed his Monday meeting with Mary Chambers, and I haven’t seen him since. But no, I’m not really serious about Lennie being involved, just bouncing the thought off you, that’s all.’
‘Who are you sending to interview him? Luke Skywalker?’