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‘That whole area’s called Strathclyde Park, sir,’ Constable Davie went on.

‘Oh, I know that,’ Skinner murmured. ‘It used to be wilderness. In fact, the Motherwell burgh rubbish tip was there, right next to a football ground that used to be covered in broken glass and all sorts of crap. It was all taken away when the park was created and they diverted the River Clyde to make the loch. I was a kid when they did it, but I remember it happening.’

Nostalgia, nostalgia, nostalgia. Stop it, Skinner! And yet, he reminded himself, none of those he thought of as his second family, Mark, James Andrew and Seonaid, had ever set foot in the town that had raised him.

He shook the thoughts from his head as Davie drove through the interchange and off by an exit marked ‘Bothwell’. Almost immediately he took a left, then made a few more turns, the last taking them into a leafy avenue called Maule Road. ‘This is it, sir,’ he said, drawing to a halt outside a big red sandstone villa, built, Skinner estimated, in the early twentieth century.

‘Pretty substantial,’ he remarked. ‘When did Chief Constable Field move in here?’ he asked his driver. ‘Given that she was only in post for five months.’

‘Three months ago, sir. For the first few weeks she and her sister lived in an executive flat on the Glasgow Riverside.’

‘Right.’ He stepped out of the car, then leaned over, beside the driver’s window; it slid open. ‘I can’t say for sure how long I’ll be,’ he murmured. ‘If I’m any longer than half an hour, I want you to toot the horn. I’ll pretend it’s a signal that I’ve had an urgent message.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll never ask you to lie for me, Davie, but it’s always good to have an escape plan.’

‘I understand, sir.’ Constable Cole frowned, as if wanting to say more, but hesitant.

The chief read the signal. ‘Out with it,’ he said.

‘Thank you, sir. It’s presumptuous of me, but I wonder if you’d express my sympathies to Marina and her mother.’

‘Of course I will. You’ve met them both?’

‘Yes, sir. I saw Marina pretty much every day, with her working so close to the chief, and I met Miss Deschamps when she stayed with them a couple of months ago. I think she came up to see the new house,’ he added.

‘What are they like?’ Skinner asked. ‘Mark my card, Davie.’

‘They’re both very nice ladies. Marina’s younger than the chief by a few years and not all that like her physically, or in personality, come to that. Miss Deschamps. . she’s very particular about that, by the way, sir. Marina’s a Ms but her mother is definitely Miss. . Miss Deschamps is quiet, doesn’t say much, but she was always very polite to me. She tried to tip me when we got here.’ He grinned at the memory. ‘The chief did her nut, but she just smiled and shook my hand instead.’

‘Thanks.’ The chief constable stood straight, walked through the villa’s open gateway and up to the vestibule. He rang the bell and waited.

He was about to press the button again when the front door opened. A tall, slim woman stood there; her hair was honey-coloured, and her skin tone almost matched it. The overall effect, Skinner mused, had the potential to cause traffic accidents.

She looked up at him, but not by much. ‘Yes?’ she said.

‘Bob Skinner,’ he told her. ‘I believe you’re expecting me. My aide called yesterday, yes?’

Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Of course,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s just. .’ She broke off, looking at his suit.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I should have thought this through. It’s my habit to leave my uniform in the office and travel in civvies. Please don’t feel slighted.’

‘I don’t, honestly,’ the woman assured him. ‘I always thought my sister overdid the uniform bit.’ She extended her hand. ‘I’m Marina Deschamps,’ she said, as they shook. ‘Come in, my mother is through in the garden room.’

She led the way and he followed, through a hallway, then along a corridor. He guessed at her age as they walked. A few years younger than her sister, Davie had said. Toni had been thirty-eight, so Skinner placed Marina early thirties, somewhere in age between her sister and his own daughter.

The corridor led them into a small sitting room that might have been a study at some time in the life of the old house, before what most people would have called a conservatory was added. As far as the chief could see it was unoccupied.

‘Mother,’ Marina called out, ‘our visitor is here.’

Sofia Deschamps had been seated in a high-backed wicker armchair, one of a pair, looking out into a garden that was entirely paved and filled with potted plants of various sizes, from flowers to small trees. She rose and stepped into view. She was almost as tall as her younger daughter; indeed they were very much alike, twins with a thirty-year age difference.

‘Mr Skinner,’ she said, as she approached him. ‘Thank you for calling on us.’ Her accent had strong French overtones, and she held her hand out in front of her, as if she expected him to kiss it, in the Gallic manner. Instead, he took it in his.

‘I wish I didn’t have to,’ he replied. ‘I wish that Saturday had never happened, that Toni was still in Pitt Street and I was still in Fettes, in my office in Edinburgh. My condolences to you both.’

‘Thank you.’

It occurred to him, for the first time, that both women were wearing black; inwardly he cursed himself for his pale blue tie. Sofia’s face was drawn, and her eyes were a little red, but there was an impressive dignity about her, about both of them, for that matter. ‘It’s still fairly early,’ she murmured, ‘but please, allow me to fetch us some coffee.’

‘No, no, ma’am,’ he protested, ‘that isn’t necessary.’

‘I insist.’ She stood her ground; refusal would have been impolite.

‘In that case, thank you very much, but if I may I’ll have water, sparkling if you have it, rather than coffee. My. .’ He paused; he had been about to describe Sarah as ‘My wife’. ‘. . medical adviser says I drink far too much of the stuff, and she’s made me promise to give it up.’

‘A pity,’ Miss Deschamps murmured, with a hint of a smile. ‘We should allow ourselves the occasional vice.’

‘My medical adviser is my vice.’ He said it without a pause for thought. ‘That’s to say,’ he added, searching for an escape route, ‘she’s my former wife, and I’ve learned that it’s too much trouble to disobey her.’

‘In that case I will not press you further. Excuse me, I will not be long.’

His eyes followed her as she headed for the door. She might have left sixty behind her, but she had lost no style or elegance; even at that early hour she was dressed in an ankle-length skirt and high heels.

Marina was less formal, in black trousers and a satin blouse. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘sit down.’

Skinner listened for French in her accent; there was some but less than in her mother.

‘Maman is being discreet,’ she continued. ‘She knows I want to ask you about my employment situation, and she doesn’t want it to appear as if we’re ganging up on you.’

‘That’s very decent of her,’ the chief said, as he sat, facing her, on a couch that matched the armchairs, ‘but there’s no rush to consider that. I know that you acted as Toni’s personal assistant. My assumption has been that you wouldn’t want to continue in that role with her successor, but that’s a decision you can take in your own time.

‘I’ve already given instructions that you can have all the time you feel you need. My temporary appointment is for three months; if you want to take all that time to decide what you want to do, or at least until a permanent successor to your sister is selected, that’ll be fine by me.’

Marina shook her head. ‘There’s no need, sir,’ she replied. ‘I have a job, and I’d like to carry on doing it.’

Skinner stared at her, unable to keep his surprise from showing. ‘You want to work for me?’ he exclaimed.

She nodded.