Arrow took the document and scanned through it. As he did his face darkened. He read through it again, more slowly this time. `What do you think of it?' asked Donaldson.
`Could mean nothing, could mean everything,' said the soldier grimly. 'Why the hell wasn't that window alarmed? According to this, all the others were.'
I guess because it was so small, they thought they'd save a pound or two.'
`Could be. Anyway, you can find out the reason when you see the woman tonight. Go through the motions, and ask her if you can look over the system. See what they've got there, how it works, and how it was fitted.'
Sure, we'll do that.' He turned to Mcllhenney. '
'Neil, have you had Crime Prevention training?'
The Sergeant nodded. 'Aye, about three years back. I'm reasonably up to speed about alarm systems.'
'Good,' said Arrow. 'Let's meet here at the same time tomorrow, yes?' The police officers nodded. 'So where is it now for you two?'
'Another fun day at the Old Bailey,' said Mcllhenney. 'I only hope I don't wind up in bloody Aldershot again tonight!'
FIFTY-SIX
‘You must be cooking in that uniform, Jimmy.' Sarah smiled faintly up at the silver-haired Chief Constable.
I'm sorry, my dear. I have a Police Board lunch at twelve-thirty otherwise I'd have been more appropriately dressed. How is he today? I see the colour's back in his cheeks'
`Don't let that fool you. That could be an infection. He's still critical, and the heart-rate keeps going up and down, despite the sedation. Mr Braeburn's coming in to check on him as soon as he's finished his surgical list. We'll see what he thinks then.'
Kindly and concerned, Sir James Proud looked down at her, and at Alex who was seated beside her, holding her father's hand. And how are you two?' he asked. 'How are you bearing up?'
`We're fine,' Sarah replied, for them both. 'Alex was great, the way she just took over looking after her brother.'
`Where's the wee chap now?'
`His nanny is looking after him.'
And looking after the flowers,' said Alex. The house is full of them. They just kept arriving all day yesterday… some from very strange people, too. Do you remember that time earlier this year, the night Andy was hurt, when Dad had a huge fight with a man he was arresting for murder?'
The Chief nodded, intrigued.
`There was a bouquet from him!'
`What!' Sir James's voice rose for a split second, until he remembered where he was. 'He's in Peterhead now. He tried to kill Bob’
`Yes,' said Sarah, and if you remember, Bob refused to charge him with that, or even with resisting arrest. He reckoned that one life sentence would be enough. The guy sent him a letter of thanks afterwards. The flowers yesterday came via his solicitor, with a Get Well note.'
Proud Jimmy shook his silver head. The world is a wondrous place! What sort of copper gets fan mail from a man he's put away for life?'
Alex grinned. 'Only my-' She stopped in mid-sentence, her mouth frozen open. Suddenly an expression of pain swept across her face. 'Ouch! Sarah, he's squeezing my hand, like he wants to break it! What do I do?'
`Squeeze back,' Sarah replied urgently. She looked up at the monitor and saw that the heart-rate was starting to climb again. `Hard as you can. It's as if he's trying to make contact, as if he's trying to come round, despite all that sedative that Braeburn pumped into him.
`Kiss his hand, talk to him, let him smell your perfume — anything! Just try to let him know that we're here!'
FIFTY-SEVEN
He was back in the field, but the landscape had changed. No longer did it stretch away for ever. Instead it was encircled by high dark woods, reaching up towards the sky and blocking out most of the lights.
He was moving, but very slowly, looking around him at the filth and the carnage. Once again he saw the doll that was not a doll. He tried to avert his gaze, but his eyes moved slowly also.
At last it reached out beyond that fearful relic, to the centre of what had become an arena.
There in the dreamscape, a dark ' looming shape rose up from the ground. In the distance, it seemed to have a face, twisted into a grotesque grin, leering at him, exulting in the knowledge that he was its captive. He tried to look elsewhere, but he was held firm, as if in a beam. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but knew as he did so that he was seeing not with any conventional sense. The dark vision remained.
He felt it call him onwards and he obeyed, although he did not want to go. This was a dream from which, he knew, there was no escape. In it he knew who he was. He remembered his run through the streets. He remembered the three men. He remembered the unnoticed girl. And he remembered the blow, and the pain; the sinking, the feeling of drowning, and at last his passage through the blackness that had delivered him to this place.
`Perhaps I am dead and in Hell,' he thought. 'Perhaps this is what Hell is: to be trapped for ever in your worst nightmare?'
He was drawn towards the grinning shape in the distance; his movements seemed to gather pace. He fought against it, but it was until suddenly he stumbled over something which had no use…until suddenly he stumbled over something which had gone unnoticed as he looked ahead.
Managing to hold himself upright he looked down at his feet. There, collapsed on its back, lay the body of a man, a look of utter surprise on his face. He was in his early thirties, neatly dressed and clean-cut, with two small exceptions. Just right of centre in his chest, and through the centre of his forehead there were dark, ragged bullet-holes.
It was a face Skinner knew, from life and from a score and more of earlier dreams. As he stared down at it, the look of surprise faded, to be replaced by one of recognition. Slowly and stiffly the apparition began to rise from the ground with a mixed smile of welcome and anticipation. 'Well, hello again,' it began.
He recoiled from it in horror, feeling his hands clench with tension…
… and suddenly, upon his left hand he felt an answering pressure, something that was not of the dream. He held to it tightly, afraid to let go in case he was holding on to life itself, and as he did the apparition faded. He remained trapped in the dream… there was no escape from there… but he was held still and motionless, held back from the horrible grinning shape.
Other sensations came to him. In the distance he heard whispery voices. On the back of his hands he felt the softest of moist touches. A scent reached him, not one of the blood and oil and burning which filled the dream, but something fragrant, a scent that he knew.
There he lay, in his own private darkness, grasping the unseen fingers which had rescued him from the spectre, and another that had come to take his right hand. There he lay, suspended from life, dead but undead. There he lay, and held on.
FIFTY-EIGHT
‘D'you ever notice how slow the pace of change is in London?'
Mackie looked at the acting Inspector, puzzled. 'What d'you mean?' he said. I'd have thought the opposite.'
McGuire paused on the pavement and shook his head. `When I was a lad, I came down to Wembley once, with my dad and my uncle.' He raised an arm and pointed along Wardour Street. 'We had a pint in that pub there, and that one, and that one. They're all just as I remember them. You pick out three pubs in a row in the middle of Edinburgh, and if just one of them has the same name and paint-job that it had fifteen years ago, you'll be lucky.'
The DCI laughed. 'There's more to life than boozers, big fella.'
`So there is, and over the last ten years Edinburgh's had a new Conference Centre, a new Opera House, new cinemas, four big new retail parks, a new civil-service building, and umpteen big new office developments, in the city centre and out by the bypass. Not bad for a city of under half a million folk.'