Her face darkened. 'I wondered whether that would come up. So, whose are these names?'
`Martin Hugo?'
She looked blankly at him and shook her head.
‘Vassily Kelnikov?'
Something flashed across her eyes. She shook her head again, but briefly, without real conviction.
Are you sure about that, Mrs Davey?' asked Mackie gently.
She turned her back on him and walked towards the window. `That's a name I never wanted to hear mentioned in this house again. Yes, I've heard of Kelnikov. When I found the photograph that arrived in the mail, Cohn told me all about him.'
She turned to face the policemen again. 'When I saw Mr Martin, I told him that there were no other women in my husband's life. That was true. Unfortunately, in the past, there was the occasional man. I knew about it, but he had assured me that those days were over. I believe that to have been true. He had a healthy fear of AIDS. But then, that damn photograph arrived, on a day when Colin was away, and when I opened his post, as we always did for each other. It showed him naked, with a man. I won't say what they were doing… There was a letter with it. "From the desk of Vassily Kelnikov", was the heading. I remember every word. It said, "You probably remember this encounter with a young friend of mine, in Vienna, in 1987. Most certainly I do. To remove it from my memory, at least for the time being, I will expect the British Government to purchase the Reaper Missile from the Aerofoil Consortium, in which I have a personal interest." That was all.'
`What did you do with the letter, and the photograph?'
I gave them to Colin, of course, as soon as he returned home. I wasn't angry with him, I was sorry for him.'
`How did he react?'
'He broke down. He thought that his career was at an end.'
And when it didn't end?' asked McGuire, very softly.
Her back straightened, and she turned to look at him. 'I saw that he had done what had to be done, Inspector.'
`Do you know what your husband did with the photograph and the letter, ma'am?' asked Mackie.
I had assumed that he had burned them, but when I opened his safe, at the weekend, I found them, together with two other letters from Kelnikov, one thanking him for delivering the order, and the second, dated very recently, saying that there was some further business, involving a new anti-tank rocket, which he was sure they could do together.'
`What did you do with them, Mrs Davey?'
She glared at the tall, thin detective, down her long nose, as at first she had looked at Andy Martin. 'I burned them, Chief Inspector, I burned them. What else would you have expected me to do!'
`Nothing other than that, to be honest,' said Mackie. There’s no harm done. You've confirmed for us that Kelnikov had no interest in having your husband murdered. Rather his interest was in keeping him alive. Now, another name. Bryn Sawyer. Mean anything to you?'
She looked at him blankly once more and shook her head.
Okay,' said Mackie. 'That's all. I'm sorry that we had to raise this, Mrs Davey. I don't expect that we'll be bothering you again’
`Good,' she said sincerely. 'Nothing personal, you understand.'
She walked them to the door. 'What about that awful man Kelnikov? What will happen to him?'
It has already. His former organisation revoked his licence last week. He's out of business, for good.
SEVENTY-FIVE
‘Dust to dust, ashes to ashes..
The undertaker tossed handfuls of earth into the open grave, in time to the Minister's words. Leona McGrath winced imperceptibly each time they smacked woodenly against the coffin six feet beneath the turf of the Dean Cemetery.
`.. of resurrection and eternal life. Amen. Now go, and may God be with you all.'
The stocky, dark-suited clergyman stepped across to the head of the grave, and shook Leona McGrath's hand, then bent, solemnly to shake that of her son. 'Thank you,' said Mark solemnly. He was as white-faced as his mother, but held himself as proudly. Thirty yards away, where they had been gathered by the Conservative Party and police Press Officers, a score and more of media cameras clicked as the little boy looked the Minister in the eye.
The two stood there, with black-clad friends and relatives surrounding them. Chief Constable Sir James Proud, in full uniform and wearing a mourner's armband, stood a little apart, with the Secretary of State for Scotland by his side, and Jim Elder and Andy Martin behind. Beyond their little group, Marshall Elliot, with his weeping blonde wife on his arm, looked along at the tiny figures of mother and son, concern in his eyes.
`So long, Roly,' said Leona quietly, as she stood looking down into the open grave at the coffin, with its shiny brass nameplate and its eight cords, which lay discarded on its lid where their holders had dropped them. She wiped the last tears from her eyes with a small white handkerchief, then squeezed Marks shoulder. 'Come on, young man. It's time to go.'
He took her hand and together they walked away from the burial place, towards the long black car, where Roland McGrath's father, and her uncle waited. Alison Higgins, in a dark suit and black hat, fell into step beside them.
`Mark,' said Leona, 'I want you to go back to the house with Auntie Alison. Grandpa, Uncle John, Uncle Billy and I are having a reception at the Constituency Office for the people who've come to the funeral. I'll be home as soon as it's over. Auntie Alison will make your lunch.'
And maybe, just maybe,' said Higgins, 'after that, I'll take you to the zoo.'
Mark looked up at her, unimpressed. 'Couldn't we go to the UCI? Home Alone Three starts today. It's on at one-fifty and at four-twenty. Daddy would have taken me there,' he added, wistfully and persuasively.
His godmother looked down at him. 'If that's what you'd like, that's what we'll do. Tell you what — maybe we'll go to McDonald's for lunch.'
Mark nodded his head. 'Yes, please. Daddy would have taken me there too.'
His mother smiled at her friend. 'That's your day taken care of. In that case, I'll make a meal for you later, once the reception is over. Then we can crack a bottle and you can help me plan the next three weeks of my life. They will surely be busy!'
SEVENTY-SIX
‘Hello again, Superintendent,' said Brian Mackie.
Paula Whittingham looked up in surprise. For once she was alone in her glass-fronted office. 'Hello, there. I didn't expect to see you chaps again, at least not so quickly. Have you come to canvass for our candidate, or do you have some more questions?'
It's business like before, I'm afraid, Miss Whittingham. We want to bounce a name off you.'
`Whose name?'
`Bryn Sawyer. He's Managing Director of a company called Breakspear, in Cumbria.'
In an instant the colour drained from the woman's face. `Paula,' she muttered to herself.
'It's as well you retired from the Force. Why the hell didn't you think of him?' She looked up at Mackie. 'Yes, Chief Inspector. I've heard of Mr Sawyer. I wanted to set the local Force on him, in fact.'
'Why?'
`Because of a letter which Colin received. It was just after he had announced his decision on that missile, the one which caused all the fuss. We get quite a bit of hate mail through here, on a whole variety of topics. Most go straight to the dustbin, but we pass one or two on to the police, as a precaution. The letter from Sawyer was vitriolic, and it was threatening. Sawyer's Company lost out on the missile contract, and he was not a happy man. I wanted to hand it over to our local CID, but Colin wouldn't. I suggested that he give it to the Ministry's security people, but he wouldn't do that either.'
‘Did he say why not?' asked Mario McGuire.