Sarah's advance planning had been meticulous. The yellow plastic bath was in place, held in its collapsible frame beside a low changing table, and a simple wooden stool stood between the two. Andy Martin and Alex had arrived ahead of schedule and, to Sarah's surprise, together in Alex's car. They stood in a corner of the bright nursery and looked on as the new mother undressed her infant, dumped his disposable nappy, wrapped around its colourful contents, in a lined bin beneath the table, and gave him a preliminary wipe before lowering him carefully into the warm water.
Jazz chuckled as the water lapped over his skin, and he kicked his long, strong legs in pleasure, splashing his mother's apron, and his father's slacks. When the waves subsided, Sarah washed him gently with Johnson's soap. It was only when she began to shampoo his dark hair that the baby's equanimity was broken, as he screwed up his eyes and whimpered.
When she had rinsed off the last of the suds, she looked up at Bob. `How'm I doing then, Dad?'
Well, as the only person here with relevant experience, I'd say you were doing okay. So would Jazz, I think.' With the annoyance of the suds behind him, the baby had resumed his energetic kicking. 'Better get him out of there before he empties the bath!'
`Okay. You can do the next bit.' Sarah lifted him from the bath and laid him on a soft fluffy blue towel which Bob had spread on the table. She stood to the side and watched as her husband dressed his son for the night, greasing his bottom liberally with Vaseline before fitting the bulky disposable nappy, then easing him — arms first, then legs — into the one-piece white sleep-suit. All the time, he spoke to Jazz in a matter-of-fact way. 'It amazes me, you know, wee pal, looking at that last nappy, how the stuff you get out of your mother converts into the stuff that comes out of you. I suppose there are some things in life that it's better not to know. What d'you think?'
Jazz blew a bubble in response. Bob nodded. 'Yes, I suppose that's as good an answer as any!'
Sarah smiled. As he lifted up the baby with both hands, supporting his head as he passed him to Alex, she reflected on the change that fatherhood had wrought in Bob Skinner. The troubled man of the summer before had vanished. Bob seemed to have despatched his private demons. Sarah hoped that they were gone for good.
Alex's laughter broke her mood. 'Hey, brother, wrong chest!' As she cradled the baby in her arms his mouth was searching, puckering, feeling for her breast through her shirt.
Sarah reached out her arms. 'It's that time again, Jazz. Come to Momma.' She took the baby from Alex and walked over to a low seat by the window, flicking open the buttons of her blouse as she went. Seated, and holding Jazz in the crook of her left arm, she tugged at the hooks of her nursing bra.
`Goddam contraption! Necessary though, Alex. One doesn't want them to start the long journey south before their time.' She freed her left breast, and Jazz set to feeding at once, sucking hungrily. As she settled back in her chair, Sarah's eye was caught by Andy Martin, edging self-consciously towards the door. 'What's the matter, Andy? Never seen one of these things before?'
`Sure, but always in pairs, and never in use.'
`Get accustomed to it, then, man. This here is Nineties woman.' She paused, then looked up again, struck by a sudden thought. I'm sorry, you two. Everybody here's been fed but you. Alex, take Andy downstairs and find yourselves some supper.'
`Thanks, Sarah,' said Andy, 'but we've got a table booked at the Loon Fung for nine-thirty. I thought that Alex could use some lemon chicken to give her a break from all that studying.'
Sarah thrust out her bottom lip in a petulant gesture. `Lucky Alex. That just makes me think of the downside of this here bundle of joy. My social life's his from now on.'
`Hah!' said Alex. 'I weep for you. I'm sitting finals in two weeks, while you're off to Spain.'
`Yeah,' said Bob. life's a bitch, kid.
`Well, make up for it. Get us a drink. I'll call a taxi for nine-twenty.'
Bob led the way downstairs. He disappeared into the kitchen, and re-emerged with three uncapped bottles of Sol beer.
`The Loon Fung, eh,' he said, grinning, as he handed them round. 'Should I be giving you the heavy father routine, Martin?'
`Don't you dare!' said Alex with a sharp edge to her voice which was not entirely affected — and which took Bob by surprise. `I'm Nineties woman, too. Anyway, Andy's. . well, Andy's. . Andy. He's my mate. Isn't that right Super shy;intendent?' Martin smiled and nodded sheepishly, his green eyes shining. He looked suddenly younger than thirty-something, just as Alex could be taken for mid rather than early twenties.
Bob grinned and shrugged his shoulders. 'Sure, what the hell. I keep forgetting that Andy's known you since you were smoking in the bike sheds.'
Alex looked at him, surprised. 'How did you. .?'
`Don't be daft, kid. Everyone smokes in the bike shed when they're eleven!'
Andy laughed and took a mouthful of beer. 'When are you going to Spain?'
`I'm back in the office on Tuesday. There's a Police Board meeting on Wednesday, and I'm standing in for the Chief, so I'll go in on the day before to brief myself. I'm in for the rest of the week, then we head off on the following Tuesday.'
`How are you travelling?'
`By car, slowly. You know me, normally I just blaze down there. But this time, with the baby, we'll have a couple of overnight stops: on the ferry and then down in France. Sarah's never been to Cherbourg, so we're taking that route. It's a nice drive at this time of year.'
`Will you see Maggie out there?'
`Not unless the Spanish find Big Lennie. If they don't she'll be back by then. I'll be in the shit if they do turn up our man. Sarah'll kill me if I have to go down to Alicante. Apart from it being our first holiday with Jazz, I've promised her I'll do some writing when I'm out there. I'm taking my Powerbook.'
`Have you indeed! Memoirs?'
`Not yet. No, it'll be the theory and practice of police and security work. This is the age of open government and it should be the age of open policing too, as far as we can manage. But the public don't have the faintest idea of what our job's really like. All they know comes from fictional characters, and all of them are still at chief inspector rank in their fifties. It hasn't dawned on the public that if these guys were that fucking clever they'd have made chief super at least! Anyway, as for Maggie, she's well south of L'Escala, and she should be back before I leave. I think big Brian Mackie's a bit huffy that she got to go instead of him. But when I said to him "Que tal, senor?" and he said "Eh?" in response, he sort of blew his case out of the water!'
`Any feedback yet?'
`Give the woman a chance. She only got there this afternoon. Anyway, big Lennie's had a three-day start on us. Chances are he's cashed up and he's in South America already.'
The doorbell rang.
`That must be your taxi. Have a nice meal. And don't be late home, girl!'
Alex glared at him over her shoulder as she headed for the door.
Eighteen
When did Maggie's report come in?'
`She faxed yesterday morning from the Guardia Civil office in Alicante. I was going to send it out to you, but Ruth vetoed that idea!'
Skinner laughed. 'She's a good girl, my secretary. She sees herself as my personal Rottweiler. So where is it, then, this report the boss wasn't allowed to see?'
Roy Old passed a yellow folder across the desk.
`Thanks.' Skinner took it from him and flipped it open. The neatness and precision of the typed lay-out were typical of Maggie Rose, and the text itself was, as ever, concise and informative. He scanned down the page.
Fax message ACC Skinner from
DI Rose.