‘My love,’ she answered, twin tears tracking down her cheeks, above her shining smile, ‘I’d be daft not to!’
Bob took the ring from the box and slipped it on to the third finger of her left hand. It was, of course, a perfect fit.
As Sarah stared at the diamond on her finger, parties at the three surrounding tables, who had been watching breathlessly, broke into applause. A dark Spanish man came over, smiling, and shook Bob’s hand. His wife embraced Sarah. And just at that moment, midnight began to strike.
Bob reached across the table and took both of Sarah’s hands in his. ‘Happy New Year, my darling. You know, since Alex was born, this is the first one I haven’t brought in with her. Once, even, I was on duty, in the office, and I took her in with me. But things change and lives move on. Now I don’t intend ever to bring in another without you by my side.’
Normally, Bob danced only under extreme duress. But that night, as he and Sarah drifted around the floor to the music of the small band, it was as if they were waltzing on air, above the stone floor of the terrace restaurant.
At 1.00 a.m. local time they used the pay-phone in the corner to call Alex. To their surprise they connected first time. The background noise confirmed that it was midnight in Scotland, the sacred hour of ‘The Bells’, and that Alex had a full house.
‘Happy New Year, love,’ Bob shouted into the telephone.
She bubbled down the line. ‘Happy New Year, Pops! Are you having a terrific time?’
‘Yes, pretty terrific.
‘Listen, baby, hold on to a chair for a minute, we’ve got something to tell you. You’re going to have a stepmother!’
Twelve hundred miles away, Alex said, ‘Yeah, wonderful. About time, too. Put Sarah on. Oh, look at me, I’m crying.’
Sarah took the telephone from Bob. She tried to imagine what a stepmother tone should sound like.
‘Right, my girl. Are you behaving yourself?’
‘Of course not, are you? Sarah, that’s wonderful. Did he manage to propose without making it sound like he was charging you with something?’
‘Listen kid, your old man’s got style. It was wonderful. Right on the stroke of midnight he pops the question. When we get home I’ll tell you all about it.’
The cut-off noise began to sound.
‘Have a great time. See you soon!’
Sarah replaced the receiver and turned to Bob. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
‘You’ve no idea how good it feels to be official.’
‘Oh yes, I have. You’d better start planning. Your track record shows that you’re not very good at being engaged, so I don’t intend for this to be a long one.’
Sarah took him at his word. As the taxi wound past the jetty where the Olympic flame had landed in 1992, and along the dark beach road to L’Escala, their plans took shape. It would be an Easter wedding, in Edinburgh. Alex would be maid of honour, Andy would be best man. If his uncertain health allowed him to travel, Sarah would be given away by her father, who had talked of a trip to Scotland when she had visited her parents in Florida.
‘If he can’t come maybe Andy could do that too,’ she said.
‘Can he do both?’
‘Why not? Or maybe the Chief, what is it you call him, Proud Jimmy, maybe he could do it.’
‘Steady on. We’re not that chummy!’
It was 3.15 a.m. on New Year’s morning when they returned to the apartment. They tumbled into bed and made love with a special unhurried air of relaxation which they both recognised was something new. Sarah’s orgasm happened quickly, and went on and on. Bob, when he came volcanically inside her, cried out as every inch of their bodies seemed to fuse together.
When she could speak, Sarah whispered in his ear. ‘If that’s what being engaged does for you, I don’t know if I’ll survive marriage.’
‘Nnnn.’ Bob nuzzled his face into her neck, closed his eyes and, smiling, settled down to sleep.
He was still smiling next morning on the terrace, as they ate breakfast in the perfect sunshine. So was Sarah.
‘That was a pretty high standard we set ourselves last night, boy. Tell me, Assistant Chief Constable Skinner, do you get as intense as that when you’re working on your cases?’
He nodded at the recollection. And then it was as if his face had been flooded with light.
He seized her shoulders in each of his lean hands and kissed her, taking her by surprise and astonishing the English emigré neighbour who happened to be walking past with his black labrador.
Dr Sarah Grace Skinner to be, you are a genius. That’s it! The word you used last night. The word coppers never use.
‘Cases!’
41
‘That’s it. That’s the itch I’ve been trying to scratch! That’s what was wrong with the Mortimer and Jameson situations ... their cases.’
Bob was so excited that Sarah forgot to be annoyed that his mind had gone back to work, and to the Yobatu Affair.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look, Mortimer’s case was one of those combination jobs. And when we found it the lock was set. I’ve got one of those things. So have you, and so have quite a few other people we know. Do you ever set the combination for short journeys like office to home?’
‘No, I don’t suppose I do. I can never remember combinations anyway, I just keep it zeroed.’
‘Right. So there’s Mike Mortimer, on a short walk home in the middle of the night, yet the locks on his case were set!’
‘Come on, Bob, that’s a long shot.’
‘No it’s not. It’s an unusual circumstance, and they’re the first things you look for in a criminal investigation. Things, even tiny things, that don’t fit a normal behaviour pattern. And even if it is a long shot on its own, taken with the Jameson situation it adds up.’
‘What about her?’
‘Her case wasn’t there! The report of her death listed everything she had on her, yet there was no mention of a case. And I didn’t pick that up. I’m so dumb I should be a Transport copper. The woman had just finished a major criminal trial, away from Edinburgh. Of course she would have had a document case with her, and probably a big one at that.’
‘But what does it all mean?’
‘Christ alone knows, but I’m going to find out.’
‘Isn’t it all closed. Official Secret and all that?’
‘That’s not going to stop me. I’ll just have to play it a bit quiet, that’s all. Poor old Andy! What’s her name’ll give him hell when he tells her he’s working on New Year’s Day!’
Book Two Adapt and Survive
42
It was 11.53 a.m. on 1 January, when the telephone rang two feet from Martin’s left ear. He opened his eyes blearily, and reached for the telephone on the bedside table.
‘Hello; 747 3781. And a Happy New Year, whoever you are,’ he mumbled into the phone.
‘And the same to you, lad.’
Martin was suddenly wide awake. ‘Bob, I didn’t expect you to call. How’s Sarah?’
‘Great. We’re getting married.’
There was a pause while the news sank in. ‘Bob, that’s great. Congratulations, you lucky sod.’
‘Thanks, Andy; now you’re going to hate me. Hope you’re up to driving, ’cause I’ve got a couple of jobs for you. I want you to find Mike Mortimer’s briefcase, wherever it is. I know our property people, and the time they take to process goods. So chances are it’ll still be in police hands. Then I want you to find the property report on Rachel Jameson, and check for any mention of a briefcase. If there isn’t one, and I don’t think there is, get Willie Haggerty in Strathclyde - quietly, mind you - to check whether there’s a case stashed in the office that dealt with her death.