Quintin Jardine - Fallen Gods

"Is that so? Well, last time I spoke to her, she told me that if I was so devoted to Scotland I could and I quote, "fucking well stay here".

She told me in a loud voice too."

"When was that?"

"Last night. I called her again at lunchtime and she wasn't even there. Trish said she's gone off on some sort of trip, but she wasn't sure where."

"Call her on her mobile."

"She's left it behind. She's probably got herself sorted out with a man over there."

"Bob!"

Skinner glanced at him, defensively. "Why not?" he muttered. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"All the more reason to go back over there then, is it not, if that's what you're thinking?"

"Ah man, I'm not. She's just playing me along, that's all. She thinks

I'm being unreasonable; I fucking know that she is." He paused, to take a swig from his can. "Look, I've been obsessive in the past, I admit that. But this is different. I have enemies on the joint Police Board, as you well know. Councillor Agnes Maley and her friends have always been afraid of me, and they haven't gone away; Jimmy Proud's squashed them in the past, but he could never get rid of them. Forget their politics, that doesn't have much to do with it. There are a couple of them who are friends of, or friends of friends of, people with whom you and I have had professional dealings in the past. That's to say, we've banged them up.

"These characters, led by Agnes, have wanted me out for years. They tried once before, remember, without success; now they've plucked up the courage to have another go. Even as I speak, there's a group of them on the manpower sub-committee who are trying to change the rules, so that people who've had a range of specified complaints and incidents, including the minor heart procedure that I've had, must be retired on grounds of ill health. They're saying, for example, that the chief should have been retired automatically after he had his wobbler. It's not just about me, you see, although I'm the prime target. These people want all the power over the police that they can get. They're not an isolated group either; that sort of thinking runs pretty high up in the current regime. Look at these civilian patrols they've got in some places now. Fucking crap." He paused.

"Jimmy Proud's fighting it, of course, but if they bring a positive recommendation to the full committee and put a three-liner on, it could go through. Once I'm back on duty, though, they're stuffed. They can't do it retrospectively, because I'd sue them and win, and they know it. That's why they've told me I have to have another month's recuperation before I have my medical." He smiled, wickedly.

"So on Monday, I'm going to demand a definitive medical, now. If the force examiners, who report to… and take their orders from… this wee sub-committee, try to stick to their timetable, I'll go to court and interdict them. Mitchell Laidlaw has the petition ready to roll.

He's acting for me, by the way. I need the best there is, in the circumstances."

"What if you lose?"

"I won't. Mitch never loses."

"But if he breaks his duck this time, and you don't succeed; will it be the end of your life, Bob? No, it won't."

"That is unthinkable, pal. It's not going to happen. I won't have my career end just because of a temporary electrical malfunction in my ticker. I've got places to go yet, as you know."

"That wouldn't scupper your plans though, would it?"

"If I wasn't a serving officer, yes it would."

Martin frowned; he was silent for a few seconds as he considered what his friend had said. "I see," he murmured at last. "Bob, I'm sorry.

I've been so wrapped up in my new job that I didn't realise things were so serious for you. I understand now."

"I'm glad you do. There are four people in the world I need to have on my side over this; Neil Mcllhenney, you, my Alex, and Sarah. You make it three for; it's the one against that's tearing me apart."

"Would you like me to call her, Bob, to put your case, so to speak?"

Skinner smiled, gratefully. "It's nice of you to offer, son, but she has to work it out for herself." He drained the can. "But listen, when you said that there was something you wanted to talk to me about,

I didn't get the impression that it was my bother with the Maley tendency on the Board."

"No, it isn't."

"Fine, but give me a minute, will you. I'm fucking honking; I must have a shower, or I will start to rot. Once I've done that, we'll go for a walk on Gullane beach and enjoy this fine day, and you can tell me what the problem is." He left the kitchen.

On his own, Andy wandered through to the living area. He knew the house well: the Skinners had built it after their split, and reconciliation, when they decided to sell both their weekend house and their Edinburgh bungalow, and bring up their family full-time in the

East Lothian village of Gullane. He looked at the photograph of Sarah, in its usual spot on the sideboard, and began to worry. He was slavishly devoted to her, remarkably so, for she might have become his mother-in-law. He had been engaged for a while to Alexis, Bob's daughter from his first marriage; the engagement had ended acrimoniously, but both he and Sarah had made sure that it did not affect their friendship. He thought about what Bob had said. He gave no credence to his suggestion that she might have found someone else, but he knew that she was as stubborn as her husband; if she had taken up a position, she would not give it up easily.

The living room opened into a big conservatory; he wandered through the glass doors and gazed out across Gullane Bents and over the Firth of

Forth to life. He saw three tankers moored in the wide estuary, riding high in the water as they waited their turn to take on a cargo of oil at Hound Point.

"Okay, then?" Bob's voice snapped him back to the present. His hair was still damp from the shower, but he was ready to go, having changed into light cotton trousers, a pale blue polo shirt, and Timberland sandals.

They left the house, Skinner setting the alarm with quick, nimble fingers, and headed out into the village street. One left turn took them down on to the Bents, down the road that led to the car park, thronged as always on a June Saturday afternoon. "Where'll we go?" Bob asked, then said, 'tide's on the way out; the Nature Reserve." Decision made. He led the way, half running, half walking, down the narrow path that led to the sands. Jumping down from a dune onto the beach, he started to head westward, then stopped.

"What's up?" asked Andy.

Skinner pointed, with his right index finger. His friend followed its direction until he saw, near the water's edge, a big, dark-haired man, muscular in a shortsleeved shirt and denim cut-offs, knocking a brightly coloured ball towards a toddler.

"That's McGuire, isn't it?" Skinner muttered.

"Yes. That must be the kid I heard he and Maggie are adopting."

"Let's go the other way then. Mario's a good guy, but I'm not in the mood for any more chat about my career prospects." Without waiting for an answer he turned on his heel and headed off towards the rocks and dunes at the eastward end of the big bay.

"I didn't see Maggie there," said Martin, 'but I've heard the talk. How are things with him and Detective Superintendent Rose?"

"Officially, fine. But in reality, from what Neil tells me, they're rocky. I didn't press him about it, for in truth it's none of my business, but I think it's to do with Mario becoming a trustee of the family interests, along with his cousin. You know his cousin, do you?"

"Paula Viareggio? Stevie Steele's ex? Oh yes, I know her all right."

Skinner laughed. "Christ, not her too! Is there a woman in Edinburgh you didn't shag when you were single?"

"Plenty, and I didn't know Paula in that way. I just met her a couple of times. She's a deep one; she had a way of letting you know right from the off where you stood with her, and the answer I got was always