Quintin Jardine - Fallen Gods

"We want, Mags," he interrupted. "The result we want."

"Of course;' she agreed quickly, but not quite in the right tone.

"You want rid of him, don't you: you want him to go."

"No."

"Mags, love, be honest."

She shook her head. "I just can't, Mario. I'm sorry. I've tried, but it's too difficult for me. If I'm being really honest, when I got that letter this morning, I said to myself "Thank God". He may be my brother, and he may be just a child, but I can't love him. It's too much to ask."

He looked away, across the room, and gave a huge sigh. "Of course it is," he exclaimed, so firmly that at first she thought he was angry. "I really am a stupid, selfish, insensitive bastard. I never asked you, did I? I just told you that this was what we were going to do. I never asked myself either, how you would feel bringing up your father's son. I am so sorry, Mags," he told her. "I had it in my head that

Rufus would be the cord that would tie us together. Now I look at it through your eyes, I agree with you. Thank God that these people exist, and that they appear to care for him as they do."

His eyes came back to her. "So where will it leave us, when he goes?"

"Where do you want it to leave us?" She hesitated, then leaned forward. "I'll ask you this straight out, just this one time. Do you want to leave me and go and live with Paula?"

"No, I want to live with you."

"Even though I can't bear you to touch me?"

"Maybe that'll change."

"Mario, all our married life, and before, I've been as good an actress as Louise Mcllhenney used to be. Maybe in the future, every so often,

I could get drunk enough to let you get your end away. But would you want that?"

"I don't have to answer that, do I?"

"I hope not. So what's to keep us together?"

"I love your soul, Mags, as much as I love your body. If you had motor neurone disease, or MS, or some other crippling thing, I wouldn't leave you, and I wouldn't force myself on you, either. So why's this any different?" He dazzled her with his sudden smile. "Let's give it a name. Let's say you're suffering from chronic post-traumatic paralysis of the pussy, and leave it at that. If there's a miracle cure, great; if not, no matter."

Her face stayed straight, but she flashed him a quick grin with her eyes. "Do you really mean that?"

"I really do."

"What about Paula? Let's take it as read that I know you're sleeping with her, and I don't mind. I know what a horny bugger you are, and in truth I'd rather you were going to her than to one of her saunas. But does she want you to move in with her?"

"No."

"What if she did?"

"She won't, and you can take that as read too; Paulie is a truly independent girl. Nobody could live with her, and she knows it."

"Do you love her?"

"I love her body, although not as much as yours. As for her soul, it's too like mine for me ever to love." He glanced over her shoulder.

"Here comes the waiter. Get ready to order."

She gave him their simple order. The young man wrote, nodded and left.

As he did, she took Mario's hand in hers, if only for a second. "Okay?" she asked.

"Okay," he replied. "Just try to believe in miracles, that's all I ask. Do that and you never know."

"I'll try, but I do know."

"We'll see. Let's talk shop. I heard a radio report about what happened at the RSA. You got a result yet?"

She shook her head. "No. We let all the guests back into the building and we took a lot of statements but they all say the same thing; the painting just went up in flames… whoosh! Stevie and I looked at the security videos, but there wasn't a single lead on them that we could see. Arthur Dorward's got the debris in the lab; I'm waiting for him to report."

"What do you reckon?"

"We have Christian fundamentalists too; from the reproduction of the ruined picture that I saw in the exhibition catalogue, that's what I reckon."

"And you're probably right." He paused, as the first of their dishes was brought to their table. "Here," he continued, "I almost forgot. I took Rufus to Gullane today, instead of North Berwick, and guess who I saw on the beach? Bob Skinner and Andy Martin, that's who. They gave me a body-swerve too; thought I didn't notice them, but I did. They were doing some serious talking. I wonder what it was about?"

"Big Bob's predicament, probably. How was he looking?"

"From what I saw at a distance, he was looking very fit. Do you think he'll get back? Or do you think Councillor Maley's lot have got him this time?"

"They see the chance," Maggie answered. "What they're lacking are brains, resources and courage. He'll get back all right."

"I'm glad you think so. I don't know about you, but with him gone, I find Dan Pringle becoming more and more unbearable as head of CID."

Then he smiled, as if he was anticipating something pleasant. "Here, it strikes me that those characters are lacking something else too."

"What's that?"

"Foresight. They can't imagine what's going to happen after he does get back."

Essentially, mortuaries are the same in every town, every city, every First World country. Bob Skinner had been in a few, including, recently, one in the USA, where he had identified the bodies of Sarah's parents; he knew that if there was a qualitative difference, it sprang from the thoughtfulness of the staff, in the way they prepared what the viewer was going to see, and in the way they prepared him to see it.

The mortuary at Perth Royal Infirmary was one of the better ones. There was a private viewing room, and the senior attendant took pains to explain to Skinner that the body was still subject to post-mortem examination, and therefore it had not been possible to prepare it cosmetically for inspection.

"What I see is what I get," the big policeman said, tersely. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

The attendant hesitated. "Well…" he began.

Skinner put aside his loathing of the aftermath of death, and smiled, making a conscious effort to respond to what he knew was kindly meant.

"It's all right, I understand. And I appreciate it. It's okay; I'm ready. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, I realise that

I've been expecting a moment like this for years." Behind him, Andy Martin frowned, but said nothing. "So just wheel him in and let me have a look."

"Certainly." The attendant nodded and left the room through big double doors, rubber-trimmed to cut down the noise of their crashing together.

A minute or so later the doors swung open, seemingly of their own volition at first, but pushed by the attendant as he backed through them, pulling a trolley, with a younger assistant on the other end.

Until that moment, Bob Skinner had not been aware of the whirring of the fan, but he noticed it at the same moment that he smelled what was under the white sheet, and he was grateful for it.

"Will I turn back the sheet now, sir?" the attendant asked.

"No, I'll do it," Skinner replied. "But I'd appreciate it if you all left me alone for a minute or two."

"Whatever you wish." The man pointed to a button on the wall. "Just push that bell when you're finished. You don't need to wait for us."

"Fine."

The two staff members left by the double doors, while Martin withdrew through the door at the other end of what was in effect a corridor.

Left alone, Skinner took a deep breath and composed himself, gathering together thoughts and memories that he had buried for years. Finally, he took a deep breath and drew back the sheet that covered the bulky shape on the trolley.

He had been expecting to see what he did, and he had known who the dead man was from the moment Andy had shown him the photograph, yet it still made him wince, and give a small gasp. The body had been stripped, and washed clean of mud; he pulled the sheet back to the waist and looked down at it from the side. The skin was pale and flaccid. The hair on its head was still thick, and grey, although it too had been carefully washed, and the dampness made it look darker, he guessed, than it had been in life. The arms were folded across the belly and he could see, on the left wrist, the mark that Martin had mentioned, the one that had aroused his suspicions. He leaned down and peered at it closely, then smiled, faintly.