Quintin Jardine - Fatal Last Words

‘His sister, or so he told me; they’ve gone back to see their folks in Cape Town. Why?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ He was silent for a few seconds, as if he was weighing up whether to say more. Then he went on. ‘I’m never quite sure how things are between him and Alex Skinner, that’s all.’

‘What does the DCC say? He talks to you, doesn’t he?’

‘Not about his daughter’s love life, he doesn’t; not that he’d know anyway. He told me a while back that Alex had laid things on the line for him: he doesn’t ask her, and she doesn’t ask him. I suspect that my daughter will be taking the same line with me one of these days.’

‘What age is Lauren now?’

‘Still short of fourteen. She’s a great kid, though; she’s a big help to my wife with the baby. Wee Louis’ turning into a handful, and his mum’s finding out that having your first when you’re in your forties is a hell of a thing. Not just your first; in my case he’s number three, and it’s still quite an upheaval.’ Suddenly he smiled broadly. ‘Speaking of babies, I dropped in on Maggie Steele the other day. Her Stephanie’s a right little cracker, and Mags is looking great too. She’s finished all her chemo, she’s got the colour back in her cheeks, she’s looking fit, and her hair’s growing back in. She’s got a pageboy style; never seen her like that before.’

‘That’s great to hear,’ said Pye. ‘As for Montell and Alex, if there ever was anything, I reckon now they’re just good friends and next-door neighbours, and that’s how it’s going to stay. I thought I caught Alice Cowan giving Griff the eye a week or so back, and I didn’t see him look away.’ Pye glanced around the yurt. ‘Has the DCC gone?’ he asked.

‘Yes. He left just after I got here; and I’m off myself in a minute. I don’t see anything to keep me here. The young doctor’s adamant that Glover died of a heart attack, but the boss wants all bases covered. He’s not saying that it’s a suspicious death, but there are one or two questions that need to be asked and answered before we can wrap it up and report to the fiscal.’

‘There’ll be a post mortem, won’t there?’

‘Of course, as soon as you can dig up two pathologists to carry it out. You’d better see if Professor Hutchinson’s available, since the deceased is a public figure. . it’s sad but true, you don’t stop being a celebrity just because you’re dead. If old Joe can do it, he’ll bring in his own assistant.’

‘What about the scientific team? Should we call them?’

‘What’s your view?’ McIlhenney countered.

Pye frowned. ‘Dr Mosley?’ he called to the director, who was standing alone at the entrance to the yurt, looking harassed, and possibly impatient also. ‘Has this place been cleaned since yesterday?’

‘No,’ she replied as she stepped towards them. She glanced at her watch, which told her that it was twenty minutes before eight. ‘The contractors are due on site in about five minutes.’

‘Since the Festival began,’ the DI continued, ‘how many people have been in here?’

‘We only started yesterday, but even at that. . my staff, authors, their publicists, editors, sales people, media, caterers. . there must have been well over a hundred.’

Pye glanced at the superintendent. ‘Then it’s a forensic haystack. If we were looking for something specific, maybe, but we’re not, so it would be a waste of time and money.’

‘Then don’t bother,’ said McIlhenney. ‘Just get on with interviews. Do you have enough people? If you feel you haven’t, and you ask me nicely, I will stay and help.’

‘No, boss, I can manage. We both know this is a formality anyway.’

‘Then get it done as quickly as you can. Move the body to the morgue, and let Dr Mosley’s cleaners in so she can be ready to start the day’s programme.’ The director looked up at him gratefully. ‘Give me a call once the autopsy confirms the cause of death,’ he told Pye, a parting shot as he headed for the side exit, beyond which the black mortuary van was parked, ready for its sad cargo.

‘ You know what I’d like to see on your government’s agenda?’ Bob asked as he took the right turn on to the dual carriageway that headed out of Edinburgh, to the east and the south. ‘You should make this road motorway right down to the border. Perhaps that would shame the English into upgrading their side, and go some way into cutting the number of deaths on the damn thing.’

Aileen had heard the complaint before, not only from him but from opposition MSPs. ‘Give me the money,’ she replied, ‘and I’ll do it.’

‘Raise your own taxes and you’ll be able to,’ he countered.

She stared at him. ‘You know, your politics bend with the wind. Most people think you’re right-wing; eventually I pin you down as left of centre, now you’re turning bloody nationalist on me.’

‘No, I’m not,’ he protested. ‘I’ll always support you. But there’s a compelling argument for cutting ourselves free-’

She laughed. ‘. . from the oppressive yolk of Westminster, were you going to say? Are you sure you’re not writing speeches for my opposite number in the Parliament?’

In spite of himself, he grinned. More and more he was finding it difficult to maintain a serious discussion with her; whenever she wanted she seemed able to deflate him, and to steer them back on to comfortable ground.

‘That’ll be the day. Did you enjoy last night’s event?’ he asked, changing the subject with no pretence of subtlety.

‘Very much,’ she said. ‘Sir James Proud’s last occasion as host at an ACPOS dinner; it was an honour to be invited.’

‘Yours and ours, my dear. Mind you, I’ve a confession to make: Jimmy engineered it. The rest of us insisted that Chrissie should be there. Although we have women members, he wanted another female guest, and who better for the Association of Chief Police Officers Scotland to invite along than the First Minister?’

She wrinkled her pert nose; it was a trademark gesture. ‘I’m not fussed. I’ll turn up for a decent dinner even if I am window dressing. It was good to see Andy Martin there too. Why didn’t he take up your offer of a bed at the residence, do you think?’

‘By the time I asked him, he’d booked his hotel. Also, I suspect he knew that we’d be up and off at the crack of dawn.’

‘He knew that you would, you mean. It’s a pity he wasn’t there this morning. You could both have gone across to the square. That would really have made Randy Mosley’s day.’ She paused, and took a sip from the water bottle that Skinner always carried in a holder in the central console of his car. ‘Why were the police there, by the way? You never did tell me; just rushed me off when you got back.’

Bob’s eyebrows came together in a frown. ‘I’ve been saving that one. If I’d told you straight away, you might have insisted on going across there to see for yourself, and they’re going to be busy enough.’

She twisted in the passenger seat, to look at him directly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There was a sudden death,’ he told her. ‘One of the guests at the opening party went off into the green room and turned purple. He seems to have taken a heart attack and died, at least that’s what the doctor says. He was locked in through someone’s mistake, and wasn’t found until this morning, when Randall turned up to open the site.’

‘That’s terrible. But what makes you think I’d have wanted to see? It’s not how I’d choose to begin a Sunday, or any other day for that matter.’

‘Maybe not, but this is going to break into your day. The dead man’s known to you.’

Her mouth hung open for a second or two. ‘Who is it. . or who was it?’ she asked. Her eyes widened. ‘Bruce Anderson was speaking there last night. It isn’t him, is it?’