Quintin Jardine - Stay of Execution

‘There’s something I have to tell you to your face,’ she answered. ‘I’ve moved in with Stevie.’

She watched his eyes as he digested what she had told him; they gave nothing away. ‘I see,’ he murmured. ‘You mean move in as in share a flat, or move in as in. .’

‘Why would I want a flat-share when I have a perfectly nice house? I’ve moved in with him, Mario, period.’

‘And it’s okay?’

She nodded. ‘It’s okay. In fact it’s better than that; it’s like I never thought it could be.’

‘Does he know? Have you told him? About your father, the abuse?’

‘No.’›

‘Will you?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Good. Where is he anyway?’

‘Downstairs, in the car. He’d have come up, but I preferred it this way.’

‘Well, bring him up, for fuck’s sake!’ exclaimed Mario. ‘I won’t eat the guy. Far from it; I owe him a drink.’

‘Why?’›

‘For taking you off my conscience, okay?’

‘I’ll drink to that too.’ She took out her cell phone and called Stevie on his. ‘Come on up,’ she said, when he answered. ‘The bear’s friendly.’ She pressed the button when the buzzer sounded a few seconds later, then opened the front door.

As he stepped into the room, Mario glared at him; and then a grin spread over his face and he reached out and shook his hand. ‘Good luck, mate,’ he said.

‘As in, he’ll need it?’ Maggie challenged, as she poured her partner a glass of Chianti.

‘Cheers,’ said Stevie. ‘Before you say anything, Mario, I promise I’ll look after her.’

‘I wasn’t going to, but it’s good to hear. How widely is this known?’

‘Mary Chambers and that’s it,’ Maggie replied.

‘And Bob Skinner,’ Stevie grunted.

‘How? God, what’s the point in asking!’

Stevie smiled. ‘It’s okay. I promised him I’d look after you too.’ He leaned against the bar and sipped from his glass. ‘Nice place this,’ he exclaimed, looking around. He wandered across the room to the glass-topped dining-table that stood in the opposite corner, strewn with papers and other items.

‘Mario,’ Maggie began, ‘about the house. .’

He held up a hand to cut her off. ‘It’s yours. We agreed that, and nothing’s changed.’

‘Do you mind if I rent it out?’

‘Mags, I don’t mind if you. .’

‘Excuse me!’ There was a strange urgency about Steele’s voice as he cut into their conversation. They turned together to see him staring at something on the table. ‘What is this?’ he murmured.

Mario walked over to join him, to see what had caught his eye, and held it. ‘Those are Colin Mawhinney’s personal things,’ he said. ‘I’m looking after them until his colleagues collect them. What you’re looking at is a photograph of his wife, Margery. She was killed in the World Trade Center.’

As he looked at Stevie, he saw that his face was chalk white. ‘Then either it’s her twin sister who’s just disappeared from the Scottish Farmers Bank,’ he whispered, ‘or else she’s risen from the ruins.’

‘Neil,’ Skinner barked into the phone, ‘I want you to pick up your witness Spoons, the guy who knows a Land Rover when he sees one, and I want you to show him a picture of a Mitsubishi Pajero. Ask him if he can really tell the fucking difference. You’ll find that he can’t. While your guys are finding him, I want you to get hold of the two NYPD officers and have them come to Fettes. Finally, do you know where Merle Gower is? I’ve tried her cell phone, but it’s not responding.’

‘She’s at the consul’s residence. I dropped her there after the meeting in Bute House. Huggins and Donegan are in the Ellersley House Hotel; that’s not far away so they should. .’ McIlhenney paused. ‘Am I right in assuming that a very big balloon has just gone up?’

‘Nah, mate, that would be easy. I’d just shoot it down. This is more like the Martians dropping in for cocktails. I’ve just found out who really killed Mawhinney.’

‘You what?’

‘Yes. It was his wife.’

‘His what?’

‘DI Steele will explain. Between you, you know the whole story; apologies to Lou, but I’d like you back in my office to help tie all the ends of this together. Stevie, Maggie and Mario are here now. We only really need Steele, but the other two might as well stick around. The chief and I are having supper with the Pope and Jim Gainer this evening, but I’ll come back to Fettes afterwards.’ Skinner’s mind was racing; he applied the brakes. ‘Listen, forget the Americans. I’ll phone Huggins, and Merle; you get here to catch any information they bring back.’

He hung up. ‘Stevie,’ he snapped. ‘I want you to dig up Arthur Dorward, and get him, with his best team, back out to the Middlemass and Alsina house. They’ve to look for any forensic traces that confirm Mawhinney’s presence there. Likewise they should turn their car inside out if they have to.’ He turned to Rose. ‘Mags, do you want to do something useful, if wholly beneath your exalted rank?’

‘Of course.’

‘You know your way around this floor. I’d like you to find the guest list for the reception that the chief was hosting for Inspector Mawhinney, and see who was due to represent the Scottish Farmers Bank.’

Rose looked at Steele. ‘I don’t need to find it,’ she said. ‘Vernon Easterson told us. He and Proctor Fraser, the chief executive, were invited. But they both had prior engagements, so Aurelia Middlemass was nominated to represent them.’

‘And wouldn’t that have been a surprise for poor Colin?’

‘Remember the press coverage?’ McGuire murmured, drawing a frown from the DCC. ‘Colin told John Hunter that he’d be on Brian Mackie’s team for the Pope’s visit; that must have been reported.’

‘But was it?’

‘It’s a fair assumption.’

‘This is no time for them. Check it out. They must plan to be close tomorrow,’ Skinner exclaimed. ‘The woman could simply have developed tactical flu and missed the reception, but if they read that Mawhinney was going to be in the police team for the visit, in the heart of the action. . I reckon they decided that he had to be taken out.’ He looked back at McGuire. ‘Did Colin ever mention to you where his wife worked in the WTC?’

‘Yes, he did. She was with a firm with a funny name. Wait a minute. .’ He frowned and scratched his black, curly head, as if it would speed his thought process. ‘Garamond and Stretch,’ he announced at last, with a note of triumph.

The DCC picked up one of his telephones and punched through to the switchboard operator. ‘Sir!’ came the sharp reply.

‘I want you to get Lieutenant Eli Huggins of the NYPD,’ he said. ‘He’s stopping in the Ellersley House Hotel.’

He slammed the phone back into its cradle, then looked through his personal contact book until he located the number of the US consulate’s official residence. He dialled it on his direct line; it was answered, eventually, by a man. ‘Barton Taylforth. Can I help you?’

‘Bob Skinner here, at Fettes. I need to speak to Merle Gower.’

‘Maybe for security she should call you,’ the consulate’s principal officer replied.

‘I don’t have time to burn. Put her on.’

‘Bob?’ Special Agent Gower came on the line within seconds. ‘Has something happened?’

‘Yes, it surely has. I’ve got another identity for Aurelia Middlemass. Before she went to Dubai and became Polly Price, she was Mrs Margery Mawhinney, the wife of the New York cop we pulled out of the docks on Monday morning. She was an employee of a company called Garamond and Stretch, in the World Trade Center, and she was killed on September Eleven. . only she wasn’t.’