Quintin Jardine - Gallery Whispers

'What's today's programme?' asked Martin.

'Officials only; finalising the agenda and order of speakers for when the big boys get here.'

'Are the delegations limited in size?'

'Yes, the class two nations, judged by GDP, can have four delegates in the hall at any one time; class one nations are allowed eight.'

'Has the seating plan worked out all right?'

The inspector flashed a smile. 'They managed to do it alphabetically, just,' he said. 'I wouldn't fancy being one of the Irish delegation though. They're the meat in the sandwich between Iran and Israel.'

'That's okay,' Martin grunted. 'My granny's Irish. Once that lot start talking the rest won't get a word in. Any other awkward neighbours?'

'I don't know how the Russians and the Saudis are going to get on.'

'No problem, the Russians will be on their best behaviour… otherwise the Saudis might not buy them lunch.'

'Then there's the UK and the US.'

'We're still on buddy terms, I believe. Cigars aren't allowed in the hall, are they?'

McGuire looked at him. 'You're in a chirpy mood today, sir.'

The Head of CID grinned. 'I had a drink with Karen Neville the other night. It did me good; it made me realise that if I go around being a miserable bastard all the time the only person who'll be the worse for it will be me. So I'm trying to find the old Andy again. He's around somewhere; I spent the weekend going through my address book looking for him.'

'D'you not fancy the boss's secretary?'

'Ruthie McConnell? Don't we all? She's living with someone, though.'

The Special Branch commander shook his head. 'Not any more.

Karen says she's chucked him. She's plugged into all the gossip, is that one.'

'I'll bear that in mind. About Karen, I mean; I must be careful what I say around her. As for Ruthie, she's a bit too close to the Big Man for me… in spite of those legs.'

McGuire shot him a sideways look. 'Listen, sir, take some man-toman advice, will you: don't rebound too far in the other direction. The old Andy was always a bit of a myth, wasn't he?'

'A legend in his own bedtime, you mean? Aye, he was…' He laughed. '… to an extent. Thanks Mario, I'll bear that in mind too.'

He glanced into the hall once more, and pointed to a wheelchairbound figure to the left of centre of the seated area. 'I take it that's Karen's boyfriend's pal.'

'Dennis Crombie? Aye, that's him; a dour bugger he is too.'

'So would you be if you had to be lifted on and off the crapper all the time. Is the Wayne fellow around?'

'He was here earlier, when he brought Dennis in. He's probably gone for a coffee. It's about that time.'

'Not with Neville, I hope. Not here.'

'I doubt it. She's on duty frisking the female delegates.'

Andy Martin's grin seemed to McGuire like a throwback. 'I think I'll go and help her,' he said.

'What have you got there?' asked Olive.

Neil, hunched over the dining table, looked over his shoulder at her. 'Work. I shouldn't have brought it home. Sorry.'

'What is it?'

'Och, it's just the files on an investigation that the boss has asked me to take a look at. It's stalled, and he wants a different perspective on it.'

'Let me see,' she said, pushing herself slowly from her chair and coming over to him. He watched her as she walked. She was pale, and her movements betrayed her weakness, but there was a vitality in her eyes which seemed unquenchable.

'No,' he answered, closing the folder. 'You don't let me look at your school stuff.'

'No, because you're not qualified, and because children's futures might be affected if I allowed myself to be swayed by something you said.'

'Same here,' he countered, rising from the table, turning her… how much more easily he could do that now… and taking her back to the comfortable chairs in front of the television. 'This is a murder investigation — three actually — and someone could go to the slammer for life if I let you see those files, then was influenced by your halfarsed analysis.'

'Thank you very much. Since you've been the DCC's exec, you're getting too big for your trainers, Mcllhenney.' But not as big as he used to be. He must have lost over ten pounds since this thing started, she thought. 'I'll tell you what, let's just discuss it hypothetically, no names involved; you just describe the situation and I'll tell you what I think.'

'Okay, Miss Marple; anything for a quiet life. As long as you go to bed afterwards. You look tired.'

'Must be these platelets that Suzanne's been going on about. She says that they're going to put some more into me tomorrow, once I've had my scan. You still all right to drop me off?'

'Of course. And pick you up afterwards.'

'Good. Now tell me about your problem.'

He sighed. 'Wouldn't you rather watch TaggartT 'What? That rubbish. No way; the real stuff's much more interesting. Go on.'

'Okay; hypothetical though. Three deaths, the first three years ago, never investigated at the time, the second and third fairly recent.

There's one thread that ties them all together: an individual, who's a strong suspect for the second, and who lives in the vicinity of the third.'

'What about the first?'

'That's a fairly tenuous link. That death may well have been straightforward misadventure, with no one else involved. That's how it was treated at the time.'

'Misadventure? What do you mean by that?'

'I mean suicide.'

'Well don't mislead me. Now why is this person such a strong suspect for the second murder?'

'Because he had a physical relationship with the victim, was at the scene, on the night, and he kept quiet about the fact when he was interviewed by Pringle and Mackie.'

'Two superintendents,' Olive murmured. 'Serious stuff this. What about the third case? What's the connection there?'

'The guy lived near the victim.'

'So did thousands of other people, I assume. There has to be more than that. What is the link between all three cases? Was the man related to all three victims?'

'No.'

'Then what is it? Were they all Masons, or something?'

'No. The link was professional.'

'He was their lawyer?'

'No.'

'Doctor?'

Neil felt the water growing deeper by the minute. 'Yes. He treated all three people.'

She seemed to withdraw from him for a few moments, as she thought. It was a trait he knew well. 'Did he benefit from the deaths?' she asked him.

'No. They did, in fact.'

'These people were dying, Neil, weren't they.'

'Yes. Look, can we stop the Twenty Questions now.'

'Like hell. They all had cancer, hadn't they.'

'Okay, Yes they had. They were all terminally ill, and they all appeared to commit suicide, but in at least two of the cases the second and third, we know they had help. Someone else was there, and played a part.'

Olive fixed her husband with that Look. 'There's nothing hypothetical about this, Neil. You're not describing a stalled investigation.

You're talking about one that's bloody well solved, aren't you. You're not casting a fresh eye over this, you're looking for an alternative.'

'Don't be daft. I'm a bloody DS: it's not for me to walk all over an investigation that's been signed off by two superintendents.'

'Exactly,' she snapped, 'so why are you looking over these papers, and why are you quite clearly, so bloody anxious about it? This doctor: it's someone we know, isn't it.'

He leaned back, beaten, and gazed at her. He should have known better than to give her the opening, than to let that mind others loose on the problem. 'Aye,' he said. 'It's Deacey Simmers. The guys want to lift him, and I've got a week to show them why they shouldn't.

'Oh Christ, love; I wish I'd never brought those papers home.'

'Suppose you hadn't; I'd still have known that something was bothering you, and I'd have had it out of you.' She paused. 'Listen, understand this, and maybe it'll help. One thing I've learned from that man: in fighting this thing, the most important people to me are me, you, Lauren and Spencer. Deacey's a doctor, Neil, not a faith healer.