Quintin Jardine: Skinner's ghosts

Bob frowned more heavily, and fell silent once more. 'To be as honest with you,' he said at last, 'I thought that might have happened too, despite what you and I have together. Coming home and leaving the wee fella behind was one of the toughest things I've ever had to do. But there's a wal between Sarah and me that we couldn't break down. I guess she's gone native again, gone back to being an American. Somehow she isn't the woman I met and married.'

Pamela laughed, suddenly and with a trace of mockery. 'Nonsense!' she said. 'Of course she is. It's just that you've never seen her in her native environment before. Also, for the first time in your lives you're seeing her take up a position which isn't exactly in support of yours.

You can add to that the fact that she's probably never seen you on the defensive before.'

'Well okay,' he said, wearily. 'So we've both seen each other in a new light, and neither of us could handle it. Whatever the case, I won't get back together with her just for the baby's sake. That wouldn't be right for any of us. Anyway, she's made it clear where she wants to be. Remember what she said in her goodbye note about not wanting to be stuck in Edinburgh for the rest of her life. She has a hospital job in the States now, and she's doing scene-of-crime work for the local police.'

'Is she seeing anyone, do you think?' she asked, softly.

The question took him by surprise, so much that he was unable to keep the hurt from showing in his eyes. 'Possibly,' he said, quietly.

'I'm not sure, but I think she could be.'

'But you didn't tel her about us?'

'No. Like I said, I didn't. I thought it was maybe too soon for that.'

'You mean you thought you'd keep your options open?'

'No! I didn't want to kick her in the teeth, that's al.' He drew a deep breath. 'Or maybe I was just chicken.'

She raised an eyebrow, a gesture denoting scepticism. 'Chicken?

The great Bob Skinner was chicken?'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'We al run from something,' he said quietly.

'Come on, what are you saying to me, Pamela? Like I asked you before. Is al this too heavy for you? Do you want us to chuck it?'

She pushed herself out of her chair, knelt on the concrete paving, at his feet, and laid her head in his lap for a few seconds, rubbing her face from side to side against his thighs. Finally she looked up at him, stil shaking her head. 'No I don't want that… although God knows I should. You're the DCC; I'm a sergeant. You're married, even if you are legally separated. Madness, sheer madness.

'But no, what I am saying is that you and I don't have the option of being like Old Christabel and Lord So and So. We can't keep that sort of secret.'

He frowned at her again, knitting his brows heavily, accentuating the deep vertical line above the bridge of his nose, and the scar which ran alongside it. 'Why not? I always tell my troops that their private lives are their own as long as it's consistent with duty and discipline.

We're not working together any more, so why are we different?'

She squeezed his thighs, hard. 'Because we are, man! Look, are you or are you not the Secretary of State's security adviser? Were you or were you not a candidate for the top job in the Met until Sir Derrick Raymond agreed to do another two years? Do you or do you not want Chief Constable rank somewhere? Three Yes's: don't you tell me differently.

'Bob, you've got that ambition, and that potential, and here you are, sleeping with a detective sergeant under your command!'

'Not in the office, I ain't,' he said doggedly. He almost added,

'Besides, maybe I care more about you than about al that stuff,' but something held him back.

She shrugged her shoulders. 'Fine. So why haven't you told your daughter about me? Or Andy Martin? Or the Chief? Or am I wrong?

Have you briefed the Command Corridor, off the record?'

He threw up his hands. 'Okay! Okay! Okay!' . 'Wel!' She sighed, and paused. 'Look, I'm not asking for a public declaration of undying love. I like it the way it is, as long as you're completely and genuinely separated from Sarah. I love being with you. You excite me more than anyone I've ever known. But your companionship… and great sex, of course… for now that's enough for me. As long as it doesn't do you harm, and as long as it doesn't compromise your future career. So think about it, eh?'

Skinner sighed. 'Okay sweetheart. I know you're right, and I'l do something about it. I'l tell the Chief, Andy andAlex… probably in reverse order. But in my own time…' He pointed a finger at her, suddenly,'… and mind, I won't be seeking their advice or approval.'

'What if Andy Martin wants me off his staff once you've told him?' she asked him.

'I'll deal with that if it happens.'Abruptly he stood up, gathering her in his arms. 'Meantime… what was that you were saying about great sex?'

The telephone rang four times, before the automatic answering machine picked up the cal. As she heard Bob's recorded voice giving the response, Pamela sat up in bed, a sheen of perspiration glistening lightly on her back.

A few seconds later, the caller left the invited message. Neither she nor Bob could hear what was said, but both recognised the inflections of Detective Chief Superintendent Andy Martin's even, steady baritone.

She nodded in the direction of the bedside telephone. 'Go on, pick it up,' she urged him.

He grinned at her, tugging at her arm to draw her back down beside him. 'Later. Chances are it's work. If it is, I'm not letting it in here.'

She pul ed herself free from his light grasp, shaking her head.

'No! It's as if he's in the house with us. If you don't answer it, I will.'

As the muffled voice continued to float through to them from the living room, she twisted and threw herself across the recumbent Skinner, reaching out with her left hand. She was smiling, but he took her threat seriously enough to grab her and pull her neat little body back down towards him, holding her away from the phone.

'All right,' he said. 'But you keep quiet. I've said I'll tell him, but in my own time.' He reached behind him with his free hand and picked up the telephone.

'I'll try the mobile,' he heard Andy Martin say, 'but if you get this first, call me…'

'Andy! Sorry, mate. I was in the garden. What can I do for you?'

'Did you get any of that?'

Involuntarily, Skinner shook his head. 'No, not a bit of it.' The coiled-spring tension in Martin's voice grasped him at once. Releasing Pam from his grasp, he swung his legs from beneath the duvet and sat on the edge of the bed. 'What's up?' he growled.

'Bob, you're going to hate this. I'm at Leona McGrath's place, down in Trinity.' There was a pause. 'Leona's dead. She's been raped, battered and strangled.'

'Jesus!' Skinner shuddered, so suddenly and violently that, to Pamela, the bed seemed to shake. He ran his fingers through his tousled, steel-grey hair, grasping a clump as he fought to control his shock. Behind him, the mattress squeaked as Pam sat up once more.

He waved her to silence over his shoulder.

'When?' he asked, hoarsely.

'She was found about an hour ago. She'd been due to attend a constituency event. When she didn't turn up, the local party chairwoman cal ed round to ask why. There was no reply to the bell, but the back door had been forced. The woman had a look around, and found Mrs McGrath upstairs.'

Skinner sat stunned. As she looked at him, wondering and fearful, Pamela saw that the battle scars on his back and thigh were standing out vivid purple, and realised that he had gone pale. She gripped his arm again, squeezing.

'And her son?' the DCC asked at last. 'Wee Mark. What about him?'

'There's no-one else here. Bob. Neil Mcllhenney, Sammy Pye and I have been over the place ourselves. We've been everywhere. There's no sign of the kid.'