Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

He laughed. 'There's nobody better at a cover-up than a copper. Are you going to do it, then, go for an immediate divorce?'

'Yes. You've just made my mind up for me.'

'I'm glad. Now make me even happier and eat your lunch: it's getting cold.'

They concentrated on their pies, their chips and their beans until they were finished. When they were, they piled their plates one on the other and picked up their drinks. Stevie shook his head, a slightly bemused grin on his face. 'Let's go to Laing's on Saturday,' he said. 'You'll have to steer me: I've never bought an engagement ring before.'

'I'm glad to hear it, but you're forgetting something. I haven't said "yes" yet.'

'Well, will you?'

'Let me tell you something else first,' she replied. 'Then you can ask me again, if you want. My letter arrived okay, but a few days ago, something else didn't'

'Uh?'

'Do you know the last time I missed a period, Stevie?'

His eyes widened. 'I wouldn't, would I?' he whispered.

'The answer's never since I started having them. Regular as clockwork, on the dot; you could set your watch by me. Until this month.'

His mouth fell open; he stared at her, idiotically. 'You mean… Have you…'

'I'm going to give it another day or so, and if nothing's happened, I'll get a kit and do a test. If I am, how do you feel about it? Would you be upset?'

'Upset?' he gasped. 'Think of me waking up as chief constable, us winning the lottery and you being pregnant. That's my wish list, in ascending order.'

'Really?'

'Couldn't be more real. I'll ask you again: will you marry me?'

To his surprise, she blushed bright red, her face in vivid contrast to the white of her shirt. 'I guess so,' she replied.

Mario McGuire put the phone back in its cradle; he wondered when, or even whether, he had heard Maggie sound so happy, and the thought sent a sudden feeling of sadness through him. It passed quickly, though, and he smiled. 'By God, young Steele,' he murmured to himself, 'you make a better go of looking after her than I did, or I'll make sure your life will be hell on earth.' She had told him only that she wanted the quickest divorce possible, so that she and Stevie could marry. He had taken her word at face value, but inwardly he wondered whether there might just be more to it.

He picked up the phone once more and called Paula Viareggio at her office. 'Hi, kid,' he said, when she answered. 'You're listening to a soon-to-be-official adulterer.'

'She wants it, then?'

'Yes, and she can have it, as long as you're not named on the petition, which you won't be.'

'That's fine,' said Paula, not quite as unconcerned as she had meant to sound. 'It won't make any difference to us, will it?'

'Not a bit.' He laughed. 'We'll still go on being Leith's favourite casual couple.'

'Yeah? You won't start feeling fancy-free all of a sudden, will you?'

'Don't be daft. I'm happy as we are; never been more so, just like my soon-to-be-ex-wife.'

'In that case,' she told him, 'I'm cooking osso bucco alia Milanese tonight; bring a nice bottle of Barolo with you.'

'One of Nana Viareggio's recipes?'

'Truth? No, I got it off the internet'

'Ah,' he laughed. 'The modern Italian woman. Are Neil and Lou still coming?'

'Of course.'

'Maybe I'll bring two bottles.'

'You'll drink most of them yourself, then: Neil's driving and Lou won't want much, in her condition.'

'I wonder if it's infectious?' Mario muttered.

'We don't need to worry if it is,' Paula countered. 'You've had the vaccination.'

He let it pass. 'See you later.'

'About seven thirty. Bye, lover.'

He hung up and went back to his paperwork, reports from his CID team on current investigations. He noted, with some satisfaction, a significant drop in reported petty thefts within his division, wondering whether it might have less to do with his arrival than with the disappearance of a certain Moash Glazier.

He was still pondering the fate of the missing thief, when his door swung open. Annoyed by the absence of a knock, McGuire looked up to see a tall, slim, middle-aged man with muddy grey eyes slide into the room, and take a seat facing him. 'Greg,' he exclaimed. 'I heard you'd taken the pension. What the hell are you doing back here? Did you leave something behind when you left this office?'

Jay gave a thin smile. 'Nothing I had any use for, Mario. How are you settling in behind my old desk?'

'The desk's fine, thanks; the chair's clapped out, though. I've asked for a replacement. As for the job, I like it here; livelier than the Borders division, that's for sure.'

'And you're doing very well, I hear. Meeting your targets right across the board, so Pringle told me: you'll be after his job next'

McGuire felt his hackles start to rise. 'I've never been after anyone's job in my life, Greg, not while they were in it at least. I heard you took the hump when you were shifted out of here, but that had nothing to do with me. I didn't ask Dan or anyone else for a move and I certainly didn't ask to be transferred here.'

Greg Jay raised a placatory hand. 'Don't get excited, Mario, I'm not saying you did. I know who was behind the moves, all right. The mighty Mr Skinner: who else? He calls all the shots on this force. If your face fits with him, you're made. You and your ex are classic examples of that. I've got nothing against you, though; don't think that for a minute. I'm happily out of it now, just an interested observer on the sidelines.'

He shot a crafty glance across the desk. 'Have you heard any rumours about Skinner?' he asked.

'For fuck's sake, man,' McGuire exclaimed, 'there are always rumours about Bob Skinner. One minute he's going to the top job in the Met, the next he's taking command of Interpol. They're all balls, every one of them.'

'I didn't mean rumours about his career moves. I was talking about his private life. I heard his marriage was up the spout, and that he had a new lady-friend.'

'I don't go in for that sort of gossip. I've been the subject of it myself, just recently. If you want me to pass on any crap about the boss, you'll be waiting a long time.'

'Mmm. Time is something I now have plenty of, my young friend. How is Paula, by the way?'

'Very well, thanks.'

'A very interesting lady, I've always thought, from a very interesting family. I remember your grandfather very well: he was a classic of his type, wasn't he, a real old-school Italian? He could have stepped right off the pages of a Puzo novel.' Jay laughed. 'I suppose you could too, come to that.'

McGuire's eyebrows lowered. 'Greg, what is this? Why the honour of this visit?'

'Just a social call, son, honestly. Tell me, don't you ever find it difficult, being a serving copper and chairing your family business?'

'No more difficult than you found working here and being Right Worshipful Master of your Masonic Lodge. I don't have an executive role, as you know very well; I have a lawyer who advises me on all the important decisions, and who has power to act for me.'

'And not just any lawyer either, I hear, but Miss Alexis Skinner, the sharpest young solicitor in town.'

McGuire's anger rose, its flames showing in his eyes. 'Who the hell told you that?' he snapped.

'That's not important. Why are you so tetchy anyway? Was that supposed to be a secret?'

'No, but it's my private business, and I don't like it being ground in your gossip mill.'

'Sorry, if I upset you. That temper of yours, Mario, it's awfully near the surface these days. I hear you've been showing it to some old friends of mine, too.'

'Such as?'

'Malky Gladsmuir, for one, the manager of the Wee Black Dug pub. I'd a pint in there at lunchtime, and he mentioned that you'd been in to see him. You know, I think you scared the poor chap. I never thought anyone could do that, but you seem to have managed it. He's a valuable informant of mine, is Malky, so I'd appreciate it if you eased up on him a bit.'