Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

'Nice,' he muttered to his colleague. 'I take it that outside it's covered in hawthorn bushes.'

'The title doesn't mean a damn thing,' Greatorix told him. 'That's just a marketing name the investors or their PR men dreamed up. It used to be farmland, until the owner moved with the times and put it to other use. It's a limited company; Brindsley's a shareholder, of course. And guess who built this clubhouse? Of course you can.' He pointed to a group of three men seated round a table in the window. 'As expected, that's him holding court over there.'

As he led the way across the spacious room, one of the trio noticed them and muttered something inaudible. The man in the centre turned to look over his shoulder, then stood up. 'Here comes the filth,' he said, in a gruff, cultured accent, with just a trace of Dundonian, as he extended a hand to Greatorix. 'Brother-in-law, how are you? Come and join us.'

'I'm fine, thanks,' said the head of CID, 'and we were planning to.'

'Who's your friend?'

'This is the deputy chief constable, Andy Martin. I didn't realise till lunchtime that you and he hadn't met, so I thought I should do something about it.'

'Giving me my place in the community, you mean?' He and Martin shook hands. 'Hello, good to meet you. I'd heard about you, of course, from Graham Morton. He and I are brother Rotarians.' Without being asked, his two companions moved their chairs round, making room for the newcomers at the table. Groves glanced in their direction. 'These two codgers are Jack, on the left, and Archie. They're golf addicts, I'm afraid; no hope for them.' The two, who looked to be in their late sixties, nodded happy agreement, then turned to their own conversation.

Without being summoned, the bar steward appeared beside them. 'What can I get you, gentlemen?'

'I'll have a pint of orange squash,' Martin replied.

The man turned to Greatorix. 'Large whisky, please. I'll catch a lift back with you, Brindsley.'

'Sure.' Groves turned to Martin: he was a big man, an inch or two over six feet, and looked considerably fitter than his brother-in-law, even though the two had to be around the same age. 'What do you think of Tayside?' he asked.

'I like it very much.'

'Won't stretch you very much, though, given where you've come from.'

'My previous force was bigger, that's true, but in manpower terms as well as area. So the two jobs are pretty well commensurate, in terms of being stretched.'

Groves jerked his thumb towards Greatorix. 'I suppose you're this guy's boss now?'

'My management portfolio includes CID, that's true, but no way would I interfere with Rod. He has twenty years more experience than me, and he's a better detective than I ever was.'

'That's not what I heard,' Groves said grunted, oblivious to the implied slight. 'I was told that you had a formidable reputation, and that you've been in some real scrapes in your time. Even shot a couple of people in the line of duty, isn't that right?'

The question took Martin aback; fortunately the arrival of his drink gave him time to react. 'It's not something I dwell on, and it's certainly not something I talk about.'

'I can see why you wouldn't. Still, you can't blame people for wondering about it. I can't imagine what it must be like to kill another man, or woman, as the case may be.'

'I'm happy for you in that case. It doesn't bear imagining.' Abruptly he changed the subject. 'You've spent all your life in Dundee, Rod tells me.'

'Apart from the year I spent doing my post-graduate qualification. These days you can do an MBA by correspondence; I had to go away for mine. Don't think too harshly of me, though: our city is a very interesting place, as you'll discover if you spend long enough among us.'

'I'm prepared to concede that already. It has to have something; after all, it's given Scotland its current First Minister.'

'Ah, Tommy,' he murmured, pausing. 'Yes,' he continued, 'give him long enough and he'll be regarded as our most famous son.'

'Who's the current holder of the title?'

'Oor Wullie, I believe.'

Martin smiled. 'Yes, it's a unique claim to fame, having a cartoon character as your top citizen. I can't knock it, though. I'm a Glaswegian and ours are all footballers… most of them dead footballers, at that.'

'We have something in common, then: we're both sons of cities that are music-hall jokes.'

'Don't tell too many Weegies that.' He sipped his orange squash, noticing that Groves was drinking what appeared to be cola. 'How long have you and Rod been in-laws?' he asked.

Groves frowned. 'Since God was a boy, it seems. Celia and I were married when I was still at university, and before you ask, our son was born six months later.'

'Is he a member here too?'

'No.' It was as if the question had thrown a switch, turning off the man's amiability. 'Rod,' he said, sharply. 'It's time to go, the snow's bad enough as it is, and from what I can see out there it's getting worse. Just as well I brought the Range Rover.' He pushed himself to his feet, looking down at the policeman. 'Good evening to you. We'll meet again, no doubt.' Turning on his heel, he walked out of the lounge.

The two golf addicts turned towards Martin. 'So, young man,' the one named Archie began, with an impish grin, 'what's your handicap?'

It was happening too often for his liking: once again, Bob Skinner was taken by surprise. He had waited late in the office, after everyone else had gone for the night, but the visitor he had been expecting was not the Justice Minister.

Nevertheless, he was pleased. He had wanted to see Aileen again over the weekend, but his need to spend quality time with his children had ruled that out. 'Bring her up,' he told the security officer who called to announce her arrival, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

'Hi,' she said, quietly, as she stepped into the room.

He smiled and pointed to the low couch against the far wall, out of sight of the window. 'Hi to you,' he replied, as they sat together.

'I hope you don't mind me dropping in unannounced, Bob.'

'I should mind? You're a minister: it's an honour. Besides…' He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. 'I've found myself wanting to see you.'

'Me too; that's why I called in.'

'Where are you headed?'

'Through to Glasgow: there's a party meeting tomorrow, and before that I have a constituency surgery in the morning.'

'I wish I was a patient.' Bob chuckled.

'I wish you were too.' She looked into his eyes. 'I'm trying to fight what's happening to me, you know, before I put myself at risk with you.'

'I won't let that happen, I promise. To tell you the truth I'm not trying to fight anything. I'm concentrating on doing what's right, in the right order and at the right time.'

'Do you always manage to do that?'

'I have to confess to a conspicuous record of failure in that department,' he told her.

'Have you heard from your wife?' she asked, tentatively.

'Yes. She's still in the US, but she's coming home soon.'

'And what will happen then?'

'I haven't a bloody clue; all I hope is that whatever way it goes, it's best for the kids.'

'I'm sure you'll manage that. My one big fear is that if you did split, I'd be seen as the scarlet woman who caused it. Murtagh would have a field day if he chose and, knowing him, he would, especially as I'll have served my purpose by then.'

'I promise you, Aileen, you won't be involved if it goes that way. Things were going wrong between Sarah and me long before I met you. But I hear what you're saying and, yes, we need to be discreet. What we have at the moment is a strong friendship, and we mustn't give anybody the chance to misinterpret it… any more than we have already. For a while, when we meet, it's either official or it's in Glasgow.'