Head Shot

60

Bob Skinner sat in the waiting room of the place that morticians, or undertakers, around the English-speaking world describe discreetly as the chapel of rest; the showroom for their skills, as he thought of it. He had seen his parents-in-law in death, and although he knew that they would look vastly different when presented to their daughter, he did not wish to repeat the experience.

He had been in similar places before in his life; for his parents, for his maternal grandmother, who had died when he was twenty-two, and for Myra, his first wife, whose death in a speeding car had haunted him for almost twenty years, to a point at which it had become the catalyst for his brief separation from Sarah.

No, he had sworn, and he had meant it. The next time he would be in another of those soft-lit, well-ventilated rooms, the serene, made-up face in the white-lined coffin would be his own.

He sat alone with his grim thoughts for twenty minutes; for most of that time he pondered the chain that he and Doherty had uncovered, connecting the four men who had met a few months before in Altoona,

Pennsylvania, and who had al died violent deaths. If the FBI hackers had indeed uncovered the truth about their Service past, then, circumstantial or not, it was dynamite. And if their record of those days did exist, and said what Doherty believed, it could go nuclear. Yet Skinner was wary. He was an experienced detective, with the hunting instinct of a jungle animal, but he was in someone else's forest now, a place where the prey had sharp teeth too.

He snapped back to the present when the waiting-room door opened.

Sarah's freshened make-up just failed to hide the blotches around her eyes, but she was composed. 'Okay?' he asked.

'Okay,' she replied.

They walked through to the reception area of the funeral home, where Mr Poe, the splendidly named mortician, was waiting for them. He handed Sarah a white envelope. 'That is a note of the timings which we agreed for the funeral service and for the burial. The hearse and your limo will call at your residence at ten after ten precisely on Friday morning.'

'We'll be ready,' said Skinner.

'I'm sure, sir. There is one change of which I have to advise you. The senator's office just cal ed me to express her profound regret that she and her husband will not be able to attend after all. There's a confirmation hearing that may come to a vote on Friday, and it's essential that she be there. He feels that it would not be appropriate for him to come alone.'

'That's a pity'

'Yes it is, sir. However, if I may say so, it may be a blessing in disguise; I once officiated at a funeral where President Nixon was a mourner, and the requirements of the Secret Service left me in no doubt as to who was real y in charge of proceedings. It's unfortunate for you, though, in that it denies you the opportunity of meeting our former president.'

'I've met him,' Bob told him, casual y.

Mr Poe was lost for words… for a micro-second. 'Ah,' he exclaimed.

'In that case…'

Sarah kept her face straight until they were outside, in the car park, where her smile escaped. 'That was wicked. The poor man was only being an American; you could have gone along with him.'

'Maybe,' he replied, straight-faced. 'But I don't like politician worship, at any level. I don't like politicians, period. Anyway, it's true; I have met him. He offered me a cigar. Okay, he's got more charisma than al the Hollywood A-list put together, but he's still a politician.

'As far as I'm concerned, they should be an endangered species.'

'In this country, honey,' she said, quietly, 'they are.'

A smal shiver ran through him; he was on the brink of telling her about Doherty's discoveries, but stopped himself. Instead, he reached into his pocket and switched on his cellphone. It showed one cal unanswered. At first he thought it might be Joe, but when he checked the log he found that it was from the private handphone of Sarah's lawyer, Clyde Oakdale, interim successor to Jackson Wylie as senior partner of her father's firm.

He made the return cal, and handed the phone to Sarah, as it was put through.

'Clyde? You're working late,' he heard her say, as he opened the Jaguar with its remote, and walked towards it.

He was in the driver's seat, with the engine running, when she ended the cal and slid in, lithely, beside him. 'The meeting?' he asked.

'Yes. He wants to do it tomorrow; he says it'l take him that long to complete the audit of Dad and Mum's estate.'

'What time?'

'Five,' she answered; he heard an awkwardness in her voice. 'Bob, I know you're named as joint executor, but Clyde said that he'd like to see me alone for the formal reading. It's the way Dad wanted it, apparently.

You don't mind, do you?'

He smiled and shook his head. 'I never questioned anything Leo did when he was alive. I'm not going to start now. We'l be a bit tight for the Walkers, though. Aren't they expecting us around six?'

'Yes, but how about if you go there on your own and I'l join you once I'm finished with Clyde? You can walk to their place from here; it's only a couple of blocks.'

'Yes, I suppose I could do that.'

'That's good.' She reached over and patted his hand. 'Okay, that's al today's difficulties over. What are we going to do now?'

He grunted. 'I reckon it's about time you got some sleep. Then tomorrow, I'm going shopping.'

'Shopping?'

'Too right: I left home with a case packed for a few days in Malaysia.

I have to buy a suit that's appropriate for a funeral in Buffalo.'