Skinner's mission

66

Skinner showered, then shaved, using a razor and foam left months before by Alan Royston. He was barefoot, but otherwise fully dressed when he rejoined her in the kitchen. She had thrown on jeans and a sweatshirt. Two mugs of coffee, a plate of buttered toast, and another of sliced tomatoes were set out on the breakfast bar.

He looked at her and smiled. ‘Royston didn’t leave any socks behind, did he? I hate wearing the same pair twice running.’

She shook her tousled head. ‘No, he didn’t. He never wanted to move in. . not that I’d have let him, mind.’

‘More fool Royston,’ said Skinner, taking her by surprise. ‘Sound man, Alan. He’s good at what he does, but he lacks imagination. I expect he’ll be on the scene at Stafford Street.’

Pam frowned. ‘It’s a big blow, isn’t it, losing Douglas Terry?’

‘Yes it is, in terms of getting Jackie Charles. We’re not just back to square one, we’re right off the board. Terry was our best hope of a lead to Carole’s killer too. I tell you, Pamela, it’s worrying.’

She handed him his coffee. ‘It’s not the end of the world. Something else will turn up to incriminate Charles.’

He peered into the mug. ‘There’s no Bailey’s lurking in here, is there?’ His half-smile vanished as quickly as it had come. ‘No, lass, that’s not what’s worrying me. It’s the way the little bastard’s been ahead of us every step of the way. It’s getting to me.’

‘Terry was murdered, I take it.’

‘Unless he smashed the back of his own head in, yes he was.’

She grimaced. ‘You sure you don’t want me to come with you?’

‘Senior copper’s tip number one. Never volunteer to go to a murder scene. No, you go to the office as usual, check the incoming paper, then make an appointment for the two of us to check the register of property titles. We’ve got Thirty-First Nominees Limited to follow up, remember.’

She laughed, as he straightened his tie. ‘You’re really chuffed with yourself for turning up that company, aren’t you. Jackie Huish, indeed.’

Placing his mug back on the breakfast bar, he looked at her, almost conspiratorially. ‘Listen,’ he said quietly, ‘even a Deputy Chief Constable can still get a kick out of being a smart-arse. Only. .’

‘. . No-one loves a smart-arse!’ They laughed in unison, until Pam picked up the toast and tomatoes. ‘Come on, let’s finish this lot next door.’ She headed back through to the living room, back to the green leather sofa, while he went back to the spare room to put on socks and shoes. Then, with the plates on the cushion between them they shared breakfast and drank their coffee, looking out of the window at the new day. The snow had stopped and the temperature seemed to have risen. As they watched, a great bank of snow slid off the Malmaison roof and crashed to the ground.

She grinned up at him. ‘Well, at least you’re not snowed in any more. We’re back in the real world.’

‘Still,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed last night. It was good to find someone else that I can talk to. There aren’t many people in that category, I can tell you. Four, apart from you. .’ He hesitated. ‘Sorry, make that three.’

‘So your problems don’t look any better in the daylight, ’ she said, softly.

He shook his head. ‘I just don’t know, Pam, and that’s the God’s truth. But I can’t lose this feeling that the Sarah I loved isn’t there any more, and I guess she feels the same about me.’

She looked down at her coffee and frowned. ‘Maybe you’ll find each other again.’

‘Maybe we will, Pam. Maybe we will. But right now, neither of us knows how to go about that. . or even if we want to start. I never believed it could happen, but our marriage has broken down.’

‘I know it has,’ she said. ‘Otherwise last night you would have called the Traffic boys without a second thought.’ She reached across and tapped his chest. ‘In here,’ she said. ‘Each of you has to start searching in here. Maybe those other people you spoke of haven’t gone away; maybe they’re just hiding.’

She frowned at him, suddenly. ‘D’you love Sarah?’

He hesitated. ‘Look. .’

‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m going too far.’

He sighed. ‘No, Pam, you’re not. To be honest, six months ago I’d have said, “Yes, with all my heart.” But I have a big hang-up over trust. To me, it’s everything. So I fear you hit on the answer just a few seconds ago. If I still loved her, surely I wouldn’t be sitting here now. Last night, I would indeed have called the lads. Or better still, I’d have called Sarah and asked her to get her four-wheel drive out of the garage and come and get me.

‘It certainly never occurred to me to do that.’

Bob stood up and stepped over to the window. Looking out, he said, ‘The way that things are between Sarah and me makes me feel indescribably sad. It’s like bereavement. You’re divorced. You should understand that.’

Pamela stood up and came to his side. ‘Yes, I understand it. But the only advice I can give you from my experience is not to throw away the keys to any door you’ve locked behind you, until you’re absolutely sure that you’ll never want to walk back through it.’

‘Okay,’ said Bob. ‘But maybe there’s a new complicating factor.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Ah, I can’t tell you that. Not just yet. Maybe it’s there, maybe it isn’t. I’ll know in time.’

‘Ah well,’ she sighed. ‘If all else fails, you can do what I did after I left David. You can throw yourself into your work. At least Fettes is a constant.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ he said with a grin, and started to head for the door.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Never mind. I still have some secrets, even from my PA.

‘Thanks yet again for last night, Pamela. But now I’d better head up to Stafford Street. Dougie Terry won’t keep for ever.’