Aftershock

Eighty-four

The small piece of Margaret Rose Steele’s soul that remained incurably romantic was disappointed. When Bob Skinner had told her of Adrian St John’s discoveries, and of Davor Boras’s interesting trip to Monaco, she had seen herself flying south in the seat next to the DCC, headed for a confrontation that she had done much to create.

The rest of her, the greater part of her that a lifetime of personal tragedy had made dourly realistic, knew that she could go nowhere near it. She was recovering from major surgery, she had a child to look after, but most of all, she could not rely upon her self-control if their quarry was run to ground.

So she sat at home in Gordon Terrace and fretted. Bob had called her, as he had promised, reporting that he had put the honorary consul on standby, and that Mario McGuire had met with the commander of the Monégasque police, to advise him of their presence and of their purpose. She had been encouraged, and yet she had sensed that somehow he was less certain, less confident than he had been that morning.

With Stephanie fed and readied for the night, she held her in her lap and picked up the television remote. She joined a holiday programme half-way through, watching a package on Jamaica, but imagining Monaco instead.

It was almost over when the telephone rang. Bet had gone out to meet an old school friend, so she laid the baby in her cot and picked it up.

‘Maggie?’ Maurice Goode’s voice was unusually hesitant. ‘Sorry about the hour. It’s for a colleague again; this time it’s the guy who took over my old job. I might as well go back on the crime desk. That bastard doesn’t seem to have a single reliable contact.’

‘I think I prefer you where you are, Mo,’ she told him. ‘You can do less damage there. What is it? Another highly placed source claiming to know who blew up Lord Darnley?’

‘This isn’t a source. It’s an anonymous tip-off.’

‘You know how much they’re worth.’

‘That’s exactly what I said, but the editor wants it checked out because of what the caller said. I told them to take it to the force press officer, but the boss said that if it was true Royston wouldn’t admit it. The informant’s claiming that Bob Skinner’s been suspended from duty, and that he’s under investigation.’

Maggie gasped. ‘That’s all bollocks,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve spoken to Bob twice today. I know exactly where he is, and I know exactly what he’s doing. . and before you ask, I’m not going to tell you. But, believe me, he is on police business.’

‘You’re certain?’

‘You calling me a liar?’

‘Sorry, Maggie, of course not.’

‘Just as well. You go back to your editor and your colleague and tell them they’ve been had. Tell them this too. You know Bob’s daughter?’

‘Not personally, but I’ve heard of her.’

‘In that case you’ll know she’s a lawyer, with the biggest firm in town. If you or anyone else runs that story, you’ll find out how she reacts when anyone has a go at her dad.’