Dead And Buried

Seventy-six

‘One of the great skills of police work, Jimmy,’ said Bob Skinner, his voice sounding weary on the phone, ‘and probably of life, lies in knowing, instinctively, which can is the one with the worms in it. Thus forewarned, you can decide whether or not you want to open it.’

‘That’s as cynical as I’ve ever heard you, my friend,’ the chief constable replied. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m tired, and I’m three thousand miles away from home. Most of all, I’m borne down by the knowledge that however hard guys like you and me labour to protect the innocent and bring the guilty to justice, there’s another level where different rules apply, and where expediency is all that matters. I feel dirty, because I’ve become a part of it myself, and worse, because I’ve dragged a pleasant, upright young woman into it with me and let her see things that she’ll have nightmares about for the rest of her life. She didn’t belong in the dark, and I brought her into it.’

‘That’s not your fault, Bob.’

‘Ah, but it is, it is. When Evelyn Grey asked me to do this investigation for him, I knew what was inside the can. Worms? Snakes, Jimmy; fucking cobras. I could have said, “No, thank you,” but I didn’t: I chose to open it.’

‘Have you killed them all?’

‘All but one. There’s a great big king cobra at the head of it all: I’ve still got to take care of him.’

‘That sounds like a tall order. Do you not want to call it quits and come home?’

‘Yes, but I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to finish it.’

‘How are you going to kill a king cobra?’

‘How else? I’m going to charm him. Then when he isn’t expecting it. . I’m going to cut his damned head off.’

As Proud listened to his friend, Kevin O’Malley’s report thrust itself back into his mind. To the chief he sounded lonely, more tense and strung out than he had ever known him. ‘Bob,’ he said, ‘your counsellor has recommended to me that you should be given time off: a six-month sabbatical, he called it, to get you out of the front line. I’m inclined to agree with him. What do you say?’

‘I’m not in the front line, Jimmy; I’m somewhere behind the fucking lines and I’m not even sure who the enemy is any more. Christ, I might be the enemy myself.’

‘Then maybe you should take some time to yourself and work it out.’

‘We’ll talk about it when I get back. But not sick leave: I will not take sick leave.’

‘I’m not suggesting that: it’ll be a formal sabbatical. I’ll send you off to write a thesis on policing; I can arrange for Edinburgh University to publish it.’

Three thousand miles away, Skinner yawned. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Apart from anything else, it would let me spend some time with the kids when they need it, to get them used to the idea of Sarah being gone. Like I say, we’ll talk about it.’ He paused. ‘So, this business of yours: you’ve spoken to the Friend woman, you said. How did she take it when you told her that you were certain her mother was dead?’

‘She was disappointed, more for her daughter than for herself. She’s never known her mother, and she’s a strong woman, so she’ll get over it. At least she’s found an aunt and uncle she never knew she had.’

‘And how about you? How do you feel, now that your investigation’s hit the wall?’

‘You don’t think we’re going to find him?’

‘No. Mario’s got you doing all the right things, but I’ll be surprised if trawling other unsolved crimes gets you a result. It’s a miracle that Bothwell got away with it three times: an obviously clever guy like him wouldn’t push his luck.’

‘But if he’s a serial killer, Bob, surely he couldn’t stop himself?’

‘He isn’t a serial killer, not as the term is commonly understood. From what you’ve told me, he did it for money. His first wife was wealthy and her fortune disappeared with her; you know that Primrose was left money by her mother and you know that the Spanish woman’s father was in the hotel business. It’s quite possible that after he’d got as much out of her as he could, he killed her and moved on. Maybe he took Annabelle with him; she didn’t have a penny so she doesn’t fit the pattern. Maybe she was the love of his life. Maybe, somewhere, she still is.’

‘You think so?’

‘I don’t know. I’m just airing possibilities, that’s all. But that’s all they will ever be, for his trail’s gone cold, unless I’m wrong and your public appeal does get a response, or unless there’s something you’ve overlooked.’

‘I’m pretty sure there isn’t, and if there was, someone else would have noticed it.’

‘If it’s in the file, that’s true. I’ve got to go now, Jimmy. Why don’t you take some time alone, and think everything through. Goodbye now, see you soon.’

Proud hung up and called his secretary. ‘Gerry, ask Mr Haggerty to postpone our meeting for half an hour.’