Fallen Gods

Thirteen

Andy Martin looked into the future and saw a quandary. In the fifteen minutes since he had recovered from his breakdown in the armchair, Skinner had said not another word, other than to apologise, repeatedly, for his weakness.

But he was a witness. He had information crucial to the progress of a murder investigation and he had to be interviewed, regardless of his emotional state.

Andy went through to the kitchen and returned with two bottles of Rolling Rock beer. As he returned, the Fairground Attraction CD came to an end, and the changer replaced it with a new Peter Green blues album. Normally, Bob would have reacted. Typically he would have asked him if it was Eric Clapton… on first hearing, he thought that all blues guitarists were Eric Clapton… but as he sat there, all he did was nod his thanks as he took his uncapped beer.

He stared at the carpet as the first two tracks on the album played themselves out; then as the horns came in, upbeat, at the start of track three, he put the bottle to his lips and took a long draining swallow.

When he was finished, he laid the empty bottle on the occasional table beside his chair, and looked across at his friend.

"Right," he said, abruptly. "Now that I've finished making an arse of myself, do you want to take my statement yourself, or do you want to get a couple of your guys up here?"

A smile of undisguised relief seemed to flood Martin's face. "I reckon you're worth the head of CID. I'll call him now and ask him to come up."

Skinner frowned. "No, wait; that's not fair on Karen. We'll go to him." He reached out a hand. "Here; don't you drink that beer. Give it to me."

Andy grinned and handed it over. "Fine, but Karen's making dinner."

"Then tell your guy to have his as well and we'll see him afterwards."

"Man, we're still in the early hours of the investigation; you know how important the first stages are."

"How long was he in the water?"

"About a week."

"Where did he go in?"

"We haven't a clue."

"Then let's not risk your happiness and my digestion by spoiling Karen's excellent dinner. I'm not going to be able to lead you straight to whoever it is you're after." His forehead creased and his eyes turned hard and cold. "Even if I could, I don't know that I would. I might be inclined to pay a call on him myself."

Martin felt himself shiver. "For Christ's sake, Bob, don't even think that."

"Ah, but I do, son. Because I'm human and because it's in my nature."

"Then suppress it, please." Andy looked at him, with pure concern.

"Man, you shouldn't be handling this alone. Let me call Sarah in the States and tell her what's happened."

Skinner looked at him as if he was a stranger. "You do that and I'll make you eat your silver-braided hat, Deputy Chief."

"Well let me call Alex, then."

"Nor her either; she doesn't know she ever had an uncle, nor Sarah a brother-in-law. I'll handle this, Andy. I promise you I'll behave myself and tell you everything I know; but not here, or now. I'll do it in a formal situation, because for my own sake, I need to make sure

I stay dispassionate about it. Now, are we about ready to eat? I'm fucking starving."

Martin smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "We should be just about there. You finish that beer, and I'll call Rod Greatorix to set up a meeting."

He was heading towards the phone in the hall, when Skinner called him back. "Hey," he said, pointing towards the CD player with the Rolling Rock in his hand. "If I didn't know that was Eric Clapton, I'd say it was the guy who used to be in Fleetwood Mac'