Fallen Gods

Forty-Four

"Stop here," Bob Skinner told the taxi-driver as he approached the drive that led up to the Grace mansion. He paid him in crisp new US currency, fresh from an ATM in John F Kennedy Airport, and stepped out into the street. It was still short of nine a.m." but the morning was hot nonetheless. His Scottish summer clothes felt suddenly very heavy.

He stood at the foot of the path, out of sight of the house, and took a deep breath.

He had called his daughter from London, and had found her as shocked and disbelieving as he had known she would be. He had promised to keep her in touch with developments, and then he had tried his level best to block the nightmare from his mind.

All the way across the Atlantic he had fought against the urge to think of this moment, to anticipate it, to plan for it. He had played CDs on his Walkman all through the flight, and on the shuttle to Buffalo;

Clapton and King, a Stones compilation, Counting Crows, a live Van Morrison double set, all bought at Heathrow and chosen because it was heavy stuff that would force him to listen. He had watched television all the way through a short, sleepless night in his hotel room, finding a channel that seemed to be devoted entirely to showing repeats of The Sopranos, wondering to himself how long the fictional Big Tony would have lasted in Edinburgh, as opposed to Lenny Plenderleith's late boss.

The moment had come, though; he braced himself and thought positively, of Mark, Jazz and Seonaid, and how pleased he would be to see them. He picked up his bag from the sidewalk, turned the corner and walked up the path. He thought the door might open as he approached the house, but no one could have been looking out. The garage door was open; only the Jaguar lay inside. He stepped up to the entrance and rang the bell.

He had assumed that it would be Trish who would answer. When the heavy door opened and he saw Sarah standing there, he was struck dumb … as was she. They stood staring at each other, neither moving, neither seeming to know what to say.

And then from the hall, there came a yell of "Dad!" and James Andrew charged out past his mother, throwing himself up to be caught and hugged to his father's chest. Bob felt a sharp sensation as the child bumped his pacemaker, but he ignored it in the sheer relief of seeing him again.

Leaving his flight bag abandoned on the step, he carried him into the house. "Hello, kid," he whispered into his ear. "How much mayhem have you been causing while I've been away then?"

Eventually he set his son back on his feet. "Go and play," he told him. "I'll see you in a minute. I need to talk to your mum."

Jazz ran off, towards the kitchen and, he guessed, to the yard. He turned back to face Sarah. She had recovered her composure; he fought for his. "What are you doing here?" she asked, in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice.

"What the hell do you think I'm doing, honey?"

"So Clyde called you; I told him not to, yet he did."

"Too bloody right he did," Bob exclaimed, his voice starting to rise, before he calmed it. "There are three kids here, and their mother was in jail. How could you expect him not to?" He walked into the kitchen. The trip was catching up with him fast; he needed coffee, badly, but fortunately there was a jug on the filter. He poured himself a mug, went to the fridge and added barely enough milk to turn it brown from black.

He turned back towards her. "I guess your name hasn't been linked to the investigation yet," he said. "No media outside."

"No," she said. "Sheriff Dekker and the DA made sure that I was kept completely incommunicado. They took me away from Ron's house very quickly and I was held in the DA's office, not at the police building.

The press assumed I was there, so they camped outside. They were only told that a suspect was in custody; no name, no gender even."

"A remarkable show of discretion in the States."

She nodded. "Yes, I admit that's puzzled me too."

"I can guess the reason," he grunted, darkly. "When did they give you bail?"

"A judge granted it last night, in chambers; she set a million-dollar surety, but John Vranic assured her there was more than enough in the estate. It's temporary, though; if I'm indicted and arraigned, it'll be considered again then."

"If?"

She winced and looked away. "No," she whispered. "When. John told me to expect to be in open court this afternoon. Then the whole media thing will explode."

"We'll see about that."

"Bob, I'm lucky it hasn't happened before this." She walked over to him. "You look beat; do you want me to make you something to eat?"

"Wouldn't do any harm. Eggs, bacon, that sort of stuff; my cholesterol's fine, remember. So, you'll be glad to hear, is everything else."

"You slew your dragon, then."

"Let's just say she's wounded; slaying's a bad topic around here. I'm back in post, and that's the main thing."

"I'm glad for you," she said quietly as she opened the fridge, and took out a box of eggs and a pack of bacon.

"Thanks." He turned his head and looked out of the window at James Andrew as he attacked a climbing frame that had not been there when he left. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I got obsessed; I admit it, I went off at half cock and let it come between us. Now all this shit's come down on you, and I feel it's my fault. It's been my week for guilt and no mistake."

She lit a gas ring, under a big frying pan. "Bob…" she began, a catch in her voice. "I have to…"

He put up a hand. "Don't do that just yet, love, please. Just answer me something. When you found the guy, was the door of his house lying open?"

"No."

"In that case, since he was dead, who opened it for you?"

"Nobody," she whispered. "I had a key."

He felt his head swim, and for a moment thought that he might be having another attack, in spite of his pacemaker. But the thump of his heart in his chest told him that he was not. "Okay," he said, in a flat, OK emotionless voice that was a masterpiece of self-control. "Just so as I know when I see the police."

"You're seeing the police?"

"This very morning. I phoned Brad Dekker on my way here from the airport and told him to be ready for me, with Eddie Brady, at ten o'clock."

"Bob, you can't get involved in this," she exclaimed.

He smiled at her, for the first time since she had opened the door.

"Who can't?"