Head Shot

41

She has no kids yet, and neither do we… nor will we, unless we adopt… so your boys could have quite a rosy future.'

'That's good to know; thanks. Mind you that assumes that any of us have a future. I saw the Sunday Mail front page today. What is this Mafia stuff, Maggie? I know that Uncle Beppe used to joke about it all the time, but should we take it seriously?'

'No more than Beppe used to take it himself; it was always a joke with him, even if it did wear thin from time to time. There is no organised crime in Edinburgh, not any more. We final y broke that a couple of years ago, when the last of the big drugs barons got sent down for most of the rest of his life. Even when it did exist, it wasn't Italian.'

'What if this came from outside Edinburgh? The deli side of the business has all sorts of Italian suppliers.'

'No it doesn't. We went over this with Paula last night. The deli suppliers are all wholesalers, and most of them are public companies, or part of public groups. The business deals with them and nobody else; it doesn't pay off middlemen and it never has. There are no supply problems just now, and no arguments with anyone over prices. Like most businesses, the biggest threat comes from the VAT man.'

'So who kil ed old Beppe then, if it wasn't gangsters?'

'We'd have told you if we knew. Now stop fantasising; off you go and watch the game with the rest of the boys.' She glanced at the women gathered around the table. 'I've got to stop Nana from pouring any more Chianti into your wife. God knows how it'l mix with the sedatives.'

As it transpired, the combination proved as effective as any sleeping pill. Viola was put to bed by her mother and slept solidly until seven thirty, when Stan decreed that the boys had to go home. The others decided to leave at the same time, Sophia and Christina going back to Murrayfield with Nana, and Paula, her courage restored, returning to her warehouse apartment in Leith, uttering threats against the person of any journalist who might be lying in wait for her.

As soon as they had gone, Mario began to clear away the debris left over from the extended lunch. He had just loaded the last of the crockery into the dishwasher, and selected a programme, when he noticed, through the open kitchen door, that his wife was seated at the dining table, making her way through a stack of papers.

'What the hell's that?' he called to her, as he strolled back towards her.

'Stuff I brought home from the office yesterday. It's the first chance I've had to look at it.'

'Bloody hell,' he laughed. 'You're not turning into Manny English, are you?'

'Hardly; it's just that I feel that while I'm filling his shoes, I should try to do things his way.'

'Like spending every weekend shovelling shit?'

'No,' she said, severely. 'Not every weekend; only those when I find myself giving short-notice lunch parties for your family.'

'We won't make a habit of it, I promise. Anyway, I don't have any more uncles.'

Maggie winced. 'Sorry; that was a bit crass. I was glad to do it, honestly, and I think it did everyone a bit of good… apart from Viola, that is. Nana fed the best part of a bottle of Chianti into her before I could stop her.'

'Stan could have stopped her before you did,' Mario pointed out, 'but he wasn't bothered.'

'True. I don't think it's his style though. He loves his boys, but I get the impression that he and Viola aren't al that happy together.'

'They're fine. You're not seeing either of them at their best, that's al.

Anyway, a couple of drinks and a few hours' sleep were exactly what she was needing. Trust Nana to spot it, too.'

'Oh yes, trust her.' She paused. 'Paula seems to have got herself together.'

'Aye, she's fine. I've asked Jay to keep an eye on her place, but she doesn't need to know that.'

'You don't real y think she's in any danger, do you?'

'No, but I know a bloke that won the Lottery last year. You can never be quite certain.'

He saw her frown. 'Who did it, Mario? Who could have?'

'I don't know, but… My Uncle Beppe always had an eye for the ladies. It's got him into bother more than once. I just wonder…' He paused, as his eye was caught by a sheet of paper on the table. 'Here, what's that?'

She handed it to him. 'It's the missing person poster on my dear father.'

'Oh shit,' he muttered. 'Sorry, I forgot to mention something. He's grown a beard since this was taken. This isn't a current likeness.' He laid the flyer on the table, picked up a pen, darkened the jaw and top lip on the monochrome photograph and handed it back to her.

Maggie gazed at it. 'He's still an evil-looking bastard. I'l have a revision issued though.' She laid it on top of her 'out' pile, then hesitated.

'That's funny; looking like that, he reminds me of someone. But who the hell is it?'

'Search me, love. Nobody I know, that's for sure. Damn!' As he spoke, he was interrupted by a distant, muffled tone.

'What's that?' his wife asked.

'My mobile. I left it in my jacket. I must have forgotten to switch it off.'

He strode through to their bedroom. His wardrobe door was open, and as he approached, the ringing tone grew louder. He snatched the cellphone from the pocket in which it lay and pressed the receive button.

The voice at the other end was light, teasing, and very female. 'Mr Superintendent?' it began. 'This is Ivy.'

'Uhh?'

'Ivy Brennan. George's neighbour, remember?'

'Oh yes. What can I do for you? Has he shown up?'

'No, it's nothing to do with him. I saw the Sunday Mail today, about your uncle.'

'Then don't talk to me. Call the Leith office and ask for the incident room. Ask for Superintendent Jay; tell him I said you should call.'

'No,' she said, firmly. 'I need to see you, now. The thing is, I might know who killed him.'

He hesitated, picturing the dol -like girl in his mind's eye. 'Where are you?' he asked, at last.

'My place.'

'Stay there; I'll be half an hour. Oh, and by the way, you'd better not be kidding me on.'

He took his jacket from its hanger and walked back through to the living room, wondering how much he should tel Maggie and, in particular, whether he should tel her that he was going back to see her 168 father's neighbour. What if she wanted to come with him, to see the place where he lived? Would that be good for her?

His worries were academic. 'Let me guess,' she exclaimed as he appeared in the doorway. 'You have to go and see an informant. It's okay, I know by now what it means when that phone rings when you're off duty. You might as well; I've stil got a bit to do here.'

He smiled at her, more gratefully than she realised. 'Never mind, love; once Neil gets bedded into the SB job it'll al pass to him.'

'And how wil Louise take to that, I wonder.'

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. 'With the same understanding you've shown over the years,' he whispered.

'Get out of here,' she laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. 'Just don't be late, that's al.'