Lethal Intent

Forty-one

Bob Skinner felt a pang of shame as he stepped through the front door: he had never set foot in the Pringles' house before, something that he regarded as a major sin of omission, since he was on calling terms with most of his senior colleagues. And beyond his guilt, he felt a great weight upon his shoulders. It was Friday morning; he tried to recall a more stressful week in his professional or his private life, and found it impossible. There was the time he had been stabbed, of course, but he had been out of it for the worst of those days.

Elma stood aside to let him in. 'It's good of you to come, Bob,' she whispered, making him feel even worse.

'No,' he replied, automatically. 'It's the least I could do.' He followed her into the living room, and recoiled slightly at what he saw. Dan Pringle sat slumped in an armchair; he was wearing a heavy cardigan over a white shirt; it was open at the neck and he saw the flesh hanging loose and flabby. His face was streaked and his eyes were red. He clutched a glass of whisky in his right hand, and Skinner guessed that it had just been refilled.

The chief superintendent looked up at him; for a second his eyes were blank, then as recognition set in, he made to rise, until the DCC waved him back into his chair. 'I'm sorry, Dan,' he said, as he sat on the couch to his left. 'I am so sorry.'

'Aye, Bob.' The words cracked in his throat. He picked up a glass of water from a small table at his side, and drank from it. 'It's a terrible thing to lose a child,' he went on, his voice steadier. 'I never thought it would happen to us:'

'Come on, now,' said Skinner. 'Ross is still alive; there's hope.'

'Since when were you a neurologist?' Pringle snapped at him, rejecting what they both knew was a platitude. 'She's in a deep coma. They say that if she does come round, she'll be seriously braindamaged. That's what gas does to you.'

Skinner was aware of Elma, taking a seat on the couch beside him. 'They're not giving us any hope at all, Bob,' she said quietly, more in control than her husband. 'The doctor we spoke to said that there are only minimal signs of brain activity. They're going to observe her for a wee bit longer. Then, when we've all had time to reflect, they're going to talk to us about what her future might be. At least, that's how they put it.'

The DCC thought of Alex: she was only a few years older than Ross Pringle. 'Jesus,' he whispered. 'They haven't pulled any punches with you, have they?'

'We wouldn't want them to. Dan and I find that it's better to face the truth from the start than to have the rug jerked out from under us later.'

'Have you thought about what you'll do?'

She nodded. 'Yes, we have. Whether we'll be able to do it when the time comes, that's another matter, but we've reached a decision, one that we believe Ross would support.'

'Have the crime scene people finished?' asked Dan, abruptly.

'Yes, they have. In part, that's what I came to tell you. Arthur Dorward told me that the supply pipe to the heater was loose. There was enough getting through to make it function, but some gas leaked very slowly into the room. It built up over a matter of hours, until it reached lethal levels.'

'Was the room not ventilated?'

'Yes, but the vent was closed. It's winter and the things can be draughty, so they're often slid shut. To be honest, mine often are at home, the way the wind comes off the river sometimes.'

'The pipe was loose? How could that happen?'

'More easily than you'd imagine, according to Dorward. The two sections were linked by a bolt, and it's probable that it was accidentally kicked loose. A bump against it at the right angle might have been enough.'

Elma sighed. 'By what a fine thread a life can hang. We are all clinging to the planet by our fingernails, when you think about it.'

'Maybe it's best not to think about it,' said Skinner, quietly. 'If we did, we'd never get up in the morning, and we'd never let our kids outside.'

'George Regan will be wishing he hadn't,' Dan muttered morosely.

'No,' the DCC countered. 'George will not wish that. He let his boy grow up in the real world, and he didn't try to stop him being all the things a boy is. Suppose wee George had been locked in every night, likely he'd have found a way out. Give them freedom you're giving them respect, and respect is what you get back.'

'So what made him try to climb the castle rock by moonlight?'

'The romance of it, puberty… who knows? It beats me. But he did, that's all there is to it. What made Ross, or one of her pals, bump against that bolt and loosen it? Fate, Dan.'

Pringle gave a huge sigh. 'I suppose,' he exclaimed, glancing at Skinner. 'Do you ever worry about your own kids?'

'All the bloody time, man, in every way. My five-year-old son beat up two kids at his school not so long ago for calling him a copper's bastard or some such. My older one's so mathematically bright I fear it might consume everything else in his life. My younger daughter would stick her finger in an electric socket to see how it worked, if her nanny didn't watch her constantly. And even my older daughter isn't immune to trouble, although she seems to be living a very quiet life since her engagement broke up.'

'That won't last,' Pringle growled.

'Probably not.' He paused. The conversation was beginning to unsettle him. 'Listen,' he said, 'back to you. Is there anything, anything at all, that we can do to help you? Transport to the hospital, for example: just call the office and there'll be a car here for you. If things go better than you expect, and you need advice on care of the disabled, that sort of thing, ask and we'll arrange it.'

'That's good of you, Bob,' said Elma Pringle, evenly, 'but there's really only one thing you could do for us. Would you please process Dan's retirement as quickly as you can? We've discussed this over the last few hours, and we're agreed. However it goes with Ross, even if there's a miracle, I want my husband at home with me, for his own good and mine.'

Skinner looked from one to the other. 'Are you sure?' he asked.

'Dead certain,' Pringle replied. 'I'm sorry if it causes problems for you; I know you were looking to me to stay the course until you had an obvious successor ready, but the truth is, man, I'm done. I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me to wait until I'm less emotional, then think it through again. I'll do that if you insist, but I tell you now, the decision will be the same. Guys like you and me, we evolve backwards, Bob. Alongside these young guys, I feel slow, I feel tired, and I struggle to keep up with them, let alone command them. I wasn't always one, but now I've become a dinosaur, and I know it. So's Jimmy Proud, only it hasn't dawned on him yet. You should watch for the signs yourself… they might be a few years off yet, but you'll see them, and when you do, you'll know, if you're honest with yourself, that your time's up too. So let me go now, eh?'

The DCC looked down at the carpet, then back at the head of CID. 'You want it, Dan,' he told him quietly, 'you've got it. Give me a formal request to retire when you feel like putting it on paper; meanwhile I'll get it under way.'

'Thanks, Bob,' the veteran replied. 'I'm sorry I barked at you earlier on. You know, even when you were working for me and I was giving you a chasing, I always knew that you were a good guy.' He forced a smile. 'And there's one good thing. At least you won't have Greg Jay lobbying you for my job.'

Skinner would have laughed, but in that room of mourning he found himself unable. 'As if I'd ever have listened to him,' he said, as he rose.