Skinner's rules

42

It was 11.53 a.m. on 1 January, when the telephone rang two feet from Martin’s left ear. He opened his eyes blearily, and reached for the telephone on the bedside table.

‘Hello; 747 3781. And a Happy New Year, whoever you are,’ he mumbled into the phone.

‘And the same to you, lad.’

Martin was suddenly wide awake. ‘Bob, I didn’t expect you to call. How’s Sarah?’

‘Great. We’re getting married.’

There was a pause while the news sank in. ‘Bob, that’s great. Congratulations, you lucky sod.’

‘Thanks, Andy; now you’re going to hate me. Hope you’re up to driving, ’cause I’ve got a couple of jobs for you. I want you to find Mike Mortimer’s briefcase, wherever it is. I know our property people, and the time they take to process goods. So chances are it’ll still be in police hands. Then I want you to find the property report on Rachel Jameson, and check for any mention of a briefcase. If there isn’t one, and I don’t think there is, get Willie Haggerty in Strathclyde — quietly, mind you — to check whether there’s a case stashed in the office that dealt with her death.

‘If there’s still no sign, get on to the next-of-kin, her mother I think it was, and ask if she’s got it, or knows where it is.’

‘What if she didn’t have a briefcase?’

‘Don’t be bloody dense, Andy. Where else would she carry her papers?’

Martin grimaced. His head was throbbing, and his concentration was not helped by Joanne’s successor, Lucy, sliding down the bed to grasp him, as he spoke, in both of her long-fingered hands. Oh Lord, he thought, if You are just, I’ll die now.

With masterful control he said, ‘When I’ve done all this, boss, what then?’

‘Nothing. Lock everything away and wait for me to get back. Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing. Just do it very quietly, and say nothing, not even to the Chief.’

A soft moan escaped Martin’s lips.

‘What was that?’

‘Sorry, boss, just yawning. OK, that’s understood. See you on Thursday, then.’

‘Fine. Need to go now, the change is running out. Remember: quietly.

The line went dead. Martin replaced the receiver. And screamed. Quietly. From beneath the humped duvet, Lucy grinned up at him.