Skinner's rules

78

Martin answered the telephone on the second ring. Maggie Rose was slightly out of breath. ‘Someone’s just bombed off in the Toyota. Don’t know who; we couldn’t get a clear view.’

‘Is your cover blown? Have they spotted you?’

‘They must have. Whoever was driving that car was going like Ayrton What’s-his-name. We couldn’t see how many people were in it. Everything happened so fast. But I don’t think it was Joy at the wheel. I followed her all the way up here. She’s a really good driver; very smooth.

‘What do we do now?’

Martin thought for a moment. ‘Knock the door. If anyone answers, spin them a tale, and piss off. If not, go in. But make sure that no one else sees you.

‘Check it out and call me back. And be careful. Remember, this is a dangerous one.’

‘Understood, sir. She pressed the ‘end’ button on the car phone.

‘Come on, Mario, let’s take a look. Let’s see if the Harveys are receiving guests or if they’ve just stepped out for a bit. Just in case there is someone in there, let’s have some daft story. “Our car’s broken down and we need help. Where’s the nearest garage?” That’ll do.’

They crept quietly to the side door of the house. It was lying ajar. Mario walked round to the back and looked through the kitchen window. He was unable to see below work surface level, but there, in view, was Joy’s upturned purse.

He went back to the door, and stepped halfway through. He called, ‘Hello.’ There was no reply — only the smell of fresh coffee, and something else.

‘Wait here,’ McGuire told Maggie, taking over the command role without thinking. Something in his voice made her obey without a second thought.

He stepped into a small laundry room, with washing machine, tumble dryer and a sink along one wall, and cupboards lining the other. A second open door faced him. He moved into the kitchen and saw what was lying there. He half turned to run out again, but caught himself in time, before betraying his panic to Maggie.

Joy lay stretched out on her back, her head in a pool of blood. A red trickle led from a hole above her left eye. Her hair, above her ear on the right side of her head, was matted with blood and brain tissue from an exit wound. McGuire knelt beside Harvey, who lay on his side. The front of his blue pyjama jacket was dark red, and the bullet hole in his temple stood out vividly. Blood had sprayed along the line of cupboards against which he had fallen.

McGuire closed the door on Maggie, and went quietly through the rest of the house, praying to himself that there had been only one killer. He found the master bedroom, with its two crumpled beds. There was a second bedroom next door, though nothing to indicate that it had been occupied. But the room still smelled of its tenant. McGuire looked at the bed. On the pillow there were several black hairs.

He sprinted back to the kitchen and through to the laundry room, averting his eyes from the carnage on the kitchen floor. Maggie stood there, white-faced.

‘Let’s get the fuck out of here, now,’ he said. They stepped out into the driveway and looked about. There was no one in sight.

In the lane, McGuire made towards the street, but Maggie held him back. ‘No, we’ve got to get that rug.’

They went back to their sand dune and picked it up. Then they walked away from the house towards the end of the beach, from which rose a grassy outcrop, with an ancient ruin as its main landmark. They left the sand behind and circled back towards the Metro: just another couple out for an early morning stroll.

They had not spoken since they left the driveway. In the car, Maggie turned to McGuire. He was shaking. ‘Mario, are you all right? Tell me what was in there.’

‘The Harveys. Shot to fucking bits. Let’s get out of here now, and call Andy Martin on the move.’

‘But shouldn’t we tell the Fife police?’

‘Yes, Sergeant, we should. But we’re not going to. Think about it. If we call the local bobbies, we’re blown, in a big way. We do what Andy Martin tells us, nothing else.’

She thought about it for a moment. ‘There’s no chance they’re still alive?’

‘Maggie, their brains are all over the floor.’

She looked for a moment as if she might be sick. ‘All right, let’s go.’

As Maggie drove away from Elie, heading further east towards St Monans and Anstruther, anywhere, just to put distance between them and the cottage of death, McGuire called Martin. He described the scene in detail.

‘The guy must have been in the house all the time we were watching it. He could have been there for a while. Judging by those groceries, he could have been planning to stay a while longer.

‘Something must have happened for him to panic badly enough to kill them and run for it.’

‘If it’s who I think it is,’ said Martin, ‘he’s twigged us. He’s spotted you on the beach, or they’ve told him about my visit. If it makes you feel better, I think that’s more likely.

‘Look, I want you to stop at the first phone-box you see on the way back to Edinburgh and call in a 999. Anonymously. Then get back to Fettes Avenue. I’ll tell the boss, and we’ll meet you there.’