Stay of Execution

20

Colin Mawhinney stepped away from the reception desk, key in hand. ‘Thanks, Mario,’ he said. ‘This is a nice hotel. Normally I don’t like them; I find that in the States they treat you like a number not a person, but that guy there couldn’t have been more friendly.’

His host, until recently his guest, smiled. ‘Yes, it has a comfortable feel about it, doesn’t it? I have to confess I’ve never slept here, but Paula and I use the dining room quite a bit: it’s excellent. We checked out the suites before we booked you in here, and they’re up to the same standard. It’s as well after that flight. It’s a long haul to Edinburgh when you come through Heathrow.’ McGuire had been concerned about flying with Mawhinney, given his terrible experience on September Eleven, but he had handled the journey calmly, even if he had been even more than usually serious throughout.

‘I hate airports, period,’ said the American, ‘but they are a necessary evil of our time.’ He grinned. ‘The taxis in this city are pretty good, though. They’re even more colourful than our yellow cabs and, better still, the drivers seem to know where they’re going. Dunno if you noticed, but New York taxis have a customer charter on display inside. It says you’re entitled at all times to a courteous driver who speaks English and knows his way about the city. Two out of three is pretty good, but you’ll never get all three in the one cab. No-hits are not uncommon.’

McGuire glanced out of the window at the police patrol car, bright Day-glo flashes on its side and hood, that was waiting outside. ‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘we got lucky today. The traffic inspector had the good sense to send a sergeant to collect us. If we’d had a rookie, he’d have taken the normal route, and we might still be stuck in Corstorphine.’

‘We may have come here by a back way, Mario, but I really like what I’ve seen of your city so far. And the waterfront out there is just great. The air’s so fresh I can hardly believe it; it’s warmer than what we left in New York, too.’

‘From what I hear we’re lucky we didn’t arrive twenty-four hours ago. My pal Neil told me that we’ve just had the worst fog in forty years; he said it was worse than anything he’s ever seen. The airport was even closed, so it must have been bad; they’re supposed to be able to land blind there. It’s cleared up now, though. You will be able to see the city, thank Christ.’

‘Good. So what’s on the agenda?’

‘Today, nothing. I guessed you’d want some time to settle in, and maybe grab a couple of hours’ sleep, so I thought we’d leave you here, then come back for you around half five. We’ll go to my place for a drink and then maybe go uptown for something to eat.’

‘You live close by?’

‘If you step outside and look across the water you can see it. I have a penthouse in a block over there.’

‘Where do you live, Paula?’

Their companion smiled wearily. ‘In Leith,’ she replied, ‘just off Great Junction Street. That’s not far either, but I’ll crash at Mario’s. If I go back to my place I’ll get into opening mail, and I’ll be at it all afternoon.’

‘So,’ said McGuire, ‘does that sound all right to you?’

‘It sounds perfect. Where will we eat?’

‘We’ll find somewhere with a bit of class; the Secret Garden, maybe. It won’t be a deli, I promise you that. Nice meal, nice glass of wine, and a decent night’s sleep, that’s the idea. Get you ready for the official stuff. That starts tomorrow. You’ll meet the chief, the DCC, and ACC Haggerty, and we’ll give you a presentation on how our force works. After that we’ll show you it working. For now, you head on up to your room, and we’ll see you later.’

They shook hands, then Mario and Paula headed for the door and their waiting car. Less than five minutes later they were in his living room looking back across the water at the Malmaison Hotel.

‘Nice guy, that,’ Paula murmured as she stepped out of her shoes.

‘Yeah, he is. There’s something infinitely sad about him, though. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him, being there and seeing that second plane hit, then knowing after the event that he had watched his wife die.’ The big detective shuddered. ‘God save us from that, eh?’

‘Too true,’ she agreed. ‘Mario, I’m knackered. I was going to run a bath but I think I’d fall asleep in it, so I’m going straight to bed. You coming?’

‘In a minute. I’ll check my messages then I’ll be through. Set the alarm for about four o’clock, okay?’

‘Sure.’

He grinned after her as she shuffled sleepily off towards the bedroom. Not long before, Neil McIlhenney had asked him to put into words what it was that he and Paula had in their relationship that made it gel. ‘Softness.’ He had said it without even thinking. ‘When we’re together everything in the world seems peaceful. We blend together; each of us knows instinctively what the other’s thinking, or wants, or needs. They say that you have to work at a partnership. We don’t. We make each other content, and it’s effortless. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled as much in my life.’

‘No,’ his friend had conceded. ‘I don’t think you have.’

He thought of that conversation as he listened to his first phone message. It was from McIlhenney, inviting him, Paula and Colin Mawhinney to lunch with him, Louise and the children on the following Sunday. He made a mental note to consult the American before accepting, in case such a family event might be a strain for him.

The second message was from a caller who identified himself as Ainsley, breaking the wonderful news that he had won a voucher for two thousand pounds towards the cost of a luxury fitted kitchen, and inviting him to call and confirm his prize. He pushed a button and deleted it.

The third voice was that of Jack McGurk. ‘I’d be grateful, Superintendent McGuire, if you could call me as soon as you get this message. The DCC wants to see you in his office at Fettes at the first opportunity.’

Mario sighed. He could always creep quietly off to bed and pretend that he had not checked his answering system until later, but that was not the way things worked with Bob Skinner. He called McGurk’s direct line number.

‘Jack,’ he growled, ‘I’m warning you, you’re speaking to a jet-lagged bear.’

‘It won’t take long, sir, honest. The boss wouldn’t ask without a good reason. He’s in all morning or he can see you at four thirty, if you’d rather.’

‘Let’s get it over with. We’ve just been dropped off by a Traffic car. Turn it around if you can and have it pick me up; I’ll be waiting at my front door. But warn him, he’s getting me unshaved and honking, and not at my most attentive.’

‘You will be, sir,’ said McGurk, quizzically.

Intrigued, he hung up, and went through to break the bad news to Paula. She was asleep and looked as if she would be so for a while. Still, to be on the safe side, he wrote her a note, left it on her bedside table, and headed downstairs, feeling a growing interest in whatever it was the Big Man might be wanting.