Stay of Execution

34

‘You got those morning-after blues, Stevie?’ asked Maggie, as she looked at him across the kitchen table. ‘You were miles away there.’

He grinned, then glanced at his watch. ‘Just for starters, it’s afternoon now, and no, I don’t have any sort of blues. I was just thinking, that’s all, about where we go from here.’

She smiled back at him. ‘We don’t have to think about that now, do we?’ They had wakened together at around nine, after the best night’s sleep that Maggie could recall in her recent past. After they had proved to each other that what had happened the night before had been no fluke, they had half dozed again, listening to Steve Wright on the radio and enjoying the peace of the Sunday morning. Eventually they had risen, showered together, then dressed, and Stevie had gone to the nearest Scotmid store to buy rolls, bacon, eggs, milk and a selection of newspapers. He had brought back the Sunday Post and Scotland on Sunday, Maggie had noticed, classic signs of a conventional Scottish upbringing.

‘Nah,’ he replied, ‘you’re right, we don’t. It’s just that I’m a compulsive thinker.’

‘Well, since you can’t help yourself, where do you want to go from here?’

‘Back to my place.’

‘Have you had enough of me?’

‘Not nearly. I was hoping that you’d come with me in fact, and that we’d spend the day together.’

‘I’d love to. . except that you’re forgetting one thing, typical CID guy that you are. There’s a rugby international today; Murrayfield’s in my area. Brian Mackie’s team is providing operational support, and since I’m in a transitional role, so to speak, he’s in command. Still, as the new divisional commander I’ve got to put in an appearance.’

‘What, uniform, cap and everything?’

‘The full bloody regalia; it’s in my wardrobe, with the new badges sewn on already.’

‘I’ll come with you, in that case. You watch the crowd, I’ll watch the game.’

She laughed. ‘And nobody would notice?’

‘Am I going to embarrass you?’ he asked her. ‘Is that how it’s going to be? Because if I am, I’ll ask for a transfer.’

‘Don’t be daft. It’s just that it’s my first day in the new job. But does that answer our original question? Where do we go?’

‘I want to go forward,’ he said, ‘with you. I don’t go in for one-night stands, Maggie; it’s not my style, any more than I think it’s yours.’

‘What about the competition?’

‘You don’t have any.’

‘Are you sure? What if that offer’s repeated?’

‘It’ll be turned down, politely; but I plan never to get into a situation where it could be. That’s me, though. What do you want?’

She rose from her seat, walked round the table, and stood in front of him, taking both of his hands in hers. ‘Listen, Stevie,’ she said, ‘last night I began to put behind me things that have been troubling me for, oh, so many years. This morning, I can look forward to a nice, happy relationship, and that, for me, is wonderful. I don’t need to look too far ahead; for now I just want you to keep on making me happy.’

He drew her down to sit on his knee, and kissed her. ‘Snap!’ he whispered.

‘Good. So this is what I propose we do today. I take you home, and I go to work. You watch New Zealand cuff Scotland on telly, then after the game I’ll come back to your place, and we’ll get cosy. Does that sound okay?’

Stevie grinned. ‘Sure, as long as you bring your uniform for tomorrow, your toothbrush and your girlie stuff.’

She jumped to her feet. ‘All of that shall be done,’ she promised. ‘Now you catch up with “Oor Wullie” in the Sunday Post, and I’ll get myself ready for action.’

She headed for the stairs. He was still smiling as he cleared the brunch table and stowed away the crockery and cutlery in the dishwasher. He almost laughed out loud at the cartoon section of the famous Dundee Sunday tabloid that had been a part of his life since boyhood. When his mobile sounded on the work-top, at first it was no more to him than background noise.

He reached out, picked it up and pressed the green button. ‘Sir,’ said an earnest voice. ‘It’s DC Singh here.’

‘Hi, Tarvil, what’s hit the fan this time?’

‘Nothing, sir, nothing major at any rate; I’ve had a call from Mrs Whetstone, the widow of that bloke that topped himself. She was looking for you. She said that her son’s just arrived home from the States, and that she’d like you to talk to him.’

Steele sighed. ‘Today?’

‘No, sir, it’s okay,’ the young detective constable exclaimed hastily. ‘She said that the lad’s knackered after the flight and that she’s made him go off to his bed. She’s asking if you could see him tomorrow morning.’

‘That’s not so bad,’ said the DI, with relief. ‘I’ve got to see Superintendent Chambers at nine tomorrow morning, but ten thirty should be fine. Call her back, Tarvil, and tell her that. I don’t know what I’m expected to say to the boy, though. His dad strung himself up and that’s it. Even I believe that now.’