Stay of Execution

35

James Andrew Skinner had few favourites in his simple, uncomplicated young life. He loved his parents to equal degrees, if infinity can encompass the concept of equality. He looked up to his older brother, admiring rather than envying his skill on his computer, and taking no advantage of Mark’s lack of coordination in the ball games they played. He worshipped the ground his younger sister crawled on, diverting attention whenever he could when her mischief seemed to be heading her towards trouble, and always sharing the blame when she found it.

Yet whenever Alex came to visit, his heart always seemed just a shade bigger in his chest. He kept a special place there for her; she wasn’t like anyone else. He knew that she was his sister, like Seonaid, yet she seemed to be almost as old as his mum. He had asked her about this constantly in his nursery years, and she had told him that she had had a different mother, who had gone away, although Dad was her father too, as he was his.

She had arrived that morning, in her funny little car with the round roof that folded back in the summer, just after Mum had gone to work. . he knew that his mother was a sort of scientist. . and after Dad had gone off to the golf club for what he called a ‘bounce game’, with his three pals, Ken, Bobby and Eric. Jazz assumed that they would be using softer golf balls than usual.

To him, Alex shone with her own special light; if he had only known it, their father saw her in exactly the same way. She seemed to smile all the time, and she talked almost as much. She was important, like his mum and dad, a solicitor. . Jazz never called her a lawyer. . and had a big job in Edinburgh. She always brought presents too, whenever she came to see her brothers and sister. That morning she had arrived with a doll for Seonaid, a brand new WWE computer game for Mark and a football DVD for Jazz, with all the goals from that summer’s European championship, which they watched together. Alex liked football just as much as he did; that was another reason for him to love her, had he needed one.

‘What do you do, Alex?’ he asked her, after the winning goal in the final had been slammed into the net, the champions had celebrated, and the losers had cried. . James Andrew thought they had looked really silly.

She gazed down at him, amused, as they sat cross-legged, facing each other on the living-room floor. ‘What do you mean, wee brother, what do I do?’

‘In your office, where you solicit.’

She gave a really loud laugh at that, and he joined in, pleased that he had amused her. ‘We don’t use that verb, Jazz,’ she told him. ‘We practise.’

‘You mean so you’ll get even better at it?’

‘If you like.’

‘So what do you practise at?’

‘There’s all sorts of law. There are solicitors who do nothing but family law, that’s buying and selling houses for people, and personal stuff like that. Then there are others who do nothing but criminal law, that’s appearing in court to defend the bad guys that Dad and Uncle Andy and Uncle Neil catch.’

‘What do you mean, to defend them?’

‘When they’re put on trial, they don’t always admit that they did it. If that happens there are people who have to decide whether they did it or not; they’re called a jury, and lawyers have to try to show them what really happened.’

‘Like that woman in Judge John Deed, in the funny wig?’

‘Exactly. As well as all of those, there are corporate solicitors. .’

‘Copperate? Something like Dad, d’you mean?’

She shook her head, stifling a smile. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I said “cor-por-ate”; that’s what I am. We work with businesses, making sure that the things they do are in accordance with the law, helping them with takeover bids, and big stuff like that.’

‘Do you work with famous people?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Like who?’

‘I’m not allowed to say; our clients are confidential.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Private.’

‘Secret?’

‘Sort of.’

‘I think I’ll be a solicitor.’

‘Not a policeman?’

James Andrew shook his head. ‘Dad doesn’t want me to be a policeman.’

‘He didn’t want me to be one either when I was growing up. Dads never want their kids to be what they are. . unless they’re lawyers. You know, both your granddads were lawyers, and they were both disappointed when Dad and your mum decided to do other things. Come on, tell me. Do you really want to be a policeman?’

He nodded, with a smile that was just between them. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Unless I’m a sort of a scientist like Mum.’

She laughed. ‘You’ve got plenty of time to decide, don’t worry too much about it yet.’

Jazz smiled up at her; sometimes his facial expressions were so much like those of their father that she could hardly believe it. ‘I’m not worried,’ he told her. ‘Alex,’ he continued quickly, ‘you know when your mum went away?’

She felt herself frown, wondering what was coming. ‘Yes,’ she answered hesitantly.

‘Did she go away like Granddad and Grandma Grace went away?’

Alex nodded. ‘Yes. She died. I was just a wee girl at the time; even younger then than you are now.’

James Andrew had no concept of the mechanics of death; all he knew was that it made the people who weren’t dead very sad, and as he looked at his sister, he realised that sometimes that sadness never went away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, and reached his hand out to her.

She was saved by the bell, saved from making a sap of herself by having her kid brother move her to tears. Across the room, the phone on the sideboard rang out its loud trembling tune. She jumped to her feet, but she was beaten to it. The boy picked up the handset; ‘James Andrew Skinner,’ he answered, as he had been taught.

‘Jazz.’ He smiled when he heard his mother’s voice. ‘Is Dad back yet?’

‘No, not yet. Alex is here, though.’

‘Good, put her on, please.’

He handed the phone up to his sister, who had guessed by his tone who was on the line. ‘Sarah? Hi. Wassup?’

‘I need to speak to Bob, and it’s kind of urgent. I’m at the new Royal, doing what was supposed to be a routine autopsy, only it’s not. Normally I’d call the divisional CID office, but there’s a restructuring going on, and I don’t know who to ask for.’

‘Leave it with me. I’ll phone the club. If he’s in the bar, I’ll have him call your mobile. If he’s not in yet, I’ll ask the steward. .’ As she spoke, she heard a door open. ‘Hold on, that might be him now.’ She put a hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Pops!’ she called out, and in seconds he was there, his hair ruffled and his face still red from the November chill.

She held out the phone. ‘Sarah.’

‘Hi, love. What is it? You want me to hold lunch for you after all?’

‘If only. Bob, this dead Belgian. This is no simple coronary; apart from a rather abused liver there was nothing wrong with this guy until the moment he died. His heart, his lungs, everything else was in fine working order. Tissue tests will have to be run but I don’t need them. This man was poisoned and I’m damn certain I know how it was administered. I need to know which officer in your great organisation I should inform about this.’

‘At this moment, love, you’re talking to him. You wait there; I’ll be with you directly.’