Thursday legends

6

The Head of CID slipped quietly out of his sergeant's flat, just off Nicolson Street, at five minutes before seven a.m., after a wholly sleepless night. He left a note on the kitchen table; 'Thanks for the safe haven. Call you later.'

He took a taxi back to Dean Village, where he shaved, showered, and changed clothes. The thought of breakfast did not cross his mind for an instant; instead, when he was ready, he stepped into his garage through the internal door, opened the up-and-over and backed his red MGF into the street. As he jumped out to close the garage, the front door of the house next door opened, and Rhian stepped out, in her running gear; sweatshirt, shorts and trainers.

'Morning,' she said, young and bright; making him feel just the opposite. 'Busy night?'

'God awful,' he grunted.

She looked genuinely concerned for him. 'Oh, poor love. Never mind, tonight will be better, I promise.'

From out of nowhere he was swamped by a pang of guilt. If that phone hadn't rung… If Alec Smith hadn't been…

'About tonight, Rhian. I've got a major investigation under way. If we get a quick result, I could be involved in interviews and so on. Say to Juliet that I might not make it, will you?'

She raised herself quickly up on her toes and kissed him, lightly. For an irrational moment he wondered if she would catch a scent of Karen lingering on him. 'Let's just hope you do. Okay?'

She was infectious; for the first time since midnight, he smiled.

'If I can, I will. Promise.' He slid back into the tight cockpit of the sports car, set his cellphone into the hands-free holder and drove off.

The streets of Edinburgh were relatively traffic-free at that time of a Saturday morning, an hour or more before the first of the shoppers would head for Princes Street. He waited until he had cleared Milton Link and turned on to the Al before he dialled up Bob Skinner's number.

Sarah picked up the phone on the first ring; in the background he could hear a baby's cry. 'Morning,' he said, 'I'm sorry it's so early, but I've held off as long as I could. Hope I didn't wake Seonaid.'

'No,' the gentle American voice replied. 'She's hungry, that's all. Here, speak to Bob while I plug her in.'

There was a pause, then Skinner's voice sounded from the car-phone's tiny speaker. 'Andy, what's this I've just heard on the radio about a suspicious death in North Berwick?'

'Last night. I got the call at midnight; I've been to the scene already. I'm on my way back out now.'

'Eh? Can't the Division handle it?'

'The Division is handling it, but I have to be seen up front on this one.'

'What's so special then?'

'The victim: ex-Special Branch. It's Alec Smith.'

The DCC's gasp seemed to fill the car. 'You're joking. What does the "suspicious" mean?'

'He was tortured and, or, battered to death. I've seen them after a month in the water, or burned to a crisp, but this is the worst ever.'

'I'm glad you didn't call me out, then. I can live without that.'

Martin chuckled, grimly; he knew that Skinner had come to detest bloody crime scenes. 'Don't be so glad. The guys who did it made a movie of the event and left it behind for us.'

'Some Saturday morning viewing, that.'

'Aye. Dead and Kicking, you might call it. Listen, Bob, we'll need the best available pathologist for the post-mortem. Professor Hutchison's on holiday, so…'

Skinner anticipated his friend's question. 'Sarah,' he called across the room, 'Andy's got a hot one. He's asking if you'll do it.'

In the background, he heard her reply. 'For him, okay. I guess he means today.' 'When, Andy?' 'Soonest.'

'Okay,' Bob told him. 'Book it for midday. But call in for me on your way past. I'm coming along there with you. My Saturday foursome's just become a three-ball.'