Authors: Quintin Jardine
She drained her glass, and put it down on the table. 'But enough. Give me back my baby, and go and do your male bonding thing. To the pub, both of you. Just don't wake this fella by rolling in drunk!'
`Don't worry, love,' said Bob. 'I've got a big day tomorrow. I couldn't let my captain down by turning up on the tee with a bad head.' He rose from the table and beckoned Andy to follow.
'Come on, son. Let's see what the nightlife's like in Gullane these days.'
They made their way together past the three cars parked on the grass in front of the cottage, along the twisting path to the road then down the sloping Goose Green towards the village's main street. As they walked, Bob described his golf, fulsomely, and that of Atkinson. The man plays the game like God. In fact, when he stands up on that tee he thinks he is God, with complete power over the ball. When I'm up there with the guy, in front of the crowd, every so often I have to pinch myself mentally, to reassure me that it's real. But every so often I'll remember what got me there in the first place, and what Ali and you and the troops are investigating while I'm out there doing my best for Michael. This has been the most bizarre week of my life, and I've a feeling that there's more weirdness to happen yet.'
Àye,' said Martin. 'It would be nice if we could wrap things up tomorrow by finding Andrews and having our scientists help us complete a nice tight case against him and Morton.'
Ònly if they're guilty, son, only then.'
`Come on, let's see how the beer is in the Golf.'
The clock on the wall above the bakery showed, accurately for once, that it was just short of 10 p.m., as Skinner led Martin along to the old Golf Inn Hotel, set slightly back from the rest of the buildings on the Main Street. The public bar was at its busiest as they entered. Skinner looked around and saw several familiar faces, some friends of long standing. 'Hi, Tony, John.'
He returned the greetings of two of them as he and Andy wedged themselves into a space at the end of the small bar, their backs to the door. They studied the list of the evening's guest ales on tap, but decided to stick to the heavy beer for which the village pub was renowned.
As they took their first mouthfuls, Andy dug Bob gently in the ribs. 'Hey, I'm sorry for taking that swing at you the other day. I don't know what came over me. All of a sudden your chin was there, and I just couldn't stop myself. Afterwards, well, it was just OK again, but I'll never know what made me do it.'
`Cathartic, Sarah would say,' muttered Bob, quietly. 'It was something you needed to do, something I needed you to do, I think, for everything to be squared away between us. You were well entitled. That morning I behaved like an absolute collar and front, as a little English chum of mine would say. I've never acted like that in my life before, without judgement or reason.'
Òh no? What about that time with that guy, when Alex was in danger?'
Bob stood silent for a few seconds. 'No,' he said, eventually. `Not even then.'
`Yes, but maybe you thought that she was in danger again. You had just finished a stressful investigation and taken a real hammering in the process. I've thought about it too. I reckon that you had a sort of post-traumatic reaction, and that all sorts of irrational things went through your mind.'
`Snap! That's what Sarah thinks, too. I guess I'll just have to buy it as a theory. Best if I do.
Once or twice, when I've had to face up to the bad guys, something's come out in me, a side of me that scares me shitless. It's not just what I'm able to do, it's how I feel immediately afterwards, right in here.' He tapped his temple, lightly. 'Sort of satisfied, fulfilled. It's primitive and barely controllable, and if it ever came out in a crisis within the family . . .
`just for a second I thought that was happening that morning.'
`Balls, Bob. That's balls. I've seen you in action, remember. And I've never once seen you do anything I wouldn't have done myself. As for your reaction, that's the survival syndrome. If you're in a situation where your very life is at stake, and you come through it, your first thought's bound to be one of triumph. Remember that time when we had the gunfight, and big McGuire was shot? When we'd downed the guy, I remember standing over his body, and thinking, "You won't do that again, you bastard!" without a trace of remorse, though I'd just put four bullets into him.
Àll that, it's part of the job. All of us who do it have that beast inside of us, but what marks us out from the other people is that there's no way we'd ever take it home.'
Bob looked at his friend. 'You know, Andy, we should have had this conversation a long time ago. In all seriousness, next week I'm going to look at our counselling provision for all of our armed response officers. God knows what could be lurking in their heads.
He finished his pint and signalled for two more. 'Anyway, whatever the cause, I offer you a most sincere apology for buggering up your life. And for the record, if you are daft enough to want, still, to develop a relationship with my first-born daughter, then you have my blessing, for as usual, now that I've thought about it, I agree with Sarah. You two are a pretty good match!'
He reached across to pay for their beer and to accept the brim-full glasses from Wilf, the barman. As he passed the first to Andy he was jostled by the man next to him, and had to react quickly to avoid spillage.
`Hey, steady on,' he said to the intruder, turning. 'Oh it's you, Hughie.' He recognised a member of the multitudinous Webb family, and saw immediately that he was in his normal Saturday evening condition.
`H'Io Mister Skinner,' the young man slurred. 'Sorry 'bout that.'
`That's OK son, just go careful, eh.' He took his own pint from Wilf, carefully. 'You're on the greens at Witches' Hill now, aren't you?'
Àye, that's right,' said Hughie, swaying. Àh seen you playin' wi big Darren this week did ah no?'
Bob smiled. 'That's right. Want me to get you his autograph?'
The greenkeeper Webb, lurched slightly. "S a'right. Ah've got it. Got it at the weekend.'
`That was a good trick. Darren was playing in England at the weekend.'
"S funny. Ah wis sure it wis.' He plunged a hand into his pocket and produced a grubby Witches' Hill scorecard, which he thrust proudly towards the two policemen. 'Here it is.'
Bob glanced at the scrawled signature. 'Very good, Hughie, but it must have been Monday.'
Àye. S'pose so. See yis.' He lurched off towards a group of his many brothers and cousins.
Bob resumed his stance against the bar, shaking his head. `see that Hughie, his whole life is about cutting grass and getting so pissed every Saturday night that when he goes to the bog he has to take a pal to remind him where his dick is!
`That's the other side of village life, you know. Sure, it's nice living out here, but what makes it is the fact that you get out of it every day, to go to work, that it's the backdrop to your life not the be all and end all. Being here full time can be a very narrow existence. All right for some, but not for me.'
He took a mouthful of beer, licking his lips and standing silent for a few seconds.
Eventually he turned back to his rediscovered friend. Ànyway enough of that. I was pleased to hear about Charlie Radcliffe's recovery. I guess you are too.'
`Too right. The sooner I get out of that blue serge suit the better it'll be.'
Bob nodded. 'That's in hand, don't worry. I want you back in Drugs and Vice as soon as possible. Roy Old's got one and a half eyes on retirement, and the job's too important for that attitude.' He leaned his head closer to Andy, and lowered his voice. 'Between you and me, this is the game plan. You do another year there, and get the drugs and the saunas well sorted out. Roy takes his pension about then, and you become Head of CID. Ali Higgins moves sideways to your job for some specialist experience, and . .
Simultaneously, Bob and Andy each felt a long sinewy arm slip around their waists. A head forced its way between theirs, a head topped with fold upon fold of dark, bouncing curls.
`Will you guys please stop talking shop and buy a girl a beer?' said Alex, quietly.
Sunday
Sixty-one
It was the strangest thing. We were in Madrid, yesterday. We had done our set-up for last night's gig. The roadies were still tuning things up, setting the lights and so on, but the rest of us, the band and the backing singers, we were all finished.
`Square Peg are really big in Spain just now, so sightseeing was out of the question. Even on a Friday afternoon we'd have been mobbed. So we went back to the hotel, and sat around in one of the suites watching television. Usually it'd have been MTV. But yesterday, one of the boys wanted to watch the golf, so he switched on Eurosport. I was sat there watching, and all of a sudden there was a shot of the eighteenth green, and there you were, Pops, playing. I couldn't believe it.
Ànd then the shot widened out and in the background, I saw Andy, in a uniform, no less.
`My mouth just dropped open, and I felt my eyes stand out like doorknobs. I started gabbling.
I must have looked weird, because soon everyone was staring at me, standing there pointing at the television. Eventually I was able to say "That's my dad. And that's my man." And then I burst into tears.
Àll of a sudden it came home to me. What was I doing there? Making myself miserable, cutting myself off from all the people I love. And what had I done to you, Andy, with all those terrible, cruel, stupid, selfish, spoilt-childish things I said. I admitted to myself what I had really known all along, that you had been right all the time, and that it was my insistence on us doing things my way that had caused all the trouble. In that moment, I guess I finished my growing up.
Ì got up from the couch, dried my tears, and said, "Sorry boys, but after tonight's gig, I have to go home." They were great about it. Gerry the manager paid me all the money I was due, and even bought me a plane ticket. Last night's concert was terrific, as well. We were never better, I was never better.
`But when I woke up this morning, all of a sudden I was scared. I didn't know what to expect when I got back, whether you'd kill the fatted calf, Pops, or just kill me. And as for you, Andy,' she nuzzled her head into his shoulder as they sat together on the living room couch, 'I was terrified that you'd send me packing. I thought about phoning, but I just couldn't dial the number.
`When I got to Gullane, and found that you were here too, I couldn't believe it. I was so scared I almost went back to Glasgow, but Sarah said she'd skin me if I didn't go straight out and track the pair of you down. The rest, as we know, is history.'
The clock on the wall said 12.30 a.m. The three, father, daughter and her lover, had sat in a corner of the Golf Inn bar in a virtual silence which came from absolute relief, until, just after midnight, arm in arm once more, they had wound their way home.
Bob beamed at his daughter as she kissed his friend. 'One thing's for sure, kid. Now you've got your voice back, you sure as hell don't talk any less for being all grown up!' He hugged Sarah to him, the balance of his world restored, then stood up, raising her to her feet with him. 'Come on, wife, I've got a big day tomorrow, and I think these two have got some more talking to do, on their own.'
The door was closing behind them when the telephone rang. Alex picked it up quickly.
'Hello.'
The man on the other end of the line sounded tense and anxious. 'Is that ACC Skinner's house, miss?'
`Yes . .
Ìs Superintendent Martin there by any chance? Only he left this as his contact number. It's Inspector Davis from Haddington.'
`Hold on a sec. Andy, it's for you.'
Martin took the phone from her, frowning. 'Yes,' he barked.
`Hello sir, Inspector Davis at Haddington. Sorry to have to bother you, but there's more trouble at the Witches' Hill Golf Club. The Marquis had to call out the Fire Brigade. When he got back in tonight from his dinner in the Marine he saw a blaze on top of the Witches' Hill itself. One of the trees was on fire.'
`Fair enough, Bert. But you could have waited till morning to tell me that.'
Òh, it's not that, sir. It's what the firemen found when they got there.'
Watching from the doorway, Skinner felt his stomach drop, as he saw Martin's frown deepen.
'Yes. OK. Yes, we'll be there.' He replaced the phone and looked across, ashen-faced, towards the doorway.
`Sarah, can you get your bag and drive us down to the club? First by the blade, then by water.
Now it's by fire!'
Sixty-two
There were no trees on the very crest of the Witches' Hill. Instead there was a small earthen circle, like a monk's tonsure.
The area was lit by arc-lamps, powered by the generators of the fire tenders which were still parked at the foot of the hill. Skinner, Sarah and Martin climbed towards the light, until eventually they picked their way through to the open ground.
The beams of the lamps were concentrated on a single tree, or rather, on the blackened remains of what had once been a tree . . . and on the blackened remains of something else.
Skinner stepped closer to the still-smoking charcoal, approaching from the side to avoid casting a shadow. When he saw what was there he groaned with revulsion. 'Oh God!' he sighed. 'What an idiot I am!'
The lower half of the body was burned to ashes. It was as if it had been consumed piece by piece, sinking into the brushwood circle which had been piled around the tree, and whose grey traces remained. But the shape of the torso and head were sufficiently intact to show that something human had burned here, burned at the stake, burned as Agnes Tod and her two companions had burned together on the same spot, almost four hundred years before. The clothing was a black mass, sodden from the work of the firefighters, who had done their best, with limited equipment. The arms were pulled behind the body. Skinner looked behind the tree-trunk and saw that the wrists had been secured by steel handcuffs.
The skull was black too. The hair and most of the flesh had burned away, but the residual whites of the eyes still reflected the arc-lamp beams, and the teeth, protruding in a grotesque grin, shone in their light. Something black stuck out between them. Fighting nausea, Skinner bent closer to the remains, and looked more closely. He took hold of the object carefully, and tugged gently. Its colour changed abruptly as the bulk of a scorched white handkerchief emerged from the mouth.