"Is that it?" asked Broadley, eventually. "Because if it is…"
Andrea Strachan turned to look at him. Steele thought of a butterfly, emerged from its chrysalis. "I know, Adam," she said. "You don't have to say it. You'd like me to stay with you for a few more weeks."
The young clinician looked almost grateful. "I'd hope it won't be weeks, but yes, I would like you to spend some time with me."
"If you wish. I know better than to argue anyway. You're as persuasive as the inspector here. Can you fetch my medication and some clothes from my place?"
"We've got medication here, but I'll have a nurse get some clothes for you. Come on, I'll find you a room."
She stood, and the detectives followed suit. Just as she was leaving the room, Steele called out to her. "Andrea, just one more thing." She stopped and looked back. "After God had finished speaking to you last Friday, what happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"How did the call end?"
"He said what He had to say, and then He was gone."
"What did you hear after that?"
"A dialling tone, that was all."
"Mmm," Steele mused. "In that case didn't it strike you as odd that God should hang up His phone?"
She left them with a shade of doubt in her eyes, for the first time since they had met.
"Stevie," Maggie Rose exclaimed as the door closed, 'that was most impressive; a master class in interviewing. Well done."
He blinked and looked at her as if he had heard not a word she had said. "Sorry?"
"Ah, never mind. What do you think?"
"You're the boss. What's your take?"
"She probably did it, but we have no witnesses to her planting the device or igniting it. We could maybe search her home under warrant and find something that could have been the triggering device, but we'd still be a mile short of making a case. As it is she's under psychiatric care again, so she's no risk. Do you agree?"
Steele scratched his chin. "Remember what we were saying yesterday about things being too easy?" he asked her. "Well this is. I'm sorry but I just don't think she did it. I am quite sure she had a phone call on Friday, and I'm even more certain that it wasn't from God. Andrea's been handed to us on a plate by some clever bastard who doesn't want us to take this investigation any further. If you want me to buy that, you're going to have to order me. But even then, I don't think I can."
Rose smiled. "Are you sure you haven't just fallen in love?" "Maybe I have, but that's got nothing to do with it. I can still spot a set-up when I see one."
Thirty-Four
The pervasive example of Bob Skinner, who often said that the uniform was the last thing that had made him join the police service, may have made him less of a stickler, but Sir James Proud still enjoyed wearing his. He felt that it was part of his rank, and also that it let the people under his command know that he had respect for his job, and, through it, for them.
He prepared himself for his scheduled meeting, as always, in the private bathroom of his office suite. He ran a comb through his crinkly, silver hair, checked that his tie was straight, and finally turned to his uniform jacket. He held it up for inspection, then, spotting a flaw, brushed a few specks from the shoulders. Finally, when he was ready, he slipped it on.
He looked in the mirror as he fastened the heavy silver buttons, one by one. There was a time when he had had to strain to fasten the middle one, but the warning shot that nature had fired across his bows a year or two earlier had changed all that. Now the jacket was too slack, if anything; he might have to think about having it taken in, or maybe even order a new one. He would have enough time left in post to get the wear out of it; just as well, for he wouldn't be handing it on. The man who would be his successor was wider in the shoulders than him.
Sir James gave himself one last appraising look; although he intended that it would be brief, this was a meeting for which he wanted to be at his most impressive. "Yes, Jimmy," he said, satisfied at last, 'you are the very model of an old-fashioned chief constable."
Turning sharply on his heel, he strode out of his sanctuary and into his office. The two lawyers were waiting for him, seated at his meeting table; Mitchell Laidlaw, representing Bob Skinner, and Tom
Hogg, a respected solicitor from a small Glasgow firm from which he sought independent legal advice on behalf of the force, when the need arose. He looked from one to the other as he took his seat behind his desk, at Hogg, small, sharp-faced, sharp-eyed, sharp-witted, then at Laidlaw, the physical opposite, bulky… although it occurred to Sir James that he had seen him look more portly… round face, dark-haired, with eyes that seemed never to blink, and a gaze which gave the clear message that here was a mind which never worked at less than maximum capacity.
"Good morning, gentlemen," the chief constable greeted his visitors.
"Sorry to keep you waiting; I was just fixing my make-up. Are the trains running all right this morning, Tom?" he asked the Glaswegian.
"I gave up on them long ago," the solicitor replied. "I use the M8.
For all its uncertainties, it's still a better bet if you have an appointment to keep."
"Sad but true, eh. How about you, Mitch? Traffic moving smoothly in Edinburgh, was it?"
"I took a taxi, Jimmy, just to be sure; no way did I want to be late for this one."
"Your implied criticism is noted." He glanced at his watch. "Is your client ready to join us? I suppose he's paying his respects to Miss McConnell, or checking up on DS McGurk."
Laidlaw pursed his lips. "My client will not be joining us, Jimmy. We discussed the matter of his attendance; on balance he agreed with my view that it might be better if he did not come face to face with Councillor Maley. I'm here to present his position, and also to do any barking that might be necessary. If Bob was present himself, it might prove hard to restrain him from joining in, should there be any resistance to our proposition. Mind you, he was easier to persuade than he might have been, had he not been preoccupied with the death of his brother."
"Yes, that came out of the blue. It must be disturbing for Bob, in all sorts of ways. There's this local problem, his…" Sir James hesitated as he searched for a suitable word '… difficulties in the
States, and then all the old family skeletons this has brought out of the cupboard."
"I never knew Bob had a brother," Laidlaw confessed. "My firm's never handled his family business, or I might have. Alexis did, though, although not from her father. She found out by accident, she told me yesterday, when I commiserated with her over it."
"He didn't tell Sarah: I know that," said the chief constable. "As a matter of fact, I was one of the few people who knew about him, outside the community in which the Skinner family lived. Since Michael disappeared from there thirty years ago, his existence will have come as a surprise to just about everyone. Bob chose to tell me when I made him head of CID. He said that he felt that as such he could not have any secrets from his chief constable." Proud Jimmy sighed. "He could from his wife and daughter, though, which tells you rather a lot about his attitude to his job, and the lengths to which he'll go to defend it. At least we can try to resolve that matter for him today." He glanced at his watch. "Let's see if the ladies are here."
He picked up one of his phones, pressed a button and spoke to his civilian secretary, Gerry Crossley. "Are we ready?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," the young man replied. "The councillors are waiting in reception."
"Thanks. Ask them to join us please, and send in the tea." Since his health scare Sir James had given up coffee; it was no longer served in his office, and if he had had his way it would have been banned from the senior officers' dining room also.
Less than a minute later, the door at the far end of the room opened.