Rose nodded. "So often that I did a check before we came along here.
You haven't reported a stolen mobile."
The relief was gone, leaving only the panic. "I didn't bother,"
Sheringham protested. "I didn't see the point. It was a pay-as-you-go phone, and I only had a couple of quid left in the voucher. I fancied a new one anyway."
"Have you bought one yet?"
"No. I haven't got round to it."
Rose leaned across the table. "Mr. Sheringham, are you telling me the truth?"
"Yes."
"In that case, will you be kind enough to let Mr. Steele search your desk right now? Or if you'd prefer it, I'll ask Mr. Candela's secretary to do it, to avoid you any unnecessary embarrassment. Oh yes, and if we don't find it, would you be prepared let me have officers search your home? All of this is just to confirm your story, you understand. Would you agree to that?"
The trainee shook his head; his complexion had gone several shades paler than when he had entered the room. The look of panic in his eyes had given way to one of pure fright. "No," he whispered, then slid his right hand into his trouser pocket, took out a royal blue Ericsson cellphone and laid it on the table.
Steele picked it up; he saw that it was switched on and flipped it open. Quickly, he flicked through the menu and selected 'call list', then he stood and walked round the table. "Let's have a look, shall we," he said. He chose the first log entry; a name showed on the led read-out. Sonia. "Who's that?"
"My girlfriend." Steele moved on; another name. Hazza. "My pal," Sheringham whispered. He moved on. Sonia, once more.
There were six more calls to Sonia, two to Hazza, three others to friends called Bill, Marti and Brick, all logged by name, before the first number showed. It had an 0131 prefix and the call had been made on the previous Friday. "Whose is that?" asked Steele.
"I don't know," Sheringham replied. "I can't remember."
"Well I can," said the inspector icily. "It's Andrea Strachan's. Time for you to shut up, sir, and get that lawyer in here." He turned to
Rose. "I'll go and speak to Mr. Candela."
He left the room and headed back down the corridor. After a few yards, he stopped, took out his own cellphone and re-called Adam
Broadley's number. "Is Andrea still with you?" he asked, when the psychiatrist answered.
"Yes. She's fine. I'll probably release her tomorrow, if it's okay with you."
"A hundred per cent okay. If you decide to discharge her tonight, I'll even pick her up, if she wants. Meantime, I've got some news for the two of you that you can explain however you like. It looks like we've found God."
Thirty-Eight
If Skinner had been less preoccupied, he would have noticed that Andy Martin's office in the Tayside police headquarters building was bigger than his own. Indeed his friend would probably have pointed this out to him. But both had other things on their minds.
Martin's forehead was ridged in a frown to match Skinner's own. "Bob, I don't know what to say."
"Neither do I, so I'm saying nothing else until I get to Buffalo. Then I'll be asking plenty."
"Sure; just keep it level, that's all. Now, is there anything that I can do while you're away?"
Bob looked at him gratefully. "Yes, there is. A couple of things; one you'll find easy, the other maybe not. First, I'd like you to keep in regular telephone touch with Alex. Just make sure that she's okay and all that. She'll be as frantic about this as the rest of us, and she's got no one to lean on at this moment."
"Sure, I'll do that. I'll ask Karen to call her, once you've broken this to her and headed out of town; might be better."
"As you see fit. Now the other thing. When I got Oakdale's call, I was in the middle of a bit of private enterprise, involving a man named
Cecil Williamson, aka Skipper. He's a contemporary of Michael's. He's from Mother well and he runs a country house hotel up near Birnam.
It's called Fir Park Lodge.
"I was trying to get an up-to-date photo of him, without alarming the locals, to show to old Aidan. If he'd identified him, there's a guy on his payroll called dAbo, who's done a bit of time. I was proposing to have a chat with him, before I squared up his boss."
Skinner hesitated. "Andy, I know the autopsy report knocked the suspicious death investigation on its head, but…"
Martin stood up from behind his desk, and walked to the window. "That enquiry may be stood down, Bob, but we still have an interest in finding out how he wound up in the river. You've put a name in the frame, so I'll look into it. I won't be as subtle as you, either. I'll pull dAbo in straight away."
"Thanks, mate." Skinner stood himself and looked across the room at his friend. "Just in case it isn't this Skipper, it might do no harm to have a list of estate owners on your patch, especially those with salmon rivers running through them. My brother's last meal wasn't something he knocked up on a fire at the roadside. It was rich man's fare. If it wasn't Williamson, although he's a heavy favourite, I will find the man who fed it to him."
"I'll get someone on it," said Martin. "Now try and forget it for now.
You have, if I may say so, more important things to attend to."
Bob shrugged his shoulders as he headed for the door. "Maybe so, son," he murmured, 'but I will attend to them both in time, mark me on that.
Guilt is one of the strongest motivations there is, be it for covering things up, or for uncovering them. My private dread is that before I'm finished, I might have to do both."
Thirty-Nine
"This man," exclaimed Andrea Strachan. "You say he knows me?"
Stevie Steele nodded. "He was at university at the same time as you."
"What's his name?"
"I can't tell you that, I'm afraid."
"Why? Because I might fall at his feet and worship him?"
Steele glanced across to the passenger seat, saw her smile, and laughed out loud.
"No. It wouldn't be like you to worship a false god. Idolatry's forbidden, remember."
"Could I forget?" she exclaimed. "That's one of the many things my father's drummed into me over the years."
"How do you get on with your father?" Stevie asked.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile flicker again. "What is this? Am I still being interrogated?"
"Nah," he said, 'that's all over. It was an idle question, that's all.
Well, almost idle. Here I am picking you up from hospital, and I'm taking you home, when I might be taking you to your parents."
"Just in case I harmed myself, you mean?"
"No! Oh, Christ, Steele, shut up. Mouth open, foot straight in. I think just driving would be a good idea."
"Maybe, but I'll let you off the hook. And I'll overlook the Name you just took in vain. After my crisis, I thought, and Adam agreed, that it would be better for me not to go back to that atmosphere. My father holds highly orthodox views, which he never ceases to proclaim, and we felt that given the nature of my illness, it would be easier if I wasn't exposed to them. It's worked out all right, too."
He looked across at her again. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he saw that she was wearing lipstick and eye make-up. Yes, pretty; very definitely attractive. "Adam recommended that I wear make-up; to let my real personality out, he said. His diagnosis was that in my schizophrenia, my other side had taken me over completely."
Her smile became dazzling. "Of course, there is the possibility that this is the real nutter you're looking at now."
"If it is, it suits me fine." The words were out before he had time to consider them.
"Thank you, sir."
He looked at the road ahead. "Can I ask you something else, Andrea?"