The moment had come, though; he braced himself and thought positively, of Mark, Jazz and Seonaid, and how pleased he would be to see them. He picked up his bag from the sidewalk, turned the corner and walked up the path. He thought the door might open as he approached the house, but no one could have been looking out. The garage door was open; only the Jaguar lay inside. He stepped up to the entrance and rang the bell.
He had assumed that it would be Trish who would answer. When the heavy door opened and he saw Sarah standing there, he was struck dumb … as was she. They stood staring at each other, neither moving, neither seeming to know what to say.
And then from the hall, there came a yell of "Dad!" and James Andrew charged out past his mother, throwing himself up to be caught and hugged to his father's chest. Bob felt a sharp sensation as the child bumped his pacemaker, but he ignored it in the sheer relief of seeing him again.
Leaving his flight bag abandoned on the step, he carried him into the house. "Hello, kid," he whispered into his ear. "How much mayhem have you been causing while I've been away then?"
Eventually he set his son back on his feet. "Go and play," he told him. "I'll see you in a minute. I need to talk to your mum."
Jazz ran off, towards the kitchen and, he guessed, to the yard. He turned back to face Sarah. She had recovered her composure; he fought for his. "What are you doing here?" she asked, in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice.
"What the hell do you think I'm doing, honey?"
"So Clyde called you; I told him not to, yet he did."
"Too bloody right he did," Bob exclaimed, his voice starting to rise, before he calmed it. "There are three kids here, and their mother was in jail. How could you expect him not to?" He walked into the kitchen. The trip was catching up with him fast; he needed coffee, badly, but fortunately there was a jug on the filter. He poured himself a mug, went to the fridge and added barely enough milk to turn it brown from black.
He turned back towards her. "I guess your name hasn't been linked to the investigation yet," he said. "No media outside."
"No," she said. "Sheriff Dekker and the DA made sure that I was kept completely incommunicado. They took me away from Ron's house very quickly and I was held in the DA's office, not at the police building.
The press assumed I was there, so they camped outside. They were only told that a suspect was in custody; no name, no gender even."
"A remarkable show of discretion in the States."
She nodded. "Yes, I admit that's puzzled me too."
"I can guess the reason," he grunted, darkly. "When did they give you bail?"
"A judge granted it last night, in chambers; she set a million-dollar surety, but John Vranic assured her there was more than enough in the estate. It's temporary, though; if I'm indicted and arraigned, it'll be considered again then."
"If?"
She winced and looked away. "No," she whispered. "When. John told me to expect to be in open court this afternoon. Then the whole media thing will explode."
"We'll see about that."
"Bob, I'm lucky it hasn't happened before this." She walked over to him. "You look beat; do you want me to make you something to eat?"
"Wouldn't do any harm. Eggs, bacon, that sort of stuff; my cholesterol's fine, remember. So, you'll be glad to hear, is everything else."
"You slew your dragon, then."
"Let's just say she's wounded; slaying's a bad topic around here. I'm back in post, and that's the main thing."
"I'm glad for you," she said quietly as she opened the fridge, and took out a box of eggs and a pack of bacon.
"Thanks." He turned his head and looked out of the window at James Andrew as he attacked a climbing frame that had not been there when he left. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I got obsessed; I admit it, I went off at half cock and let it come between us. Now all this shit's come down on you, and I feel it's my fault. It's been my week for guilt and no mistake."
She lit a gas ring, under a big frying pan. "Bob…" she began, a catch in her voice. "I have to…"
He put up a hand. "Don't do that just yet, love, please. Just answer me something. When you found the guy, was the door of his house lying open?"
"No."
"In that case, since he was dead, who opened it for you?"
"Nobody," she whispered. "I had a key."
He felt his head swim, and for a moment thought that he might be having another attack, in spite of his pacemaker. But the thump of his heart in his chest told him that he was not. "Okay," he said, in a flat, OK emotionless voice that was a masterpiece of self-control. "Just so as I know when I see the police."
"You're seeing the police?"
"This very morning. I phoned Brad Dekker on my way here from the airport and told him to be ready for me, with Eddie Brady, at ten o'clock."
"Bob, you can't get involved in this," she exclaimed.
He smiled at her, for the first time since she had opened the door.
"Who can't?"
Forty-Five
Angus dAbo had known many an unexpected visit from the police, but he had never rated a detective chief superintendent before, so he was understandably rattled as he looked across the bar table at his visitor.
"How did ye ken to find me here?" he asked, nervously.
"You're a creature of habit, Mr. dAbo," Rod Greatorix told him. "Our local uniformed officers told me that you have your lunch here in the Cannon every day in life." He looked at his plate. "Do they do a decent bridie in here, by the way? I feel a bit peckish myself."
"No' bad," the man replied. "The haggis is best though."
"Why are you not having it then?"
"Ah could dna have it every day."
"You're a bloke who believes in a balanced diet, then?"
Angus dAbo shrugged his shoulders. "Ah like what ah like, ken. There's plenty tae eat up at the Lodge; ah hae the choice frae the kitchen at night. But it's a' salmon or game. The guests that come there dinna expect pie and chips, like."
"Unless it's venison pie and game chips."
"Aye, that's right." He looked down at his plate; the baked beans were starting to congeal.
"Go on," said Greatorix, 'get stuck in. I'm in no rush."
He sipped his ginger ale and watched as the bald, nut-brown handyman bolted down his Forfar bridie. He knew from his file that dAbo was fifty-two years old, and that his last conviction had been ten years earlier, but he noted that the man still looked fit enough to climb a drainpipe without difficulty. He waited, as dAbo mopped up the last of his beans with the last of his chips. "How long have you worked at Fir Park Lodge?" he asked, the moment he was finished.
"Three year; since Mr. Williamson bought it. Ah've never been in ony bother, like," he added, defensively.
"I'm not saying you have. Does your employer know all about you, though? Does he know you've been in prison?"
dAbo blinked, nervously. "He never asked," he exclaimed. "Has someone telt him? Are you goin' tae tell him?"
The detective shrugged his shoulders. "If he's going to hire people without checking them out, it's not down to me to mark his card. Relax, Angus, this isn't about you."
The handyman looked at him as if he required a lot more persuasion if he was going to believe him. "I've asked about you, don't worry,"
Greatorix continued. "The local people vouched for you. They've got their ear to the ground; if you'd gone back to your old profession, they would know."
"Well, what is it aboot?" dAbo looked only a little less suspicious. "We're making enquiries about a man whose body was found in Perth last Saturday."