Gallery Whispers

'Bugger. Are you trying to slam every door in my face, pal?'

'No.' Martin smiled. 'Look, just let us get on with it. Bob, eh. There's nothing you would do if you were running this show that we won't cover, believe me.'

'Sure, I know that, my friend. Don't mind me; it's just this bloody office. It may be only a hundred yards from yours, but when the door's closed it seems like miles.

'You carry on, and I wish you the best of luck; for you're going to need it. Without evidence tying anyone to the scene, you're going to have to find the source of the diamorphine to have a chance of clearing this one up.'

'Don't I know it' He broke off as the door opened and Gerry Crossley's head appeared.

'Sorry to butt in, Mr Skinner,' he said. 'Will you take a call from DI Impey of Dumfries and Galloway Special Branch. Neil's not available, so he's asked for you. He says it's really urgent.'

The DCC smiled. 'Mcllhenney must have put the frighteners on him right enough,' he said to Martin. 'He's probably decided to report everything as of now, on an urgent basis.'

'Okay, Gerry, put him through.'

He crossed to his desk and sat behind it, picking up the phone on the first ring. 'Inspector,' he barked, 'What have you got?'

'A possible contact with our target, sir. We're following him right now, and he's heading your way.' Impey's voice sounded hollow; there was a rushing noise in the background.

'Tell me you're not calling on a car-phone, Inspector,' said Skinner, heavily. 'Please tell me that. Those things are about as secure as a politician's fly.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' said the detective, a shade plaintively. 'I'd no choice. It all happened so fast. I didna' even have time to pick up my sergeant.'

'Okay, just tell me where you are. Minimum details.'

'I'm on the road from Moffat to Edinburgh, up by the Devil's Beeftub. Our subject's in a red Vauxhall Vectra, Northern Ireland registration Delta Echo Whisky 4357.'

Skinner thought fast. 'Okay. If you're on that road you won't come off it before Leadbum, that's for sure. Is there a lot of traffic?'

'Aye, sir, there's a convoy of two tourist buses and three lorries up ahead. It'll be slow going, like.'

'Well just you be sure that your man doesn't get the jump on you as he clears it. Don't let him twig you either, though. When you get to the Leadbum junction you'll find Mario McGuire parked and waiting for you. Transfer into his car as quick as you can and continue surveillance.

'Brief Mario on the circumstances when you team up.'

'Very good, sir,' said Impey, his words crackling as his earphone lost its signal.

Martin, curious, was gazing at Skinner as he hung up.

'Hawkins?'

'Could be. If it is, I only hope he doesn't rumble our friend Impey, otherwise we'll find the poor bastard dead in a ditch up Tweedsmuir way.'

19

'As expected, Brian?' Martin sounded weary as he spoke into the telephone.

'Entirely,' Mackie replied. 'Avril Weston confirms that she and the Professor were at home together at the time of Gaynor's death. They were doing the Telegraph Crossword, as a matter of fact. The lady is indeed very pregnant, and she has difficulty sleeping, like he said.

'She knew about Gaynor's condition, apparently. Nolan told her about it after he did the operation at St Martha's; he was in a right state, as you could imagine.'

'Did she know what sort of a relationship her husband had with his ex-wife?'

'I don't believe so,' the superintendent answered. 'I did ask her very gently, you understand — whether she approved of his seeing her.

She told me that as far as she was concerned it was good for Raymond that his parents remained on friendly terms after their divorce. But she didn't give me the impression that she knew they were having it off.'

Martin heard a slurping sound come over the phone line, and guessed that Mackie must be drinking from a mug of coffee. 'The boy was up and about, by the way,' he continued. 'He seemed compos mentis to me so I asked him a few questions.

'He said that the first he knew of his mother's illness was when his father told him yesterday, when he picked him up from Aberdeen. The last time he spoke to her was on Wednesday night. She phoned him at his hall of residence; only just caught him, the boy said, before he went out to a Freshers do with his pals.

'She sounded okay, according to the lad, although it struck him at the time that she didn't really say why she was calling him. He knows now that she was saying goodbye.'

'Ahh, poor kid,' Martin murmured. 'Did you ask him about-'

'-his mother's sex-life? Yes. I was never happy with the idea of leaving that to the father. As far as he knew she didn't have any boyfriends. Obviously Futcher never went out to Oldbams while the lad was there. He did say that his mother used to go to SNO concerts and to the Opera, and he was under the impression that she went with

someone, although she never mentioned a name. It needn't have been a man.'

'Worth looking into, though.'

'I agree. I've asked Maggie and Stevie to go out to Oldbarns this evening to re-interview the Ball woman.'

'Christ, watch the overtime!'

'I didn't have any choice. She's off to the Canaries tomorrow morning, so we've got to catch her tonight.'

'You don't fancy her for it? Not even a wee bit?'

Mackie drew a breath. 'Nah, worse luck. There's something I never told you about Joan Ball. She has severe arthritis in both hands. She was given early retirement from the Civil Service three years ago on health grounds. No way could she have injected Gaynor; even fastening the plastic bag over her head would have been beyond her.'

'Jesus, this doesn't get any easier, Thin Man, does it.'

To Martin's surprise, a gentle laugh sounded down the line. 'Ah, but I haven't given you the good news yet,' said the superintendent.

'Arthur Dorward's clever people have managed to lift a saliva trace off one of the two wine glasses that were left in Mrs Weston's sink — the one without Mrs Weston's lipstick on it. Hopefully, it'll give us a DNA match; if only we can find the bugger who left it.'

20

'Is Special Branch always like this, Inspector?' asked Karen Neville.

'Nah,' Mario McGuire answered. As he spoke he kept his eyes firmly on the rear-view mirror, watching the road behind. The angled, four-way Leadbum junction lay two hundred yards beyond their parking place.

'Most of the time it's the sort of stuff you've been doing; checking on known or potential troublemakers, surveillance, VIP protection.

We rarely get to do action things.'

'You don't sound very excited by the prospect.'

'That's because I'm not, sergeant. Five years ago, I might well have looked forward to a bundle with an international terrorist, but not any more.'

Neville frowned. 'What happened to change you?'

'I got married, for one thing. I like going home to the wife at night with all my bits in place.' His mouth twisted wryly. 'I suppose getting shot might have affected me too.'

'You were shot!? When?'

'A few years back; in a good old-fashioned gunfight.'

'Were you badly hurt?'

'Oh aye. When you're on the floor, feeling numb all over, listening to the blood bubbling out of your chest and someone says to you, "It's okay, son, take it easy…" you know you're badly hurt. The thing I remember best is Bob Skinner talking to me. He said all the right things, but I could see from the look in his eyes that he was just doing his best to reassure me.'