'You say that to Andy Martin, who tends to be our collective conscience in situations like these, and he'll tell you that there is only one black and white moral issue involved — the taking of a human life by another person. Maybe in personal ethical terms you can argue that there might be shades of grey, but in legal terms you can't.
'It doesn't matter whether someone gets on their knees and begs you, "End my life, I can't stand it any more." If you do that you're breaking the law — and it's the oldest law that our society has. Now the fact is that when we didn't get a quick clear-up on the Weston case, some of us weren't too sorry. We saw it as a one-off, and maybe our private beliefs let us sympathise with Mrs Weston, and even with whoever helped her.
'But it isn't a one-off any more, Sarah. I'm… we're faced with clear evidence that same person has done it again, and our duty is just as clear. Catching him goes right to the top of our priority list. Consider this: Gaynor Weston and Anthony Murray were both terminally ill.
They were going to die nasty, drawn-out deaths. But what if someone else asks for help; someone who does have a chance of survival? 'No,' he said, emphatically. 'It has to be stopped here.'
She looked at him, soberly. 'Yeah,' she murmured. 'Looked at like that, you have to be right.'
He leaned back into the sofa and nodded. 'And there's more to be investigated.'
'What do you mean?' she asked him, for the second time that evening.
His eyes, narrowed, very slightly 'What if Gaynor Weston wasn't the first? What if there's been a death in the past that has been written off as a suicide at divisional level? Or more than one, even? Christ, there could be a network operating here.'
'You're seeing the worst, aren't you,' said Sarah.
He shrugged, with a sad, resigned grin. 'Honey, that's my job. The trouble has been that from inside the Chief Constable's office, sometimes you just don't see it early enough.'
62
'I know the DCC isn't the best delegator in the world,' said Andy Martin, 'but normally he waits to be asked these days before offering advice on investigations. So when he does call me to raise something, especially when it's half-nine on a Monday evening, it emphasises how serious it is.
'I don't have to remind you two that he's back on the prowl, mornings at least.'
He looked at Detective Superintendents Mackie and Pringle. 'As of now, the investigation into the Weston death is re-opened, full strength.
I've spoken to the Fiscal and had the FAI postponed indefinitely. It will run in conjunction with the Murray investigation, with you two in joint day-to-day control, reporting everything to me.
'I'd take full responsibility myself, but for my involvement with the preparations for the economic conference.'
The Head of CID hunched over his coffee. 'We don't need a big team on this, since there isn't any door to door work involved, but we do need integration so that we pick up any overlap between the two investigations. Brian, I want you to review the Weston papers, yet again, and see if there's anything we might have done that we didn't. Clan, Murray's death happened on your patch, so you're the leader on that one. In Maggie Rose's continued absence, since DS Steele was heavily involved with Weston, he's going to work with you directly on Murray, as the principal link between both inquiries.'
Pringle nodded. 'Fair enough,' he said. 'I like young Stevie. If we do come across any coincidences, he's not the boy to miss them.'
'Where are you going to begin, then?'
'I have already,' the superintendent replied. 'Remember? I saw the guy at the bank. He was worse than fuckin' useless, mind you. Today, we're looking for relatives. Mr Murray had no children apparently, but there's a younger sister. She's the next of kin; I've got a car taking her to the Royal this morning to make the formal identification. After that I'll go and have a chat with her, to see what she can tell me.'
'Where does she live?'
'Down in sunny Joppa by the sea.' He glanced at the window of the Head of CID's office. Rain, driven on cold north-east wind, lashed against its panes. 'It'll be really nice down there today,' he added, mournfully.
'I'll envy you every minute of it,' said Martin, grinning as he stood.
'Okay, gentlemen, that's it. Remember, keep me informed all the way.'
He walked with the two divisional commanders to the end of the corridor, waving them off at the top of the stairs. Then, instead of returning to his office, he walked along the length of the Command Corridor and down the flight of stairs which led almost directly to the makeshift conference control centre.
Looking around he noted that all but two of the desks were manned.
As usual, Mario McGuire was seated in the far corner, from where he could see everything that went on in the big room. He ambled across towards the Special Branch commander.
'Hi, Mario, how's it going?'
McGuire shot him a mock scowl. 'Exciting as ever,' he grumbled.
'I've rejected a journalist from the Financial Times; that's been the highlight of my day so far. No, scratch that; the highlight of my week.'
'Why did you bomb him out?'
'Her,' the inspector corrected him. 'She wouldn't put her date of birth on the application form; refused point blank. So we couldn't run a full computer check.'
'Couldn't you have done it through her National Insurance number?'
'Not this one. She's South African.'
'Her name wasn't Hawkins, was it?' Martin asked, with a faint smile.
McGuire shook his head. 'Naw, and she isn't dead, either.'
The Head of CID shrugged. 'Well, it's up to her, but if she doesn't have a ticket, she can't come to the party.' He paused. 'Listen Mario, can I ask you a favour?'
The dark eyebrows rose in surprise. 'Of course you can.'
'Right; it's like this. The Weston case, the one that Maggie was working on when she got cut, has gone pear-shaped again. There's been a second apparent suicide, with exactly the same pattern.
'The boss has ordered me to check the papers on every reported suicide in our area over the last three years, to see if any of them could possibly have been related. Trouble is, I'm stuffed for people-power, and I don't want to call in outside help any more than he does.
'I'm going to have to take Neville or Pye back from you, unless…
Look, I know Mags isn't allowed back for a couple of weeks, but would you mind if I asked her if she could help on this one? It doesn't involve anything more strenuous than reading, and maybe the odd phone call, so she'd be able to do it at home. I wouldn't ask her behind your back though. So, what'd you say?'
'I say go ahead, sir. I don't have a problem with that.' McGuire grinned. 'Now if I said "No way", and she found out about it later: that would be a problem.'
63
Clan Pringle peered across Steele and out of the driver's side-window as the young sergeant drew to a halt outside the big stone terrace. The houses faced more or less due east, and on a fine day they would have enjoyed a clear view all the way down the coast to North Berwick and the Bass Rock beyond.
However, as the detective looked across the promenade and out to sea, all that faced him was the grey wall of drizzle which the howling wind drove onshore. 'My God,' he said. 'I hope their draught excluders are working.'
The two policemen jumped quickly out of the car and hurried up the steps towards the front door. Fortunately the woman at the tall bay window had seen them arrive, and opened it quickly.
'Mrs Paterson? I'm Detective Superintendent Pringle and this is Sergeant Steele.'
'Aye, aye,' the woman answered, quietly, 'Come in, quick, and let me get this door shut.' Steele looked at her as he stepped into the hall.