Skinner's Rules (30 page)

‘And, Maggie, book in on a Mr and Mrs basis. Remember this is a secret enquiry. I don’t want you looking out of the ordinary, and any couple booking separate rooms in a place like Earlsferry on a Saturday in winter will surely do that.’

Maggie snorted at the other end of the line. ‘McGiure’s just going to love that!’

‘You can handle it, Sergeant. Pull rank on him if you have to.’

‘Rank isn’t all I’ll pull!’ The line went dead.

Earlsferry sits alongside Elie on a wide bay which looks across the Firth of Forth to the beaches and hills of East Lothian. The gloaming of late afternoon had begun to obscure the coast opposite when Maggie Rose rejoined McGuire.

He was seated on a bench, his left arm looped along its back, ostensibly looking out to sea while covering the only exit from the Harvey cottage. He was in view himself from the far side of the picture window on the upper level of the house. Twice he had seen Joy Harvey framed in the glass.

Maggie sat down beside him and linked her arm through his. She relayed Martin’s orders. McGuire smiled awkwardly, surprisingly embarrassed

‘Huh,’ she said, ‘you might show a bit more enthusiasm.’ She pulled him to her and spoke into his ear. ‘Let’s try to play the part. Any sign of movement from up there?’

McGuire looked over her shoulder. ‘Damn all. I’ve seen her a couple of times, but no one else. We’re a bit open here, but we can see the gate. What do we do if they go out, split up?’

‘No we’ll have to stick together. We’re here as a couple, so we can’t keep dashing off in opposite directions all the time.’

‘I thought that’s what real couples did!’

Maggie and McGuire were no longer on their bench when Mackie and McIlhenney appeared, moving quietly down the lane, each clad in dark donkey jackets over thick polo-necked sweaters and police uniform trousers. They moved carefully in the dark, looking first towards the house, then at the moonlit beach.

‘Here, sir.’ Maggie Rose’s voice came from behind a clump of sand dunes. She and McGuire had moved from the beach as darkness had approached, to a point from which they could view both lane and house, without being seen from either.

Mackie and McIlhenney sat on the sand beside them. McIlhenney laid a brown paper carrier bag against the dune. ‘Thermoses and sandwiches, he explained to McGuire, who said nothing, but reached into the bag and brought out a half bottle of OVD rum.

‘What’s this then, hair tonic?’

‘It’s okay for you pair,’ McIlhenney grumbled. ‘We’re here a’ night.

‘No action?’ Mackie asked.

‘No, sir,’ said Maggie. ‘The upstairs curtains have been half drawn, like you see them now, since about four-thirty. The room’s dimly lit so we’ve only seen figures moving about; only two as far as we’ve been able to tell. No one’s been out since they arrived. The car’s never moved.

‘Do you want us to hang about for a while in case they get off their mark?’

‘No, Maggie, that’s all right. It’s after eight now. They’re not going back to Cumbernauld tonight. If they decide to go to the pub we’ll jus let them get on with it, unless more than two of them come out.

‘Your case is in the boot of my car. It’s parked behind yours. Which hotel will you be in, if we do need to contact you?’

‘We’ll book into that big grey one just off the main road. I think it was called “The Beachview”.’

‘It would be in a place like this. Okay, off you go. Be back here for eight sharp.’

The Beachview Hotel was a big rambling building, probably Victorian in origin. They entered through a newly built bar, in which three drinkers sat, each alone at his table. McGuire asked for reception and the barman pointed towards a doorway. ‘Through there, sir and round to your left.’

They followed his directions and found the check-in desk in a comfortably furnished hall. Two elderly ladies sat in chairs in the far corner, watching a large television set which needed an adjustment to its colour control, McGuire rang a brass bell, and seconds later a fresh-faced girl appeared.

‘Can we have an en-suite room for the night, please?’

‘Certainly, sir.’ She smiled at him, a shade knowingly. ‘Double or twin?’ He looked at Maggie.

‘Double,’ she said, returning the girl’s secret smile.

McGuire signed the register and the girl handed him a key. ‘Room 211 sir. Up the stairs and to your left. Dinner’s being served now, until ten o’clock. Breakfast starts at seven-fifteen.’

‘Even on Sunday?’ McGuire sounded surprised.

‘It’s for the golfers. We don’t finish until ten, though, so you’ve no need to rush.

‘The dining-room’s back through the bar, then straight on.’

Room 211 was clean and fresh and the fittings in the en-suite bathroom, though old-fashioned, were high quality, with a six-foot bath. Maggie plugged in the stopper and turned on the taps.

‘I was going to ask for a twin, you know,’ McGuire said, plaintively.

‘Sure you were. We’ve got to keep up the act, anyway. I know you’ll have slept on the floor before now, being as cosmopolitan as you are. Or that bath looks big enough for you.’

She flipped open the catches on the suitcase. ‘Let’s see what Brian’s brought us.’

She looked in. ‘Marks and Spencer best. Shirt, Y-s and socks for you, heavy sweater, skirt, underwear and etceteras for me. What else?

Deodorant, make-up, ok, shaving kit, toothbrushes and paste, shampoo, even a hairdryer. Presumably the SB slush fund paid for this lot.

‘I’m going to grab a quick bath.’

She found a newspaper in the bag, passed it across to him and disappeared into the bathroom. Mario glanced at the front page. He stretched out on the bed. Idly he glanced into the small suitcase, looked again. No nightclothes. He laughed, loudly enough for Maggie to hear through the heavy bathroom door.

It was just after nine o’clock when they walked downstairs, Maggie clutching Mario’s arm tightly. She had changed into the skirt, and the heavy, but close-fitting sweater. The lipstick was pale for her, but not too bad.

The service was swift, which was as well, since they were both hungry after a hectic day. It had been a long time since those rolls.

As they finished their meal, Maggie took Mario’s left hand in her right. The dining-room was empty save for an elderly couple who were eyeing them surreptitiously. She leaned over, and nibbled his ear. As the couple looked away, Mario smiled.

Maggie spoke softly. ‘You know, it’s a fact: people always forget couples like us. You’d think we’d stand out, but we don’t. Other people find us embarrassing and look away. Just like that pair over there.’

They declined coffee and moved through to the bar, which was much busier than before. ‘What would you like, love?’ Mario said in a voice clear enough to carry, as they took a table facing the door.

‘I would love a Bacardi-and-tonic, please, darling,’ she answered in a throaty voice which, for a moment, she hardly recognised as her own. He went over to the bar, where the efficient barman had already begun to pour Maggie’s drink, and asked for a pint of Belhaven 80 Shilling ale for himself.

Waiting, he glanced around the room. His eyes stopped for a split second at a table near the entrance, then moved on, his expression unchanged. Joy and Andrew Harvey were seated there. She was sipping a lager, he was staring at a large whisky, and at three empty glasses which stood beside it.

He carried the drinks back to Maggie. He slipped into the bench seat beside her, then, without warning, pulled her firmly against him and kissed her. Their heads together, he whispered. ‘You can’t see them from here because of those blokes in the middle of the floor, but our pals are sat right opposite us. we’d better put your invisibility theory to the test.’

‘Mm,’ she replied, and flicked her tongue into his ear. A tremor ran down the length of his body, and he was, very suddenly, very hard. ‘What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?’ she whispered to him, and suddenly he was racked with silent laughter.

Then the men in the middle of the floor moved in towards the bar. Maggie glanced across. Five empty glasses remained on the table. The Harveys had gone.

They finished their drinks, and had two more, before Maggie tugged at Mario’s arm. ‘Come on, big boy,’ she said, loudly enough for the couple at the next table to hear, ‘I don’t want you getting too plastered.’

They left the bar, again arm in arm, and made their way back to room 211. Without a word, Mario disappeared into the bathroom, to return the beer which he had rented for the evening.

When he came out, Maggie was waiting, naked, in the darkened room. ‘Well, which side of the bed do you sleep on?’

He drew her gently to him. ‘Sarge,’ he whispered. ‘You’re out of uniform.’

It was still dark when they returned to the beach next morning.

If Mackie sensed a change in their body language, he said nothing. He and Mcllhenney were both tired, irritable, and ready for the road.

‘They went out last night, together, on foot,’ Mackie said. ‘Came back about eleven o’clock, arguing. He was a bit pissed, I’d have said. Apart from that, nothing at all. If this thing lasts for another day, you two can’t pull that hotel cover again. I’ll have the Transit recovered and we’ll bring it up tonight. That way we can split the night duty. Right, we’re off.’

They disappeared into the lessening gloom.

They found that Mackie had left behind a thick travelling rug. They settled into their inconspicuous hide as the sun rose on another fine, warm day. The Harvey cottage stood curtained against the light.

They sat in silence for a while. Then Mario drew her down on the rug beside him. They kissed again with the ease and comfort of lovers.

‘Once this job’s over,’ said Maggie, ‘I’ll make sure we’re never assigned together again. If I was caught with my hand in your pants, it would set the advance of women in the force back twenty years!’

‘That’s fine, but watch who you do work with. Us Italians are notorious for our jealousy, and us Irish are even worse.’

She ruffled his black hair. ‘Just as long as I don’t find out you’ve got a wife and three kids!’ They were still laughing when they heard the sudden roar of the Toyota.

They spun round on the rug, and saw the sleek black car reverse fast out of the driveway and power up the lane. At the top, it turned right. They heard tyres squeal as it raced off, heading in the wrong direction down the one-way street.

Mario started to jump up, but Maggie held him back. ‘Wait. The job is surveillance of the Harveys. We couldn’t even see who was driving. t could be back in a minute, for all we know.’

‘Sure. Maggie, in a place like this you don’t go for the Sunday papers at seventy miles an hour, the wrong way up a one-way street. That car isn’t coming back, and we’ve lost it. I think we should call Andy Martin for instructions.’

Martin answered the telephone on the second ring. Maggie Rose was slightly out of breath. ‘Someone’s just bombed off in the Toyota. Don’t know who; we couldn’t get a clear view.’

‘Is your cover blown? Have they spotted you?’

‘They must have. Whoever was driving that car was going like Ayrton What’s-his-name. We couldn’t see how many people were in it. Everything happened so fast. But I don’t think it was Joy at the wheel. I followed her all the way up here. She’s a really good driver; very smooth.

‘What do we do now?’

Martin thought for a moment. ‘Knock the door. If anyone answers, spin them a tale, and piss off. If not, go in. But make sure that no one else sees you.

‘Check it out and call me back. And be careful. Remember, this is a dangerous one.’

‘Understood, sir. She pressed the ‘end’ button on the car phone.

‘Come on, Mario, let’s take a look. Let’s see if the Harveys are receiving guests or if they’ve just stepped out for a bit. Just in case there is someone in there, let’s have some daft story. “Our car’s broken down and we need help. Where’s the nearest garage?” That’ll do.’

They crept quietly to the side door of the house. It was lying ajar. Mario walked round to the back and looked through the kitchen window. He was unable to see below work surface level, but there, in view, was Joy’s upturned purse.

He went back to the door, and stepped halfway through. He called, ‘Hello.’ There was no reply - only the smell of fresh coffee, and something else.

‘Wait here,’ McGuire told Maggie, taking over the command role without thinking. Something in his voice made her obey without a second thought.

He stepped into a small laundry room, with washing machine, tumble dryer and a sink along one wall, and cupboards lining the other. A second open door faced him. He moved into the kitchen and saw what was lying there. He half turned to run out again, but caught himself in time, before betraying his panic to Maggie.

Joy lay stretched out on her back, her head in a pool of blood. A red trickle led from a hole above her left eye. Her hair, above her ear on the right side of her head, was matted with blood and brain tissue from an exit wound. McGuire knelt beside Harvey, who lay on his side. The front of his blue pyjama jacket was dark red, and the bullet hole in his temple stood out vividly. Blood had sprayed along the line of cupboards against which he had fallen.

McGuire closed the door on Maggie, and went quietly through the rest of the house, praying to himself that there had been only one killer. He found the master bedroom, with its two crumpled beds. There was a second bedroom next door, though nothing to indicate that it had been occupied. But the room still smelled of its tenant. McGuire looked at the bed. On the pillow there were several black hairs.

He sprinted back to the kitchen and through to the laundry room, averting his eyes from the carnage on the kitchen floor. Maggie stood there, white-faced.