'That's good,' Stevie replied, quietly. 'But it's no surprise, is it? You didn't expect him to go back on his word.'
'No, of course not, but it's still nice to know that the formalities are done with. Once it's signed it'll just leave one tie to be cut between us, the marriage itself.'
'Divorce, you mean? That'll happen the year after next, won't it, once you've been apart for two years?'
She nodded. 'It would do, if we followed the simple procedure and divorced on the ground of irretrievable breakdown. But if I sued Mario for divorce on the ground of adultery, it could happen virtually right away.'
Stevie's eyebrows rose. 'Would you do that?' he asked.
'I don't know. I don't feel vindictive towards him, or even towards Paula. It depends.'
'Depends on what?
'Depends on whom: it depends on you. Would you like me to be single as soon as possible?'
Stevie stopped in the middle of cutting a segment out of his mutton pie. He frowned, looked at the ceiling for a few moments, then took a mouthful from his pint of orange squash. Finally he looked back at her. 'As in free to marry?' he asked.
'I wasn't implying anything like that,' she answered quickly.
He smiled into her eyes. 'I don't care what you were implying. Whether it was a back-handed proposal or not, the answer's yes. I want you absolutely free and clear from Detective Superintendent McGuire at the earliest opportunity, and I want to marry you. But will it be that easy? Big Mario might not care to be branded publicly as an adulterer.'
'Big Mario does not care. Big Mario told his lawyer to tell mine that if that's what I want to do then it'll be fine by him and Paula, as long as I keep her name off the petition.'
Stevie's smile spread from ear to ear. 'Bloody hell!' he exclaimed. 'That's a twist.'
'But it's not unexpected by me. Mario and I weren't very good at being husband and wife, in any sense, but if either of us needs something from the other, it's as good as done.'
'Should I worry about that, long term?'
'No. Not any more. There's nothing tying us together.' She paused. 'All the bodies have been buried, and all the evidence burned.'
He laughed. 'There's nobody better at a cover-up than a copper. Are you going to do it, then, go for an immediate divorce?'
'Yes. You've just made my mind up for me.'
'I'm glad. Now make me even happier and eat your lunch: it's getting cold.'
They concentrated on their pies, their chips and their beans until they were finished. When they were, they piled their plates one on the other and picked up their drinks. Stevie shook his head, a slightly bemused grin on his face. 'Let's go to Laing's on Saturday,' he said. 'You'll have to steer me: I've never bought an engagement ring before.'
'I'm glad to hear it, but you're forgetting something. I haven't said "yes" yet.'
'Well, will you?'
'Let me tell you something else first,' she replied. 'Then you can ask me again, if you want. My letter arrived okay, but a few days ago, something else didn't'
'Uh?'
'Do you know the last time I missed a period, Stevie?'
His eyes widened. 'I wouldn't, would I?' he whispered.
'The answer's never since I started having them. Regular as clockwork, on the dot; you could set your watch by me. Until this month.'
His mouth fell open; he stared at her, idiotically. 'You mean… Have you…'
'I'm going to give it another day or so, and if nothing's happened, I'll get a kit and do a test. If I am, how do you feel about it? Would you be upset?'
'Upset?' he gasped. 'Think of me waking up as chief constable, us winning the lottery and you being pregnant. That's my wish list, in ascending order.'
'Really?'
'Couldn't be more real. I'll ask you again: will you marry me?'
To his surprise, she blushed bright red, her face in vivid contrast to the white of her shirt. 'I guess so,' she replied.
Twenty-seven
Mario McGuire put the phone back in its cradle; he wondered when, or even whether, he had heard Maggie sound so happy, and the thought sent a sudden feeling of sadness through him. It passed quickly, though, and he smiled. 'By God, young Steele,' he murmured to himself, 'you make a better go of looking after her than I did, or I'll make sure your life will be hell on earth.' She had told him only that she wanted the quickest divorce possible, so that she and Stevie could marry. He had taken her word at face value, but inwardly he wondered whether there might just be more to it.
He picked up the phone once more and called Paula Viareggio at her office. 'Hi, kid,' he said, when she answered. 'You're listening to a soon-to-be-official adulterer.'
'She wants it, then?'
'Yes, and she can have it, as long as you're not named on the petition, which you won't be.'
'That's fine,' said Paula, not quite as unconcerned as she had meant to sound. 'It won't make any difference to us, will it?'
'Not a bit.' He laughed. 'We'll still go on being Leith's favourite casual couple.'
'Yeah? You won't start feeling fancy-free all of a sudden, will you?'
'Don't be daft. I'm happy as we are; never been more so, just like my soon-to-be-ex-wife.'
'In that case,' she told him, 'I'm cooking osso bucco alia Milanese tonight; bring a nice bottle of Barolo with you.'
'One of Nana Viareggio's recipes?'
'Truth? No, I got it off the internet'
'Ah,' he laughed. 'The modern Italian woman. Are Neil and Lou still coming?'
'Of course.'
'Maybe I'll bring two bottles.'
'You'll drink most of them yourself, then: Neil's driving and Lou won't want much, in her condition.'
'I wonder if it's infectious?' Mario muttered.
'We don't need to worry if it is,' Paula countered. 'You've had the vaccination.'
He let it pass. 'See you later.'
'About seven thirty. Bye, lover.'
He hung up and went back to his paperwork, reports from his CID team on current investigations. He noted, with some satisfaction, a significant drop in reported petty thefts within his division, wondering whether it might have less to do with his arrival than with the disappearance of a certain Moash Glazier.
He was still pondering the fate of the missing thief, when his door swung open. Annoyed by the absence of a knock, McGuire looked up to see a tall, slim, middle-aged man with muddy grey eyes slide into the room, and take a seat facing him. 'Greg,' he exclaimed. 'I heard you'd taken the pension. What the hell are you doing back here? Did you leave something behind when you left this office?'
Jay gave a thin smile. 'Nothing I had any use for, Mario. How are you settling in behind my old desk?'
'The desk's fine, thanks; the chair's clapped out, though. I've asked for a replacement. As for the job, I like it here; livelier than the Borders division, that's for sure.'
'And you're doing very well, I hear. Meeting your targets right across the board, so Pringle told me: you'll be after his job next'
McGuire felt his hackles start to rise. 'I've never been after anyone's job in my life, Greg, not while they were in it at least. I heard you took the hump when you were shifted out of here, but that had nothing to do with me. I didn't ask Dan or anyone else for a move and I certainly didn't ask to be transferred here.'
Greg Jay raised a placatory hand. 'Don't get excited, Mario, I'm not saying you did. I know who was behind the moves, all right. The mighty Mr Skinner: who else? He calls all the shots on this force. If your face fits with him, you're made. You and your ex are classic examples of that. I've got nothing against you, though; don't think that for a minute. I'm happily out of it now, just an interested observer on the sidelines.'
He shot a crafty glance across the desk. 'Have you heard any rumours about Skinner?' he asked.
'For fuck's sake, man,' McGuire exclaimed, 'there are always rumours about Bob Skinner. One minute he's going to the top job in the Met, the next he's taking command of Interpol. They're all balls, every one of them.'
'I didn't mean rumours about his career moves. I was talking about his private life. I heard his marriage was up the spout, and that he had a new lady-friend.'
'I don't go in for that sort of gossip. I've been the subject of it myself, just recently. If you want me to pass on any crap about the boss, you'll be waiting a long time.'
'Mmm. Time is something I now have plenty of, my young friend. How is Paula, by the way?'
'Very well, thanks.'
'A very interesting lady, I've always thought, from a very interesting family. I remember your grandfather very well: he was a classic of his type, wasn't he, a real old-school Italian? He could have stepped right off the pages of a Puzo novel.' Jay laughed. 'I suppose you could too, come to that.'
McGuire's eyebrows lowered. 'Greg, what is this? Why the honour of this visit?'
'Just a social call, son, honestly. Tell me, don't you ever find it difficult, being a serving copper and chairing your family business?'
'No more difficult than you found working here and being Right Worshipful Master of your Masonic Lodge. I don't have an executive role, as you know very well; I have a lawyer who advises me on all the important decisions, and who has power to act for me.'
'And not just any lawyer either, I hear, but Miss Alexis Skinner, the sharpest young solicitor in town.'
McGuire's anger rose, its flames showing in his eyes. 'Who the hell told you that?' he snapped.
'That's not important. Why are you so tetchy anyway? Was that supposed to be a secret?'
'No, but it's my private business, and I don't like it being ground in your gossip mill.'
'Sorry, if I upset you. That temper of yours, Mario, it's awfully near the surface these days. I hear you've been showing it to some old friends of mine, too.'
'Such as?'
'Malky Gladsmuir, for one, the manager of the Wee Black Dug pub. I'd a pint in there at lunchtime, and he mentioned that you'd been in to see him. You know, I think you scared the poor chap. I never thought anyone could do that, but you seem to have managed it. He's a valuable informant of mine, is Malky, so I'd appreciate it if you eased up on him a bit.'
'He's a devious bloody scammer and he always has been. You missed a hell of a lot that went on in that pub in your time here, my friend. And what do you mean "is" a snout of yours? You're gone, Greg, remember?'
'Not gone, Mario; "translated" would be a better word. Clearly the news hasn't filtered down to your level: I've got a new job.'
'What's that? Security at the docks?'
'A little more important than that, and a little more sensitive. Ask your friend McIlhenney next time you see him. He'll know about it, I'm sure; the Great Man will have told him by now.'
Jay pushed himself to his feet. 'I'd better be going. Wouldn't do to interrupt the fight on crime any longer than necessary.' He walked to the door. 'By the way,' he said, 'I hear there's a new regulation in the pipeline. It's going to require complete disclosure by police officers of all business interests, whether direct or through their wives and families. It'll cause quite a stir, I reckon. Where something's deemed unsuitable, the officer involved will be given a straight choice between giving it up or leaving the force.'
'Oh, yes?' McGuire growled. 'And who's going to do the deeming?'
'My new boss, actually… acting on my advice, of course. Be seeing you again, I'm sure.' He opened the door and stepped outside.
McGuire snatched the phone from his desk and buzzed the CID office. Detective Sergeant Sammy Pye answered at once. 'Sir?'
'Sam,' he exclaimed, 'that bastard who's just come out of my office: Jay. Have him followed; in fact, do it yourself if you're clear. I want to know where he goes.'
Twenty-eight
George Regan stepped out of the Castle Terrace car-park office. The manager had been annoyed at another police visit, but eventually he had co-operated and given him a rundown of his regular customers, those whom he knew and their usual times of coming and going. Most of them were office employees, professionals from the impressive new buildings that had sprouted in the city's West End during the last decade of the millennium, but several were shop-workers, with differing hours and shift patterns that involved them sometimes in weekend working.
He checked his watch: it showed twenty past six. Normally most of the shop people would have been gone by that time, but in December their hours tended to stretch a little. He looked around level five of the well-lit car park: it would have been full during the day, but most of the cars had gone. Still, there were enough around to make his trip worthwhile.
He heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see a woman trot down the stairs and hurry across to a small blue Citroen hatchback. He moved towards her, taking out his warrant card. 'Excuse me, madam,' he called out. 'I wonder if you can help me. I'm a police officer.' She turned, startled; she was mid-forties, with brown, well-cut hair, and she would have been attractive but for the sharp suspicious eyes that seemed to drill into him. He held the card up high, for her to see more clearly, and she peered at it carefully.
'What can I do for you?' she asked, in cultured, clipped tones.
'I hope you can be of assistance,' he told her. 'Are you a regular user of this car park?'
'Yes, I'm here every day during the week.'
'How about weekends?'
'Not normally, but on occasion I come into my office out of normal hours.'
'By any chance were you here last Sunday?'
She frowned, as she scanned through her mental diary. 'Yes, I was, as it happens, but not at work. There was an evening carol concert in St John's Church.'
'What time did it finish?'
'Seven o'clock.'
'And when did you leave the car park?'
'I'm not sure, but it must have been after eight. They had mulled wine and mince pies afterwards, and I stayed around.'
'When you left, which exit did you use: top or bottom?'
'The lower exit,' she said. 'I always go out on to King's Stables Road; it's easier for my route home.'