blast from the recent past.’
‘A welcome one nonetheless, sir. It’s good to see you looking so well.’
Fuck, I thought, did I look so bad before?
‘You have something for me?’
He held out the package. ‘This was sent through from Glasgow, sir, by DCC McGuire, with your name on it, marked “urgent”. Fettes reckoned that meant tonight.’
‘Tomorrow would have done,’ I told him, ‘but I appreciate it. Will you come in for a mug of something?’
Craig, PC Charlton, to give him his proper handle, shook his head. ‘Thanks, Mr Skinner, but I’d better get straight back. I heard some chatter in my ear about a major incident, so it might be all hands to the pumps.’
I wished him well, and took the bundle from him. I’d expected it to be much bulkier than it was. That simple fact told me why Mario had a down on the former Detective Inspector McGarry. I took the file into the garden room, tossed it on to the couch, then went back to the kitchen, but it was deserted. I guessed that Sarah had taken Seonaid off to supervise her night-time ablutions and that the boys had vanished to fight over what to watch in their last hour of permitted television.
I fetched myself another beer, and returned to the parcel. I opened it and removed its contents, and found myself looking at a familiar Strathclyde Police folder, just like the hundreds that had clogged my in tray during my few months as its last chief constable. I was about to open it when Sarah returned.
‘What’s that?’ she asked. ‘I thought we’d seen the last of biker cops dropping off parcels.’
‘Yes, me too,’ I agreed.
‘So what is it? An old investigation you were involved in?’
‘Half right. Old investigation, yes; one of mine, not really. This came completely out of the blue. Remember I told you I was having lunch today with Eden Higgins?’
‘How could I forget?’ she said. ‘Your late ex-girlfriend’s tycoon brother; the man who wrote to you about his “situation”. What was it?’
I told her about the theft of the Princess Alison, and the abortive police investigation that I had been retained to review.
She frowned, as she sat beside me. ‘Should you be doing that?’
‘I asked myself that question before I accepted,’ I admitted, ‘and I couldn’t think of a single reason why not. Neither could Andy or Mario; that’s why I’ve got this folder.’
‘Won’t it be embarrassing for them if you find that the investigation was flawed?’
I laughed. ‘It’ll be far more embarrassing for me. When this thing kicked off I was chief constable. By any standards this was a major theft, and yet I never heard about it. I should be doing this for free.’
‘Then why aren’t you, my dear?’ she countered, reasonably. I’d been asking myself that question.
‘I will, if I find very quickly that the CID investigation was competent and covered all lines of inquiry. I will if I wind up making my own inquiries but don’t trace the Princess Alison. If she is recovered, and the insurance company cough up as promised, I might take a fee but tell them to give the bonus money to charities of Andy Martin’s choice.’
‘Won’t that rub Andy’s nose in it?’
‘Not completely. The investigation was closed on Andy’s watch, but like I said, it began on mine. Both our noses will be up for rubbing.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s say you do investigate actively. What powers will you have?’
‘Those of a private investigator, no more . . . and in effect they’re zero. I’ll have no powers of arrest beyond those of any citizen, and no powers to access documents, bank accounts, or anything like that.’
‘Won’t that constrain you?’
‘Of course it will,’ I agreed. ‘But I’ll have a very large organisation behind me; if I do need to go somewhere that’s closed to me, I’ll go to Mario McGuire. This whole thing is very flexible, love; there are all sorts of questions that I won’t be able to answer until I’ve read this file.’
She pointed at the folder. ‘So what are you waiting for? Go to it.’
‘I can’t be arsed,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve had enough for today.’
‘Of course you have,’ she sighed. ‘Your day had the worst possible start, didn’t it. Have you heard anything from Sammy Pye, or Sauce?’
‘They’re pretty sure they know who was driving the car,’ I replied. ‘They sent me a mugshot of the suspect, a lad from North Berwick, name of Francey. I couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure