money on Weird. He's always been accident prone. But Ziggy?"
"I know. It's hard to take it in."
"God. Poor Ziggy."
"I know. We had such a lovely time with him and Paul in California in September. It feels so unreal."
"And Paul? Is he dead too?"
"No. He was away overnight. He came back to find the house burned down and Ziggy dead."
"God. That's going to point the finger at him."
"I'm sure that's the last thing on his mind right now," Lynn snapped.
"No, you misunderstand me. I just meant it would make it all so much worse for him. Christ, Lynn, I know what it means to have everybody looking at you as if you're a murderer," Mondo flashed back.
There was a brief silence while both retreated from confrontation. "Alex is going over for the funeral," Lynn offered as an olive branch.
"Oh, I don't think I'll be able to manage that," Mondo said hastily. "We're off to France in a couple of days. We've got the flights booked and everything. Besides, it's not like I've been as close to Ziggy recently as you and Alex."
Lynn stared at the wall in disbelief. "You four were like blood brothers. Isn't that worth a bit of disruption to your travel plans?"
There was a long silence. Then Mondo said, "I don't want to go, Lynn. It doesn't mean that I don't care about Ziggy. It's just that I hate funerals. I'll write to Paul, of course. What's the point of going halfway across the world for a funeral that will only upset me? It won't bring Ziggy back."
Lynn felt suddenly worn out, grateful that she had taken the burden of this wounding conversation from Alex. The worst of it was that she could still find it in her heart to sympathize with her oversensitive brother. "None of us would want you to be upset," she sighed. "Well, I'll let you go, Mondo."
"Just a minute, Lynn," he said. "Was it today Ziggy died?"
"The early hours of the morning, yes."
A sharp suck of breath. "That's pretty spooky. You know it's twenty-five years today since Rosie Duff died?"
"We hadn't forgotten. I'm surprised you remembered."
He gave a bitter laugh. "You think I could forget the day my life was destroyed? It's carved on my heart."
"Yeah, well, at least you'll always remember the anniversary of Ziggy's death," Lynn said, spite rising as she realized that, yet again, Mondo was turning the kaleidoscope so that everything was about him. Sometimes she really wished you could dissolve family ties.
Lawson glared at the phone as he replaced it in its cradle. He hated politicians. He'd had to listen to the MSP who represented Phil Parhatka's new chief suspect droning on for ten minutes about the scumbag's human rights. Lawson had wanted to shout, "What about the human rights of the poor bastard he killed?" but he'd had far more sense than to give voice to his irritation. Instead, he'd made soothing noises and a mental note to himself to have a word with the parents of the dead man, to get them to remind their MSP that his loyalties should lie with the victims, not the perpetrators. All the same, he'd better warn Phil Parhatka to watch his back.
He glanced at his watch, surprised at the lateness of the hour. He might as well stick his head round the door of the cold case squadroom on his way out, on the off chance that Phil was still at his desk.
But the only person there at this late hour was Robin Maclennan. He was poring over a file of witness statements, his brow furrowed in concentration. In the pool of light cast by his desk lamp, the resemblance to his brother was uncanny. Lawson shivered involuntarily. It was like seeing a ghost, but a ghost who had aged a dozen years since he'd last walked on earth.
Lawson cleared his throat and Robin looked up, the illusion shattered as his own mannerisms superimposed themselves on the fraternal resemblance. "Hello, sir," he said.
"You're late at it," Lawson said.
Robin shrugged. "Diane's taken the kids to the pictures. I thought I might as well be sitting here as in an empty house."
"I know what you mean. I often feel the same myself since Marian died last year."
"Is your boy not at home?"
Lawson snorted. "My boy's twenty-two now, Robin. Michael graduated in the summer. MA in economics. And now he's working as a motorbike courier in Sydney, Australia. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I worked so hard for. You fancy a