Quintin Jardine - Death's Door

If there are such things as angels, the big detective whispered, thats what they look like.

Detective Inspector Stevie Steele said nothing. He was not given to pondering spiritual concepts, and especially not when he was standing at a crime scene.

He glanced at the head of CID: not so long ago, such a remark would have taken him by surprise, but over the past few months he had come to know Detective Chief Superintendent Mario McGuire much better, through close contact on the job, and through small things that his new wife, Maggie, had let slip about her first husband. It was his Italian blood, Steele supposed, from which the closet romantic within him flowed, just as the Irish strain that he had inherited from his father marked him out as uncompromising, and on occasion fearsome.

Steele looked at the girl. Girl? he pondered silently. Maybe thats all she is, maybe not. People always look younger when theyre dead.

She lay on her back on the yellow sand, her face serene, framed by blonde hair, her pale lips set in what might almost have been a smile. She wore open-toed sandals, bare-legged; her arms were by her side, palms down and her long white dress was spread out, fan-like. Her eyes were open and gazed up at the clear blue afternoon sky. May was only just into its second week, but the weather was more than comfortably warm: summer often comes early in Scotland, although it can leave just as suddenly as it arrives.

She looks almost transparent, doesnt she? said McGuire, absent-mindedly, still musing somewhere.

Has anyone touched her? Steele asked.

The local doctors certified death, but thats all. The officers who were first on the scene had more sense than to disturb anything. They reported directly to Graham Leggatt, as the divisional CID commander, and he called me; all strictly by the book when it comes to a suspicious death. The locals first thought was that it was an overdose, some poor sad kid finding a quiet spot to end it all. Thats happened out here before and, of course, weve heard it elsewhere too. But when Graham described the scene, I thought Id better take a look for myself, and that you should see it too. You agree with me, do you, that its just like the other one?

The detective inspector nodded. Absolutely. The way the bodys arranged, the fact that its a female, the age group, it all matches. Shes dressed differently, and her hair colour is different, but otherwise its identical. He glanced around. Has the area been disturbed at all?

Im assured that it hasnt; not since she was found, at any rate.

Well, that knocks the supposition of suicide on the head. Theres no sort of paraphernalia around, no pill containers, no syringe, no booze bottles, no blades.

And no blood, just like the South Queensferry murder. It looks as if she died instantly.

You reckon she might have been killed somewhere else and brought here? asked Steele.

Thats a possibility, I suppose, but look around you, look at the sand: its unremarkably flat around the body. If shed been dragged, it would show. If somebody had carried her here, surely his feet would have dug deep under the weight, and wed still see the tracks. Theres been no wind to smooth them over; at least, thats what the local officers told me. It just looks as if she was walking on the beach when someone came up behind her and. . whap!

Yeah. Thats what we reckon in the other one too, but weve never been able to say for sure.

No: because its still unsolved.

The inspector winced. Weve done everything we can, boss. But every lead weve followed has wound up taking us precisely nowhere.

Hey, Im not knocking your investigation, Stevie, McGuire assured him, just stating a fact. You couldnt have been more thorough; whoever shot Stacey Gavin was either very clever, or very bloody lucky. Normally I would expect the latter, but if this is a repeat performance, Christ, it looks ominous.

Might it be a copycat?

How? You know as well as I do that all our press statements were cleared through Neil McIlhenney, and the crime scene was never described in any of them. No, we begin with the assumption that its. .

The head of CID stopped in mid-sentence. No, we dont. If our deputy chief constable was here hed kick my arse. . and an arse-kicking by Bob Skinner is something to be avoided. We begin by following proper procedure. Lets allow the doc in for a more thorough examination, and an estimate of time of death. He turned and lifted the flap of the enclosing screen that had been erected all around the body, holding it up for his colleague as they stepped out on to the beach.

Aidan Brown, the pathologist, was waiting a few yards away, clad in the same crime-scene tunic as the detectives. He was a tall man, in his mid-thirties: he had been on the scene for a few years and was known to both of them. Sorry to keep you, Doc, said McGuire, as he approached. I wanted to let DI Steele see things exactly as they were found. You can go in now and take a look at the body.

I suppose you want my thoughts on cause of death, as well as time? His accent was light, Irish.

The head of CID nodded. I do, but I suggest that you begin by taking a look at the base of her skull.

The medical examiner frowned. Have you. .?

We didnt lay a finger on her. Theres a tenner on it if you fancy a bet on the cause, though.

Brown chuckled. Thatll be the day. Im a scientist, man: I dont indulge in such frivolities.

You mean youre a tight bastard.

Its in our Irish blood, Mario, the pathologist shot back. You should know that.

Steele glanced at them: McGuire had switched from tender to hard-boiled mode in a few minutes. Yet he knew that it was forced, the coppers defence mechanism against the realities of the job. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering about his unborn child, his and Maggies: a daughter, as they knew already. How would her personality be moulded. . blessed or cursed. . with two police officers for parents?

Hows Mags?

The question, thrown from out of nowhere as he watched Brown move off towards the tented area, took the inspector completely off-guard. Shes fine, he replied, a little abruptly. Hows Paula? At once he regretted his impetuosity. McGuires new partner, Paula Viareggio, had been, briefly, a figure in his past, but that was not something the two men had ever discussed.

But the big man simply shrugged. Shes good. Busy as ever; maybe busier, now that the family business is a public limited company. Shes got more legal stuff to look after, and she spends more time talking to the accountants.

Silence fell between them for a few seconds, until McGuire broke it awkwardly. Im sorry, Stevie, he said. Dont think Im prying, please. But Maggie and I were. . Shit, you know what I mean. Her being pregnant, its so. .

Unexpected?

Well, yeah. Tell me if Im wrong, tell me the two of you planned it, but Id guess it came as a hell of a surprise to you both. If thats so, it hasnt exactly happened at the best time for her career.

Steele looked out to sea. They stood in the middle of a wide bay, bitten out of the coastline by nature and defined by a semicircle of sand dunes, which formed a natural bridge to the bents above. The tide was at its highest and the water was millpond-calm, so flat that the sound of the engines of a distant tanker carried all the way to shore. Youre not wrong, Mario, he replied. And I hear what youre saying about timing. But does she want a career any longer, assuming that everything goes all right with the baby? Thats the question you really should be asking.

Youre kidding me! McGuire exclaimed. Maggies thinking about packing the job in? Shes one of the most career-minded people Ive ever met.

Shes mentioned the possibility; thats all Ill say for now. Thats strictly between you and me, by the way. Understood?