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both knew it. 'If you insist,' she said. 'But don't blame me if you don't like it. Your mother gave it to me.'

It was Mario's turn to gasp in astonishment. 'You what?'

'Sorry, but it's true. Are you imagining the headlines? Detective's Mammy Bankrol s Brothels. Is that it?'

'Could be,' he retorted.

'Well relax; there's nothing to connect her with the businesses.'

'So how did you talk her into it?'

'I didn't have to. Your mother and I aren't strangers, you know. She's my favourite aunt, and we talk. We were sharing a bottle in a restaurant in Leith one night and a prostitute walked past the window. Auntie Chris gave one of her classic humphs; I thought she was disapproving, until she started on about a society that forced women to walk the streets like that, and about how anyone who thought you could make prostitution disappear by outlawing it was off their head.

'She said that what we should real y be doing was giving women like that decent working conditions and regulating what they did, rather than arresting them for it. I said that to an extent that was what was happening

in the saunas, but that the danger there was that the wrong sort of people might get to own them. I mentioned Tony Manson's saunas being for sale, and she said why didn't I buy them then, and run them the way they should be run.

'I said, "Buy them with what?" And that's how it came about. She put up most of the money, and I bought them through a shell company. No one knew about it but Auntie Chris and me, til you started sniffing around.'

Mario's eyes narrowed slightly. 'You mean you really didn't tell your father?'

'No way did I; he'd have raised merry hell if I had done, and got my mother al worked up too. My dad might have liked a bit of skirt, but he was prudish too. Al right, he did find out on the grapevine, eventually; he wasn't best pleased, to put it mildly. He said I was on my own, that he'd never set foot in such places, and that if I came a cropper he wouldn't bail me out.'

'Then why the hell. . .' He frowned. 'Paulie, remember that wee girl I asked you about, the one who said she knew you?'

'Ivy Brennan? Yes, she asked me straight out one day what I had to do with the Bonnington sauna. She said she'd seen me going in there a few times. At first I thought she was implying I was on the game, but actually she asked me if there would be any chance of a job there.'

'What did you tell her?'

'The truth. I told her that she looked about fifteen, and that she'd attract the wrong sort of customer. You know what I mean; there are guys out there who have a physical need to get their ashes hauled every so often, and my places cater for that. But there are other guys too, perverts, and I won't have any truck with them. Anyway, what about Ivy?'

'Maybe nothing; only I'm trying to work out why she told me she had seen Uncle Beppe having a shouting match in the doorway of the Bonnington place with someone inside.'

'You're kidding.'

'No.'

'Then she was. Not only would my dad not have set foot in one of my places; he wouldn't have had an argument in public either.'

'No,' Mario mused, 'he wouldn't, would he; not Uncle Beppe. Yet that's what she told me; she cal ed me yesterday and said she had to see me. That's what it was about.'

Paula smiled. 'Is that all it was about?'

He took a deep breath and grinned back at her. 'Well, no. She did have something else in mind.'

'But she had to tell you something to get you to see her, so she made up that story, knowing that the place was mine.'

'I suppose so.'

'Hey, Mario . . . you didn't, did you?'

'Certainly not. The fact is, with her kit off she stil only looks about fifteen.'

Gradual y, his frown deepened; he sat in the chair facing his cousin, but staring into the far corner of the room.

'What's up?' asked Paula, breaking the silence. 'Do you wish you had now?'

'No, just a thought that occurred to me, that's al .'

She shook her head. 'Bloody policemen; you never stop working. I went out with a copper for a while, a bloke called Stevie Steele. He was exactly the same; in the middle of God knows what, he'd be away in another world.'

'Mmm,' he murmured. 'Our Stevie, eh. He never told me that when we worked together.'

'Probably because I told him I stil fancied you something rotten.'

'What else did you tell him?'

'Nothing that didn't happen,' she answered, mischievously.

242

'Are you kidding me?'

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. 'Maybe yes, maybe no.'

'Well if you're not, he's discreet: I'l say that for him. But back to this world; did Uncle Beppe ever mention to you anyone cal ed Magnus Essary?'

'Never.'

'Sure?'

'Certain.'

'Or Ella Frances?'

'No. Why?'

'We're trying to find them, that's all.' He saw her stiffen momentarily.

'Are they suspects?'

'No. They're just a lead we're having trouble fol owing up.'

'Sorry I can't help then.'

He stood up from his chair. 'Never mind. But if you do find anything to do with either of them, let Greg Jay know.'

'I wil do, promise.' She gazed up at him, and candle-flames twinkled in her eyes. 'You sure you have to go?' she whispered.

He took a step towards her, leaned down and kissed her, long, slow, soft, breathtaking, until eventual y she broke off, with a cross between a gasp and a sigh. 'Yes, Paulie,' he murmured, wickedly. 'I'm absolutely certain.'

24;

Dan Pringle sat with his face buried in his hands. 'Where are you when I need you. Bob Skinner?' he exclaimed, in a muffled grunt. The coffees on the dining table had grown cold in their mugs as Maggie had explained the remarkable appearance in two investigations of the late Magnus Essary, a man who, it seemed, was not so dead after all.

He looked up and across at her. 'You're telling me that this Father Green was picked up in a pub by some young tart, kil ed in some way or another, and certified as a heart-attack victim by this bent doctor, Amritraj.'

'Who's now done a runner himself,' Rose added.

'You're also telling me that this same Magnus Essary and his partner Ella Frances . ..'

'Who claimed the body and had it cremated.'

'... set up a wine-importing company together and rented space in the Viareggio family warehouse, which they never used. And when the deal was done, the only guy who saw either of them was Beppe Viareggio himself.'

'That sums it up.'

'And your theory is .. .'

'That it has to be an insurance scam. It's got nothing to do with the wine business. That was a pure front; there's no evidence that they imported a single bottle. My bet is that if we trawl round the major companies we'll find a large term insurance policy written on the life of Magnus Essary.'

'Why would they set up a company to do that?' asked Pringle.

'I can think of a couple of reasons. Better rates for a start; also, it's common practice for small businesses to have big policies on the lives of key people, but an individual doing it might attract more attention.'

'And if you're right, how quickly would they pay out after a death?'

'I have no idea. That's one of the many things we need to find out; which is why I'm here tonight. Who does the finding out? This man Essary is central to a crime that's been committed in my territory, but 244

Greg Jay's looking for him as well. We don't want to duplicate effort, so . . .' She let the rest of her question hang in the air.

'He's yours, Maggie,' the head ofCID answered at once. 'You picked the bal up, so you run with it. I'l brief Jay in the morning. Do you need anything from me, other than that decision?'

'I don't think so, but if I do, I'l give you a shout, don't worry.'

'What do you plan to do, then?'

'Ask around the major life offices, first thing in the morning; that's top priority. But I'm also going to find out as much as I can about Essary, starting at the General Register Office.'

'Good idea,' Pringle muttered. 'Do we go public on this?' he added, almost to himself.

'Please no, Clan,' said Rose, quickly. 'The real Essary is stil out there, thinking he's got away with it. I've already got Strathclyde to agree not to release the news that Father Green's been traced. I need him to think that he's in the clear.'

'Okay, you play it that way. But don't be surprised if he's no' just in the clear, but in the bloody Bahamas by now.'

'Are you going to be able to talk to me about your new job?' she asked.

Neil Mcllhenney propped himself on an elbow and looked down at her, then reached under the duvet and pinched himself on the right buttock, hard enough to make himself wince.

'What are you doing?' she asked again, amused.

'Making sure I'm awake,' he answered, 'and that I really am in bed with Louise Bankier, actress. I'm surprised you've never caught me at it before.'

'You're in bed with your wife, my darling. What my day job used to be is irrelevant. It's yours that matters now.'

'Not to the kids, it isn't. Have you any idea how many Brownie points they've picked up at school since you and I got hitched? Lauren's become a sort of icon among her pals, and as for Spencer .. . I've told that wee bugger that if I ever catch him selling your autograph again, I'll ground him for a year.'

He reached over and flicked a strand of hair away from her eye.

'Anyway, you're not completely out of your day job. They haven't even finished the edit of your Edinburgh movie, and there'll be the premieres and al that other stuff.'

'Well, the kids will love that too. But once it's over, I'm out of the business, for at least five years. That's what I promised you and I wil stick to it.'

'It's a promise I never asked you to make.'

'I know. That's what makes it all the more important to me. I'm your wife, Neil; and I've never been so happy in any role, honestly.' She looked him in the eye. 'Remember what I said about me having a baby?'

He gasped. 'You're not, are you?'

'No . .. not as far as I know, anyway. However I have been to see a specialist, up at the Murrayfield Hospital, and she assured me that, physical y, everything's fine and that there's no reason why I can't. We know you're in good working order .. . you've just proved that... so ...'

He laughed. 'I'll keep my efforts up, so to speak. But remember, it's pot luck at the end of the day.'

246

'I know. Look at Maggie and Mario. How long have they been married now?'

His expression changed. 'Ah, but that isn't a matter of luck . . . well, maybe it is, but it's bad luck on Mario's part. Randy big sod that he is, he's unfortunate in that respect. Don't tell him I told you, though.'

'As if I would! It's bad luck for Maggie too, though. I know she maintains her career-woman image, but the truth is, I think she'd like to have a baby.'

'She tel you that?'

'Not exactly; it's just a feeling I have. But don't you mention it to her.'

'Of course not.' He ran a finger round the edge of one of her big brown nipples. 'Speaking of keeping secrets, I know this sounds a bit sil y in this day and age, but when you're doing the publicity interviews and stuff for the new movie, if any joumo asks you about me, and about what I do, tel them I'm a copper, that's fine, but don't get specific, okay? I mean I wil talk to you about my job, but it is a bit sensitive, and I wouldn't hold it long if it was mentioned in Hello magazine and the like.'

'I understand. I promise, my angel; you wil remain a man of mystery as far as my public is concerned.' She gave a shiver under his touch.

'Hey,' she murmured, 'do that some more. I'm approaching peak fertility just now, you know.'

Neil moved closer to her. 'I'l have to see what I can do, then.'

He was about to show her, when the bedside phone rang. 'McGuire,'

she heard him growl as he picked it up. 'This is just like the old days when you were single and used to phone me at al bloody hours.'

'Perish the thought,' his friend answered. 'I'm sorry, pal ... and say sorry to Lou as well ... but this is important, and I didn't want to cal you about it from home.'

In the background Neil could hear soft music. 'Where the hell are you,then?'

'I'm at Paula's. We'd some business to discuss.'

'You just watch it there, son. I remember her from the old days, as well.'

'Aye, but we're grown up now, though. Listen now; you got a pen handy?'

'As always.'

'Right, get it; because there's some stuff I need checked out on the QT, and I can't do it myself without making waves. It's the sort of thing that's best handled through your office, not mine. I need chapter and verse and I need it damn quick.'

Bob Skinner sat in the waiting room of the place that morticians, or undertakers, around the English-speaking world describe discreetly as the chapel of rest; the showroom for their skills, as he thought of it. He had seen his parents-in-law in death, and although he knew that they would look vastly different when presented to their daughter, he did not wish to repeat the experience.

He had been in similar places before in his life; for his parents, for his maternal grandmother, who had died when he was twenty-two, and for Myra, his first wife, whose death in a speeding car had haunted him for almost twenty years, to a point at which it had become the catalyst for his brief separation from Sarah.

No, he had sworn, and he had meant it. The next time he would be in another of those soft-lit, well-ventilated rooms, the serene, made-up face in the white-lined coffin would be his own.

He sat alone with his grim thoughts for twenty minutes; for most of that time he pondered the chain that he and Doherty had uncovered, connecting the four men who had met a few months before in Altoona,

Pennsylvania, and who had al died violent deaths. If the FBI hackers had indeed uncovered the truth about their Service past, then, circumstantial or not, it was dynamite. And if their record of those days did exist, and said what Doherty believed, it could go nuclear. Yet Skinner was wary. He was an experienced detective, with the hunting instinct of a jungle animal, but he was in someone else's forest now, a place where the prey had sharp teeth too.