Skinner's Rules Read Online Free PDF Page B

solid, steadfast adult friends.
    Marriage was not discussed. Sarah, having been engaged once, painfully, had no desire to rush back into that state. And in any event, it had hardly seemed necessary.
    Their relationship, as they had agreed early on, was never discussed at work. But equally they had agreed that they would make no elaborate attempts to hide it. Her years in New York City had taught Sarah the value of privacy, but she realised that Edinburgh was a village by comparison, where secrets guarded too jealously rarely kept safe for long. And Andy Martin was too good a detective and too close to Bob not to have happened early upon the truth.
    He had soon begun to notice his boss disappear more often at lunchtime than was natural for him, and had noticed too the new air of relaxation which he wore at work. However, when he had stumbled on the secret it had been by accident, calling in at Gullane one Sunday morning, with his wind-surfer strapped to the roof of his car. It was 11.00 a.m. The boss never, ever, slept late.
    ‘Hello, Andy,’ the big tousled figure in the blue silk dressing gown had said as he opened the door. ‘You’ll have had your breakfast, then?’
    And he had called into the kitchen. ‘Come on out, love, it’s the polis!
    So Andy had been admitted into the secret circle, and when the two had disappeared together in July heading for L’Escala on the Costa Brava, where Bob had a small apartment, he had said not one word to encourage the one or two who remarked on the coincidence of the Big Man and the Young Doctor being on holiday at the same time.
    July was a fond memory, and on that dark November morning it was still summer for Skinner and Sarah Grace, even as they drove into Edinburgh on their grim business.
    On the road, Skinner repeated Andy’s message, to prepare her for what she would see. He could sense her shudder in the passenger seat beside him. Nevertheless when they arrived at the scene of the murder, she was all professionalism. She approached the black thing huddled in the doorway, despite a combination of nauseating smells of squalor, abuse, decay and destruction.
    She gave Skinner a running commentary as she worked. ‘Almost total immolation by fire of the front part of the body. It’s definitely male, but God knows what the age might be. It’s hard to tell, because of the reaction to fire, but the hands look as if they were heavily arthritic. If that’s the case, it would have been difficult, if not impossible, for this poor lump to strike a match.’
    Martin broke in, ‘In any event, look at this.’
    Skinner followed his pointing finger and saw a five-litre Duckham’s oil can which stood against the damp wall of the close. It was still possible to see where the fire had been started and to follow its course to the corpse, across the scorched flagstones.
    ‘No doubt about it, is there? Who found it?’
    ‘Young couple in a passing car. She saw the flames. The bloke had a fire extinguisher in the car. He put it out, but the poor bugger was a cinder by then. No reported sightings, but there were fewer people about than usual on a Saturday morning. The punters must be saving up early for Christmas.’
    Skinner nodded in agreement. ‘We’ve got no reason to believe that there’s a connection between this and the Mortimer affair, but two murders in two closes in the same week is a Hell of a big coincidence In any case I don’t want us to be accused of trying less hard for a wino than for an advocate, so let’s repeat everything we’ve done so far in the first one.
    ‘Let’s go up to the High Street office. Come on, Doctor, I’ll treat you to breakfast.’ He handed Martin a five-pound note. ‘Here, Andy, you’re a detective. See it you can detect some bacon rolls and coffee on a Saturday morning.’

7
    The Edinburgh media were less equipped to handle a murder story on a weekend morning. Nevertheless, Skinner knew that the tip-off machine would make it necessary for