Dead Man’s Tale - Bob Skinner Series 37 (2025) by Jardine Quintin

Author:Jardine, Quintin [Jardine, Quintin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Forty-Two

As she emerged from the International Arrivals doorway in Copenhagen Airport, Sarah Grace Skinner looked a little uncertain as she surveyed the throng of waiting greeters. Most of them were holding up signs, but not one bore her name, as far as she could see. She made her way past the crowd, wheeling her case awkwardly, with the straps of her cabin bag around the twin pillars of its handle, and her medical bag in her left hand.

‘Let me take that,’ her husband said, stepping out of nowhere and grasping the suitcase handle.

‘Where were you?’ she exclaimed.

‘I had you under surveillance,’ he replied. ‘And you didn’t spot me. I used to be pretty good at that: seems that I haven’t lost my touch.’

She squeezed his arm. ‘You and your bloody boys’ games.’

He grinned. ‘No, the truth is I was outside, making a phone call. This building’s a bit of a signal-free zone.’

She looked around. ‘So this is Denmark. How do we get to Sweden? Rail? That’s what the investigation coordinator told me.’

‘Indeed?’ Bob remarked. ‘Then cops do outrank pathologists, it seems. They sent a car for Sauce and Stirling. There’s no danger of us taking the train, love. The locals told me it’s unreliable, and you have to be at the hospital on time, so I hired a car through the hotel . . . and a driver,’ he added. ‘He picked me up from the hospital and he’ll take us back there, after a stop-over at the hotel so you can drop off your luggage.’

‘And freshen up,’ she interjected. ‘I took off from Barcelona not long after sun-up, and I had a rush to catch the connecting flight. To use my favourite Scots word, I must be mingin’.’

He leaned closer to her and sniffed. ‘Can’t argue with that,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Bastard.’ She dug him in the ribs. ‘But first things first. How’s Nacho?’ she asked, suddenly serious.

‘Not as great as he was last night; post-op pain’s kicking in.’

‘And how are you?’

‘Not as good as I was last night. His surgeon told me something this morning that I wish she hadn’t. He was shot by a police sniper on the roof of a multi-storey block. Given the angle of the wound and the point of impact, if the building had been one storey higher the bullet would have gone through his spine, likely outcome paralysis.’

‘Or worse; add on a stoma bag and possibly a bladder reconstruction. The surgeon didn’t tell him that, did she?’

‘God no, and she won’t.’

‘She better not, or she’ll have me to answer to.’

As she spoke they arrived at their taxi, an immaculate Mercedes saloon. The driver greeted them; he loaded Sarah’s luggage into the boot, and would have taken her medical bag, if she had allowed it. They were pulling away from the taxi rank when she spoke again. ‘How is everything now? I gather from the media that the Swedish PM came through surgery, but she’s still critical.’

‘She’ll make it, Nacho’s surgeon said,’ Bob replied. ‘She might have one of those bags, though.

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