Deadlock

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Maybe you’ll find my old coffee machine if you move your headquarters back to Edinburgh.’

  ‘Is that what you would do?’ McIlhenney asked.

  ‘Now you want my input?’ his friend murmured. ‘I’d never have been here in the first place. I know it was decided by the Police Authority and they were following a hint dropped by the Justice Secretary, but if I’d been in your chair at the time, I’d have made my view clear, that the headquarters of a national force belong either in the capital city or the largest city, and that siting them somewhere in between is puerile.’ He broke off as McGuire re-joined them.

  ‘The victim was mixed race,’ he announced. ‘DNA analysis suggests that a grandparent was West African, Ghanaian or Nigerian.’

  ‘Shit,’ Skinner sighed. ‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’ His eyes moved from one to the other. ‘Does the name Clyde Houseman mean anything to either of you guys?’ he asked.

  The DCC nodded. ‘I know what he is,’ he replied, ‘although I’ve never met him. Lowell Payne might have, given that our counter-terrorism activity falls within the same broad network.’ He looked at the chief constable. ‘Clyde Houseman is the Security Service’s specialist spook on Scotland . . . not the only one, but the only permanent presence . . .’ He smiled and glanced at Skinner. ‘. . . apart from Sir Robert here, who’s got discreet and informal links, since he and the Director General go back a long way.’

  ‘I know about that,’ McIlhenney said, nodding. ‘He hauled me into an operation in London a couple of years ago, one that will never figure in anyone’s memoirs.’

  McGuire’s dark eyes widened: he had believed he knew all of Skinner’s secrets, even if Skinner did not know all of his. Masking his surprise, he moved on. ‘There’s contact between Houseman and our Special Branch team under Payne, but they don’t operate together. He wouldn’t overlap at all with Serious Crimes, Lottie’s operation, so it’s unremarkable that the idea of an MI5 link to the property didn’t occur to her.’

  The chief looked back at him. ‘As it didn’t to you, mate,’ he murmured.

  ‘Touché,’ he conceded.

  In the silence that followed, Skinner gazed at them, considering the wisdom of having friends as close as the Glimmer Twins in the top two positions of a national police service. He knew everything about them as police officers, and almost everything as men, including a secret so dark it could have ended the careers of everyone it touched, including his own for letting it stay buried. ‘It’s good to see you two challenging each other,’ he said quietly. ‘You have to, if this is going to work. If it doesn’t, I might be looking for my old job back. There’s no one else I’d trust in that chair over there.’

  McIlhenney smiled and flexed his shoulders. ‘That’s comforting to hear, but I’m not too worried either way. If it doesn’t, I can always go chasing a seat in the Scottish Parliament, now that the precedent’s been set. Is your newspaper going to endorse Andy when the election comes along, Bob?’

  ‘He’s an SNP candidate,’ his friend replied, ‘and our newspaper isn’t called the Saltire for nothing. But that’s in the future. In the present, what am I going to tell Dame Amanda Dennis?’

  ‘From the sound of things,’ McGuire said, ‘you’re going to have to tell her to look for a new resident in Scotland.’ He chuckled. ‘Or will you take it on as another part-time job?’

  ‘Cheeky bastard,’ Skinner growled. ‘There’s something else she’s going to want to know when I break the news about Houseman, and that is . . . what the hell are you bright boys doing to find out who killed him? And by the way, don’t come to me for ideas. You need to be seen to stand on your own feet, remember.’

  Forty-One

  ‘I’ve got to tell you it’ll be good to have you back, Noele,’ DCI Sauce Haddock declared. ‘I didn’t fancy any of the DI candidates the DCC put before me. Every one of them was older than me for a start, and every one had more experience in the rank than I had before I was bumped up. I had feedback from a mate that one of them had been heard saying in the canteen that he didn’t fancy taking orders from a fast-tracker with a degree. I sent word back to him to stop worrying about it because it wasn’t going to happen, ever. I’m not a bloody fast-tracker,’ he said indignantly. ‘I joined the force as fast as I could after college, because it’s what I always wanted to do. And I’ve only made DCI because Sammy went and died. If it would bring him back they could demote me to DC.’

  ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Sauce,’ McClair told him. ‘I’ve worked with you, and I know you’ve made it on merit. Sammy was a high-flyer too, remember. If he hadn’t contracted his illness, he’d have made detective super by now and you’d have been bumped up anyway.’

  ‘Crawler,’ Haddock chuckled.

  ‘That’ll be the day,’ she retorted. ‘It’s true and you’ll realise it if you think about it.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She saw him wink on her phone screen. ‘There’s no harm in having your ego boosted though.’

  As she appraised him, it struck her that Haddock was no longer the young pup he had been when she had moved out of Serious Crimes a year earlier. He seemed older, with lines around his eyes that had not been there before, and perhaps with a slightly higher forehead. The burden that he had taken on, running a short-staffed unit because of Pye’s absence on sick leave through his inevitably fatal disease, and her own departure seemed to have left its mark upon him. Or, she realised, there might be a simpler domestic explanation.

  ‘How are the new Mrs Haddock and the even newer baby?’ she asked.

  ‘Samantha’s good as gold, but she’s voracious. Cheeky’s knackered from feeding her, but you should see her, Noele. I don’t think she’s ever been happier. I’m not sure she’ll go back to work once her maternity leave’s over. Not with the firm anyway. Her grandpa’s been on at her for a couple of years to work for him. She’s starting to think about the flexibility it would give her.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’

  ‘I’m easy about it. Cameron McCullough’s a lot more open about his business activities these days. He’s come out as a venture capitalist, with a knack of making everything he touches turn to gold. You should see him with the baby, him and Mia, I never thought of her as great-granny material, but she’s a natural, although you call her that at your peril.’

  ‘What about her granny, Cheeky’s mum?’

  ‘Inez? She’s seen her, but the child will never spend a minute alone in that woman’s company. Cheeky and I are agreed about that. My mother-in-law is an idiot and a sociopath.’

  ‘I’m lucky then, my mum’s great. She’s practically bringing up Harry. She’s his principal child-minder.’

  ‘And how are you?’ Haddock asked suddenly. ‘Are you good now?’

  ‘Am I over the loss of my sad ex-husband and my psychotic lover?’ she said. ‘I think so. It’ll be a long time before I have another serious involvement, that I can promise you. I am sort of venturing out again; I thought about a Tinder account but decided very quickly that would be a bad idea, personally and professionally. I have had a few walks and garden coffees, with a much older man, a divorcee.’ She grinned. ‘I’ve thought about shagging him, but he does talk about some very nice restaurants that he’ll take me to when they’re open, and I wouldn’t want to put that in jeopardy.’

  ‘Why should it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to embarrass him,’ Noele confessed. ‘At his age he might not be up to the job.’

  ‘You know, Inspector McClair, that sounds discriminatory to me. A touch of ageism.’

  ‘That’s true,’ she conceded, ‘and maybe an old dog could teach me some new tricks. He might not know himself until he sees the rabbit. Maybe I should park Harry with my mum and invite him for dinner at my place.’

  ‘Have him for dinner, more like.’

  ‘I’ll have to give that
some thought. For now I’ll concentrate on next Monday. How’s the team? Still the same?’

  ‘Yes,’ Haddock said. ‘Tarvil Singh’s still taking up as much space, and as you know, Jackie Wright finally passed her sergeant’s exam and was promoted. That leaves us looking for a new DC. Any ideas?’

  He saw her frown. ‘I hadn’t, because I poured cold water on the kid’s ambition earlier on, but I have a PC here who has stars in her eyes. She’s only twenty-two, ears still dripping wet, but actually she’s very good. She’d be a gamble, but she does show initiative.’

  ‘Give me her name and I’ll check her out.’

  ‘Tiggy Benjamin. You should be able to access her file. She’s full of ideas, and imagination. There were a couple of sudden deaths in Gullane, elderly people, one was misadventure, the other an accident, pure and simple, but she found a link between them and was ready to start a hunt for a serial killer.’

  ‘I’ve heard more outlandish scenarios,’ the DCI suggested.

  ‘The link was a kid on a bike, early teens. Good thinking by her, but nothing in it. Sauce, I was at both scenes; trust me, both have been signed off by the fiscal and you do not want to be the person who asks for the files to be reopened.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll accept that; but I will take a look at PC Benjamin. I was a wet-eared twenty-two-year-old myself, not so long ago.’

  Forty-Two

  Lottie Mann gazed up at the deputy chief constable, but not by much. His summons to an early morning meeting in her Glasgow office had taken her by surprise, but its subject, when he finished revealing it, had astonished her. ‘You’re telling me that those premises are owned by MI bloody 5?’

  Mario McGuire nodded. ‘That’s what I’m saying, but I repeat, that’s not to be shared with anyone, not even DS Cotter. Chief Constable McIlhenney and I spoke with the Director General last night. She’s adamant that nothing leaks. There’s a vague awareness that Security Service operations can cross the border, and even that they can overlap with our own intelligence activities, but the fact that they maintain a permanent covert presence in Scotland, that would be dynamite.’

  ‘Did you know?’ the DCI asked, bluntly.

  ‘I was aware that they had a staff member who took a particular interest,’ he admitted. ‘ACC Payne was aware too. Members of his team might even have met the individual to share intelligence they had gathered that might affect UK national security. But none of us actually knew officially that he had a flat in Candleriggs that was paid for by Millbank.’

  ‘Why such secrecy? I can understand they might not want the Scottish Sun publishing the address, but . . .’

  ‘Because while it wouldn’t come as a complete surprise to the First Minister, the Justice Minister, the Lord Advocate, and the rest of the Holyrood cabinet don’t have a clue about it. Given that they belong to a party whose prime objective is to break away from the state whose integrity MI5 exists to protect, I’ll let you work out how unhappy they’d be, and how big a political crisis there might be.’

  ‘They’d think that MI5 was spying on the Scottish independence lobby? Is that what you’re suggesting, sir?’

  ‘Spot on.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Treat it as an ordinary homicide, Lottie, and for everybody’s peace of mind, keep the background suppressed and solve it as fast as you can.’

  ‘It would help if we knew who the victim was,’ Mann pointed out.

  ‘Bob Skinner thinks it’s a man named Clyde Houseman. Ex-Royal Marine, ex-special forces, now on the Security Service payroll and their man in Candleriggs.’

  ‘Eh?’ she exclaimed. ‘How does Bob Skinner know?’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Lottie, what doesn’t Bob know?’

  Forty-Three

  ‘I can’t imagine playing golf at your level, Anne,’ Bob Skinner confessed. ‘I’m a mid-handicap hacker these days.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ the old lady replied in a firm, strong voice. ‘I’ve seen you play. I haven’t forgotten being drawn against you and your daughter in the Hanky Panky competition a few years ago, when I was still playing a full round. You were off five, hit the ball a mile and rarely missed a green. Granted, you couldn’t read a putt to save your life, but you could have been a scratch player if you’d devoted the time to it.’

  ‘Thanks. I remember that match too. You didn’t play a full round then either; you won four and three and to rub it in you and your partner were both in your eighties. Alex couldn’t believe it, she’s barely played since.’

  ‘From what I’ve read of her, she’s been far too busy. Like you, I suppose. You should play more, now you’ve retired.’

  ‘Only from the police service,’ Skinner protested. ‘I’m busier than ever with my new job.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Mrs Eaglesham nodded. ‘You’re a media typhoon, according to the Financial Times.’

  He smiled. ‘You mean “tycoon”.’

  ‘That’s what the FT said, but I choose my words carefully. Can I invest in your company? Is it quoted in Spain, or anywhere else?’

  ‘No, it’s mostly family owned . . . not my family unfortunately.’

  ‘Is there an heir?’ she asked.

  ‘Xavi, the majority shareholder, has a daughter. There’s a stepson, but his copybook is pretty blotted. Paloma will inherit, eventually. In preparation her father is sending her to LSE; after that she’s bound for Edinburgh to do a business administration masters.’

  ‘No other family?’

  ‘There are half-sisters, through his mother’s second marriage. One of them is managing editor of the Saltire, but they’re not in the line of succession and June isn’t on the main board.’

  ‘Your friend must be quite a man. I remember him too; I was a Hearts season ticket holder when he played for them. The man Draper was foolish to sell him to Merrytown. He was the best goalie we’d had in years and look what happened to him after he left. Injured his knee and never played again.’

  ‘That’s dealt with in his autobiography,’ Skinner said.

  ‘I didn’t know there was one,’ Mrs Eaglesham confessed. ‘Is it still in print?’

  ‘It never was, in the sense you mean. It was commissioned by Xavi himself, as a record of his life, but only ever given to people close to him. It’s called The Loner. It was ghost-written by our friend Matthew Reid, although he used a pseudonym to avoid confusion with his detective series. I have a copy; if it ever was published it’d be a best-seller.’

  ‘The ubiquitous Mr Reid. It was good of him to answer my cry for help.’

  ‘Good of him?’ Skinner exclaimed, leaning hard on the pronoun.

  ‘Good of him, and even better of you,’ she added. ‘For you actually went to the store to fetch me the damn poultry food. I still can’t believe I let myself run out.’

  He reached out and touched the egg-box that lay on the garden table at which they sat. ‘Your hens are still productive,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much, Anne. We’ll have them for breakfast tomorrow, I promise. I had no idea you kept them.’

  ‘Nor do many people in Gullane. The chicken run isn’t overlooked by my neighbours, and I don’t let them run free when I’m not there to keep an eye on them. Damn foxes!’

  ‘Are they a problem?’

  ‘Not if I see them. I shoot the buggers. And before you ask, yes, I do have a shotgun certificate.’

  He laughed softly. ‘That’s not my business any longer. Mind you, I wouldn’t tell too many people about it.’

  ‘Why not? I shoot bloody magpies too,’ she confessed. ‘Wicked little buggers those are. Give them half a chance and all my eggs would be gone.’

  ‘Maybe so, but I hate to think what some of the members of the Gullane Facebook News Group would make of it.’

  ‘Make of it what they will,’ she declared. ‘This is my garden and I’ll control the wild life as I cho
ose.’

  ‘I won’t argue with that,’ Skinner said, looking around. ‘You know you really have a beautiful property, Anne. Can I visit you in spring and summer, when more things are in flower, not just the forsythia?’

  ‘You may, Bob. Mind you, it’s not always as tidy as this. That young fellow came back, the one I told you about, the one with the bike. He asked me for work once again and this time I relented. I give him my leaf blower and a rake and had him gather up all the fallen leaves. He filled the brown bin and three black sacks. He worked like a little Trojan, God bless him. I gave him thirty quid and a bottle of Lucozade; he wasn’t so keen on that, but not many people are. I don’t know why I buy the stuff. Habit, I suppose.’

  ‘What was the kid’s name? When you told me about him I asked my lads who he might be, but they said he didn’t sound familiar.’

  ‘I don’t know, because I never asked. I did ask him to come back in a month. He said he’d try. I’ll find out then.’

  ‘You didn’t let him in the house, did you?’

  ‘I had to,’ Mrs Eaglesham said. ‘He wanted to use the bathroom. So can you if you need to,’ she added. ‘I could hardly let the child pee against a tree, could I? Don’t worry, he left his jacket slung over his bicycle and his pockets weren’t bulging when he left. Why are you so interested in him anyway, Bob?’

  ‘I’m not,’ Skinner replied, ‘but he or someone very like him nearly ran over my toes on the pavement in the main street few days ago. I made a mental note to show him the error of his ways.’

  ‘Bob, really, he’s only a child. Anyway, you might not get a chance to show him anything. I don’t think he’s from Gullane. His accent was wrong; he didn’t have the East Lothian twang that most kids do around here. Mind you, with all of these new houses that have gone up over the last couple of years, who’s to know where anyone’s from?’

  Forty-Four

  ‘In a couple of days this investigation will be a week old,’ DCI Lottie Mann pointed out, addressing her team. ‘Have we achieved anything that a naïve member of the public might interpret as progress?’