As Skinner and McGuire jumped out, each ducking instinctively under the decelerating rotor arm, they saw two red-capped soldiers a distance away, where the hill began to slope, standing beside a green Land Rover.
One wore sergeant's stripes; the other approached. 'Mr Arrow,' he began. 'Colonel Fielding, Military Police.' McGuire noted the odd deference; from Colonel to Major. 'Glad you could get here so quickly; a real bloody mess this is.'
The soldier ignored the two policemen; Skinner bridled. 'Then maybe you'd tell us about it, Colonel. I'm Deputy Chief Constable Bob Skinner and this is Detective Inspector Mario McGuire. What is this and, since we're on military property, what the hell does it have to do with us?'
Fielding looked at him. 'I'll show you presently,' he said, coldly. 'Get into the vehicle. Once I've briefed Mr Arrow, we'll take you to it.'
A large part of the DCC wanted to point out to the Colonel that in equivalent ranking terms he was addressing a general; he might have done it too, had Arrow not stepped in. 'Let's not fanny about, Colonel,' he said quietly. 'Just take us there, now.'
'Very good,' the man replied, as stiff as his uniform.
The Land Rover was even less comfortable than the helicopter, it bounced over the rough terrain as the sergeant driver made his way round the hillside, then down, then round once more until he drew carefully to a halt, on an upslope.
Skinner glanced up as he climbed out; two more military policemen stood at the top of the crest, carrying carbines, on guard.
'This way,' Fielding called out, briskly and led them up the slope. 'There,' he said, as he reached the top, with something like awe in his voice.
Arrow, Skinner and McGuire stood on the rim of a small clearing. In the centre, on its back, lay the body of a man. It, and the area around it, was soaked in blood; the head was thrown back, and the throat gaped open.
The trio gazed at the sight in silent horror, until McGuire let out a half-gasp, half-cry of relief.
'What is it, Mario?' Skinner asked.
'I thought they were going to show us Andy Martin, Boss.'
He stepped down into the clearing, leading the other two as they approached the corpse and walked around it in a wide circle.
'Christ,' Skinner murmured. 'Is that a finger, bitten off?' No-one answered; no need. 'His throat's been torn out. What the pluperfect fuck did that? Is there a circus animal on the loose up here? Or are you guys training vampires as soldiers now? And how does this relate to ...'
'I can tell you what did it,' Fielding broke in, quietly. 'Just under three hours ago, a platoon of Scots Guards was on exercise not far from here, when they heard two gunshots. There was supposed to be no-one else on the hill, so they investigated.' He pointed to the blood-drenched body. 'They found this. On top of him, was a man. His hands were tied tight behind his back, and his face and torso were covered in blood. He was gripping a Colt pistol, and his teeth were locked tight into this thing's throat.
'He had killed him, gentlemen, not even with his bare hands; he had killed him like an animal.'
Skinner stared at him, numbly, trying to comprehend what he was being told.
'At first, the soldiers thought they were both dead. Then when they touched the man on top, he went berserk. He was incoherent, swearing, rambling. They had to take him forcibly from the body and restrain him a little away. Then they called for Military Police and medical assistance.
'While they were waiting, they searched him. He wasn't wearing a jacket, but on a chain around his neck, they found a police warrant card, identifying him as Detective Chief Superintendent Andrew Martin.'
In spite of himself, the DCC felt his throat go dry and his knees go weak. Unseen by anyone else, Adam Arrow grabbed his elbow, supporting him. 'Where is he now?' he asked, hoarsely.
'He was put under heavy sedation by the medics and airlifted to the Hospital Unit at Glencorse Barracks.'
'What else did you find here?' McGuire asked.
'Only that pistol. There were two discharged rounds in the magazine and four live bullets scattered around, one of them at the dead man's feet, almost hidden from sight.
'Now,' the MP colonel continued, his tone conciliatory for the first time, 'can you gentlemen tell me who this is and what's happened here?'
'I can,' said the Head of Special Branch. 'This man here was one Lawrence Scotland, who's been under my department's surveillance for years. He was once a professional assassin, involved in Ireland on the Loyalist side, with several known kills to his name, but he had been inactive for some time.
'Last night Mr Martin went, alone, to pick him up for interview in relation to a current murder investigation. Scotland wasn't assessed as a real suspect, or as a risk, but he had had dealings in the past with the dead man.' He looked at the MP.
'Tell me something. The two spent cartridges in the gun; were they in successive chambers, side by side?'
Fielding walked across the clearing; none of them had noticed the gun lying there; he picked it up, and broke the breech. 'No. There's an empty chamber between them.'
'Aye, I thought so. This is what happened. I must have been wrong in my assessment of Scotland. He must have been involved in that murder after all. When DCS Martin turned up to interview him, he took him prisoner and brought him up here to kill him.
'Only he decided to have a bit of fun first; play a game of Russian Roulette. He underestimated his man though. While Andy Martin's breathing, he's dangerous. Scotland made a mistake somewhere along the line and DCS Martin, hands tied and all, just tore right through him.'
The MP frowned. 'But why would he bring him up here to kill him?'
'Sorry, Colonel,' Skinner intervened, his composure recovered. 'That part of the story's for Mr Arrow's ears only. Adam, I want you to take me to see Andy, right away.'
'Sure. We'll take the chopper there now.'
'But what about this?' Fielding protested, pointing at the ravaged body. 'What do I do with him?'
'Get a shovel,' the DCC snapped. 'I want him buried up here. Your people, and the soldiers who found them, I want them all told that they've been hallucinating. This never happened. Lawrence Scotland goes on our missing-persons list, only we won't be looking for him.'
The MP turned to Arrow. 'Do it,' said the little man, in a flat, clipped tone. 'I will speak personally to all the men involved. If they want to have army careers, indeed if they want to have futures at all, they will do what I tell them.'
The Colonel made a mistake. He frowned. 'I don't know ...' he began.
Arrow stepped up close to him; very close. 'Listen,' he whispered. 'If that man there asked me to bury you up here, I'd start digging. So: do as you're told.'
44
'Look, are you guys going about this systematically?' Karen Neville asked the Operations Inspector.
'Of course we are, Sergeant. But have you any idea how many white Mondeos there are in our area, let alone how many white motor vehicles? I will find this car for you, but I won't give you any guarantee as to how long it will take me.
'Now. I don't care whose bloody office you're in, stop being so bloody pushy and back off. Or I will call my boss, and have him call ACC Elder, and have him lean on your boss ... I think he still outranks him. Or am I wrong?'
'He doesn't outrank Bob Skinner though. Do you want to talk to him?'
The phone at the other end of the line was slammed down.
'Karen,' said Sammy Pye. 'I think you should calm down. You losing it is not going to help us find him.'
'Plodding so-and-sos like him aren't going to help us either,' she shot back.
Pye stood and walked across to her desk; he sat in the edge and took her hand. 'Listen, Sarge,' the young Detective Constable murmured gently. 'You're giving away too much here. At the moment only we know that Mr Martin's missing; but pretty soon others are going to twig, and here you are sending the message loud and clear to everyone you speak to that this thing goes way beyond the professional with you.
'If that
gets back to the DCS when he does turn up, that could be very embarrassing for him - and problematical for you, because you know he won't like it.'
She gave his hand a quick squeeze. 'You're right, I'm sorry. I'll tell you what, you do all the talking from now on.'
The phone on her desk rang. Pye grinned and shook his head, as she picked it up automatically.
'Karen,' a steady voice said. 'This is Neil. Tell me why you are antagonising the entire ops room with this vehicle search of yours? I have just had a mate of mine on the blower yelling at me, insisting that I kick your shapely bottom.'
'You know why I'm doing it,' she answered.
She heard Mcllhenney's light, sad, laugh. 'Yes, love, I know. I couldn't tell him that though. Anyway, you are to stop it; cease; desist. This doesn't come from Ops; this comes from the Big Man himself. The DCS has turned up and he's safe.'
She slumped back into her chair, vision blurred with sudden tears.
'But there is to be no discussion of it,' the Inspector went on. 'In fact, after the waves you've made, best that you and Sammy just get out of everyone's way. Go and interview pigeons in the Botanies for the rest of the day.
'You'll be told where Andy is, maybe even get to see him, when Mr Skinner is good and ready. Till then, just be patient ... and be relieved.'
45
Glencorse Barracks and its hospital wing were probably Victorian, Skinner guessed, but the equipment was high-tech.
Andy Martin lay on a modern hospital bed, his upper body raised slightly and supported by pillows. He was either asleep or unconscious; the former, Skinner hoped. Sensors were stuck to his bare chest, leading to a cardiac monitor, on a shelf. The DCC was relieved to see that his heartbeat was strong, slow and regular.
'How is he?' he asked the young Army Medical Officer by his side. 'Was he hurt in any way?'
'Physically, very little. He has a split lip, some bruising to his face and his shoulder, but otherwise he's fine. Psychologically, I couldn't say. He was in shock when he was brought in here, rambling and delirious. I gave him a strong sedative, enough to knock him out for a few hours.
'I can't predict what he'll be like when he comes round. What happened to him? How did he get like this? I haven't been told, but he was in a hell of a mess. He reminded me of a soldier I saw once who was too close to a colleague when he stepped on a mine. But this man ... God, his teeth ... the time it took to clean them alone.'
'Don't ask, Doctor,' said the DCC quietly. 'I want to be here when he comes round, okay?'
'Of course. If you're a friend, seeing you should be good for him.'
The MO left the room. Skinner pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat, looking at his friend's sleeping face, and wondering what his dreams were like, hoping that he had none. He tried to imagine the scene in the Pentlands, and Andy's fight for his life. Jesus, what must Scotland have felt like having this mad, desperate, bull of a man coming at him. What a way to kill someone. He imagined being in the same situation himself, then remembered that he had been; that man was in an unmarked grave too. There are no rules in a fight for survival.
He sat for over an hour, waiting, not thinking of McGuire and Arrow in the corridor outside, thinking only of Andy, and of what he would say when he awoke.
At last he began to stir on the bed. He whispered something. One word, very softly, but Skinner caught it; 'Karen.'
His right shoulder twitched; his head made a butting movement, then began to roll from side to side. His jaws clamped tight working, working. His eyes flickered, closed again, flickered, then suddenly, opened wide. He sat bolt upright in bed with an expression on his face unlike any that Skinner had ever seen - a mixture of terror and sheer animal ferocity.
The big DCC jumped to his feet and held him, using all his own great strength to counter Andy's and press him back down on to the bed. 'Okay, son, it's okay.'
Martin's face cleared at last. 'Bob?' he said, in a dazed croak. 'Where am I? Have I been in an accident? Or shot, or something?
'Bloody hell, that was some nightmare I was having.' He looked at Skinner, read his face, and fell silent again. That unnatural look came back, but this time it was pure terror, and that alone, as everything came flooding back.
"That was no nightmare, was it?' he asked, at last. 'No, Andy boy. No, it wasn't.' 'Scotland. How's he?'
'How do you think? He's dead; you ripped his throat open.'
'Good!' For a second, the DCC was shocked by the intensity of the malice in his best friend's eyes, but then he remembered his own emotions at a similar time.
'I told the rat-fucker I would kill him. He should have believed me.'
'It's just as well he didn't. He wouldn't have played his bloody game if he had; he'd have shot you straight off.' 'You worked it all out then?'
'Mario did. So it was Scotland after all, Scotland who did Alec?' -
'I suppose so. Even though it took him years to pluck up the courage; but he had to play his game too. He had to get someone up there.'
'Why in Christ's name did you go for him on your own, Andy?' Skinner asked. 'A man with a history like that.'
'I guess I have to call it an error of judgement. Between you and me, I've got a few distractions in my private life right now. I've done smarter things in my time, right enough.'
He paused. 'On the other hand, if I had taken Sammy Pye with me, one of us would have been dead now. Probably both of us.'
'Aye, well. You can hold an inquiry into yourself, later. You're alive, so fuck the recriminations.'
'What happens now?' Martin asked. 'Report to the Fiscal?'
'Hell no. Nothing happens. It's all taken care of; you're in Army hands at the moment. Adam Arrow's involved and he's made everything go away, including what's left of Scotland.'
The younger man looked up at him. 'You've done that?'
'Too fucking right. Not just for you, for the force. I don't want any of the Alec Smith story to come out.'
'I told Scotland that too. But the guy was only into talking, not listening.' He pulled himself up into a sitting position.
'When can I get out of here?' he asked. 'There's someone I have to see/
'You can get out of here now, but you're coming home with me. No arguments; you're either under Sarah's care, or I'll leave you here with the Army doctor. We'll see how you're feeling tomorrow. Meantime, I've told everyone who needs to know that you're all right.'
Bob stood, and moved towards the door. 'I don't think you're going to want to see your clothes again, but I'll have the Army fix you up with some uniform stuff. Then you and I are going for a nice helicopter ride out to Gullane.'
46
The nine Legends sat around the table in the Golf Hotel bar, stunned and subdued. As a group they were rarely lost for a word but, after the bombshell which Skinner had dropped, not one of them had anything to say.
It was David McPhail who broke the seance-like silence with a blunt question. 'How come it took so long to identify him, Bob? I mean, a whole week...'
The DCC was stung by the implied criticism of Dan Pringle's team. 'Look,, nobody reported him missing. Edith and the family were away, and his colleagues didn't want to make their client base nervous.'
He looked across at McPhail and added tersely, 'The fact that he didn't have a fucking face wasn't a big help to us either. My wife did the post-mortem; she knew the Diddler well - he lived just up the road from us, remember - and she didn't know who it was.'
'What happened to him?' Grant Rock looked a wholly different man when he was being serious; this occurred so infrequently that the policeman felt almost as if he was facing a stranger.
'I don't like to talk about it, and I only tell you guys on the basis that it doesn't leave this room. He was tied to the bed at his son's place, then beaten to death with a baseball bat. We only made a positive identification from blood samples.'
'Tied to the bed,' Stewart Rees mused. 'Was the Diddler diddling again?'
'Let's not speculate about
that.' 'Has Edith been told?'
Skinner held up his empty glass and nodded to the Friday barmaid, prompting a rush of refills.
'I called France this afternoon,' he said, when everyone was settled again. 'They have a friend down there, a Scots guy; I met him once. I called him and had him go along to break the news to Edith. Always better face to face; it's harder to believe a voice on the telephone.
'She called me just before we came along here. Poor woman. She's flying home tomorrow morning with Victoria, Air France from Nice through Charles de Gaulle; I've said I'll meet them at the airport.'
'What are you going to do about your car?' Mcllhenney asked, casually. 'It's still up at Fettes, remember.'
'I'll pull rank. I'll have a patrol car pick me up in the morning and take me to collect it. Andy too, if Sarah says he can go home.'
The Inspector leaned back against the window and whispered, so that no-one else could hear. 'You going to tell me what happened today?'
Skinner shook his head.
'Never?'
Skinner nodded his head.
'Fair enough then,' Mcllhenney murmured. 'I won't ask again.'
'Bob,' said Mitch Laidlaw from across the table, 'it can't have escaped anyone's attention that two of our number have met violent deaths very close to each other.' He seemed to send a shiver round the table.
'It hasn't escaped mine, Mitch, that's for bloody sure. That's the other reason I called us all together... I mean, apart from believing it appropriate to give you all the bad news in person. You can forget the idea that there is any sort of a vendetta against our honoured group. There's no-one out there who wants our Thursday time at the Sports Centre so badly that he's prepared to bump us off one by one to get it.
'To put the thing in perspective, two guys who played together among us, for a fairly short time, set against the years we've been at it, met violent deaths within hours of each other. But they were very different deaths.'
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