07 - Skinner's Ghosts

by Quintin Jardine

  Skinner looked at McIlhenney, and shook his head. ‘Describe him,’ he snapped.

  She shrugged. ‘Wee bit smaller than you, slim like, dark hair.’

  Mick Grayson shook his head. ‘Naw, he wisnae like that. He was taller than yon man, and he had fair hair.’

  ‘Come on,’ McIlhenney barked, ‘make up your minds. Fair hair? Dark hair? Tall? Short? Which is it?’

  ‘Ah’m right,’ said Rose.

  ‘Naw ye’re no’!’ her husband insisted.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted Skinner, exasperated. ‘We’re agreed, then, that he wasn’t a bald-headed dwarf.’ He looked at Rose. ‘How about his car? What colour was it?’

  ‘Light,’ she answered. ‘But it was shining orange under the street light, so a couldnae tell for sure.’

  ‘What make?’

  She shrugged. ‘Ah dinnae ken things like that.’

  The DCC sighed. ‘Okay, one last thing. When the guy got to the top of the hill, did he turn right or left?’ She looked at him, befuddled. ‘Towards North Berwick, or towards Aberlady?’ he asked, patient once again.

  She paused, then nodded. ‘North Berwick. He wis heading for North Berwick,’ she announced, with a smile of satisfaction.

  Skinner nodded. ‘Good. Something at least. Right, that’s as far as we can take it. Come on, Neil.’ The policemen headed for the doorway, until Skinner turned. He pointed at Mick Grayson. ‘You,’ he said, evenly. ‘If I ever hear that you’ve hit your wife again, I’ll have you barred from every pub in East Lothian.’ He strode off, leading McIlhenney out, into the fresh air.

  ‘What a pair of disasters,’ the Sergeant exploded, outside.

  ‘Say that again,’ Skinner agreed. ‘Still, we’ve got something at least. Assuming it was our man, he was heading out of Gullane. There’s nowhere beyond the Post Office where he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb.’

  29

  ‘Does it take you any further?’

  Skinner shook his head. ‘Not really, Pam. I had hoped that we’d come up with a description of the guy, but not a double dose. That’s worse than useless. We can hardly announce that we’re looking for someone who’s either tall and fair or stocky and dark, or issue two photofits.’

  ‘Which one do you think is most likely to be accurate?’ she asked.

  ‘Hah! Take your pick on that one. The Graysons were both pissed as rats. The only thing she was certain about was the direction he took away from the scene.’

  ‘And does that help?’

  Skinner knitted his brows. ‘Maybe it does. It tells me that if he does have the boy hidden, it isn’t in Gullane itself. As I said to Big Neil, most of the holiday houses are to the west of the village. The eastern part was built much later. The houses are closer together, on smaller plots, and nearly all of them are occupied.’

  ‘So what do you do next?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Andy. We’ve pretty well decided to tell the press tomorrow that we’re widening the search to East Lothian. We can’t knock on every door in the county, but there are quite a few empty properties in North Berwick. We can check them, at least.’

  She looked at him doubtfully. ‘Is there much chance of a result?’

  He smiled, sadly. ‘Next to bugger all,’ he admitted. ‘But what else can we do? Andy’ll set the ball rolling at his press briefing tomorrow.’ He leaned back on the couch, the remnants of his late supper still on a tray in his lap, and sighed. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

  ‘Cheer up, love,’ she said. ‘At least the investigation’s still doing something.’

  ‘Yes, but to what purpose? It’s been three days since that phone call: three days since the guy said that we’d hear from him again. Three days with that wee boy at this nutter’s mercy. “At my disposition,” he said. It chills my blood, to think what might be happening to him.’

  She stood up, took the tray from him, laid it on the floor, and tugged at his arm. ‘Bob, enough,’ she said. ‘You look knackered and you sound depressed. It’s almost eleven. Let’s go to bed, even if it’s only to sleep.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, okay.’ He rose, wearily, taking her hand as she led him through to the bedroom.

  The bedside lamp was still on as she slipped in beside him, naked. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘We don’t have to sleep.’ He reached across, without a word, and switched the light off. They made love silently. Pamela, inventive as always, took the initiative, allowing him time to settle his mind and drawing his attention towards her. And yet, even as he climaxed, with his lover bucking and writhing astride him, there was a part of his mind that was somewhere else.

  She knew it, too. She was barely finished, before she rolled away and lay with her back to him in the dark. ‘That was a new twist,’ she said. ‘It’s usually the woman who fakes it!’

  He was moved by the hurt in her voice. ‘No, Pam, I didn’t, honest. It was good, great, like always. I just wasn’t really in the mood. I’m sorry, honey.’ He put a hand on her hip, and leaned over her, kissing her neck. She turned on to her back, and looked up at him.

  ‘What is it, then?’ she asked. ‘Second thoughts?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing to do with you and me,’ he promised. ‘I just can’t get this man out of my mind. He’s singled me out to be contacted. He killed Leona, and she was my friend. He kidnapped her son, the wee boy I rescued last year. It’s as if he’s speaking directly to me, and there’s a taunt in it. He even came to my home village to call me.

  ‘It’s as if he’s challenging me to guess where he’s hiding the kid.’

  He stopped short, and she could see his eyes, gleaming in the light from the window. ‘Can you imagine how angry that makes me? And how frustrated?’

  Pamela propped herself up on her elbows, the edge of the duvet falling around her waist. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, ‘I can imagine. I’m sorry I’m such a petulant bitch.’

  He laid a hand on the flat of her stomach, rubbing it gently. ‘You’re not,’ he murmured. ‘Not at all. You’re under pressure too, with the Spotlight article, and those appalling photos. With one thing and another, it’s as if we’re drowning, you and I.’

  She laid her hand on his, half a second before it suddenly clenched, tightening on her belly. ‘Drowning!’ he hissed, suddenly.

  30

  When the telephone rang, Alex and Andy were watching a video. One of the Batman series with interchangeable heroes and big-name villains, was reaching its conclusion.

  ‘Damn,’ said Skinner’s daughter, freezing the frame and picking up the telephone, to find her father on the other end. ‘Pops, really,’ she said. ‘We were just getting to the good bit.

  ‘Of the movie, I meant!’ She passed the phone to her f iancé.

  ‘Yes, Bob,’ said Martin. ‘What’s the panic?’

  ‘No panic, but a sudden thought. Quite clearly, this guy is thumbing his nose at me, with a call to my private line from my home village. This guy doesn’t want to get caught, but he does want to show us how clever, resourceful and daring he is. You agree with me?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll go along with that.’

  ‘Good, now try this one for size. If this guy is an expert on me, and knows about my connection with Mark, don’t you think he’s bound to know where I first encountered the child?’

  Martin whistled. ‘You think he might be hiding him up on the moors, where the plane went down?’

  ‘I don’t think, I wonder. Let’s postpone the press briefing tomorrow, and take a look up there.’

  ‘Okay,’ said the Head of CID, shifting his position against the back of the sofa, as Alex stood up to go into the kitchen. ‘I’ll do that, first thing. I’ll put men on all the roads, then get a helicopter to take a look at all the sheds and bothies scattered about up there.’

  ‘It makes sense, Andy,’ Skinner stressed. ‘We’re pretty certain that he took the laddie out of the city, yet he wouldn’t have risked being too long on the road, not with him in his car. Those moors
aren’t much more than half an hour from the McGrath house.’

  ‘Sure, I agree. We’ll do it, first thing. Now you get some sleep and let us finish our video.’

  He replaced the phone just as Alex came back into the living room, carrying two cans of Diet Coke. ‘What did Pops want?’ she asked.

  Andy grinned. ‘He’s had a hunch. You know what he’s like when he gets one of them.’

  ‘Do I! Is it a good one?’

  ‘Could be. They usually are.’

  Alex handed him his Coke, and sat beside him once again. He picked up the video control, but she put her hand on his before he could press the play button. ‘Andy,’ she whispered. ‘Do you think my dad’s losing it?’

  He looked at her, surprised. ‘Bob? Never. He’s still firing on all cylinders. What made you ask that, anyway?’

  She leaned her head on her shoulders. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said, sadly. ‘He just seems like such a lost soul just now.’

  Andy touched her chin, gently, and tilted her face towards him. ‘Love, you can see how much he’s missing Sarah and Jazz. So can I. So can the Chief. Your dad’s the only one who doesn’t realise it.’

  ‘No.’ She was suddenly indignant. ‘Because he’s shacked up with this Pamela woman!’

  ‘Maybe. She was there for him when he had his bust-up with Sarah. She helps him ward off the loneliness. Maybe he does the same for her.’

  ‘Is she a gold-digger, d’you think? Does she have an eye for the main chance?’

  He shook his head, after a few seconds’ thought. ‘No. I wouldn’t say so. I don’t think she sees herself as your next stepmother, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Do you like her, Andy?’

  He pondered her question again. ‘Yes, I reckon I do. She’s bright, intelligent and she seems to care for Bob a lot. She had nothing to do with his marriage break-up, remember.’

  ‘Maybe not, but with her around there’s no chance of it being mended.’

  Andy sighed. ‘That, my darling, is something your dad’s got to figure out for himself. Always assuming that he wants to mend it, that is.’

  ‘And his judgement, in sleeping with this woman? What do you think of that? Honestly?’

  He looked her in the eye. ‘We’re all entitled to make mistakes, love.’

  Alex grunted. ‘Let’s hope the Police Board take that view tomorrow,’ she said, gloomily.

  31

  The press benches in Edinburgh’s ornate Victorian council chamber had never been more full for a meeting of the Joint Police Board, made up of elected members of the local authorities whose areas the force covered.

  The Chair of the Board, Marcia Topham, a Labour councillor from Midlothian, was regarded by Sir James Proud as a moderate, and someone with whom he could work. Or as Bob Skinner often put it in private, someone whom he could twist round his little finger.

  Today was different. In the ante-room, outside the chamber, the Chief Constable saw that Councillor Topham looked tense and nervous. As he had anticipated, Skinner’s request to address the meeting at the close of the discussion had been rejected, after consultation by the Chair with her senior colleagues.

  ‘Like I said,’ the DCC had growled. ‘She’s had her orders.’

  A buzz went round the press gallery as the members and officials filed into the chamber, and as they saw that Bob Skinner was not in attendance. Marcia Topham frowned in their direction, but her disapproval was ignored.

  She called the meeting to order quickly, pounding on the old mahogany desk with her gavel. ‘Ladies, gentlemen,’ she said loudly, to mask the tremor in her voice. ‘Let us proceed.’

  She looked around the members, and nodded to the Chief Constable, who was seated in the well of the chamber, alongside the Board’s solicitor. ‘Item One,’ she announced.

  Bob Skinner grudged every minute of the time that he was forced, occasionally, to spend at Board meetings. It was an advisory body, but under the previous administration it had become a vehicle for political speeches. However, on the basis of a few months’ evidence, the change of government had seen little change in the nature of the meetings.

  ‘It still sounds the same, Jimmy,’ Skinner had grumbled. ‘Different bloody axes being ground, that’s all.’

  The Chief Constable on the other hand, appreciated the Board. He focused on its advisory status, deciding arbitrarily which parts of its advice he would reject, and which he would accept. He understood too that the police service benefited from the lack of significant political interference with its work, and had no intention of rocking that particular boat.

  ‘Indulge them, Bob,’ he always advised his deputy. ‘Let them have their say, then let them go away home. They don’t have any weight, so they can’t throw it about.’

  Today, though, the normally benign Chief was in no mood to be conciliatory.

  The listed items on the agenda were eliminated with unprecedented speed, until, fifty minutes after opening the meeting, Councillor Topham announced: ‘We now come to other business. I am advised of a motion by Councillor Agnes Maley, of Edinburgh City Council.’

  Sir James looked around as Councillor Maley rose to her feet. He knew her well: a self-confessed enemy of the police service, she owed her position of power within her party to her ability to mobilise the enlarged group of women members in her support. As she stood, short, squat and denim-clad, she was flanked by five of her colleagues.

  ‘Thank you, Chair,’ she began, but had gone no further before the Chief Constable thrust himself to his feet.

  ‘If you will excuse me, Councillor Maley,’ he boomed. He glowered at the Chair. ‘Councillor Topham, I had assumed that you would instruct that this motion, if it has to be heard at all, should be stated without the press and public being present. Standing orders allow you to declare that sensitive items be discussed in private. I have to insist that be the case here.’

  Marcia Topham stared at the silver-haired policeman. This was not kind, benign ‘Call me Jimmy’ Proud. This was someone she had never seen before, fierce, bristling, formidable and on battle bent. For several seconds her mouth formed sounds, but none emerged.

  She was beaten to it by a shout from the left. ‘I protest, Chair. The Chief Constable’s right out of order. He’s responsible to this meeting. He doesn’t run it.’

  Sir James rounded on Agnes Maley. ‘As usual, Councillor, you’re mistaken when it comes to police matters. I am not responsible to this Board. It advises me. Now I am advising it that it is not appropriate for the private business of a senior serving officer - any serving officer, for that matter - to be discussed in public session.’

  He looked back towards Councillor Topham. ‘Madam Chair, you may wish to consult your solicitor.’

  Grateful for the escape route, Marcia Topham nodded. ‘Mr Wanless,’ she asked, quickly. ‘What’s your guidance?’

  The solicitor took a deep breath and looked up at her. ‘The Chief Constable is quite right: you have the power to order this matter heard in private. However, you do not have an obligation in this case.’

  A murmur of satisfaction sped along the benches behind Proud. ‘That said,’ the solicitor went on, his voice rising in emphasis, ‘I am bound to remind you that no form of privilege attaches to this body. Should anything be said in discussion which was held subsequently to be defamatory of Mr Skinner, or Detective Sergeant Masters, then the Court would undoubtedly find that defamation to have been aggravated by a decision by you to hold the debate in public. This would be in addition to the personal responsibility for such defamation which would probably attach to you.

  ‘The decision is yours, Madam Chair.’

  Councillor Topham’s gaze settled on the lawyer, as if she was trapped by the headlights of an oncoming car. At last she glanced helplessly across towards Councillor Maley. ‘Will the press and public please leave,’ she said.

  Before her, on the members’ benches and in the public gallery, cries of protest rang out. However, with counc
il attendants and two police constables acting as ushers, the room was cleared relatively quickly.

  ‘Very good,’ said the Chair, as the door closed on the last journalist. ‘Now, Councillor Maley, do you wish to proceed?’

  ‘One moment more, please!’ Proud’s voice boomed out even more loudly. ‘Before the lady begins, I have something else to say.’

  For a moment, Councillor Topham looked as if she would use her gavel to intervene, but the Chief froze her with a glare and a dismissive wave of his hand.

  ‘I want it recorded in the minutes of this meeting that I believe that it is absolutely disgraceful for this motion to be entertained. It relates entirely to matters which are within Mr Skinner’s private life, and which are no business of this Board in any way.

  ‘I believe that the proposer and seconder are motivated by malice against the police in general, which has been evident before at meetings of this Board. They have seized on the disgraceful publicity attaching to Mr Skinner’s private life as a means of damaging my service, even if it means the further public humiliation of one of its finest off icers.

  ‘The days in which personal relationships between serving police officers were forbidden are long gone, as the proposer and seconder, and their supporters, know well. Indeed were I to propose their reintroduction, they would be the first on their feet in protest.’

  He turned and looked at the benches behind him. ‘On a personal level, rather than professionally, I do not believe that by today’s standards Mr Skinner and Miss Masters are wrongdoers. By my own standards perhaps, but the world is changing.’ He stared hard at Agnes Maley. ‘I am prepared to bet you,’ he said, ‘that among the members of this Board, there must be at least one who is living in what some might call sin, with a person separated and not yet divorced.’ The councillor’s face flushed beetroot red.

  Sir James turned back to the Chair. ‘I am no great Bible scholar,’ he said, ‘but I do remember well the story of the woman taken in adultery.

  ‘I will say just this. Before anyone casts the first stone at Bob Skinner, they should remember that no-one in this room is in a better position than me to know which of you is without sin. And before this matter is put to a vote, Councillor Maley and her friends would do well to bear that in mind.