07 - Skinner's Ghosts

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Are you seeing the press today?’ Skinner asked.

  ‘Whenever Carr finishes the photofit.’

  ‘Right, why don’t you tell them that we’ve found the caravan on the moors, that it’s empty, and that we believe that the kidnapper, and Mark, may be back in the city? Let’s heat the place up again, with a vengeance. If he is here, maybe we’ll panic him into making a break for it.’

  Martin looked suddenly doubtful. ‘Isn’t there a danger that if he panics he’ll kill the child?’

  The DCC looked him in the eye. ‘Yes, there’s bound to be: yet this man wants Mark, Andy. He needs him for something. That risk has existed since the kidnap, but he hasn’t done it yet, or I’m pretty sure you’d have found the kid dead in the caravan.

  ‘Look, our man has been setting the agenda all along. Let’s make some moves of our own, and show him that we’ve got some brains after all.’

  ‘Okay,’ said the Head of CID. ‘I’ll play it that way. Now, since you seem to have recovered your powers of deduction and are back in the detecting game, is there anything else that we could be doing that we’re not?’

  Skinner smiled. ‘Since you ask . . .’ he said. ‘That caravan. It had a phoney number plate, didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I wonder why the guy didn’t take it off. He’s blown his cover in a way by leaving it there.’

  ‘Sure, but if he’d removed it he’d have drawn early attention to the van, which he did not want to do. Anyway it doesn’t matter. Since we don’t know who he is, our man will be using his legal number again.’ The DCC paused.

  ‘But still, the phoneys are a potential lead: how about taking the city apart to see if you can find out who made them?’

  43

  ‘This is getting to be a habit,’ said Skinner, hanging up the phone and turning to choose a tie from the half-dozen or so that he kept in Pamela’s wardrobe. ‘Telephone calls from David Hewlett two mornings on the trot.’

  She stopped in the act of fastening her skirt, and looked across at him. ‘That was the Secretary of State’s office? D’you think he’s changed his mind about . . .’ She paused.

  ‘About giving me the bullet, you were going to say? No chance of that. He’s already made the announcement, although he may have to find another replacement for me, even after my chat with Jock Govan.’

  ‘He wouldn’t offer it to the Chief would he?’ asked Pam.

  Bob laughed. ‘Do not be daft, my dear. Jimmy’s a career administrator; never served in CID in his life. He’s a better politician than Anderson, but he knows bugger all about security. Anyway, not even our Secretary of State would be crude enough to offer my Chief a job that I’d been fired from. A refusal often offends, as they say: he wouldn’t invite it.

  ‘No, if he’d asked my advice, I’d have told him to recruit my pal Haggerty from Strathclyde. Willie’s a bit of a hairyback, but he’s a bloody good copper, and he knows everything that’s going on through in the West, where you’ll find most of the organised crime and terrorism in Scotland.’

  ‘What did Hewlett want, then?’

  ‘Anderson wants to see me again, apparently. Ten o’clock this morning, St Andrew’s House.’

  He looked in the mirror, to straighten his tie, then picked up his jacket from the bedroom chair, over which he had draped it the night before. He was frowning as he followed Pam through to the kitchen. ‘Wonder what the hell it could be about?’ he asked himself aloud.

  ‘Didn’t Hewlett say?’

  ‘He said that he didn’t know.’

  ‘And you believed him, after what happened yesterday?’

  Skinner nodded, as he poured cornflakes into two bowls, and reached into the fridge for milk. ‘David’s one of the good guys. He wouldn’t tell me an outright lie. He said “I don’t know what it’s about”, not “I can’t tell you”, and I take him at his word. Anyway,’ he said, ‘I can usually tell when someone’s telling me porkies.’

  ‘So what do you think it might be about?’

  ‘Could be one or two things. A terrorist whisper from down South, although I’d probably have heard about that too. An attack of nerves over arrangements for his Party’s conference in Glasgow this autumn, although Haggerty’s well in control there.’

  Skinner shook his head. ‘I could guess all morning and still get it wrong.

  ‘Anyway, enough about me.’ He spooned up some cornflakes. ‘I’ve got some news for you. I spoke to Scott Rolland yesterday afternoon, the chief in Central. He has a pregnant detective sergeant in his drugs squad, based in Falkirk. She goes off on maternity leave in eight weeks, and her job’s yours if you want it.

  ‘It’d be a secondment at first, but the woman’s told him that if everything’s all right with the baby, then she’ll be resigning. What d’you think?’

  She stared at him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this last night?’ she asked.

  ‘I was too steamed up over Anderson. Also, I thought you looked tired. Didn’t want to put you off your sleep.’

  She smiled. ‘I suppose I was. Probably something to do with the way the day began.’ She hesitated. ‘It sounds good. But do you think I’m right for drugs work?’

  ‘You want to make a difference, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then, you’re right for it. Look, this job isn’t about going after Colombian cartels. They don’t stretch as far as Falkirk. There will be sharp-end stuff, but it is educational too: police-community liaison, schools visits, that sort of activity.’

  She pushed her cornflakes to one side, stepped up to him and slipped her arms round his waist. ‘What do you think I should do?’

  ‘Not what I think,’ he said firmly, ‘what you want.’

  ‘But it’d make life easier, long-term, for us both?’

  ‘Yes, but still, the only factor is whether you’d be happy in the job.’

  ‘When do you have to tell Mr Rolland?’

  ‘Today, if possible, but I can stretch it to next week.’

  Pam shook her head. ‘No. Tell him, “Yes please, thank you very much”. And thank you very much too.’

  He smiled. ‘De nada,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she contradicted him. ‘It’s not nothing. It’s a lot.’ She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly very serious. ‘Bob, I want to be legit, as far as you’re concerned . . . as far as we’re concerned. The companionship principle only holds good for a while. Like the girl whose job I’ll be taking in Falkirk, I want to have a baby too, before it’s too late. And I want to have it with you.

  ‘I know this might be breaking an unwritten rule between us, but I have to say it. Anyway, you’re a smart guy, you must have figured it out: I love you.’

  He stared down at her.

  ‘Taken your breath away, copper, have I?’ she whispered.

  He nodded. ‘Just a bit. I’ll tell you what. Tonight, let’s ditch our minders, and let’s go somewhere different, a hotel, maybe; somewhere down in the Borders. Peebles Hydro, if we can get in. Let’s do that, and let’s talk about long-term, and what it means.’

  ‘Agreed. I’ve never been to Peebles Hydro.’

  ‘Okay. Be ready to leave at six. By then, I’ll have found out what the bloody hell my ex-boss wants.’

  44

  Skinner walked into the entrance hall of St Andrew’s House at five minutes to ten. It faced north and, even in the height of summer, always extended a cold welcome to visitors to the building. He showed his official pass to the black-uniformed guard who gave him a brisk salute and a ‘Good morning’.

  The policeman knew that he should have surrendered the pass on the morning before, but he had kept it out of devilment, as a personal security check.

  He stepped into one of the waiting lifts and rode it to the fifth floor. David Hewlett, looking as serious as ever, was in his office, with his assistant and his clerk. He was a thin man, in his middle thirties, with receding fair hair and a domelike forehead.

  ‘Morning, Dave,’ said Skinner. ‘I t
hought I’d paid my last visit here. Any idea yet what the panic is?’

  Hewlett shook his head. ‘I haven’t been told, Bob,’ he replied, sounding concerned and more than a little offended at having been left in the dark. ‘S of S came in this morning from Bute House at eight fifteen, a little later than usual. He instructed me to call you, and two other people, and to ask you in particular to be here at ten sharp.’

  ‘Two others?’ Skinner repeated, curious.

  ‘They’ve been here since nine fifteen, with a fourth person.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  Hewlett’s natural frown deepened even more. ‘I’m not allowed to say, Bob. I’m even disobeying orders by having this conversation. S of S told me to say nothing to you when you arrived, but to send you down to Committee Room One, on the third floor.’

  ‘Fucking nonsense!’ Skinner growled, exasperated. ‘Time I sorted this lot out. Thanks, Dave. I think I’ll go and paper the walls with your boss. I’ve half a mind to charge him with wasting police time.’

  He left the small office and took the stairs down to the third floor. He thought about knocking on the door of Committee Room One, but with a muttered ‘Bugger it!’ under his breath he opened the door and strode inside.

  Four people were waiting, seated with their backs to the window, facing the door, and a single empty chair. The detective scanned them, from left to right.

  Councillor Marcia Topham: the usual slightly overawed expression worn by the Police Board Chair had been replaced by one of pure fright.

  Lord Archibald of Alva, the Lord Advocate, Scotland’s senior law officer: Archie Nelson, QC, Dean of the Faculty of Advocates until his ennoblement, and an old friend, now sat staring at him impassively as he entered.

  Dr Bruce Anderson: the Secretary of State for Scotland sat staring grimly at a folder on the desk before him.

  Sir James Proud: the Chief Constable sat ashen-faced, more shocked than his deputy had ever seen him.

  As he stared across the table Skinner felt a mixture of apprehension and anger welling up within him. As usual, anger won.

  ‘What the bloody hell is this, Dr Anderson?’ he said: not quite a shout, but close to it. ‘You and I severed our links yesterday, I think.’

  The Secretary of State looked up and shook his head. ‘Not quite,’ he replied. ‘I still have certain powers and responsibilities over police officers of executive rank. Until now, I’ve never had to use them. I hoped it would never be necessary.’

  He stopped. ‘Oh sit down, Bob, please. This is difficult enough for us all, without you eyeing us up as if you’re deciding who you’re going to set about first.’

  Skinner took hold of his temper, and sat in the vacant chair. ‘Right,’ he retorted. ‘But I warn you now, if this is about my private life . . .’

  The Secretary of State shook his head. Lord Archibald sighed. Marcia Topham whimpered slightly. Proud Jimmy moaned.

  ‘It isn’t, Bob,’ replied Anderson. ‘I only wish it was.

  ‘At quarter to eight this morning, an envelope was delivered to Bute House, my official residence in Charlotte Square. It contained a serious allegation against you, and documents pertaining to it. As soon as I had read them, I called the Lord Advocate.’

  Skinner’s eyes narrowed. ‘What is this allegation?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘It concerns corruption.’ The Secretary of State turned to Lord Archibald. ‘Archie, would you, please?’

  The Law Officer nodded. ‘Bob, we’ve all discussed this prior to your arrival. We’re shocked by the allegation which has been made, and every one of us is loath to believe it. But if there is anything in it, we feel that it is only right to give you an opportunity to explain it at this stage.

  ‘Consequently, I have to ask you one question. Do you admit to having a personal account in the Guernsey branch of the JZG Bank?’

  The policeman stared at him across the table. ‘What the hell is the JZG Bank?’

  ‘It’s a small private bank based in Liechtenstein, with branches in Guernsey and in the Cayman Islands. Now please give me a direct answer to my question.’

  Skinner drew a hard, deep, snorting, impatient breath. ‘No, Archie, I do not have a personal account there or in any other Channel Island bank.’

  ‘Then we have a problem, Bob, because the Secretary of State has been given evidence that you do, and that you have a significant amount of cash there.’

  ‘That’s preposterous,’ Skinner protested. ‘I’m reasonably well off, but I don’t have bank accounts that I’ve forgotten about. I demand to be told the detail of the allegation made against me and to be shown the evidence that’s been presented.’

  ‘In due course, Deputy Chief Constable,’ said Bruce Anderson, suddenly formal in tone. ‘However, in the light of the information which has been put before me, I must first formally suspend you from duty. I must advise you also that I shall be requesting senior officers from a force outside Scotland to conduct an independent enquiry into these matters.’

  Skinner felt the blood drain from his face.

  ‘Secretary of State,’ he interrupted, ‘did your information come from an anonymous source?’

  The Minister looked across at him. ‘No. The donor of the material identified himself.’

  ‘Would I be right in supposing that your source is Noel Salmon, of the Spotlight?’

  ‘Yes, you’d be correct.’

  ‘And you’re putting a senior police officer’s career and reputation on the line on the word of that disreputable wee man, are you?’

  Lord Archibald replied. ‘Bob, you know that we wouldn’t do that. I’m sorry, but they have given us material in support of the allegation.’

  ‘Then let me see it, please, Archie.’

  ‘In due course,’ said the Lord Advocate. ‘Look, I want to help you clear your name here. We all do. But the Secretary of State can play no favourites. Two senior officers, a Deputy Chief Constable and a Chief Superintendent, are already on their way here from Manchester to begin enquiries into the allegations against you.

  ‘I think it would be best for you to go away and arrange legal representation. Once you’ve done that, the visiting officers and I will meet with you and your solicitor, and we will show you the material which we hold.’ He stopped abruptly, looking down at the table for a second or two.

  ‘The Secretary of State has decided,’ he continued, ‘and I’m afraid that I have to agree with him, that while the investigation is in progress you should not take part in any police activity. That’s why you have to be formally suspended from duty.

  ‘You shouldn’t enter Fettes or any other police office, for any purpose not related to your defence against the accusation. Furthermore, I have to counsel you most strongly against conducting any personal investigation.

  ‘The visiting officers will have the brief of enquiring and reporting to me and to me alone. If you approach anyone to whom they wish to speak, you could make yourself vulnerable to accusations of intimidation. And believe me, Bob, that’s the last thing you need.’

  ‘Archie,’ said Skinner, evenly. ‘I’ll do what you say, but if that wee shit Salmon approaches me, then you can be damn sure I’ll intimidate him.’

  ‘Salmon will be advised not to approach you,’ said Lord Archibald, reassuringly. ‘We can’t order him of course: sub judice rules don’t apply at this stage, as you know. But we can warn him of the dangers of interfering with a police inquiry.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Skinner, ‘but why should my hands be tied behind my back? If you can’t prevent Salmon from approaching me, how the hell can you justify forbidding me from making my own enquiries into accusations against me? If that’s what you’re saying, then I’d prefer you to charge me with corruption right now. If the allegations are the subject of criminal proceedings, then no-one can publish till the case comes to court, and my team will have the right of access to the prosecution witnesses.’

  ‘Christ, Bob,’ spluttered the fo
rmer Archie Nelson, ‘the last thing I want is to charge you with anything.’

  He paused as he considered what Skinner had said. ‘I take your point, though. Look, let’s have an understanding. You stay away from witnesses personally, but your lawyers can approach them. Deal?’

  The policeman surprised the Lord Advocate by smiling: an open smile, but with something devious lurking behind it. ‘You’ve got a deal, M’Lud,’ he said. ‘The first thing I’m going to do, though, is look for an injunction preventing the Spotlight from publishing any of his crap.’

  The smile vanished as he turned towards the Secretary of State. ‘As for you, Dr Anderson, be aware that I’m going to seek advice on the possibility of raising an injunction against you, and having my suspension lifted.’

  ‘You can but try,’ said the Secretary of State.

  ‘Before you do, though, Bob,’ Lord Archibald interrupted, ‘you should be aware that the Court would require you to show good cause why it should injunct. You would be forced to present strong defences against the evidence. In effect, you would be putting yourself on trial without time to prepare, and based on what I’ve seen this morning, I have to tell you that I believe you would lose.

  ‘Please, my friend, go and consult your lawyers, quickly, then bring them to Crown Office, and I’ll meet you with the Manchester people. Let’s make it two thirty. I’ll arrange for you to use the back door, to avoid the media. They’ll be keeping an eye on the entrance as soon as this goes public.’

  Skinner smiled again. ‘I appreciate the courtesy, Archie, but bollocks to it. I’ve never sneaked in the tradesman’s entrance in my life, and I’m damned if I will now. The media have tons of shots of me on file. A few more won’t make any difference.’

  He nodded across the table. ‘Thank you, Secretary of State. The next time we meet, I’ll accept your apology.’

  The big policeman stood up, with the briefest of nods to his Chief Constable, and walked out of the room. Outside, in the corridor, he stood at the lift doors for a few seconds, then headed for the stairs. He stood on the first landing and waited. A few seconds later, Sir James Proud, puffing and blowing, crashed through the double doors.