07 - Skinner's Ghosts

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Mind you, when you add in the Christabel factor the odds might tilt a bit.’ His smile turned into soft laugh. ‘I will never in my life forget the doing she gave that fiancé of yours in the witness box. After ten minutes of it, he more or less swore on the Bible that he didn’t know his arse from his elbow.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, loyally, ‘he was only young at the time. What about you? How did you do against her?’

  ‘I think the referee’s decision was a draw. She kept trying to get me to say that black might have been a bit grey, if not completely white, but I stuck to the script.’

  ‘How do you think she’ll do with Cheshire?’

  ‘She might rattle his cage a bit, but he’s a cool one, is Algernon. He’ll survive. Anyway, most of what he’ll have to say won’t be subject to challenge. The question will be what weight the jury gives to old Chrissie’s interpretation.’

  He frowned. ‘No, I’m more worried about what she’ll do to Jimmy.’

  ‘Will she call him?’

  ‘Absolutely for certain, she’ll call him, unless I forbid it. She’ll want him as a character witness, but she’ll attack him too.’

  ‘Why should she do that?’

  Bob smiled. ‘Come on, girl, are you on the team or not? Work it out.’

  Alex bit into her last sandwich as she thought the question through. As she chewed she began to nod. ‘Yes,’ she offered at last. ‘She’ll have to rubbish the security of the police headquarters building. She’ll have to convince the jury that someone could have walked in there and planted that receipt in your desk.’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘Could they?’

  ‘That’s what happened, isn’t it?’

  ‘In that case, you’re right. To demonstrate that, she’ll need the Chief Constable himself to admit it, under oath.’

  ‘Spot on.’

  ‘And will he?’ she asked.

  ‘I honestly don’t know, my darling.’

  Alex slapped the table, wrinkling her forehead in a huge frown. ‘None of this should be happening,’ she cried out. ‘It’s just not fair.’

  Her father reached across and ruffled her hair. ‘Whoever said life was, my angel? Whoever said it was? You go into the house and check your birth certificate. I’m pretty certain that you’ll find that it doesn’t include any warranties or guarantees.’

  ‘No, I don’t recall that it does,’ she said, rising from the table, and glancing at her watch. ‘Time I was off.’

  She helped him carry the plates and mugs into the kitchen. He was walking with her to the door, when the telephone rang. Closest to it, she picked it up.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, as if to a familiar voice. ‘Yes, he’s here.’ She handed over the phone, kissed him on the cheek, and disappeared through the front door, with a wave.

  ‘Yes,’ grunted Skinner, watching the door close with a surge of pleasure at the woman his daughter had become.

  ‘Hello, boss,’ Neil McIlhenney replied. ‘How’re you doing?’

  ‘Fine, Big Fella, fine.’ He paused. ‘Well no, I’m not. I’m very, very deeply pissed off, if the truth be told. Is this a social call, seeing as how I’m a non-polisman at the moment?’

  ‘Of course it is, boss. I just wanted to make sure that you’re hanging in there.’ At the other end of the line, Skinner heard a soft rumbling chuckle. ‘Mr Martin specifically didn’t tell me to call you. He also told me not to let slip that the McGrath-Anderson team have just had a tip from a woman out in Howgate about a man taking a wee lass into a cottage out there this morning. She was struggling, so the woman said.’

  Skinner stood bolt upright. ‘Did she know the man?’

  ‘No.’>

  ‘Did she give a description?’

  ‘Tall, fair, slim. He took the kid out of the back of a grey Toyota van. With a tow-bar.’

  ‘Who owns the cottage? Anyone checked yet?’

  ‘Sammy just did. It belongs to a Mr George. He gets a Council Tax discount as a sole occupant. But the witness says it’s not usually occupied. It’s a holiday place, and she hasn’t a clue whether the man she saw is the owner or not.’

  Skinner took a deep breath. ‘When?’

  ‘We’re just leaving now. Mr Martin, the boy Pye, Pam and me. We’re using two unmarked cars. There’s an armed team on the way up now to deploy out of sight.’

  ‘Pam?’ said the DCC sharply. ‘Why Pam?’

  ‘Don’t worry, boss,’ the Sergeant reassured him, quickly. ‘She’ll be well back. Mr Martin wants a woman there to look after the kids if we recover them.’

  ‘Who’s carrying?’

  ‘Mr Martin and me.’

  ‘Where’s the cottage?’

  ‘You know where the old Inn was?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘At the end of a track, just beyond it.’

  ‘And where does the witness live?’

  ‘In a converted steading across the field. There are four houses there. The uniform team has orders to empty them.’

  ‘Very good, Neil,’ said Skinner. ‘Everything sounds fine. I’m glad the situation’s in such good hands. Best of luck.’

  ‘Thanks boss,’ said McIlhenney, sounding a touch bewildered.

  67

  ‘Fancy seeing you here,’ McIlhenney grinned, as he stepped out of the passenger seat of Martin’s car, opposite what had once been the Howgate Inn, a popular Midlothian watering place. ‘Just for a minute there, I . . .’

  ‘I thought I’d go for a drive,’ replied Skinner, casually forestalling him. ‘Something going on here?’

  An attractive blonde woman, in her mid-forties, stood beside him. Three other people, two more women and an elderly man, residents of the steading, the Sergeant guessed, were gathered a few yards away, with a uniformed constable. ‘This is Mrs Christopher,’ said the DCC as Martin approached, followed by Pam and Sammy Pye, from a second car. ‘Your witness.’

  ‘That’s good,’ nodded the Chief Superintendent. ‘There are a few other questions I wanted to ask.’

  Skinner smiled. ‘Mrs Christopher and I have had a chat already. The grey van’s been around here on and off for two or three weeks. Here for a couple of days, then gone for a couple, then back. She saw it last on Friday night, she says.’

  Andy Martin frowned. ‘What about the time of the first crime?’

  ‘Mrs Christopher’s recollection is that it was gone from the Thursday morning to the following Monday.’

  The younger detective turned to the woman, and took two prints from his pocket, a photograph of the kidnapped Tanya Anderson, and the photofit of her abductor. ‘The child you saw.’ He showed her the print. ‘Could these be the man and the girl?’

  Mrs Christopher peered at the pictures. ‘Yes, it could have been,’ she said, nodding. ‘They were too far away for me to be absolutely certain, but those are like them. The poor wee thing was really upset. I could tell that. She was crying and struggling when he took her out of the van.’

  ‘From which door did he take her?’

  ‘From the back. That’s what really caught me attention in the first place. I mean, imagine, carrying a child in the back of a van!’

  ‘Imagine,’ said Martin. ‘Now think carefully, please, Mrs Christopher. Have you ever seen another child in this man’s company?’

  She pointed to Skinner. ‘This gentleman’s already asked me that. The answer’s still no, though. I haven’t.’

  ‘Thanks anyway,’ said the Head of CID. ‘Would you join the others now, please.’

  As Mrs Christopher retreated he turned back to Skinner. ‘How d’you think we should play this, sir?’

  ‘It’s your show, Andy,’ the DCC replied.

  ‘Not so as I’d noticed.’

  Skinner grinned. ‘Well. I did have a quick scout around.’ He pointed along the twisting road which led out of the village. ‘The track to the cottage is over there, but you’re out of its sight until you’re almost at the front door. The van’s tucked away beyond it, but i
t’s angled so that you can’t make out its number, dammit.

  ‘Behind the house there’s a wee patch of woodland. The place backs right on to it, with hardly any garden. Some of the armed support is in there already. The rest are in the steading.’

  He looked quizzically at Martin. ‘Why don’t Neil and I make our way through the woods, and you and Sammy go straight up the track?’

  ‘Why don’t we call in the SAS?’ asked Pye.

  ‘Because there is at least one kid in there that we know of, Sam,’ Skinner replied. ‘The SAS go in bloody. I don’t want any child deafened by a stun grenade or shot by this man in a panic.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the Chief Superintendent. ‘Let’s be gentle about it. I’ll just walk up and knock on the front door, with you two out the back, and all that firepower in the woods and across the field.’

  Skinner nodded. ‘You’d better advise the armed support commander. If he comes out shooting, or even showing a gun, he goes down.’ He grimaced. ‘I wish we knew just a wee bit more about the situation, but with what we’ve got, the balance of the risk says we do it now.’

  They split into the agreed pairs. Skinner led McIlhenney into the wood, finding a rough path through the trees, trodden down by the armed support officers. A hundred yards or so into the plantation they came upon the four-strong unit, well hidden in the gloom from anyone looking from the bright afternoon outside.

  ‘Seen any movement inside the house?’ the DCC asked a uniformed sergeant. The man looked at him, clearly surprised by his presence.

  ‘Only once, sir. A man came into the kitchen, then went out again carrying a can of Pepsi. He was a dead ringer for the photofit.’

  The radio which McIlhenney was carrying crackled into life. ‘We’re in position.’ Martin’s voice sounded whispered. Skinner and his sergeant stepped across the low wire fence into the cottage’s small garden. ‘Ready,’ said McIlhenney.

  A few seconds later, they heard a loud knock. A few seconds after that, the back door swung open, fast, and a man rushed out: a tall, slim fair-haired man.

  His mouth opened in surprise as he caught sight of the two detectives, then panic showed in his eyes at the sight of the pistol in McIlhenney’s hand. He started to run for the corner of the house, towards the grey van, the bonnet of which was just visible. He had taken two steps when Skinner hit him, slamming into him with a rugby tackle and bearing him to the ground. Roughly, the DCC rolled the man on to his face and drove a knee into the small of his back, as he reached for his wrists, to secure them.

  The girl’s voice took him by surprise. ‘What are you doing to my Daddy?’ she cried.

  68

  ‘What have you done with him?’ asked Alex.

  ‘He’s on his way back to England right now. Pamela and Sammy Pye are driving him and wee Sally down to York. They’ll be met at the police headquarters there by two officers from the Suffolk force. They’ll hand him over, stay overnight in York, and come back tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Has he done this before, this Mr George?’

  Martin shrugged. ‘Once is too often for the court’s liking. The custody arrangement in his divorce only allows him one weekend a month, and he doesn’t like it. He wanted to take his daughter on holiday for a week, but his ex-wife refused. So he turned up at her house yesterday evening, and grabbed the child.

  ‘The mother went to court this morning, and the judge ordered his arrest for contempt. I feel a bit sorry for the guy really. He’s just a decent honest soul, a self-employed electrician who works on big projects. That’s why his van was away for a few days at a time. The ex-wife’s a lawyer, though, and she’s got him tied up every way.’

  Alex reached across the dining table and punched him lightly on the chin. ‘Just you bear that in mind, then,’ she laughed.

  ‘Did Pops hurt him much, this poor chap?’

  ‘Not really. He just knocked the wind out of him. He scared the wee girl though; he was a bit upset about that. It would have scared her more if big Neil had shot the bloke, though.’

  ‘Why did he run?’ she asked.

  ‘He said that he was going round the side of the house to see who was at the door. When he saw Bob and McIlhenney, pistol drawn, he panicked and tried to leg it.’

  ‘And was it his cottage?’

  ‘His dad’s. His wife didn’t know about it, apparently.’

  Alex frowned. ‘Poor sod. It’s awful when couples get to that stage. What’ll happen to him, d’you think?’

  ‘Ach, the judge’ll probably keep him in custody for a week or two, then give him a bollocking and let him go. Hopefully, he’ll review the custody deal while he’s at it. I think the guy’s got a grievance.’

  He glanced at her, across the pizzas. ‘Your dad’s on his side too, of course. I only hope it doesn’t come to that with him and Sarah.’

  ‘It won’t.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I know my dad, that’s how. And my stepmum too.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Andy mused. ‘I miss Sarah, you know. Wonder how she’s doing?’

  ‘Or who. His name’s Terry, I believe.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘So Pops told me.’

  ‘Sarah wouldn’t.’

  She grinned at him again, even more widely than before. ‘Maybe she wouldn’t. Bloody sure I would though, in her shoes. You can store that away for future reference too.’

  ‘Hey,’ he asked her, ‘are you trying to talk me out of this engagement?’

  ‘Far from it,’ she replied. ‘I want to get married.’

  His eyes widened with his smile. ‘You do? When?’

  ‘As soon as I’ve got my dad sorted out. Are you game?’

  ‘Need you ask?’ He rose, drawing her to her feet also and pulled her to him, kissing her, running his broad fingers through her abundant wavy hair.

  She reached down for his belt buckle. ‘Pizzas’ll get cold,’ he murmured.

  ‘Sod the pizzas.’

  From time to time, Andy Martin could convince himself that all telephones show malice towards humans, especially in certain circumstances.

  ‘Sod that!’ he growled as it rang. Still, he picked it up.

  As Alex watched him, his face grew grim. ‘You sure?’ he said. ‘I see. No, it doesn’t. Yes, I’ll tell her. She’ll have him there.’

  He hung up, and turned to her. ‘That was Al Cheshire, keeping his word to me. He’s fixed a meeting with the Lord Advocate, for ten o’clock tomorrow, and he wants Bob there. They’ve found something else, and he thinks that Lord Archibald will be forced to place formal charges.’

  69

  ‘There’s no doubt about this, is there? No chance that your expert could be wrong?’

  Deputy Chief Constable Cheshire looked at the Lord Advocate solemnly. ‘Sir, we’ve consulted the manufacturer of the machine. The company’s chief design engineer himself will testify that the note which accompanied the deposit in the Guernsey bank was typed on an electric machine purchased five years ago by John Jackson Charles Automobiles Limited, a typewriter seized subsequently by the police during a raid on premises owned by Mr and Mrs Charles.

  ‘Since the day when it was impounded, by Mr Skinner and Sergeant Neil Mcllhenney, it has been under lock and key in the production store at Fettes Avenue. Mr Skinner may argue in his defence that someone found their way into his office to hide the Guernsey receipt in his desk. But to argue that the same person broke into the production store, found that machine among thousands of items, plugged it in and typed the note . . . I’m sorry, My Lord, but that is surely stretching credulity.’

  Lord Archibald gazed at Skinner across his desk. The detective stared back, impassively.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bob,’ he said. ‘And I have to say that I’m hugely disappointed. Are you still maintaining your innocence?’

  Skinner gave no answer, nor made any movement.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Archibald. ‘You’d better say nothing anyway. Look, David Pettigrew, t
he Fiscal is in the next room. He will caution and charge you, formally. There will be no announcement from this office, but you will appear in the Sheriff Court tomorrow to be formally remanded.

  ‘There’ll be no plea taken and of course you’ll be released on a simple ordination to appear at a later hearing, but at the pleading diet, it’ll be for the Sheriff to decide whether bail should be allowed. I think it’s inevitable that the case will be sent to the High Court for disposal.’

  He turned back to Cheshire and Ericson. ‘You two. Get up to Perth right away and see the man Charles again. I’d like to proceed against him, but I don’t have a prospect of success. So, tell him what we’ve got and see if he’ll agree to be a Crown witness, with immunity.’

  Mitchell Laidlaw stirred in his seat chair. ‘Archie, may I . . .’

  The Lord Advocate anticipated the rest of the question. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You may interview Charles also, separately. But I mean you, and you alone. Not Bob, under any circumstances, and not Alex either.’

  He rose, ending the meeting. ‘Now, let’s get Pettigrew in here and start putting this most unfortunate business to rest.’

  70

  ‘That tears it, Bob,’ said Laidlaw.

  ‘Charles has given Cheshire and Ericson a statement saying that he paid you the hundred thousand as a bribe, to secure reduced charges. He says that you gave him a sealed envelope with the destination bank inside, and that he passed it unopened to his associate, Douglas Terry.

  ‘Further, he goes on to say that it was Terry - who is of course conveniently dead - who hired the courier and arranged the gathering in of the money. The Crown will probably argue that Terry may have raised the cash in England, knocking the banknote defence on the head.’

  ‘Does Charles admit to typing the note?’ asked Skinner.

  Laidlaw nodded. ‘Yes, he does.’ The lawyer sighed. ‘Bob, would Charles have spent a hundred thousand just to frame you?’