Pamela propped herself up on her elbows, the edge of the duvet fal ing 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 al . You're under pressure too, with the Spotlight article, and those appal ing 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.
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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 fiance.
'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 cal to my private line from my home vil age. 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'l 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 ofCID, shifting his position against the back of the sofa, as Alex stood up to go into the kitchen. 'I'l do that, first thing. I'l put men on al the roads, then get a helicopter to take a look at al 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'l 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?'
106
'Could be. They usual y 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 stil firing on al 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.
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31
The press benches in Edinburgh's ornate Victorian council chamber had never been more ful 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, MarciaTopham, a Labour council or 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 Council or 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 cal ed 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 stil sounds the same, Jimmy,' Skinner had grumbled. 'Different bloody axes being ground, that's al .'
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 108
"w
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 other 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. 'Council or Topham, I had assumed that you would instruct that this motion, if it has to be heard at al , 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 'Cal 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 Council or 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 109
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 council 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. Council or 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 officers.
'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 not yet divorced.' The councillor's face flushed beetroot red.
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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.
'Now I wil leave you to your discussions.' He picked up his papers and strode from the chamber.
Ill
32
Andy Martin had only one phobia: heights. He also possessed an inherent wil to win which had made him a feared opponent on the rugby field, and which would not al ow him to be overcome by anything, not even mortal terror.
He had tackled his secret enemy head-on by joining a rock-climbing club in his senior year at high school, and had taken this further at university by joining the mountaineering club. It had been hard, al the way through, but he had kept his jaw tight and his hands strong in a domestic climbing career which had taken in some of the
finest climbs in the Cuillins, the beautiful mountains of the Island of Skye, and in the spectacular, craggy Lake District.
Yet a true phobia is never banished; it is only overcome moment by moment. And so, as the police helicopter swept over the purple heather of the moorland, Martin, in the co-pilot's seat, stil felt a lurching in his stomach as he looked down, and stil fought to master the panic at the back of his brain.
'Okay, John,' he said to the police pilot through his headset, essential equipment given the booming noise within the cockpit from the engine behind them, and the whirring of the rotors above. 'That's the fifth sector on this map covered, and no sign of any recent activity up here, other than bloody sheep. One more to go: bank south please, down towards Longformacus.'
The pilot nodded in confirmation and swung the craft round. They were flying at a height of around three hundred feet, high enough not to be easily identified from the ground, low enough to allow Martin to scan the area beneath with powerful wide-field binoculars. They flew on for ten minutes, sweeping the sector in swathes, east to west, west to east, as if they were mowing it from a great height.
'There's a bothy down to the right,' Martin cal ed out at last. 'Drop us down a bit and let's take a closer look.' The pilot obeyed, dropping the helicopter by around fifty feet and slowing their steady speed still further.
Martin peered through the glasses. The bothy, a stone-built shelter, was in poor repair. At one corner, its slate roof had col apsed. There had once been glass in its single window, but now its panes were smashed, and its door hung by a single hinge. Al around, the grass 112
stood high, and the narrow worn path which led to the door from the heathery pasture was overgrown and barely discernible.
The Chief Superintendent shook his head. 'No,' he called, into his microphone, 'another dud. There's been no-one there for years by the look of it. Pick it up again.'
The pilot flew on as ordered, through one swathe, then another, until finally they were almost over the village of Longformacus, beyond which the character of the land changed. They were to the west of the tiny community when Martin spotted the caravan. 'What's that doing there?' he asked himself.
It was a touring van, stil shiny and new. Yet it was wel away from the roadway, parked on the bank of a small, fast-flowing stream feeding into a small loch, over which they had just flown. There was no car alongside it, but the grass around it was crushed and torn, as if a vehicle had turned and reversed there, recently and frequently.
'Where are we?' Martin muttered again. He looked at his map, tracing their progress with a finger. The loch was marked as the Black Water reservoir, but there was no carriageway shown at al .
'Know what that road is down there?' the detective asked the pilot.
'Either I'm misreading the map, or it doesn't exist.'
'That's t
he Southern Upland Way, sir, the walkway that crosses the country from the Solway Firth to the East Coast. There's going on for a hundred miles of it. You can manage a car along part of it
. . . just about.'
'Let's see if we can find out who owns that caravan, then. We came over a farmhouse a couple of miles back. Put me down near there and I'l see if anyone knows.'
The pilot nodded and swung the helicopter around. He found a flat spot in an empty field just over a quarter of a mile from the house and set it down. Martin jumped out, grateful y, and set off across the dry grass. The gravel ed road to the farmhouse ran beside the field, turning through a high-pillared gateway. As the detective slid through a gap in the beech hedge which served as a boundary, a man appeared at the head of the driveway.
'What's up?' he asked, cheerful y. 'Mechanical trouble?' He stood around six feet four, and despite the warmth of the day he was dressed in country clothes: twill trousers, heavy shirt and tweed jacket. But Martin noted his hands before anything else. They were, he thought, bigger than any he had ever seen.
He smiled at the man, shaking his huge right mitt. 'No,' he replied.
'Nothing like that. I'm a policeman, from Edinburgh. We're looking for someone, and we thought that he might just have a hideaway up here on the moors.
'My name's Martin, by the way. Detective Chief Superintendent.'
'Robert Carr,' said the ruddy-faced man. 'I own this land. Thousand 113
bloody acres of it, much of it useless for anything but sheep.'
'Does that extend up there,' he pointed westwards, 'past the reservoir?'
'Yes,' replied Carr, 'and a damn sight further.'
'There's a caravan up there, beside the stream.'
The farmer looked surprised. 'Is there? Stil ?'
'You know about it?'
'Yes, but I'd assumed that the fellow would have been gone by now.'
'What fellow?'
Robert Carr turned towards his big grey stone farmhouse, beckoning Martin to fol ow. 'Chap rang the doorbell about a week ago. Said his name was Mr Gilbert. He told me that he was planning to do some walks along the Way, and that he had a caravan as a base. He asked me if he could park it somewhere out of the way.
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