Quintin Jardine - Skinner Skinner 07

by Skinner's Ghosts (pdf)

  'But meanwhile, let's the three of us have some lunch, before we head up to the Crown Office, to find out just what sort of battle the old lady is going to have to fight.'

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  Pamela sat open-mouthed, facing Andy Martin across his desk. 'I can't believe it. Surely this must be a set-up. But how would the Spotlight manage to fake evidence so well that it convinced the Secretary of State?'

  'Beats me, Sarge,' said the Chief Superintendent. 'Noel Salmon didn't do it all on his own, that's for sure. He could barely forge a betting slip, far less set up a phoney account in an offshore bank.' A light came into his eyes as he said the words. 'That's a thought, isn't it? I think it's time we stopped bothering about the monkey, and found out more about the organ-grinder.

  'Pamela, do you want to help Bob?'

  She looked at him with sudden outrage. 'Of course I do.'

  'Sorry, that was a sil y thing to say,' he acknowledged. 'What I want you to do, then, is dig up Companies House and get hold of the registration details for Spotlight in the UK. After that I want you to cal a man in Washington. He owes Bob a couple of favours. It's time we called one in.'

  He reached into his desk drawer and produced a smal notebook.

  He flipped through it until he found the page he was looking for, then picked up a pen and scribbled on a scrap of paper. When he was finished he replaced the notebook, locked the drawer, and pushed the paper across the desk to Pamela.

  'That's a direct number to a desk on Capitol Hil . Once you've used it, burn it. The man's name is Joe Doherty, and he's a top gun on the US National Security Council. Tell him that Bob needs help, and why. Then ask him if he can get for us detailed information on the ownership of Spotlight, and on how it operates, international y.

  Anything that he thinks is relevant.

  'Ask him to call me personally, as soon as he has something for us.' He glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes past midday. 'Go on, then, and get started. By the time you've checked the UK company listings, Joe should be in his office.

  'Incidental y, you don't need to say anything to Bob about this.

  He regards Joe Doherty as his own personal snout.'

  Pamela stood up to leave looking shocked and slightly bewildered. For all his personal loyalties to Sarah, Andy felt a pang 151

  of sympathy for her. 'Hey,' he said, standing up. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. 'Try not to worry too much. This is nothing; at worst this is just some evil sod playing sil y buggers. Bob's been in far worse scrapes than this and come through them.

  'I often think that he's been in more trouble than even I know about.

  'There was one time he was shot in the leg. He told Alex and me that he had been careless and that his own pistol had gone off accidental y. But that same night, a man disappeared right off the face of the earth ... as far as I know, at any rate.

  'I asked about him afterwards, out of curiosity. All I got was silence, and sincere advice through the Special Branch network to mind my own business.'

  She looked up at him. 'You're not saying that Bob.. ..'

  'I'm not saying anything, other than don't be too concerned about him. He's like a cat, with quite a few of his nine lives left.'

  'You know what I like about you, Chief Superintendent,' Pamela said, with a smile. 'You only see one Bob Skinner, and he can do no wrong.'

  Martin grinned back. 'I wouldn't go that far. These contact lenses of mine have a green tint, not rose-coloured. Now, on you go. I'l come out with you. I want to see young Sammy.' He ushered her out of his office and towards her own desk in the corner of the CID

  Command Suite.

  'Tell you something,' he said quietly as she took her seat. 'I ain't half going to miss the big fella's presence. Whoever set Bob up has done Leona McGrath's killer a favour.'

  '. . . Unless, of course, they're one and the same person.'

  He looked down at her. 'The same thought's been niggling away at me. But let's not turn a long shot into a conclusion. The boss would tel you that setting up the McGrath crime was a ful -time job. He'd say that the guy wouldn't have had time to spare for him.'

  The Head of CID switched his gaze to the far corner. 'Sammy,' he cal ed, 'come through and give me a report on the supplier of those false plates.'

  'I've been waiting to do just that, sir,' the young Detective Constable replied. 'I think I might be on to something.'

  Martin had been heading for his office. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Pye as he rose from his desk. 'You do, do you? Good work if you are, lad. Come on, let's hear it.' He strode back into his office, with his junior at his heels.

  'It's like this, boss,' said the constable, closing the door behind him. 'I was plugging away like you told me to, round the used car network, and round our informants, without getting as much as a 152

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  sniff about anyone supplying dodgy plates. I thought I had run it dry: then I had an idea.

  'Remember those two guys we encountered in the Jackie Charles investigation? Whitehead and Bailey, the two salesmen who worked for him in the Seafield showroom?'

  'Yes,' Martin acknowledged, 'I remember we interviewed them.

  But they were on the up and up, weren't they?'

  'That's right. The inquiry concluded that the showroom was the only legitimate part of Charles's business portfolio, and that they were exactly as they seemed, honest car salesmen.'

  The Chief Superintendent nodded. 'Go on.'

  'Well, sir, I thought, wasn't that a bit unlikely, really? Everything else about Charles was completely bent. Surely some of it must have washed over the car operation. Then I remembered that guy McCartney, the heavy who was nicked in Ainwick with the, eh ...

  incriminating cargo ... in his boot. He was one of Charles's team, and the plates on that big white Rover of his turned out to have been false too.

  'So I took a chance. I went down to Seafield, to see Bailey and Whitehead. You know that Jackie's showroom was rebuilt, and that his dad's managing it for him?'

  'Yes.'

  'The old man was out when I called, so I saw the two salesmen together, without being bothered by him interfering, or intimidating them by his presence. I told them that we were wrapping up the prosecution case against Ricky McCartney, and that we had info that Jackie's workshop, behind the showroom, had put false plates on the Rover. I asked if they could confirm it, but I said that we were pretty sure of our ground. Of course, I sort of pointed out that it would mean the end for the business. The finance companies would blacklist it; that sort of thing.'

  'So?'

  'They bought it. Bailey swore blind, and Whitehead backed him up, that nothing dodgy ever happened at Seafield. Then he told me that on the morning of the incident that McCartney was nicked for, Dougie Terry, Charles's minder, cal ed him. He asked him to pick up a parcel from a workshop just off Dairy Road, and deliver it to big Ricky at his home address.

  'Bailey said that he didn't look in the parcel, but that it was long and rectangular and was about the right weight for a couple of plates.'

  'Could he remember the address of the workshop?' asked Martin, eagerly.

  'Yes, sir. He gave it to me. He said the guy who handed over the package was cal ed Eddie Sweeney. I checked, but it doesn't appear that he's known to us.'

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  The Head of CID smiled. 'Good work right enough, Sammy. Of course, there's nothing to link our man on the moors with Sweeney, but Bailey's information gives us grounds to pull him in. When we squeeze him, you never know what'l pop out.

  'I should really turn it over to Superintendent Pringle. It's his divisional area. But what the hell, you did the legwork on this, so let's you and I pay a call on Mr Sweeney ourselves.'

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  As Lord Archibald had anticipated. Skinner's way was blocked by a small group of photographers as he, Mitchell Laidlaw and Alex stepped out of their taxi in Chambers Street. Beside
them stood the exultant figure of Noel Salmon.

  'Look this way, Bob,' the Spotlight journalist cal ed, a triumphant edge to his tone.

  'What,' the policeman called out, with an easy contemptuous smile.

  'You mean short, cross-eyed and crumpled?' Several of the photographers laughed.

  'Sorry about this, Bob,' said one, a bulky, bearded figure whom Skinner knew well, raising his camera to focus on the group.

  'That's al right, Denis. I've never objected to being photographed before, so why should I now?' He looked to his left, at Laidlaw and Alex. 'Just walk on,' he said, 'and smile if you look into anyone's lens.'

  'How does it feel to have a crook for a father, Miss Skinner?'

  Alex stopped in her tracks and turned to face her heckler, the Spotlight reporter. She stared at him with something closely related

  to the unblinking glare with which her father had transfixed a thousand criminals through his career. 'Are you just plain stupid, or can you really stand the cost of a defamation action, Mr Salmon?'

  she asked him, edging closer to him, as the little man backed off.

  'Because when this is over, what you've just said will give us grounds.'

  'Come on, lass,' said her father. 'That'll come in due course. Let's not keep Archie waiting.'

  The trio strode off through a gateway and towards the entrance to the Crown Office, from which Scotland's criminal prosecution service is run. The photographers watched them leave. They were not al owed beyond the pavement, since the building also housed Edinburgh's Sheriff Court, from whose precincts they were always banned.

  Inside the recently built office, Laidlaw headed for the reception desk. His approach was anticipated by a young woman in a smart grey suit. 'Hello,' she introduced herself. 'I'm Susan Shaw, the Lord Advocate's assistant. If you'll follow me, I'll take you straight to Lord Archibald.'

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  They walked in silence as she led them along a corridor which ended at a light oak door. She knocked lightly upon it, then held it open for Skinner and his companions.

  Lord Archibald crossed the room to met them, smal , grey and twinkling, his hand outstretched in greeting. 'Hello Bob,' he said, then smiled as he saw the other man. 'I'm not too surprised to see you here, Mitch.'

  'It's an honour to be in your new chambers, My Lord,' Laidlaw responded. He and Archie Nelson had been contemporaries at university, and had served their legal apprenticeships in the same office. He turned to Alex. 'This is my assistant. Miss Skinner.'

  The LordAdvocate's eyebrows rose in surprise, as he looked from Alex, to her father and back again. 'We'd better watch our step, then,'

  he said, managing to sound not in the least patronising.

  'Come, let's sit down.' He turned towards a big conference table to the left of his desk. On the far side, sat two men, unsmiling, in dark suits. Neither rose as the others joined them. .

  'These are the investigating officers,' announced Lord Archibald, briskly. 'Deputy Chief Constable Cheshire, and Detective Chief Superintendent Ericson. They've just arrived.' The men nodded in turn as they were introduced. Cheshire was in his mid-fifties, Ericson ten years younger. Skinner had heard of the Manchester DCC. He had a reputation within his own force as a fierce disciplinarian, and had handled a number of similar inter-constabulary investigations in England for the Home Office.

  He gave him an affable, appraising look. The Englishman stared back, with an expression which made the room suddenly colder.

  Skinner knew what the eyes said. 'I don't like bent coppers, mate, and when I get finished, you 'II know how much I don't like them.'

  His own gaze hardened. 'Normally, I'd be pleased to meet you gentlemen,' he began. 'But in these circumstances, I can't honestly say that I am. However, I recognise that you have a job to do, and as long as you approach it fairly and impartially, we'll co-operate in any way we can.'

  Cheshire shook his bul et head. His greying hair was cut so close that it almost seemed shaved, and he wore the deep tan of an outdoorsman. 'Let me disabuse you of that notion, Mr Skinner,' he barked. 'Presumption of innocence is all very well for an ordinary criminal investigation. This isn't. In investigating al egations against policemen, I begin with a presumption of guilt. This time, it'll be up to you to prove yourself innocent.'

  Mitchell Laidlaw stiffened, and seemed about to intervene, but Lord Archibald forestal ed him with the slightest wave of a hand. 'If that's the approach which the Home Office has al owed you to take in the past,' he said, in his light, lilting accent, 'I'm afraid you'll find 156

  that we do things differently in Scotland. I think it best if I begin by setting out, for everyone's benefit, the basis on which this enquiry will proceed.' He leaned forward, linking his short stubby fingers together, and looking directly at Cheshire.

  'This is, in law and in fact, my investigation. You are here to look into the al egations which have been made against Deputy Chief Constable Skinner, and to report to me on the weight of the evidence.

  If your findings are that there is a criminal case to be answered, the precognition of witnesses will be undertaken by the Procurator Fiscal of Strathclyde, and his deputies, al members of the Crown Office staff.

  'You and Mr Ericson wil not take formal statements from potential witnesses, nor will you be permitted to interview Mr Skinner under caution. In all of this, I must insist that you adopt a neutral attitude.

  You wil make no suggestions to witnesses, and you wil conduct all your interviews together, never individually.

  'You are not witch finders, gentlemen; you are simply my agents.'

  He switched his gaze to Laidlaw. 'Do those ground rules seem fair to you?'

  'Perfectly, with the proviso that we have access to any notes taken by Mr Cheshire and Mr Ericson in the course of interviews.'

  'That's fine by me,' said the Lord Advocate,'... which means it's fine!'

  He reached for a thin green manilla folder which lay on the table and pul ed it towards him. 'Right, let's get down to business.' He looked at Laidlaw again. 'Mitchell,' he said, in a quiet, and suddenly very formal tone, 'this is what we have against your client.'

  He opened the folder and took out a single document.

  'That's it?' asked Alex, almost incredulous.

  The Lord Advocate looked at her, and nodded. 'For the moment, it is. Uncovering the rest, or discounting it, is what this investigation is about.

  'This is a covering letter from Mr Noel Salmon, of the newspaper Spotlight. It claims that he received information that a corrupt payment, in the amount of 100,000, was made to Mr Skinner, with a view to securing for the donor a favourable outcome of a case under investigation.

  'The money, it al eges, was paid into a new account in the Guernsey office of the private bank JZG. The account is numbered, UK 73461, and the deposit was received in cash.'

  'From whom?' asked Skinner, sharply, but his solicitor laid a hand on his sleeve, as if to silence him.

  'Patience, Bob,' said the Lord Advocate. 'The sum was delivered by courier, with a covering letter of instruction, unsigned.' He looked across at Laidlaw, who nodded.

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  'Where is the evidence linking this payment to Mr Skinner?' he asked.

  'Mr Salmon's letter advises me that he is informed that with the covering letter was a note saying that the beneficiary of the account was Mr Robert Morgan Skinner, of Edinburgh. The note, it is al eged, identified you specifical y by giving your birthplace and your date

  of birth. Further, it is said that there was a separate sheet of paper with the note, which bears a sample of Mr Skinner's signature.'

  Mitchell Laidlaw rocked back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, and took a breath so deep that for a second or two, it seemed that the buttons on his waistcoat would pop. 'I see,' he boomed at last, as his explosive exhalation subsided. 'But you are only speaking of allegations, Archie. Al egations, if I may say so, from a very disreputable source, with a known grudge against my client.

/>   'If the Secretary of State has suspended a senior police officer based purely on what you've told me, I'm going straight to the Court of Session; I'm going to rouse the Lord President himself and have that suspension lifted.'

  Skinner looked at his friend, seeing him once more in a new light.

  But Lord Archibald shook his head. 'No, no, Mitch,' he retorted quietly. 'I wouldn't have let him do that, and you know it. Salmon's letter says that the manager of the bank refused to discuss the matter with him. Quite right too, and beneficial. Not even the Spotlight would dare run the story this Sunday without corroboration from

  him.' He paused.

  'However, the same manager was pragmatic and wise enough to agree to discuss it with me.'

  'Why should he do that, with respect?' asked Alex.

  'Because I'm a member of the Government, and because JZG has a banking licence in the UK. I didn't have to spell anything out to him, once I'd convinced him who I was.

  'I called him this morning, from the Secretary of State's office, and established my bona fides simply by having him cal me back through the Scottish Office switchboard. His name is Mr Medine: French influence, I suppose.

  'He confirmed to me that account number UK 73461 does exist, and that the substance of the al egation is correct. He's awaiting the arrival of Mr Cheshire and Mr Ericson. He doesn't normally go to the office on Saturdays, but he's making an exception tomorrow.'

  Skinner leaned forward, looking up the table towards the Lord Advocate. 'We've got access to this man too, Archie, yes?'

  'In principle, you have. I can't order him to see you, of course.'

  'Can we make life easier for him, then?'

  'What do you have in mind?'

  The policeman smiled. 'Wel , since this is an informal enquiry, 158

  and since we'll have access to witnesses and interview notes, how about letting one of my team accompany your men to Guernsey to sit in on the interview?'

  Cheshire snorted. 'Nice try, Skinner.'

  Lord Archibald frowned at first at the investigator's comment, then smiled as he began to think the request through. 'As an observer, you say? Not to conduct the interview in any way?'