Quintin Jardine - Skinner Skinner 07

by Skinner's Ghosts (pdf)

  259

  Skinner", that's reserved for official letters and for cheques.'

  He shook his head. 'I should have known from the first moment that I heard of the bribe al egation that it was an inside job. But there are some things that not even I'l face wil ingly. And I didn't, not until Alex brought me back my own signature from Guernsey.'

  Skinner sighed, then went on, in a cold, even voice. 'The clincher came when you used Carole Charles's typewriter to type that note.

  You never believed for an instant, did you, that anyone would match the note to that machine?

  'It was handy, a standard electric typewriter unconnected with the Force, so you used it. After it was recovered from the flat in Westmoreland Cliff that Carole kept as a secret office, Neil and I brought it back to Fettes, and I put it in your room. It was there for a day or so until it went off to the production store. You had that time to use it.

  'In the same way, as my assistant, you had every chance to hide that receipt in my desk later.

  'If Cheshire hadn't found it, I suppose that eventual y you'd have dropped a hint that he should look there. It would have been a clumsy, accidental hint of course,' he said sarcastically, 'and you'd have been appal ed by the way it turned out.'

  He paused. 'The typewriter was a huge mistake, really - far bigger than the signature, because who else could have used it? I knew I didn't. Not Neil Mcl henney, in a million years. Not Ruth McConnel , in the same million. Not Carole Charles, because she was dead when most of this happened. Not Jackie, because he didn't even know about the Westmoreland Cliff office, let alone about the bloody typewriter.

  In fact when Jackie did claim to have typed the note, the whole thing screamed out at me, and the last of my disbelief vanished.'

  Skinner grinned again, cruelly. 'Think about it, Pam. When was the last time that you and I made love? Before that note was tied to that typewriter. Ever since then, I've managed to have a headache.

  'No, lady, only you could have used that machine to type the note.

  I didn't want to believe it. At first I wouldn't let myself. Not because I'm deep in love with you, because I'm not. No, because I didn't want to admit to myself that you could con me, and maybe because I didn't want to find out why.'

  He began to move slowly, menacingly, towards her. 'Then something happened,' he said, slowly, 'that made everything else insignificant.

  'When Cheshire and Alex came back from Guernsey with the suggestion that the man who made the cash delivery might have been the same man who killed Leona and Catherine Anderson, and kidnapped the kids, at first I dismissed it out of hand.

  'But when Peter Gilbert Heuer sent me this morning's tape, that 260

  outlandish idea turned out to be the truth. I made sure you were in earshot when I said that, out loud, in Andy's office this afternoon. I wanted to see how you'd react. It didn't take you very long to cal Air UK.

  'Because you know, Pamela, that Heuer's involvement in both plots makes al of this a whole different game, one with lives at stake, and maybe yours among them.'

  He was standing over her now, as she backed towards the window.

  'That thing he let slip, my dear, that he knew of the Guernsey bank, means that you are linked to Peter Gilbert Heuer. It means that you gave him my unlisted number in Gullane, just as you gave it to Salmon. Most of al it means that you are linked to the murder of two women and the kidnapping of their children.'

  He gripped her by the arms, just below the armpits, and he lifted her up, clear off her feet, to stare into her eyes, cold, hard and with

  menace.

  'You must tell me now, Pamela,' he said, evenly. 'You have no choices left.' He lowered her to the ground, turned her around, and pushed her firmly towards the living room.

  'You will tell me everything, because you are standing on ground more deadly than you know. And most of al .. .' for the first time, his tone betrayed his hurt, and huge disappointment, 'you wil tell me ... why?'

  When she looked up at him, her eyes were almost as cold, as cruel as his. 'Why?' she repeated, in a calm, hard-edged voice which he had never before heard issue from her lips. But it reminded him at once of one that he had heard before, and had thought was silenced for ever.

  'To take away your life,' she said. 'That's why. And, to quote you back at yourself, to look at the wreckage afterwards and say, "Quite fucking right too".'

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  82

  'Sorry I'm late, Andy,' said Skinner stepping out of his car, parked at the rear of the headquarters building. The time was fifteen minutes to seven, and a green helicopter stood on the sports field, its blades stil and drooping.

  'S'okay,' said Martin. 'Our stuff's on the chopper.' They began to walk towards the aircraft. 'Did you do the business you mentioned?'

  He nodded. 'I won't be seeing Pamela Masters again.' Martin's head swivelled round in surprise.

  'The lady's been a rucking roadblock in my life, pal,' Skinner said, vehemently. 'But not any more.'

  'A clean break, I hope?' asked Martin, tentatively.

  'Oh yes, as clean as they come.' The younger man looked at him, puzzled again by both his tone and his mood. 'I'l tell you al about it later; for now let's get away in this contraption. Hello, Gerald,' he said, recognising the young lieutenant who stood by the helicopter door, and shaking hands before climbing in.

  'Where are we going, sir?' the pilot asked. 'Mr Arrow only told me to report here. He said you'd have further orders.' Martin looked at Skinner in surprise at the mention of Arrow's name.

  'That's right.' He produced Mcl henney's map. 'We're going to pay a call on a man named Everard Balliol at a castle on the shore of Loch Mhor. He doesn't know we're coming, though. I always think it best to surprise Everard. He thinks I'm al right, though. Especially since I let him beat me at golf.'

  The pilot looked at the map, then at a larger chart spread out on the seat beside him. 'Okay, gentlemen,' he said. 'It looks simple enough. I'll file a flight-plan with Prestwick once we're in the air. I'd guess around an hour and a half, two hours. I should warn you, though there's a restricted area just to the north. That might be a problem, if there's military traffic expected.'

  Skinner shook his head. 'I don't think so. Let's go.'

  Conversation was difficult because of the noise of the engines, but Skinner managed to brief Martin on the intelligence gleaned by Mcllhenney on his visit to Leuchars. 'If the cottages are on Bal iol's land, as I think they are, he should be able to tell us who 262

  the occupants are, and hopeful y some more besides.'

  'Yes, let's hope so. Who's meeting us up there? A squad from Northern?'

  The DCC shook his head. 'Nobody.'

  'Eh?'

  'This is down to us, Andy, just you and me.'

  They sat in silence for the rest of the flight, looking at the scenery, as they crossed Stirlingshire to Crianlarich, then swung northward, skirting Ben Nevis and Fort William to the west, and following the jagged coastline. Final y, just before eight thirty, the pilot began his descent, until Balliol's castle came into view, a grey speck on the horizon at first, but growing larger and larger as they approached, along the banks of Loch Mhor.

  'Set it down near Mr Balliol's own helicopter,' Skinner ordered, looking down and seeing two black-clad figures run out on to the castle terrace.

  As the aircraft settled in the grass and as the blades began to slow in their rotation, the DCC saw Balliol himself emerge, from a small door not far from his study. He jumped down from the helicopter, and ran towards him.

  'What the hell's this, Bob?' drawled the American, yet with the air of someone who had not been truly surprised for a long time.

  Skinner shook his hand and introduced Martin, who had fol owed behind. 'Sorry to drop in unannounced like this, Everard, but this is important and we have to move fast. I need to know, does you estate include a place called King's Gully?'

  The billionaire looked at him. 'Sure, and the land for ten miles north
of that, five miles east and all the way west to the coast.'

  'There are cottages in the Gul y - two according to the map. Who lives there?'

  'Christ, Bob, I don't know that. My estate factor deals with all that stuff.'

  'Is he here?'

  'No, he lives on the far side of the loch. Come on in, guys; I'l call him, and tell him to get round here.'

  'Thanks,' said Skinner, 'and ask him also, if he has any plans of the King's Gully cottages, to bring them with him.'

  'Yeah, okay.' He led the way into the house, and through to the study. 'Set three more places for supper,' he barked to one of the Koreans. 'No, make that four: I forgot about the pilot.'

  'No,' said the DCC. 'He has to stay with the chopper. I'm sure he'd be pleased if you took something out to him, though.'

  They were still in the study, but ready to eat when the Estate Factor's Land Rover drew up outside the study window, twenty minutes after Balliol's telephone summons. A tall, grey, 263

  weatherbeaten, tweed-clad man jumped down from the driver's seat and strode purposeful y into the house, carrying a briefcase.

  'Hi, Don,' called Balliol, as the newcomer appeared in the doorway of the study. 'This is Donald McDonald,' he announced to Skinner and Martin. 'He was here when I bought the place, but if he hadn't been I'd have hired him anyway, for his name alone.'

  The billionaire waved his employee towards a seat, as two Koreans fol owed him into the room carrying trays laden with hamburger rol s and jugs of coffee. 'Don, these guys are policemen. They need to know about the cottages up in King's Gully. Like are they occupied, and if so, by whom?'

  McDonald gave a thin smile. 'I can answer those questions.' His accent, like his name, was pure Highlands. 'You may have seen two cottages on the map, gentlemen, but one has been derelict for years.'

  He turned to Balliol. 'I've been meaning to talk to you, sir, about either demolishing it, or refurbishing it for rental.'

  'Later, Don, later.'

  'Very good. The cottage which is in habitable condition is rented to a single gentleman. His name is Gilbert Peters.'

  'How long has he held the tenancy?' asked Martin.

  'This time, these six months past.'

  'This time?'

  'Yes sir. A few years ago now, when my father was estate factor here and I was his assistant, in the time of Lord Erran, Mr Peters also rented the cottage. When he gave it up, we assumed we'd seen the last of him, but when he turned up again, I remembered him well enough.

  'I had no hesitation about letting him have the place once more.

  My father used to comment on how good a tenant he was. Always paid his rent on time, by bank transfer, and always kept the place spotless. He even made a few improvements.'

  'Such as?'

  'Well, when he was here the first time he had the telephone put in.

  Since he's been back, he's painted the outside, and he's instal ed a television satellite dish.'

  'What sort of car does he drive?' asked Skinner.

  'Last time he came to see me it was a Subaru,' replied McDonald.

  'Silvery grey in colour, four-wheel drive. You really need that here.'

  'When did he come to see you last?'

  'About four months ago, to ask if he could paint the place and instal the dish.'

  'And when did you last cal on him?'

  'I don't,' said the factor. 'My father and I have always held that good tenants have as much right to privacy as property-owners. I've seen the place from a distance, seen the repainting and the dish, but 264

  that's all. If Mr Peters invited me to call on him, I would, but otherwise no.

  'Last time he was here, he used to invite my father and me up for a malt, on occasion, but that hasn't happened since he's been back.'

  'What do you know about him?' asked the DCC.

  'I know that he was a soldier, because when he rented the cottage the first time, my father took up the references he gave. I saw no need to do so this time.'

  'Did he tell you where he'd been since he left?'

  McDonald scratched his head. 'Not directly. But he implied that he'd been on service abroad. He did say that he'd retired from the Army, though. He didn't say what he's doing now.'

  'I don't suppose that you'l know when he's there, and when he isn't?'

  'No. The last time I looked into the Gul y I didn't see his car, but he could have gone to Fort Wil iam to shop.'

  'When was that?'

  The factor scratched his head a second time, as if to aid his memory. 'A week ago last Friday,' he replied at last.

  Skinner nodded. 'Okay. One last question, Mr McDonald,' he said.

  He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, and took out a small photograph, taken earlier from the folder on Peter Gilbert Heuer. He held it up. 'Is this Gilbert Peters?'

  The grey man peered at the picture. 'Oh yes,' he nodded. 'It's not recent, more like from his first time here, but that's Mr Peters, all right.'

  The two policemen looked at each other. 'Plans, Mr McDonald,'

  asked Martin. 'Do you have any plans?'

  'Oh yes,' the factor answered, delving into his briefcase. He unfolded an old sheet of waxed paper. 'This goes back years, to the time that the electricity was installed, but it's still accurate. There have been no internal structural alterations to the cottage since then.'

  He spread the plan on Bal iol's desk. The four men stood around it, studying the layout. Mr McDonald pointed to a direction symbol in the top right corner. 'The front of the cottage faces south, across the King's Gully,' he said. 'To catch the sun. It is built more or less on the Gul y floor.'

  He took them through the layout. 'This is the front door, here, with a window to the left. There is a small entrance hall with a living room to the right and a bedroom to the left. At the back of the hall there are doors to the kitchen, bathroom and second bedroom.'

  'Where's the back door?' asked the Chief Superintendent.

  'Through the kitchen. There's a wee garden to the back, with a wee burn running through it.'

  Skinner and Martin leaned over the plan, studying it in detail.

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  'How wide is the floor of the Gully?' asked the DCC.

  'About two hundred yards. The cottage is in the centre of the basin.'

  'How is it approached, normal y?'

  'By vehicle, from a rough track to the east.'

  'And what's the terrain?'

  'Bracken,' said the factor. 'Tal green bracken. None of the estate workers ever go into the Gul y. There's no point. It's no use for pasture, so you don't get sheep or deer going in there either. Only rabbits. Mr Peters is free to shoot as many of them as he likes for the pot. There's a wee loch just to the north. He can fish that for trout if he wants, too.'

  'Does he shoot, do you know?' Skinner interposed.

  'I've never seen him, but I've heard shots that could only have been him. If it had been poachers, the keeper would have found their signs.'

  'What sort of firearm? Shotgun?'

  'No. Rifle, it sounded like.'

  'Mmm, I see,' mused the detective.

  'One more thing,' he asked. 'Can you remember where the phone is?'

  'The telephone, sir? Yes, it's on a wee table by the front door, beneath the window.'

  'Is that the only one, or are there extensions?'

  McDonald shook his head. 'As far as I recall there's only the one, unless Mr Peters has put in more. But it would not be easy to do that, because it's an old-fashioned instal ation, not the kind they have today that you can unplug and move about.'

  'Right,' said Skinner, pointing at the plan. 'The phone's under this window. Can you remember, is there a curtain or a blind?'

  'No, sir, there is not, or at least there has not been. The front door is solid, so there is only the window to catch the light.'

  'That's good. That's very good,' said the DCC, almost to himself.

  He picked up a hamburger, glancing at his watch in the pro
cess. 'It's nine thirty, so there'll be some half-decent light left. Could you take us up towards the Gul y, now, to a point about a mile short? So that we know how to get back there in the morning?'

  McDonald glanced at Bal iol, who nodded.

  'Thanks,' said Skinner, taking his mobile phone from his belt, where it was clipped. 'Before we go, I must cal my daughter. Will I get a signal up here?'

  'Sure,' Balliol told him. 'I had a cell specially installed so I can be contacted anywhere on the estate, anytime.'

  He stepped to the study window and dial ed Andy and Alex's number. The signal was strong and her voice was clear when she came on line. 'That's good, love,' he said. 'I wasn't sure this thing 266

  would work up here. Andy and I have had to go up north. We'l be back tomorrow.'

  'Okay, Pops. I know better than to ask why. Tell him to bring back some salmon.'

  'Venison, more like. We're off hunting. See you.'

  He reclipped the phone and turned to see Martin follow McDonald from the study. Only Bal iol remained. 'See here. Bob?' he asked.

  'What's this about?'

  Skinner looked him in the eye, debating with himself for a moment or two. At last he decided. 'Your Mr Peters has killed two women and kidnapped their children. He's holding them for ransom, in your cottage. Pay-day is the day after tomorrow. Andy and I have to get those kids out before then. That's if they're still alive.'

  The billionaire's sallow face went pale. 'I have done some things in my time,' he snarled. 'But women and children . . .' His eyes narrowed. 'You want my Koreans? They're damn good. Mercenaries.

  Night fighters.'

  'Not good enough for this guy. He'll have the area around the place wired with traps and geophones so's he'd know as soon as they were within fifty yards. He'd kill the children for sure at that, then your Koreans, and he'd be off into the night.'

  The big policeman looked at the American. 'If you could lend us a Land Rover tomorrow morning that would be good, but I don't want your men anywhere near the Gully. I don't want anyone around.