Gallery Whispers

  store name; nothing at all. There were no others like it in the house or

  in the garden shed, nor was there any sign of the black tape. We've

  looked everywhere now; someone took it away, for sure.'

  'Probably brought it too. The ex: what do we know about him?

  What does he Profess? Do we know yet?'

  Martin nodded. 'Brian Mackie had all that before ten o'clock this

  morning. He's a surgeon. He has a chair at Edinburgh University, and

  works mostly at the Western General Hospital.'

  'Mmm. Divorced for seven years, you say. Did Mrs Weston have

  any man friends?'

  'Apparently so. Maggie found a neighbour, a Ms Joan Ball, another

  single woman, who claims to have been a close pal. According to her,

  15

  Mrs Weston was having a relationship with one of her clients, a guy

  called Terry Futcher. He runs an advertising agency, and he's married.

  'The husband was still around, as well. They stayed friends after

  the split. . .'

  'Do we know why they were divorced?' the DCC asked.

  'It seems to have been her idea. She told Joan Ball that she just

  wanted her own space. She wanted the freedom to be herself, she said.

  After they parted, the boy stayed with his father during the school

  term and with her during the holidays. The Prof has a cottage up in

  the Highlands and occasionally the three of them went up there

  together.

  'He'd visit her at the steading on occasion too. Joan Ball knew not

  to call on her when she saw his car there ... or Futcher's for that

  matter.'

  'And did these cars stay all night?'

  'Of course.'

  'Did she see any cars there last night?'

  'No, she didn't,' Martin replied. 'She was out herself, and got

  home well after midnight. She said that Gaynor's lights were on, but

  other than her own, there was no car at the door. She'd have noticed if

  either of the blokes were there.'

  'Did the Prof know about Futcher?'

  'Yes. But Ms Ball didn't think that the boyfriend knew about him.'

  Skinner shook his steel-grey head. 'Shit. Two-timing the married

  boyfriend with the single ex-husband. That's a nice twist.'

  Martin smiled, suddenly and wickedly. 'Who said the ex is single?'

  he asked. 'Professor Weston married his secretary five years ago.'

  'Jesus!' The acting Chief Constable laughed out loud. 'Two cheated

  wives, a cuckolded lover, and an ex-husband with a guilty secret.

  There seems to have been a whole queue of people with a reason to

  top this woman.'

  'Except,' countered the Head of CID, 'that Sarah's thinking, and

  mine, is that Gaynor Weston topped herself, with assistance. Now

  why would she want to do that? According to Joan Ball's account, she

  was living the life of Reilly.'

  'Could you and Sarah be wrong?'

  The DCS frowned at his friend. 'The postmortem may show that,

  but I don't think so.'

  'Then I hate the sound of this one,' Skinner said. 'Unless we get

  a clear DNA link to the helper . . . suppose they made love before

  they did it ... it could be a bastard to prove. Christ, I almost wish

  this person had been just a wee bit cleverer; hadn't left the second

  glass, and most of all that the bugger had left that roll of black tape

  16

  . .. stuck, preferably, to Mrs Weston's fingers.

  'If he ... or she . .. had done that simple thing, we'd be reporting

  this one as a suicide, and saving ourselves a lot of work; and probably

  grief.'

  He frowned. 'Did she leave a note?'

  'No. We turned the place inside out; even looked in her computer.

  Nothing at all.'

  'Apart from her gentlemen callers, did Mrs Weston have a big

  circle of friends?'

  Yes. Her diary was chockfull.'

  'In that event, all those people will have to be checked out... as

  indeed will the very helpful Ms Ball, if she's as close a pal as she told

  Brian. At the moment she's our only witness. I wonder if she has a roll

  of black tape in her toolbox?'

  'Let's wait for good Doctor Sarah's postmortem report, said Martin.

  'Once we have that we'll have a better idea of the basis of our

  investigation. If we do find ourselves with a lot of interviewing to do,

  I'll give Brian extra resources to handle it, if he needs them.'

  The Head of CID looked across to the far end of the big room, as

  Gerry Crossley, the Chief Constable's secretary, came in carrying a

  tray with two mugs and a plate of biscuits. 'Apart from all that,

  though, sir,' he said, as the young man placed the tray on the coffee

  table, 'why did you want to see me?'

  'I want to brief you on something that's developed. And to ask your

  view on what I intend to do about it.' He paused, as the door closed

  behind the secretary. 'I've called a meeting of heads of Special Branch

  from all eight Scottish police forces; two o'clock this afternoon, in

  this building.

  'But before I get round to that, let's deal with the really important

  stuff. Sarah called me from Edinburgh Royal, while she was waiting

  for the body to arrive from Oldbams. She said that she was worried

  about you; that you weren't yourself this morning.

  'I can tell just from looking at you that she's right. What's up, son?'

  Martin picked up his mug, took a sip to test the temperature, then

  a mouthful. He held it, cradled in both hands, for several seconds,

  staring across the room and out of the long window. Finally his gaze

  swung round to Skinner.

  'It's Alex and me,' he said, at last. 'We're in bother. I think we

  might be breaking up.'

  There was an edge to the silence which filled the room. Andy

  looked at his friend, trying to gauge his reaction.

  'Anybody else involved?' Bob asked quietly.

  'Yes,' Martin replied. 'But not in the sense you mean. Mitchell

  17

  Laidlaw's the problem; Laidlaw, and the mighty firm of Curie Anthony

  and Jarvis. With every day she spends there, Alex's ambitions are

  becoming more clear. Before she graduated, they were vague, and

  involved going to the Bar.

  'Under Mitch's influence she's become hooked on litigation. That's

  the specialist area she wants to follow, and being Alex, she's only

  interested in becoming the best there is.'

  'Do you begrudge her that?'

  'No, I don't. But her ambition and my hopes for the two of us don't

  fit together any more. We've been dancing around this for a while

  now. This morning I brought it to a head. I asked her whether she

  wants to break off our engagement to concentrate on her career.'

  Skinner gasped. 'That's a bit heavy, Andy, isn't it?'

  'Maybe it is. But she didn't say "no".'

  The silence returned, ever more palpable. Bob stood up, walked

  over to the window and looked out. 'Is this purely about Alex?' he

  asked, quietly. 'Or does her mother come into it too?'

  'What d'you mean?'

  'You know bloody well what I mean. You tell me you see her career

  as a rival; but are you coloured in that by what you know about Myra?

  Let's not piss about: Alex's mother was a serial adulteress. Are you
/>   asking yourself whether this new-found ambition others, this lusting

  after something other than you, might be some sort of genetic

  inheritance setting itself free?'

  Martin threw back his head. 'Jesus, Bob!' The words burst out in a

  great gasp.

  'Alex isn't a bit like her mother. It's you she takes after, and that's

  what really worries me. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but all that time that

  Myra was screwing around, you hadn't the faintest idea of it, because

  you were so wrapped up in the job. If she hadn't been killed, your

  marriage would probably have gone on.'

  Skinner snorted. 'You think it would have survived her being

  pregnant by another man?'

  'Sure. She'd either have had the kid aborted without your knowledge,

  or she'd just have told you that it was yours. You'd never have

  doubted that for a second.'

  The big man's eyes narrowed. 'So my family's subordinate to my

  job is it?' he whispered.

  'No it's not,' Martin snapped. 'Not any more. You've sorted out

  your priorities. But you've done it from a position at the top of the

  tree. Alex hasn't, and she's only just started to climb. I hadn't thought

  of it this way before, but if I think of you and Myra, then look at Alex

  and me, the roles are reversed.

  18

  'I'm not saying for one moment that I'm afraid Alex will start

  sleeping around: but sometimes I'm not so sure about me.'

  'Ahh Christ,' said Skinner wearily, shaking his head. 'Life's never

  easy, pal, is it. Look take it from me, my daughter loves you. Do you

  love her?'

  'Of course.'

  'Well? Isn't that enough?'

  'That's what I'm asking Alex. So far, I've had no answer, just

  silence. And to me, that's speaking volumes.'

  19

  6

  There is nothing especially mysterious about Special Branch. Every

  police force has such a unit within its organisation, and they link

  loosely together into a network which is responsible for protecting the

  public against subversion, terrorism and other threats outside the

  bounds of run-of-the-mill criminal activity.

  Nevertheless, looking at the eight officers, seven men and one

  woman, who were seated at the conference table as he came into the

  room, Bob Skinner experienced an unusual sense of personal power,

  and pride. He was Chief Constable only on a temporary basis, during

  the absence of Sir James Proud, struck down by a mild heart attack

  while on holiday in Spain. Sir John Govan, the outgoing Strathclyde

  Chief, and new security adviser to the Secretary of State, could easily

  have assumed command of the operation he was about to outline, and

  yet it was Govan himself who had proposed Skinner for the task.

  'Bob has a track record in this type of situation,' he had said. 'The

  rest of us are pen-pushers by comparison, so let's all of us agree to put

  our people under his command until this crisis is resolved.'

  Skinner and the two men who had accompanied him into the

  room took their places at the head of the table. As they did so, the

  eight others looked at them in complete surprise. The DCC scanned

  their faces. Detective Inspector Mario McGuire, his own Special

  Branch chief, Superintendent Harry McGuigan from Strathclyde, then

  Lorraine Morrison, from Tayside, Walter Paton, from Central, Joe

  Impey from Dumfries and Galloway, Brian Burns from Fife, Andrew

  Macintosh, from Grampian and lan Evans from Northern, detective

  inspectors all.

  'Good afternoon, people,' he said briskly. 'Welcome to Fettes, and

  thank you all for getting here promptly.

  'I know that in your roles as heads of Special Branch, you maintain

  regular contact with each other, so wholesale introductions aren't

  necessary. However, for those of you who don't know my companions,

  the officer on my right is Detective Chief Superintendent Andy

  Martin, my Head of CID, and on my left is Detective Sergeant Neil

  Mcllhenney, my Executive Assistant.

  20

  'Mr Martin is here as my deputy in these matters. I'll explain DS

  Mcllhenney's role later. Now, to business. All of you, even Mario

  McGuire, my own head of Special Branch, thought that this was

  going to be an ordinary liaison meeting. It isn't, and for that small

  deception, I apologise.

  'So why the hell are you here? Don't worry, I'm going to tell you,

  but first, I want to say this. You all work on a confidential basis, and

  know the importance of keeping your mouths shut. This meeting isn't

  just confidential, it's Top Secret. Neither its existence nor its subject

  are to be discussed with anyone, other than members of this group, or

  with your own Chief Constables. In this instance, all of you are

  working directly under my command, so that's an order.'

  He picked up McGuire's glance. 'Yes, Mario, that applies to you

  too. I know your wife's a Detective Chief Inspector, but she doesn't

  need to know about this.'

  Skinner looked round the table. 'You'll all remember a couple of

  years ago, when we had major problems here in Edinburgh with a

  gang of terrorists at the Festival.' There was a general murmur of

  confirmation round the table, and a few nods.

  'Well this time, we may have something similar on our hands.

  'Like all of you,' he continued, 'I'm part of a secret network. Mr

  Martin, Neil and Mario are aware of this, and now you should be

  too, if only so that you understand the strength of what we're dealing

  with here. Sir John Govan may have taken over from me as the

  Secretary of State's security adviser and good luck to him ...' Only

  Martin and Mcllhenney caught the edge of bitterness in Skinner's

  tone. '... but that doesn't affect my links with, or my position

  within, Ml 5.'

  He paused, to let his words sink in. 'Last weekend, the Director

  General had a call from his opposite number in the Secret Intelligence

  Service. The Cold War may be long behind us, but as we've seen all

  too often, that doesn't make the world a less dangerous place, or take

  away the need to gather knowledge of potential threats to our national

  interests.

  'There are some people out there who are potential threats to

  everyone. They're for hire, and the skill they sell is violence. The

  media call them international terrorists, but that's too broad a

  description. Very few of them are motivated by creed or belief; their

  driving force is large lumps of cash paid into Swiss bank accounts.

  They are not street criminals. You won't find them behind any gang

  murders, not in the States, not here, not in Russia, not anywhere.

  'They are what the boys in the CIA really do call wet workers;

  assassins for hire to take out political and other targets. There are no

  21

  COO-U 0-7

  formal qualifications required, but in fact most of them are ex-special

  forces.

  'All of the major intelligence services have a list of these people.

  They know who they are, where they're based, the identities they use,

  the type of job they handle. There's a database in Langley which lists
r />   them all, and which even shows their operational records. We have

  partial access to it.' He smiled, softly. 'Partial, because the CIA is

  understandably shy about even us getting to know which projects

  they've sponsored themselves.

  'As far as possible, these subjects are kept under constant observation

  by the Western Intelligence services, who in this instance at least

  pool resources and information. But they're good, these folk; they're

  aware of that, and whenever they've got something cooking, they

  simply drop out of sight, to reappear, maybe somewhere else, maybe

  under another name once the job's done. These patterns of movement

  actually give a good picture of who was behind what. They also give

  the intelligence community a clear idea when a project is under way.'

  Skinner looked round the table. 'That's what's happened here,' he

  said. 'The message which Ml 6 passed to Five a few days ago,

  concerned the disappearance of one Michael Hawkins from surveillance

  in Cape Town.' He looked around the table once more.

  'Michael Hawkins is the current identity of a man formerly known,

  during his service with the South African army, as Hencke van Roost.

  Using a variety of names, other than those, he has completed projects

  for the intelligence services of five different countries, and for at least

  six political or fundamentalist organisations.

  'His credits include the assassination by bomb, a few years back,

  of an Asian Head of State, a shooting in Dublin which was thought to

  be gang-related but which in fact was carried out for political reasons,

  and the elimination of a very high-profile international public figure

  ... Guess who? ... in which the official verdict was accidental death.

  'When one of these people goes to ground, then naturally enough

  the intelligence services want to know why ... unless one of them

  already knows, in which case the word is passed discreetly to the

  sponsor's friends.

  'When Hawkins slipped his surveillance it took everyone by

  surprise. The first thought was that he had a role in the recent US

  Embassy bombings in Africa, and was running for his life, or indeed

  that he might already have lost it. But the US scotched that one. The

  Osama bin Laden terror group did have a specialist adviser in those

  incidents, but he was taken out in the initial missile strike on

  Afghanistan.

  'The Americans, however, did volunteer information from one of