Skinner's Mission bs-6

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘That’s true,’ said the Head of CID, ‘and there’s sod all we’re going to be able to do to verify it either way. Apart from the vehicle registration documents and a few other papers, that were kept in a safe built into the floor, all the records of the business were kept in the office filing cabinets. Although those were still standing, the heat of the blaze was so great that the documents inside caught fire.

  ‘When Arthur Dorward’s team opened them up all they found was sodden black ash. You and Maggie can lean on the guy Medina as hard as you like, but if he sticks to his story, invented or not, you’re not going to be able to do a thing to disprove it.’

  Martin shrugged his shoulders. ‘Ach, it’s a sideshow anyway. What about the big question? Could Medina have killed Carole Charles?’

  Donaldson looked to Maggie Rose, seated alongside him.

  ‘Means, motive and opportunity, sir,’ she said. ‘The means, petrol and towropes for fuses, were handy on the premises.

  ‘Motive? Medina says he was unfairly dismissed. He did nothing at the time, possibly out of fear or out of caution, but when he missed out on a job because Charles wouldn’t give him a reference, that could have been enough to provoke him finally to revenge.

  ‘Opportunity? Angela Muirhead was about to give him an alibi, but Medina wouldn’t let her. He seemed to go out of his way to tell us that she’d been out until just before nine. He could have done that to protect her, to prevent her from putting herself at risk for him.

  ‘Let’s assume that the truth is that Angie got home at ten to nine, and he was there. The opportunity question hinges upon whether he could have made it from Seafield to Slateford in less than twenty minutes.’

  ‘I could,’ said Martin.

  ‘Aye,’ came a mumble from his right. ‘Provided there were no lampposts in the way.’

  The Chief Superintendent looked sideways at Detective Sergeant Neil McIlhenney, who grinned wickedly and said, ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Leaving lampposts out of it . . . The first thing you’ll have to find out is whether Medina has a car or access to one.’

  ‘I have done, sir. I called Angela Muirhead at her office this morning. She confirmed that they have one car only and that she uses it to go to work. She had it on Wednesday evening. That leaves taxis. If he had picked one up in Seafield Road at eight thirty, he’d have been home by eight forty-five, before her.’

  ‘Cutting it fine,’ said Martin.

  ‘Yes,’ Rose agreed, ‘but it’s possible, and it means that he could have had the opportunity.’

  ‘Agreed. So it has to be followed up. If he was picked up, unless he was daft enough to book one of Jackie’s minicabs, it would have to be a black taxi that he stopped. Put people on to checking them all, now, but get round the mini-operators as well.’

  He looked across at Rose, then at Donaldson, then back at Rose. ‘Gut reactions, please, having seen Medina. Could it be him?’

  Donaldson nodded his head, slowly. ‘I could believe that,’ he said, almost grudgingly. ‘I could just about see him having the bottle to do it.’

  ‘I don’t agree,’ said Maggie Rose, forthrightly. ‘I don’t see this man having the ruthlessness to do something like that. The fact is, I believe him. At heart he strikes me as a basically honest chap, who loves his girlfriend. Although I agree we have to investigate him as a suspect, I’m inclined to accept his story, even the bit about the man with the vulture tattoo. If he brings those notes with him when he comes to see us this afternoon, we’ll know for sure.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ said Martin. ‘From what you’ve told me, my own view hasn’t changed. Jackie Charles threw us Medina like a sprat to keep us busy. But if Medina’s other information leads us anywhere Jackie may live to regret it.’

  He glanced around the table. ‘Which brings me to the way forward. Every investigation has to have a clear objective, and this one is catch the person who murdered Carole Charles.

  ‘However we have peripheral matters being thrown up already. If we’re given information, it has to be followed up, even if it doesn’t appear to be related directly to the main goal. Let’s get our organisation right to ensure that we can do all that.

  ‘Dave, I want you to concentrate on the main thrust of the investigation, chasing vehicle sightings, possible taxi pick-ups, people with grudges along the lines we discussed earlier. With Charles’ books reduced to ashes, your next priority is to interview Douglas Terry and to investigate him. Whenever someone tries to kill a general, the first suspects are always the soldiers behind him.

  ‘Once you’ve done that, if we’re still looking, work though that list of priorities we discussed.

  ‘While you’re pursuing those lines of enquiry, I’ll ask the Boss . . . since Special Branch reports directly to him . . . to brief Brian Mackie and Mario today and start them looking for possible leads from outside the city.’

  He turned to Rose. ‘Maggie, I want you to follow up on the side issues as they come up, starting with the man with the vulture tattoo. See if you can find out if he does exist, and if he does, then find him. I remember the Jimmy Lee case too. In fact I was involved in the investigation. I’ll never forget the X-rays.

  ‘Lee swore blind that he had been mugged by a gang of Hibs casuals. We even found a Hibs scarf dropped at the scene. But the thing was, the Hibees were playing in Aberdeen that day, and all of the likely suspects were still on the supporters’ buses, driving home down the M90, when the attack took place.

  ‘If Mr Vulture can give us a lead, even if it is five years late, nothing would please me more. Mind you, Maggie, you should still ask Medina why he didn’t come forward with this story at the time.’

  He looked up again at Rose. ‘When he brings in those notes, if he does, let me see them. I’ll take a view on what we do about them at that stage.’

  He nodded sideways, to where Neil McIlhenney and Sammy Pye were sitting. ‘Use what resources you need, but Dave, I want you to work closely with Neil, and Maggie, you take Sammy. Like the Boss, I believe in tight core teams of people who know each other and work well together.

  ‘So, crack on, and remember, keep me in touch all the time. No surprises, please. I hate surprises.’

  Martin stood up from the table. As his colleagues followed his lead and made to leave, he stopped Donaldson with a touch on his arm. ‘Dave,’ he said, picking up a sheet of paper from his in-tray. ‘I got this just before you arrived. There’ll be a copy for you at St Leonard’s. It’s a memo from the Boss.’

  ‘What’s it about?’ asked Donaldson, puzzled.

  ‘Let me read it to you. It says:

  DCC to head of CID, copy to head of Eastern Area CID.

  As you will know I have been without a personal assistant since the promotion of DCI Rose. With your agreement, I propose to appoint Detective Sergeant Pamela Masters to the post, effective immediately. While in the past my PA has been a Detective Inspector, Sergeant Masters is in my view an officer of considerable potential who will benefit from a spell in the Command Corridor.

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Donaldson. ‘He wants Pretty Polly, eh! Fair enough. I’ve got a good DC out there I can promote in her place. Nice of him to ask for our agreement, though.’

  Martin laughed. ‘That’s Bob doing his best to consult with the two of us. But make no mistake, he isn’t asking for our support, he’s telling us we’re going to give it!

  ‘Still,’ he mused, ‘a Detective Sergeant. Is Masters that good?’

  ‘She’s only been in the rank for six months. From what I’ve seen, she’s bright, and very keen. But I wouldn’t say she’d ever be Chief Constable material.’

  ‘Maybe not, but she must have something. Time will tell what it is.’

  15

  Skinner was sitting at his desk, working his way silently through his paper mountain, when Martin stepped into his office to give him an update on the Charles investigation.

  He listened in silence to the repo
rt, shrugging his shoulders once or twice, showing real interest only when the Chief Superintendent mentioned Medina’s story about his notes from Carole Charles’ mysterious ledger.

  ‘What did Donaldson and Rose think about that?’ he asked. ‘Did they think he was making it up?’

  ‘Donaldson thought he was probably at it. Mags believed him though.’

  ‘What do you think the notes might tell us?’

  ‘From what Medina said, they won’t give us names. But they might give us a better clue of what it is we’re looking for. If the guy is speaking the truth, and we’re right about what he saw, then at least we know that we’re on the right track: that there is a record of Charles’ bent businesses, and the form that it’s in.’

  Skinner swung his chair round and looked out of the window. ‘Tell you what I think,’ he said softly. ‘If Carole was carrying the ledger when Medina saw it, then it wasn’t just for that night. I’d guess that Carole kept those books personally, and that Jackie never went near them or saw them.’

  The DCC glanced back quickly towards Martin. ‘He’s so careful that he’d keep them at arm’s length from himself. He’d never let Dougie Terry hold them. He’s an employee, not a shareholder and accountancy isn’t his game anyway.’ He stood up and looked across the headquarters approach road to the school beyond, studying the comings and goings. Ruth McConnell was hurrying up the pavement, back from her dentist’s appointment. Alan Royston was hot on her heels as if trying to catch her up. Dave Donaldson, heading in the opposite direction passed them both, with brief nods.

  At last he turned back to face Martin. ‘So let’s say that Carole had charge of the books. But where did she keep them? Not at the house, that’s for sure, in case we ever did find a Sheriff soft enough to give us a search warrant on no evidence.’

  ‘How about a bank safe deposit box?’ asked the Head of CID.

  ‘Possible, but too visible. I stick to the theory that the Charleses had a sort of head office in one of their properties, like we were told when we were given those two abortive tips. Remember, the ones where we turned up but the cupboard was bare.

  ‘We gave up on that theory after the second let-down, but what if we were right? It’s possible that the ledger was cremated along with Carole, but what if it isn’t? It could be lying somewhere in Edinburgh, full of the evidence we need to nail Jackie Charles.

  ‘If it is, then there will be only one person who knows where it is. That’s Jackie himself. And my guess is he’ll never trust anyone else to collect it for him. It’ll be only a matter of time before he has to take the chance of picking it up himself.

  ‘I know it’s ifs and buts, Andy, BUT . . . Keep a specially close eye on the little fucker, just in case he shops himself.’

  Martin was struck by Skinner’s expression. There was a hard, mean gleam in his eye that he had never seen before. ‘Christ,’ said the Chief Superintendent, ‘and here was me thinking that you were going soft on the guy.’

  The DCC stared back, coldly. ‘That was yesterday. He’s had his moment. Now he’s back in the pond with the rest of the piranha and I’m after him.’

  Andy Martin had always been keenly attuned to his friend’s moods. His forehead wrinkled in a frown as he sensed his underlying tension. ‘Bob, what’s up?’ he asked.

  Skinner’s broad shoulders sagged, his grey-maned head dropped, and the anger left his blue eyes. ‘I’ve moved out to the cottage, Andy.’ He paused, as Martin gasped, surprise and concern mingling.

  ‘I told you that Sarah and I haven’t been hitting it off for a few months.’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘Last night we had a Premier League bust-up, and it left us with nothing else to do but put some space between ourselves.’ He slumped back into his chair.

  Martin gazed across at him. ‘God, Bob, it’s got that bad?’ Skinner nodded. ‘What was the fight about?’

  ‘Andy, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about it. Every time I think about it, I get so angry.’

  ‘How long is this separation going to last?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe for good.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, man, you can’t mean that. This is you and Sarah we’re talking about. There’s nothing you two can’t sort out.’

  Bob shook his head. ‘This is a different me, and a different Sarah, not the Scotsman couple of the month, as you called us once. She can’t cope with my need to investigate Myra’s death, I can’t cope with her . . .’ He stopped short. ‘Never mind sorting things out, Andy, at the moment we’re finding it difficult just to be in the same room as each other.’

  ‘What about the baby?’ asked Martin, anxiously. ‘You can’t just walk out on him.’

  ‘I’ll see the wee man every day, starting with lunchtime today. Longer term, we’ll have to see how it goes, but the way it is just now, he’s better off with his parents living apart than putting their arguments before his needs. Whatever happens James Andrew will cope.’

  ‘And what about you? The loss of Myra has caught up with you, all of a sudden. When you stop to think about it, the loss of Sarah is going to hit you as well. Jazz is just a baby, and babies are resilient: but you, will you cope?’

  He smiled. ‘Oh yes, Andy, I’ll cope; if it comes to it, like I did before, by focusing completely on my work. It may not make me a nicer guy, but the villains of Edinburgh - or maybe somewhere else - will come to regret it.’

  ‘What do you mean, somewhere else?’

  Skinner glanced across the desk. ‘Sir William Green retires next year as Metropolitan Police Commissioner. Just between you and me, Andrew Hardy - yes, the Secretary of State for Scotland, no less - called me in to see him just before I went to America.

  ‘He said that my name had come up in discussion, and he’d been detailed by the Home Secretary to ask me if I would wish to be a candidate. How about that, no experience in the top rank, yet I get an approach?’

  Martin stared at him, his mouth hanging open in amazement. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said I’d think about it, and let him know when I got back. I had decided more or less to say “Thanks, but no thanks. I wouldn’t fancy the change in my family’s lifestyle”. Now, things are different. The way I’m feeling, I’m swinging towards saying “Yes, please”. I have to give him an answer next week, because they want to make the appointment before the General Election.

  ‘I’m sure there isn’t a cat’s chance they’d actually give me the job, but the approach started me thinking. It’s common knowledge that the Chief Constable’s job in Strathclyde comes up around the same time. I just might have a punt at that.’

  Martin held up his hands. ‘That’s big stuff, Bob, but don’t do anything for the wrong reason, please. You have to take considered decisions on career moves like those, rather than just taking a punt, as you put it, because your private life has gone sour.’

  ‘I know that, Andy. Yet all of a sudden I need a new direction in my life. Either of those jobs would provide that for sure, if I, and other people, decide I’m up to it.’

  ‘Which they will,’ thought Martin. He began to move towards the door. ‘Look, there’s a hell of a lot happening to you right now, more than anyone can expect to handle alone. If you’d like, I’ll come out to Gullane and we can talk everything through, away from this place.’

  Skinner nodded. ‘Yes, my friend, I’d welcome that. But not just yet. There’s someone I need to talk to, before I see anyone else. Do me a favour and ask her if she’ll come out to see me, tonight.’

  16

  Neil McIlhenney and Dougie ‘the Comedian’ Terry eyed each other up with an odd mixture of animosity and amusement. They had met professionally several times over the years, usually after a robbery, a violent assault or, once or twice, a death.

  Each encounter had come after Bob Skinner’s intimidating cross-examination had persuaded, cajoled or simply terrified a suspect into letting slip Terry’s name in connection with the crime for which the su
bject had been caught red-handed.

  Every time, he had been brought in for interview. But the man had his own interview technique, as effective in its way as that of the DCC. Whatever the question, however it was put, be it direct or indirect, softly spoken or shouted, Dougie Terry never answered.

  That was not to say that he was silent. Throughout most of his interviews he had told jokes; quick gags, one-liners. ‘What’s the difference between parsley and . . .’, McIlhenney recalled, and had to suppress a smile. Occasionally he would lapse into a Chic Murray role. CID records still had a few interview tapes filled with the faultlessly replicated voice of the late, great, mystical Scottish droll.

  Looking across the desk at Terry a memory jumped unbidden into the Sergeant’s thoughts.

  ‘I was driving past a farmhouse, and I ran over a cockerel. So I rang the doorbell and told the farmer’s wife.

  ‘“I’m terribly sorry,” I said. “Can I replace it?”

  ‘“Fair enough,” she said, “the hens are round the back”.’

  Involuntarily, a chuckle escaped from McIlhenney’s lips, making Detective Superintendent Donaldson look round sharply.

  Eventually the police had given up asking questions. Whenever the Comedian was implicated, detectives would bring him in, put the allegation to him, switch on the recorder and sit back to enjoy the entertainment. When, occasionally, Terry was fresh out of jokes, he had other talents. One of the CID’s most treasured tapes was known simply as ‘Sinatra’, a flawless forty-five minutes of the Maestro’s best loved songs.

  Once the performances were over, Dougie Terry was always released. He knew full well, as did the police, that no criminal case can be laid on the basis of an uncorroborated allegation. Once, Sir James Proud had suggested that he might be charged with wasting police time. ‘How could we?’ Bob Skinner, then Detective Chief Superintendent, had replied. ‘His defence would be that it was time well spent!’