Pray for the Dying

by Quintin Jardine

  She looked him in the eye. ‘How long have you known me, Alf?’

  He scratched his chin. ‘Twenty years?’ he ventured.

  ‘Exactly, since our young socialist days. And in all that time have you ever known me not to be up for a battle?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But you’ve never been in circumstances like these before. You’ve had a horrendous forty-eight hours.’

  ‘Horrendous in what way? My marriage has broken up. That happens to more than ten thousand of my fellow Scots every year, and probably as many again who end cohabiting relationships. And although the statement Bob made me agree to was bland and consensual, the idiot woman Hatton just succeeded in portraying me as the partner who’s been wronged. Don’t you imagine that was in my mind when I staged my walk-out?’

  ‘Are you saying that wasn’t spontaneous?’

  She hesitated. ‘No, I’m not, but even before I reached the door I could see the positives in it. Can’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ he admitted.

  ‘Exactly. So, my other personal disaster: what of that? My body was all over today’s Daily News, and by now it’ll have gone viral on the internet. But I’ve read the story, there and in all the other papers. Not one has said that Joey was actually in the room, because no way can they prove it, so their lawyers wouldn’t let them. Neither of us will ever admit that he was, so what am I, Alf? A victim of the paparazzi, that’s what, and that’s how the party has to spin it. Understood?’

  ‘Understood,’ he agreed, ‘but you didn’t have to spell it out. Our communications people have been doing that since the story broke, both here and in London. You probably don’t know this, but the shadow Culture Secretary in Westminster is going to demand that the government legislates to make invasion of privacy a go-to-jail offence. They won’t do that, of course, because it can’t afford to piss off the News, but they’ll make sympathetic noises.’

  ‘I’ll bet they will. The last thing they want is Clive Graham with an absolute majority.’ She smiled. ‘Do you still think I’m not up for a fight?’

  Old grinned back at her. ‘No, and I never did. So, why did you ask me if you’d survive?’

  ‘I only meant within the party, man. What’s the feeling in our shadow cabinet and on the back benches? Are they scared by what’s happened? Is my sleekit deputy Mr Felix Brahms likely to seize the day and challenge me for the leadership?’

  ‘As far as I can tell, there won’t be a revolt. You certainly needn’t worry about Felix. I spoke to him last night. Yes, he was making opportunistic noises, but I put a stop to that.’

  She frowned. ‘How?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘Yes, I bloody do. Out with it.’

  He looked around again; a waiter was approaching with an order pad, but he waved him away. ‘A friend of mine in Special Branch up in Aberdeen, the Brahms fiefdom, dropped me a word about him. They were worried about him being a security risk as shadow Justice Secretary.

  ‘He’s been having it off with a woman, a well-known local slapper called Mandy Madigan, whose brother Stuart is currently remanded in custody charged with the murder of a business rival, that business being prostitution and money-lending.’

  ‘What a creepy bastard!’ Aileen exclaimed. ‘I like his wife, too. What are we going to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied, firmly. ‘You’ve put a hint of sex into the campaign; that’s just about okay, given the way that you and Bob have dealt with it. We do not need any more sleaze, though. When Brahms called me about your situation, I had a sharp word with him, told him what I knew. He swears he didn’t know about her family background, and he’s going to put an end to it. The Grampian cops will keep the affair to themselves, but he’d better be a choirboy from now on.’

  ‘My God,’ she chuckled. ‘You’re making me feel like the singing nun by comparison. Well, maybe not quite, shagging a movie star and all, but still.’ She paused. ‘Poor Joey; he called me this morning, on his way to the airport. He’s quite upset, worried that he might have done for my career. I must call him once he gets to Los Angeles, and tell him he’s probably put my approval rating up a few points.’

  ‘Any chance of him supporting you in the campaign?’

  ‘Hell no, he’s a Tory. I know, before you say it, I seem to be making a habit of sleeping with the enemy. At least I’m not going to marry this one!’

  ‘Is Bob going to make trouble down the line?’

  ‘For me, no. I’ve got a funny feeling that I’ve done him a favour by cutting him loose. Not politically, either. He’s got nothing to gain from it.’ She frowned, suddenly. ‘That said, I must ring him and apologise for what I said at the press conference. He’ll have heard by now, for sure, from one of his inner media circle, Foxie, or June Crampsey. I don’t want to fall out with him any more than I have done.’

  ‘Why should that bother you?’ the chief executive asked. ‘You don’t think you can win him over on unification, do you? He made his views pretty clear in the Saltire at the weekend.’

  ‘Did he? That passed me by, not that I care. It’ll go through regardless. And once it’s there, who knows what he’ll do. I’m quite convinced that if Toni Field was still alive he’d go for it. He’s a cop first, second and third; it’s all he knows, and most of what he cares about, apart from his kids.

  ‘He’s also a pragmatist. If that’s right, that he said his piece in the press, all he was doing was getting at me. He knows he won’t win. Deep down he also knows that if Field had been there to go for the police commissioner job, he’d have done whatever was needed to stop her, and that would have meant putting himself forward.’

  ‘Christ, you’re making it sound as if he was behind the shooting.’

  Aileen smiled, but her eyes stayed serious. ‘He’s shown himself capable of pulling the trigger, on Saturday and more than once before that in his career. But no, I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘Now she’s dead, what will he do?’

  ‘My guess is that he will go for it, and I’ve told him as much. He spent years telling himself he didn’t want to be chief in Edinburgh. Since he was talked into it, he’s been saying the same about Strathclyde, but I sensed a change in him when his refusal to put his name forward last time left the field clear for Toni Field, and he saw what a political operator she was. He said something to me once about power only being dangerous if it was in the wrong hands. He could have been talking about her.’

  ‘And his are the right hands, are they?’

  ‘He’d never say so. He’d leave it to the politicians he dislikes so much, and the media he uses so skilfully, to do that. But he believes it all right. He hides it well, but Robert Morgan Skinner has a massive ego, tied to an absolute belief in his own rectitude. And when it comes to power, he’s the equivalent of an alcoholic; one taste and he’s hooked. Mind you, he’d tell you the same thing about me, and he’d be right too.’

  She sipped her wine. ‘I want to stay on good terms with him,’ she continued, ‘because I will need to be. Whatever the polls say, and however badly our colleagues in London have fucked things up for all of us, I intend to be First Minister after the election and, as such, we will have to co-exist.’

  Old nodded. ‘I can see that.’

  ‘But,’ she added, ‘there’s something else. I want to stay as close to his investigation as I can, because I want to know who killed Toni Field just as much as everyone else does. Who’d want her dead?’ she asked. ‘She hadn’t been in Scotland long enough to have upset the criminal fraternity that badly. Yes, she may have hacked off someone dangerous in her earlier career. But can you recall another case of a senior British cop being assassinated by organised crime? I can’t. However, like I said earlier, the late Toni was an intensely political animal. Who knows who she’s crossed in that area. Make no mistake, politics can get you killed, and if there is any whiff of that, I want to know about it.’

  Twenty-Eight

  ‘I’m f
ine, Bob, honestly. I lost it for a second or two in there, but that’s enough when the red lights are on the cameras. I’m simply calling to apologise for what I said about you. It was unforgivable; if you want, I’ll put out a statement through my press office retracting it and saying that I was provoked.’

  ‘Let it be, Aileen. I’m not worried about it. What you said is bloody true, anyway, so I won’t ask you to lie for me.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I appreciate that. You couldn’t do something about that Hatton woman, could you?’

  ‘No need. She’s done it to herself. I’ve just taken yet another call from her editor, made no doubt on the advice of his lawyer. This time he was grovelling over what she called me. He’s ordered her back to London this afternoon, even offered to sack her if I insisted on it. I said I didn’t want that, but that he should tell her, so she can see that I have a magnanimous side after all.’

  ‘But if she ever comes back to Glasgow, she’d better not have any drugs in her handbag?’

  He laughed. ‘You said that, I didn’t. Now, I must go; I’ve got people outside waiting to brief me on the Toni Field investigation, and I cannot get off the fucking phone.’

  ‘Then I won’t keep you. How’s it going, by the way? I gather from Alf . . . I’m with him just now; we’re hiding out in the Postman’s Knock, the bistro down the road . . . that they’ve determined that she was the target.’

  ‘That’s right. My turn to apologise; you should have heard that from us, not him. I’ll know more when I’ve seen the team, but we have several lines of inquiry. Not least, we want to know what the hell a dead Glasgow gangster was doing in the boot of the shooters’ getaway car.’

  ‘My God!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Indeed, and you should be pleased to hear it. Lottie Mann was going to break that news at her press briefing. It should deflect some of the coverage of yours. By the way, you’d better call Clive Graham. He practically blew the wax out of my ears a few minutes ago, in the ludicrously mistaken belief that I’ve got any influence over you.’

  ‘Oh, sorry again,’ Aileen said. ‘I was planning to do that anyway. Bob, will you keep me up to date on the inquiry?’

  ‘Eh?’ he exclaimed. ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘Well,’ she murmured, ‘I do have a personal interest in knowing why I’ve had to throw away a very expensive evening dress.’

  ‘There is that,’ he admitted. ‘Yes, I suppose we could. I’ll be briefing the First Minister, so I could persuade myself that I should do the same for the leader of the Opposition, given that the election’s coming up.’

  ‘Thanks, you’re a love.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m chief constable and you’re a constituency MSP on my patch. When are you seeing Joey again?’ he asked.

  ‘Maybe next time we’re in the same city, maybe not, maybe never.’ His question took her by surprise; she returned the challenge. ‘When are you seeing Sarah?’

  His reply took one second longer than it should have. ‘Next time I pick up the kids.’

  ‘Sure,’ she sniggered, ‘sure. Bob, I didn’t get where I am by being stupid.’ She let her words sink in, realising that her shot in the dark had found a target. ‘But don’t worry about it, I don’t care. Whatever works for you, that’s fine by me. As for her, just you be certain that getting even with me isn’t her main aim.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ he said, ‘but let’s not discuss it further. Now please, let me speak to my team. I promise I’ll keep you informed, as far as I can.’

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’ He thought the conversation was at an end, but, ‘Bob, one more thing. I don’t want to have to go back to Gullane again, ever. I’d like you to pack up everything I have there, clothes, jewellery, books, music, personal papers, everything that’s mine, and have it couriered through to my flat. Would you do that for me?’ She laughed, without humour. ‘What am I talking about? Would you do it for us? I imagine you don’t want me there again either.’

  ‘Of course I’ll do that. I’ll deliver them myself.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer, but no, let’s keep it impersonal.’

  ‘If that’s what you want, fine; I’ll do it as soon as I can.’

  He hung up, then dialled Lowell Payne’s extension number, ignoring the ‘call waiting’ light that continued to flash on his console. ‘I’m clear,’ he told his exec as he answered. ‘Ask Mann and Provan to join me. Have the sandwiches I ordered arrived yet?’

  ‘Yes, they’re on a trolley outside your door; and tea in a Thermos.’

  ‘Good. Listen, I want you to get on to the switchboard and tell them that from now on nobody gets through to me without being filtered through you; not the First Minister, not the Prime Minister, not even the monarch. Most of them won’t get through; whenever you can, please refer them to Bridie Gorman or, where it’s his area, to Thomson. Also I’ve changed my mind about having an office mobile through here; I don’t want one. You’ve got my personal phone number. If anything’s urgent and I’m not in the office, you can use that.’

  ‘Yes, Chief.’

  Skinner headed for the side door to retrieve the sandwich trolley; Lottie Mann and Dan Provan were entering through his anteroom as he returned. ‘Welcome,’ he greeted them. ‘Sit at the table.’

  He pulled the trolley alongside them, then poured three mugs of tea. ‘Help yourself to sandwiches,’ he said. ‘Sincere apologies for keeping you waiting so long, when you have other more important things to do. Bloody phone! Bloody journalists! Bloody politicians! The least I can do is feed you.’

  Provan grunted something that might have been thanks followed by a grudging ‘Sir’. The chief looked at him, pondering the notion that if he judged a book by its cover, the scruffy little DS would be heading for the remainder store.

  ‘How long have you been in the force, Sergeant?’ he asked.

  ‘Thirty-two long years, sir.’

  ‘It’s a bind, is it?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir. Ah have to drag ma sorry arse out o’ bed every morning.’

  ‘So why are you doing it, for what . . . fourteen or fifteen grand a year, less tax and national insurance? That’s all you’re getting for it in real terms. With your service, you must be in the old pension scheme, the better one, and you’ll have maxed out. It’ll never get any bigger than it is now as a percentage of final salary. You could retire tomorrow on two-thirds of your current pay level. Tell me,’ he continued, ‘where do you live?’

  ‘Cambuslang, sir.’

  ‘How do you get to work?’

  Provan reached out and took a handful of sandwiches. ‘Train usually, but sometimes Ah bring the car.’

  ‘But no free parking in your station, eh?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘No. So retire and that travel cost is no more. Are you married?’

  ‘Technically, but no’ so’s you’d notice. She’s long gone.’

  ‘Kids?’

  ‘Jamie and Lulu. He’s twenty-six, she’s twenty-four. He’s a fireman, she’s a teacher.’

  ‘That means they’re off your hands financially. So why do you do it, why do you drag your shabby arse out of bed every morning for those extra few quid?’ He laughed. ‘Jesus, Sergeant, if you stayed at home and gave up smoking you’d probably be better off financially. You’re more or less a charity worker, man. You’re streetwise, so you’ll have worked this out for yourself. So tell me, straight up, why do you do it?’

  ‘Because I’m fuckin’ stupid . . . sir. Will that do as an answer?’

  ‘It will if you want to go back into uniform, as a station sergeant. Somewhere nice. How about Shotts?’

  ‘Okay,’ Provan snapped. ‘I do it because it’s what I am. Ma wife left me eight years ago because of it, before Ah’d filled up the pension pot, when Lulu was still a student and needin’ helped through uni. Sure, Ah could chuck it. Like you say, I’d have more than enough to live on. Except I’d give myself six months and ma head would be in the oven, even though it’
s electric, no’ gas. The picture you’re paintin’s ma worst nightmare, Chief.’

  He paused and for the briefest instant Skinner thought he saw a smile. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘the big yin here would be lost without me. Ah’m actually pretty fuckin’ good at what Ah do. But why should Ah go and advertise the fact?’

  ‘The suit’s a disguise, is it?’

  ‘No,’ Lottie Mann intervened. ‘Dan wears clothes, any clothes, worse than any human being I have ever met. Even when he was in uniform they used to call him Fungus the Bogeyman.’ She dug him in the ribs with a large elbow. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  The DS gave in to a full-on grin. ‘It got me intae CID though.’ Then it faded as he looked the chief constable in the eye. ‘What you see is what you get, Mr Skinner. No’ everybody’s like you or even Lottie here, cut out to play the Lone Ranger . . . although too many think they are. Ah don’t. Every masked man on a white horse needs a faithful Indian companion, and that’s me, fuckin’ Tonto.’

  The chief picked up a sandwich, looked at it, decided that the egg looked a little past its best, and put it back on the plate.

  ‘Nice analogy, Dan,’ he murmured, ‘but it doesn’t quite work for me. I speak a wee bit of Spanish, just restaurant Spanish, you understand, but enough to know that “Tonto” means “Stupid”, and that, Detective Sergeant, you are not. I’m not a uniform guy myself, as the entire police community must know by now, so the wrapping doesn’t bother me too much as long as it doesn’t frighten kids and old ladies, but what’s inside does.

  ‘I took a shine to you yesterday, but to be sure you weren’t just the office comedian, I pulled your personnel file and the first thing I did when I got here today was to read it. As far as I can see the only reason you’re still a DS is because that’s what you want to be. You’ve never applied for promotion to inspector, correct?’

  ‘Correct, and you’re right, sir. Ah’m happy where I am. It’s no’ that I’m scared of responsibility, I just believe Ah’ve found my level,’ he paused, ‘Kemo Sabe.’