Autographs in the Rain

by Quintin Jardine

  him too much. He's told me I should away from the office, but I've told

  him I just can't do it.' He gave a soft laugh. 'Not till he promotes me another

  three ranks, at any rate.

  'It's a police thing; part of being in a disciplined service. An inspector

  might be on first-name terms with a chief inspector, when there are no PCs

  around, maybe even with a superintendent, if they've come through the

  ranks together. But when an officer moves into the Command corridor,

  when he becomes an ACC or a DCC, he goes on to another level.

  'His rank carries with it an extra degree of respect; if he's Bob Skinner

  it makes him a demigod.'

  Although he could not see it, she smiled at him. 'And to think he told me

  you were the least impressionable man he knows.'

  'Maybe he's right; but he's the exception, although it would embarrass

  him to know it. I'm not alone. Bob's greatness is that although he's the

  most natural leader any of us who work with him have ever met, he's also

  a man of the people.

  'That's what the word police means, you know, if you trace it back to its

  root. Linguistically, policemen and politicians are both the same thing .. .

  men of the people. Now isn't that bloody ironic; how a single root could

  have produced such different fruits.'

  'The twain never meet?'

  'Not quite. Chief Officers have to live with politicians, so they have to

  acquire some of their skills. Proud Jimmy ... Sir James Proud . . . our

  Chief, has them under his thumb, and Mr Chase, our new ACC, is that sort

  of animal too. But a police officer with a politician's duplicity... now he'd

  be a dangerous man.'

  'What about Bob?'

  'He hates them. He'd drown the buggers at birth. The irony is that he

  used to work for them, as an adviser, but one Secretary of State let him

  down. He walked away from that job and he's never forgiven the man

  sifice.'

  'Is that politician still in office?'

  'No. You don't want to get on the boss's wrong side. That's the irony,

  you see; he hates politicians, yet he's hugely influential himself. He's come

  to realise that, too.'

  'Maybe he should become a politician himself, then,' Louise suggested.

  'New blood to change the breed. You're right; I travel internationally, and

  it's the same everywhere I go. Politicians have become so ideologically

  inbred that you can't tell them apart.'

  Neil shuddered. 'Don't wish that on him, please. If Bob Skinner ever

  went into politics he'd be like Julius bloody Caesar. He'd frighten the weak

  and the venal among his enemies so much that eventually they'd pluck up

  the courage to kill him. Some of the old-guard lefties on the Police Board

  have tried already, metaphorically.'

  She chuckled at his reaction. 'Okay, I withdraw that wish.'

  They drove on in silence for a while. There was a new moon, but the

  night was clear and crisp. Out on the Firth of Forth, lights shone on several

  moored tankers and rigs.

  'Hey,' exclaimed Louise suddenly, 'you didn't answer my question. What

  do you do in Bob's team?'

  Tm his exec.; his ADC, his personal assistant. Andy Martin, the Head

  of CID, calls me his Vicar on Earth.'

  'So you'll know where all the bodies are buried, then.'

  'Those that I don't know about, I don't want to know about.'

  'Did he tell you about the trouble in London last Friday night?'

  'I know about that.'

  'Was there an aftermath? He mentioned something on the way out.'

  Neil detected an underlying concern in her question. 'There was, but it

  lasted about two minutes. A high-ranker in the Met did something very

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  stupid; he doubted my boss's judgement, and worse, his word. He won't do

  that again.

  'Let me guess,' he went on, looking across at her. 'You're blaming

  yourself for letting him stick you in a taxi and get you out of there before

  the police turned up?'

  'Sort of.'

  'Well don't. He doesn't use his position very often, but when he does,

  it's for the right reasons. In this case, he made you disappear to protect you

  from the possibility of unwanted publicity . . . and to protect Sarah, as

  well.'

  Louise nodded. 'I understand that now. She's a stunner, isn't she? And

  those children are lovely.'

  'All children are lovely,' Mcllhenney murmured, in the dark. 'Even those

  that ain't.'

  'How many do you have?' she asked.

  'Two. Lauren and Spencer. Lauren's eleven, going on twenty, Spencer is

  nine, going on ten. How about you? Do you have children?'

  'No. I've never been in one place, or one marriage, long enough. The

  up-side is that... apart from one time, about twenty-five years ago ... I've

  never stayed long enough to get really hurt, either.'

  She sighed in the dark. 'God, I shouldn't have said that, should I; not to

  you.'

  'It's okay. Honestly, no one can say anything that'll make it hurt any

  worse than it does already. It's better when people don't walk on eggshells

  around you. I'm just younger than the average widower or widow, that's

  all. You know what? I sat in the church during Olive's service, and I thought

  of all the couples gathered round me, and I realised that one out of every

  pair will sit in a front-row seat at a funeral one day.

  'It's part of the deal. If it's a good marriage, the hurt is a cross worth

  bearing, even though you might be selfish enough to wish that she was the

  one left to bear it.

  'So really, don't feel awkward or sorry for me, Louise. Envy me, if you

  like, but don't pity me.'

  Spontaneously, she reached out and squeezed his arm. 'Sorry,' she said.

  T mean . . .' They laughed, in harmony.

  'Jesus Christ,' she exclaimed, suddenly sounding more Glaswegian.

  'What a bloody evening. I haven't had a deep conversation with a man in

  five years or more, and here I've had two in one night.'

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  'I'd better just shut up, then.'

  For a moment she thought he was being serious. 'Oh no,' she said, quickly.

  'Don't do that. I like talking to you. I like meeting someone who isn't

  impressed by who I am or what I do.'

  'Who said I wasn't? You're a Scottish heroine, Louise, right up there

  with Connery ... even if you are about forty years younger.'

  That's very gallant of you, sir, but actually I'm just under thirty years

  younger. How old are you?'

  'Pushing forty ... hard!'

  'Don't worry about it; it's no big deal. In fact I find it better to think of

  myself as being in my early forties, than in my late thirties.'

  Til bear that in mind. The truth is the only age ambition I have is to

  stick around long enough to see the kids through university. After that, I

  can keep my date any time.'

  'Your date?'

  'I had a dream a few weeks . . . after. It was about a grey bridge. Olive

  was on the other side, I was able to see her but I couldn't cross, not then.'

  He broke off. 'Sorry. This is getting heavy again.'

  'Hey,' she said. 'Not having to say sorry cuts both ways you know. You

/>   don't need to worry about what you say to me either. I get fan mail, Neil.

  People tell me all sort of things; some of them would break your heart, but

  I still read them.'

  He smiled across at her. 'You're quite a lady, Louise ... for an actress.'

  'And you're quite a bloke ... for a copper. You must have some

  interrogation technique .. . just like Bob's, I suppose.'

  'Not at all, in fact. I let people talk to me; he makes them.'

  As he spoke, he drove through the traffic lights at the foot of Waterloo

  Place, and pulled up outside the Balmoral.

  'Thanks Neil,' she said, 'for the lift and the deep conversation.'

  'My pleasure, Louise.'

  'Lou, please. Call me Lou; all my real friends do.'

  He stepped out of the car and went round to open her door, but she had

  let herself out and stood waiting for him on the pavement. 'This is where I

  let myself down,' he said, big and sheepish. 'Can I have your autograph?'

  'Just a punter at heart, eh?' she laughed, as he found a pen and fumbled

  in his pockets for a piece of paper. 'I'll send you a photograph, signed to

  Neil, Spencer and Lauren. Will I post it to the office?'

  'God no. Some bugger would open it. Send it to my home address.' He

  102

  found a business card, scribbled on the back, and gave it to her.

  Til tell you what,' she said. 'I'm off to London tomorrow, then I'm

  back here next Friday for another meeting about the movie, and I'm staying

  until we've done all our location shots. I'll deliver it myself, if you like.'

  'Would you? That would be really nice of you; the kids would love it.'

  He stood there watching her as she stepped into the hotel. 'See you

  then,' she called, with a final wave.

  Bob rolled over on to his back, and sensed that Sarah, although he was

  lyiilg still, was awake also.

  'What's up?' he whispered.

  'Nothing at all. I was just lying here thinking about this evening, and

  about Louise. She's a very nice lady; not at all precious considering all she

  is.'

  'That's a Scots thing,' he told her.' Jocks and Jockesses who make it big

  internationally in entertainment or sports have to be very careful when

  they come home. If they're even suspected of putting on airs and graces,

  they don't half catch it in the neck. We like our heroes to be ordinary;

  sometimes we even like them to be fallen.

  'Lou could never turn into a prima donna though. She was always too

  nice a girl for that.'

  'She's beautiful now, so she must have been a stunner as a girl.'

  He whistled, softly. She could see his smile in the pale light of the bedside

  alarm clock. 'Oh she was. I remember the first time I saw her, in a crowded

  corridor at the Fresher's Fair. I was flogging squash club membership; I

  knew just from looking at her that she'd never played in her life ... hardly

  anyone did then .. . but I pitched her just the same.'

  'Was it tough to leave her?'

  'You better believe it. I shouldn't have got involved in the first place;

  Myra and I had just got engaged, so I was spoken for, but she did my head

  in.'

  'Just your head?'

  'Aye, okay, that too.'

  She frowned. 'Aren't you surprised she's never settled down herself?'

  'Not really. Back then she was always looking for something, without

  knowing what it was. She still is, I think.'

  'Maybe back then she was looking for you.'

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  She heard him chuckle. 'Nah. Her ambitions ran beyond me, even then,

  as she'd tell you herself.'

  'Did you ever regret it?'

  'Which? Getting involved, or chucking her? I should have regretted the

  first, but I never did. As for leaving her... to be honest it was touch and go

  which of them I split with, but I wouldn't have made Lou happy long-term.

  I know that now, although I didn't at the time. No, I stayed with Myra

  because she had a hold on me; I loved her. Plus, she had me fucking

  hypnotised, just like everyone else.

  'But it's worked out. We had Alex. Then, down the road, you came

  along and the kids. The icing on the cake of my charmed life.'

  She rolled towards him. 'Oh, you're working well tonight,' she

  murmured.

  The inescapable telephone rang quietly by the bedside.

  'Whothehellisthat!' Bob grumbled, but as always, he picked it up.

  'Bob?' Andy Martin sounded tense. 'Sorry, but you'll want to hear this.

  I've just had the manager of the Balmoral on the blower in a flap. There's

  been a fire in a guest's suite. It's Louise Bankier's; she's a friend of yours,

  isn't she?'

  Skinner sat bolt upright. 'Is she all right?'

  'Smoke inhalation,' Martin answered. 'She'll be all right but they've

  sent for an ambulance.'

  'Okay. Tell them to take her to the Murrayfield Hospital, not the Royal.

  Then call there and make sure they're ready to receive and treat her. If it's

  non-emergency, she'll be more comfortable there, and she'll have more

  privacy. I'm on my way there now.'

  He paused. 'Hey, Andy. How come the manager called you?'

  'Because he's shitting himself. He says it wasn't an accident.'

  'I've no idea how it happened, Andy,' exclaimed Guy Bronte, the general

  manager of the Balmoral Hotel. 'I only know that as soon as the senior fire

  officer looked at it he said that it couldn't have been ignited by accident.'

  'Tell me what happened, exactly.'

  'It was just after 2 a.m. The fire alarm went off, and our board pinpointed

  the location as number two-ten, Miss Bankier's suite. I was sleeping here

  tonight, rather than at home, so I was wakened with everyone else. When

  we got to the room, one of my under-managers opened the door with an

  emergency pass key.

  'Our sprinkler system had dealt with the outbreak by that time, but there

  was still a lot of smoke around. Miss Bankier was still lying in bed, soaked

  by the spray and coughing very badly. We have a doctor as a guest tonight.

  He examined her and said that she was in no danger, but recommended

  hospitalisation as a precaution.

  'The ambulance took her away ten minutes ago.'

  'Did you evacuate the hotel?'

  'Yes, but only very briefly. We were able to let everyone return to their

  rooms almost at once.'

  'Are the firemen still here?' asked Martin.

  'Yes. They're up in two-ten.'

  'That was a daft question,' the detective murmured to himself as an

  afterthought, 'with a fucking big fire appliance parked outside.'

  Bronte led the way up to the second floor, using the stairs rather than the

  lift, even though the firefighters had declared the emergency officially over.

  A bulky figure in a fire suit and white helmet stood outside the door; for all