Autographs in the Rain

by Quintin Jardine

  4

  120

  34

  'Can you really do all that for me?' Louise Bankier asked. The remnants of

  lunch lay scattered around her; Seonaid was gnawing happily on a rattle in

  her high chair, abandoned by her brothers who were watching cartoons in

  their playroom.

  'Not just for you,' Bob Skinner assured her. 'I'd do it for anyone in your

  situation. Not that I've ever had anyone in your situation before . . . it's a

  bit unusual, in Scotland . . . but my colleagues down south have. As a

  matter of fact, protection from stalkers was on the agenda at my London

  conference. It's been decided to treat it as a form of terrorism; which is

  exactly what it is.'

  'What about your secretary?' Sarah interposed. 'Can you bring her up

  here?'

  Louise nodded. 'Yes. I'd have done that anyway, for the duration of the

  Edinburgh filming. Glenys always goes on the payroll when I'm working

  on a movie; name on the end titles and everything, after the dress designer

  but before the hairdresser.'

  'She's single then?'

  'She has a boyfriend, but I'll fly him up at weekends, so they don't miss

  each other.'

  'Only after he's been thoroughly vetted,' said Bob.

  'But I know him! He's been to my house.'

  'Fine, but he doesn't get in again without being quietly checked out.

  Sorry to lapse into police-speak, but in nine crimes against the person out

  often, the victim knows the attacker.' He read her expression. 'Don't worry,

  Lou. I say vetted, but he won't feel a thing, I promise . . . unless he's our

  man, in which case he'll feel plenty.'

  'The man in the car in London,' she said. 'I know you didn't see his

  face, but did you notice anything about him? Skin tone, for example.'

  'Yes, he was white, I saw his hand.'

  'It wasn't Clarence, then. He's black, and very dark-skinned.'

  Then that's a relief, but I'm still not making any exceptions to security

  procedures. Please, Lou, forget about that side of it; that's our business,

  and my people are good at it.'

  He poured her more coffee. 'Are you happy with Neil as your minder?'

  'Very happy. I like him, and he strikes me as formidable too. I'm sure I'll

  feel safe with him around. But can you spare him from your office?'

  'I have a very good secretary, just like you. She can cope for a while.

  Anyway,' he added, 'it won't be for long. I intend to catch this bastard,

  double quick, and lock him up.'

  Let's hope you do.' She glanced out of the window, towards the sea; it

  looked grey and cold. The threatened rain had made its way up from the

  Borders, and was falling hard. 'I don't like this feeling of being constrained.

  I've never suffered from claustrophobia before, but that's what this feels

  like.

  'I'm just like everyone else; I like mixing with people, and I know that

  not being able to will do my head in.'

  'It needn't be as bad as that. With Neil around you can go out.'

  She looked at him. 'I really should too, shouldn't I?' she suggested.

  'You won't catch this man unless he shows himself again, will you?'

  'Maybe we will.'

  'But it's unlikely, isn't it? Yes, of course it is. But how will you draw

  him out if you've got me holed up in a house somewhere?'

  'Honest to God, even if I was ruthless enough to use you as bait, I don't

  think I'd need to. This man followed you to Soho with me. He followed

  you to Edinburgh, and he found your room number in the Balmoral. He'll

  find out where you're living all right. Maybe, if we're lucky, just trying to

  will get him caught, but I doubt it. Sometimes people like this are dumber

  than you think, but it always pays to assume that they're intelligent.'

  'He must be to have got into my hotel room.'

  'Not really,' said Bob. 'What did you do with your key when you were

  out here last night? You don't need to tell me; you walked over to me at

  reception, left it there, and then we headed off in my car. You're our stalker,

  you distract the receptionist for ten seconds and you're in there.'

  'But how do you put the key back, Uncle Bob?'

  A small voice came from beside the fridge. Skinner looked over his

  shoulder in surprise and saw Mark, standing behind him, with a Seven-Up

  in each hand. 'You don't, son. It's a card key, you see. So all you do is go

  down to the foyer again, wait till the receptionist's back is turned, and

  I

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  chuck it on the floor, behind the desk.'

  He grinned at his adopted son, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair.

  'Clever little so-and-so, though, aren't you? I'll make you either a master

  criminal or an ace detective when you grow up. Which'll it be?'

  'Detective,' Mark replied at once. 'Better security and long-term

  prospects.'

  The three adults laughed as he headed back to the playroom. 'You think

  he's kidding?' Bob joked. 'He'll have worked that out. Mark's always had

  a phenomenal memory; now he's developing the mental power to back it

  up.

  'What he's actually going to be is a mathematician, and probably before

  he grows up at that.' He rapped the table top. 'But back to our discussion.

  See how Mark wandered in here without us noticing him?

  That's how easily the stalker could have got into your room.'

  'God,' Louise murmured. 'What advantages do we have?'

  'Privacy, for the moment. You're out of the spotlight for now, in that

  nobody knows where you are. Possibly one other edge also. If this man's

  from out of town, and let's assume he is, there's just a chance that he doesn't

  know who and what I am.'

  That illusion lasted for five minutes longer, until the phone rang. 'I've

  found a house, boss,' Neil Mcllhenney announced. 'I checked the "to let"

  section in the ESPC office after we all split up. There was a place listed in

  Craiglockhart Avenue, a detached bungalow; rang the viewing number and

  had a look. It's newly refurbished, new kitchen and stuff, very well furnished,

  with a nice big open garden that you couldn't hide a mouse in. To cap it all,

  it's just a couple of minutes' walk from my place.

  'Couldn't be better. We can show it to Lou tomorrow afternoon, if you

  like. Keith Stanley's the letting solicitor; we know him, so he shouldn't be

  hard to deal with.'

  Skinner smiled at his exec.'s pleasure over a job well done. 'Yeah, we'll

  do that. You make the arrangements and tell us where and when. We'll

  meet you there.'

  'Fine,' said Mcllhenney. 'There's one more thing.

  'I just had a call from Alan Royston, the press officer. He was a bit leery

  about phoning you, but there's a piece in the News today, in their gossip

  column. It talks about Lou being seen leaving the Balmoral last night, and

  here I quote, "looking starstruck herself, on the arm of a very senior

  Edinburgh policeman."

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  'Royston's already had the News of the Screws, the Sunday Mail, the People and the Sunday Herald on the blower. He wants to know how he

  should play it.'

  'Shit!' Skinner snapped, drawing startled looks from the two women.

  'Tell him to play it straight, Neil; th
e plain truth, that we're old friends

  from way back and that I was taking Lou to dinner with family and friends.

  Tell him also to make it clear what will happen if anyone as much as suggests

  anything different.

  Thanks mate. See you tomorrow.'

  'What was that?' Sarah asked.

  'If our man was in any doubt about who I am, he knows now, courtesy of

  our well-meaning and very well-informed local evening newspaper.'

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  35

  'Are you sure I'm on overtime for this, Dave?' Gwendoline Dell looked at

  the detective inspector doubtfully.

  'Don't worry about that, Gwennie,' he told her, in a tone of voice which

  made her worry even more. Til square it with the DCI on Monday. Anyway,

  look at me; I'm missing out on the joys of an afternoon in the St Enoch

  Centre with the wife and weans.'

  'No wonder they call you Bandit,' she muttered, looking out of the car

  at the bungalow, and at the rain, which was lashing down. 'Okay, I'm here;

  now will you tell me why?'

  Mackenzie nodded. 'Ach Gwennie, it's just... well I've always fancied

  you, and here's an empty house ...'

  Her mouth fell open in astonishment; she glared at him with instant fury

  . .. until she saw the laughter in his eyes.

  'If you didn't sign my fitness reports ...' she exclaimed. 'Listen, cut the

  crap. What are we here for?'

  'It's that bag that the old dear told you about. I've been wondering

  about it. Bigger than a handbag, she said; big enough to make her think

  that Ruth had come for the weekend. I've been wondering what was in

  it, and why, if it was that bulky, and she wasn't staying for the weekend,

  she bothered to bring it into the house . . . unless there was something

  in it she needed.' He smiled at her again.

  'The obvious answer is that there was something in it she needed.'

  'Drugs,' Dell suggested.

  'She could have got a whole fucking pharmacy in there. Even if we're

  right and she was feeding the old man's habit, she could have carried the

  temazepam, and the works in her pocket. No, there was something else in

  that bag.'

  All joking over, he looked at the sergeant. 'I've been trying to think like

  Skinner,' he told her.

  'He impressed you that much?'

  He nodded, emphatically. 'That much. Just talking to him changed my

  outlook on a lot of things. We were trained to look for the obvious first and

  foremost; so was he, but once he sees it he questions it. He told me that

  when he was in the field he'd turn up at a crime scene and ask himself a

  few simple questions. What type of crime was this? Was it opportunistic or

  was it premeditated? Was it driven by anger or financial gain? Was it a

  stupid crime, or was it well planned?

  'I've been asking myself all those questions, and I find myself looking

  at something that was clearly premeditated, money-driven and very well

  planned. A very intelligent crime, so fucking intelligent that we're not even

  sure if it's been committed or not. Is this murder? Is it extortion? Is it both?

  Or did the old boy give this woman all his money just because he liked her?

  Did he just run his bath too hot, take a heart attack from the shock, and

  drown in it?

  'We don't bloody know, do we? Now that Ruth McConnell's been taken

  out of the frame and our faith in the obvious has been destroyed, we know

  hardly anything.'

  'Agreed,' said DS Dell. 'So what would your new hero Skinner do in

  our shoes?'

  That's what I've been asking myself. And then I remembered something

  he said, when we were at the golf club. He said he'd look at the whole

  scene in a mirror.'

  'What did he mean by that?'

  'Well, so far we've been concentrating on what's missing from the house.

  Now we know, but it's taken us nowhere. But instead of that, what if there's

  something in the house that shouldn't be?'

  'Such as?'

  'Maybe we'll know when we find it. Maybe we won't, but let's just

  have a look round with that objective in mind, and maybe we'll find

  something that will give us a clue about what was in that big bag the woman

  was carrying.'

  'Is that likely?' Dell asked, doubtful once more. 'We know that the old

  man was injected within a short time of his death. It'd be reasonable to

  assume that the woman did it, but she was very careful to remove the syringe

  from the house.'

  'Exactly!' exclaimed Mackenzie. 'And as big Bob Skinner pointed out

  when we had our chat, that was a major mistake. Like he said, she should

  have chucked the thing in the bath. We'd just have assumed that the old

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  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  chap had shot himself up. The woman could have been the Avon lady going

  to the wrong address.'

  'How d'you know about the Avon lady?' she shot back at him.

  'My mother told me.' He opened the car door and stepped out into the

  rain. 'Come on, let's get on with it.'

  The sergeant followed him up the path, with the collar of her heavy coat

  turned up to protect her hair against the rain as much as possible, then

  waited as he fumbled with the keys. Finally, he swung the door open.

  The house was cold, with an unpleasant musty reek clinging to it. Dell

  shivered. 'I don't like this place,' she said.

  'Eh? D'you think it's haunted?'

  'In a way. I believe that evil clings to places and takes a long time to go

  away, and I feel that something evil happened here.'

  He gave her a look that was a mix of scorn and cynicism. 'That'll sound

  good in the witness box. Let's find some evidence; in my experience that

  works better with juries. I'll take the bathroom and bedrooms, you take the

  kitchen.'

  'Okay. But what am I looking for?'

  'Look at, not for. Look at everything, and ask what it's doing there. If

  there's no good answer ...'

  She did as he instructed and went into the kitchen. She looked around; it

  was neat and tidy, with neither utensils, cups nor saucers scattered around.

  She began by opening the high fitted cupboards on the wall facing the

  door. One contained only food, in tins and packets; the other was full of

  crockery and glassware.

  She went from cupboard to cupboard, drawer to drawer, but saw nothing

  in any of them that would have been out of place in any kitchen. Finally she

  glanced along the work surfaces. 'Toaster, microwave, blender,' she said,

  absently, coming to a rack on the wall, and flicking through its contents.

  'Bills, bookmark, empty cassette box, postcard . . .' She took it out and

  looked at it.'... from Ruth. "Love from Corfu." Nice thought on a day like

  this.'

  She left the kitchen and walked across the hall, into the living room. It

  was just as neat; two chairs were placed on either side of the gas fire, so

  that both looked at the television set in the corner. Redundant fire irons

  stood in the hearth, a brass knight in armour with poker, tongs, shovel and

  brush as weapons. Alongside a rack held newspapers and magazines. She

  looked around as Ruth had done; virtually the only other items left were

  the old man's hi-
fi equipment and his small collection of vinyl records and

  CDs, all of it gathered together in a purpose-made unit. The system looked