Skinner's ghosts bs-7

by Quintin Jardine

  'What?' There was a hitch in Sarah's voice, the sound of a suppressed sob. 'You just fell in love with another woman, with the ink barely dry on our separation?'

  'No!' he protested. 'Listen…'

  'Shut up for a minute, Bob, please. Let me get my head round this a piece at a time.' She paused, and he could hear her fight to calm her breathing, to calm herself.

  'That explains the phone call, anyway,' she said finally, in an even tone.

  'What phone cal?'

  'This afternoon. I had a cal from a guy in Scotland. He said his name was Salmon. He said that he was researching for a series on your career, and that he needed medical background on some of your investigations. He asked if he could come to Buffalo to visit me.

  'I thought it was a little odd, but I said okay, if he was prepared to pay the air fare, then I was prepared to see him next Tuesday. I take it that…'

  'Yes,' muttered Bob, grimly. 'He's the shit who broke the story.'

  'And he expects still to be alive next Tuesday,' Sarah responded, with a faint hint of mockery.

  'Andy was going to lock him up. The trouble was he hadn't broken any laws. Pam may be able to sue him, but that's it.'

  'Pam may be able…! What, you mean she isn't a man-grabbing little opportunist?' Her voice rose once more.

  'No,' said her husband quietly. 'She isn't.'

  'Okay,' said Sarah, more calmly. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have got down to that level. What does this man Salmon want?'

  'Some photos of the wronged wife and baby, I guess. Plus confirmation from you that I'm a shit and that you can't wait to divorce me.'

  'None of that sounds too tough,' said Sarah.

  'So you'll see him?'

  There was another snort, with a laugh in it this time. 'Like hell I wil! Do you think for one moment that I'd involve myself, or my baby, with a rag like that? I've seen the US Spotlight, and I can think of half-a-dozen congressmen who've trying to have it banned. If you can get word to this guy, let him know that if he sets foot on my dad's doorstep, he'l have him arrested. And in this city, my dad could probably do that!'

  'I'l have Royston pass that message on,' said Bob.

  'Sarah,' he went on, strangely hesitant. 'I have to ask you this. Do you intend to divorce me?'

  He heard her gasp slightly. She was silent for several expensive transatlantic seconds, until final y she responded, very quietly. 'Do you want me to?'

  'I've no right to expect otherwise.'

  'But is it what you want?'

  This time it was Bob's turn to fall silent. 'No,' he said, at last.

  'Ask me now and the answer's no.'

  'Do you and Pamela love each other? Like does she want to have your babies?'

  Another pause. 'No. I don't think we do. I don't think she does.

  We've avoided discussing anything so heavy.'

  'Then get yourselves sorted out. I'l give you three months. If, after that, you're no longer involved with this woman, and you tell me that you love me and want me back, I'l decide how I feel. If you can't make me believe all that, I'll know it's over.'

  'Don't we have to say those things to each other?' he asked.

  She chuckled, and in his mind's eye he could see her shake her head. 'Not from where I'm standing, we don't.'

  The big policeman, alone in his sitting room, heaved a sigh and nodded. 'Okay. That's how it'll be.

  'Before I hang up, can I speak to Jazz.'

  'He's out with Granddad, I'm afraid.'

  'Okay.' He was about to say goodbye, when something struck him.

  'Sarah, one thing you should look out for. This bastard Salmon isn't going to like it when we blow him out. Be careful that he doesn't try any Candid Camera stuff on you.'

  'Okay, but how could he?'

  'Well…' Skinner gulped, and took the plunge. 'If you were seeing anyone, however innocently…'

  'As opposed to guiltily, you mean?'

  'Aye, okay…' he grunted.

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. 'Well… I have had a few dinner dates with a single guy around my own age, on the medical staff at my hospital. Dinner dates, though, that's all.'

  He felt a tug in the pit of his stomach. 'So you haven't…'

  'No I have not!' she cried. 'Sure, the thought has crossed my mind: I'm as human as you, but maybe just a bit more restrained. The invitation's been extended, too, in a very gentlemanly, diplomatic fashion. Til now, I've thanked him, but declined, as a lady should.

  After this, though, you can work out for yourself how I'm likely to respond.

  'However, my dear, there's one thing that I will promise you.'

  'What's that?'

  'When I do decide to let Terry and me enjoy the good honest Tuck to which he's probably entitled, and which I undoubtedly deserve, I'l make bloody sure that the drapes are drawn tight!'

  The sound of a phone being slammed down crashed in his ear.

  14

  Skinner sat on the edge of the couch in the curtained living room in Gullane, drawing listlessly on a bottle of Beck's. It was just after ten thirty.

  'Sarah gave you a hard time, did she?' asked Pamela. 'Come on, tell me about it. You've been silent as the grave on the subject.' It was true. Skinner had eaten before picking her up from the Leith apartment, principally to allow him to recover from his conversation with his wife.

  As they had driven to East Lothian – having decided to ignore any paparazzi who might be on their trail next day – he had told her of his instruction of Mitchell Laidlaw, and of his conversation with the Chief Constable. From the cottage, he had made phone calls to Royston, and toAlex to confirm that both the force and the solicitor's spokeswoman had been bombarded with press enquiries since the Spotlight story had broken.

  But he had said nothing at al until then of his telephone cal to Sarah, or other reaction. 'What is it?' asked Pamela once more. 'Has she asked for a divorce?'

  He took another swig of his beer. 'She's stopped short of that, but let's say she's reserved her position.'

  'Did you ask her if she has someone else?'

  Pamela's eagerness irked him. 'Yes. And she has. Platonic so far, but I've driven her into his bed, I'm sure.'

  'What makes you think that?'

  'Christ, she more or less told me so! Anyway, you've been in her place. How did you react when you found out about David?'

  She pouted. 'Just hold on! David was living with me when he had his affairs, so the situation isn't the same. I certainly didn't respond in kind: not for a while, at least. It was almost two years before I fancied anyone else.

  'We're dodging an issue though. If you're jealous of Sarah's new man, real or not, I don't like that. In fact you can either get over it, or do without me. Which would you prefer?'

  Bob laid the beer on the floor and took her by the hand. 'Calm down, Pammy. It's just that I'm an old Presbyterian at heart. I'l get over it.'

  'Take me to bed, then,' she said, teasingly, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

  'I might consider it,' he said, managing a weak smile, but feeling a pang of doubt inside. Just in time the ring of the telephone took him off the hook.

  'Sod it,' he said, reaching across to pick it up.

  'Good evening, Mr Skinner,' said a smug voice, raised slightly over a background of conversation. 'I hope you enjoy your weekend reading. If you switch on the telly at eleven o'clock, I think you'll find that Sky News give you a good show too.'

  'Salmon, you little cunt,' the policeman snarled. 'How did you get this number?'

  'I have friends. Despite what your lawyer said, I felt I had to give you the chance of coming clean for my readers. Can they expect your resignation within the week?'

  'You can expect my hand on your col ar, you slimy wee toad,'

  Skinner exploded. 'Plus, we're going to sue you til your fucking eyes pop. You can forget going to see my wife too. She has nothing to say to you, and if you push your luck over there, I have friends in the FBI who'l slam
you right inside.'

  'Nice one, Bob,' said Salmon, with a disturbingly calm assurance.

  'I've got that al noted down, and, it'l read well in next week's Spotlight. You and Pamela have a nice night, now. But think on this: I haven't finished with you yet – not by a long way.'

  As the cal ended. Skinner hurled the phone across the room, tearing the flex from its socket and smashing it against the wal. He turned to Pam, who sat shocked and drawn. 'He got my number!' he said, incredulously. 'I'm on the MI5 network, yet he got my ex-directory number. Some shit sold it to him.'

  She stood up and held him to her, feeling him tremble with rage.

  'Control yourself, love,' she said. 'Every point that nasty little man adds to your blood pressure is a victory for him. Remember the rule.

  Don't get mad, get even.'

  He shook his head. 'I've never been any good at that. Some guys, like Andy, can count up to ten, and by the time they get there they've cooled down. I've never made it past three.' Nevertheless, his breathing did begin to steady as she drew his face down to hers and kissed him, and as she stroked his hair.

  'That's better,' she whispered, with a smile. 'Forget Salmon, and come with me. Come on. I drew the curtains earlier, but we'll keep the light out as well, just to be safe!'

  Gradual y his expression softened, until finally he allowed himself to be led through to the bedroom. Slowly she undressed him in the dark, peeling off her own clothes more quickly, and climbing on top of him as he lay on the duvet. He felt her tongue in his mouth, 48 flicking, seeking his; then it moved, as she did. He felt it lick its way along his chest, playing lightly with its curly hairs; felt her lips move on him kissing, puckering, felt himself growing huge as she made her steady way down, until…

  The only functional telephone in the cottage seemed to scream at the night a few feet from his ear. 'No!' It was Pam's turn to shout her frustration. 'If that's him again…'

  'Then he's a goner,' said Skinner, quite seriously.

  He picked up the phone. 'Now listen, you,' he began in a deadly tone.

  'Good evening, Mr Skinner.'The voice cut across his: not Salmon, another man; a quiet, even and control ed tone, without accent.

  'Who…'

  'I have the child. He is alive, but at my disposition. You wil hear from me again.'

  For the second time that evening a phone line went dead, leaving Skinner staring ahead into darkness.

  15

  'British Telecom couldn't help, then, Andy, I take it?'

  Martin shook his head. He and Skinner sat grim-faced at the kitchen table in the cottage, china mugs of coffee steaming before them. It was twenty-five minutes past midnight, and the Head of CID had just arrived from Edinburgh, leaving Alex alone in the Haymarket flat.

  From the living room, the faint sound of the television carried through, as Pamela watched, for the fourth or fifth time, a video of the carefully worded Sky News precis of Noel Salmon's Spotlight exclusive.

  'They did their best, of course, Bob, but without exceptional luck

  – such as the guy forgetting to disable 1471 – or advance warning, there wasn't much chance that they'd be able to trace the origin of the call.'

  Skinner grunted. 'Come on, Andy, d'you think that I didn't try the automatic number trace? "You were cal ed today at…",' he mimicked. ' "The cal er withheld his number." '

  Martin glanced at him. 'Maybe he used a payphone. Did you hear coins drop?'

  'No, but that's not a give-away any more. They did away with

  "Press button A" years ago, on most of them.'

  The younger man raised an eyebrow. 'Hey, maybe he used a credit card.'

  Skinner glowered across the table. 'Andy, son, I know it's past midnight, and that we're clutching at some very short straws, but really…'

  Martin sipped his coffee. 'Miracles happen.'

  'No they bloody don't!' Skinner slapped the table, gently.

  'Look, it's been a mind-fucker of a night, but let's get a grip of ourselves and start thinking and acting like the serious coppers we are.

  'I asked you out here so that the two of us could have a brainstorm, before we call in the Cavalry, so let's get on with it.'

  'Can I join in too?' asked Pamela from the doorway. 'Or is this for General Staff only.'

  Bob grinned at her, as she leaned against the jamb wearing a 50 teeshirt and his long towelling bathrobe. 'Aye, come on in Sergeant, even though you're out of uniform.'

  She looked at him in football top and shorts, then at Martin, in denims, raised her eyebrows in a gesture which said 'Oh yes?', then joined them at the table.

  'Right,' said Skinner. 'There are all sorts of potential implications which we can draw from this call. Let's see if we can nail them all down.'

  'A question first, surely,' Pamela interrupted. 'Was the call genuine? Could it have been a crank?'

  'That's possible. But if it was a crank, bear in mind that the cal was made to an ex-directory number. That means that the perpetrator is either one of my inner circle, with access to that number, or he's gone to some trouble, and possibly some risk, to get it.

  'No,' he said, emphatical y, 'I've no doubt that the cal was genuine.

  Anyway we have to assume that it was, until we know otherwise. So okay, not a hoax. Next?'

  'Why to you?' asked Martin. 'Why did the guy give a personal message to you? I've been the front man in this investigation al along? You've never been involved publicly.'

  Skinner nodded. 'Good one. Ideas? Pam?'

  She hesitated. 'Wel, you are pretty well known. Think police, think Edinburgh, think Bob Skinner. It could be no more than that, except…'

  '… except,' said Martin, 'that it's public knowledge that you have a special connection with this child. After the Lammermuirs air disaster, when wee Mark was the only survivor – which proves incidentally,' he interjected, triumphantly, 'that miracles do happen it was you who rescued him from the sinking cockpit of the plane, in the middle of a reservoir.

  'That was al over the papers at the time. Everybody knows about you saving that wee boy's life.'

  'So?'

  'So… It could explain why the kidnapper would choose to make contact with you.'

  Skinner smiled, and his eyes narrowed. 'And could it explain why he took the child?'

  Martin stared at him. 'You mean, could he have taken the child as an act of revenge against you?'

  'Well? Could he? You'll concede I've made a few potential enemies over the years.'

  Martin nodded. 'Even leaving out the ghosts of the dead ones.'

  'Okay, suppose someone wants to hurt me,' the DCC went on.

  'What are his choices?

  'He could come at me in person. But maybe he lacks the physical 51 capability, the resources, or just the bottle for that. He could target my daughter. But she lives with you, and you're as dangerous a customer as I am. He could target my wife and son. But they're a long way off, in the States.

  'So, how does he do something that's going to hurt me to the heart?' Skinner paused. 'Maybe, just maybe, he remembers last year's publicity; he remembers the bond between me and wee Mark, and he says, "That's the way." So he keeps Leona's house under observation; he traces her movements; he waits, and he waits; he picks his time, and he kidnaps Mark. Not Skinner's son, but a surrogate.'

  Pamela touched his arm. 'But why kill the mother?'

  He turned and looked at her. 'Not Sarah, but a surrogate,' he said, quietly, then paused. 'What do you think of the proposition, Chief Superintendent? Sergeant?'

  Martin frowned, then rose from the table. 'Let me think about it for a minute,' he said, moving towards the living room. 'Pam,' he smiled over his shoulder. 'How about some more coffee? You are on my staff, after al.'

  'Yes sir,' she said smartly, as Skinner fol owed his friend out of the kitchen.

  In the other room, Martin was waiting, his smile gone. 'Bob, I accept your theory. Not as a main line of investigation, perhaps, but as a credible scena
rio. However, should you be right, have you thought of another implication which flows from it?'

  'What's that?'

  The younger man paused. 'The proposition that Leona might have been attacked instead of Sarah. After this weekend's publicity, if that is true, the killer has a new target.' He jerked a thumb towards the kitchen.

  Skinner's face darkened. 'Whistling Christ, Andy, you're right!'

  He nodded, absently, to himself. 'From now on, she'd better not leave my side.' And then, like sunlight over a field as a cloud blows away, his expression changed as a new thought came to him.

  'Unless,' he said, his voice rising. 'He's already using Pam to hurt me. Think of it. For the past few months she's hardly been out of my sight while we've been off duty, or out of yours while she's been at work. In reality, that would make her an even tougher target than Sarah orAlex. But suppose, my enemy's been watching me, he's seen the two of us together, and made the connection.'

  'Yes,' said Martin, comprehending, racing alongside Skinner's thinking. 'We know al about Salmon and his story, but we don't know his source. Suppose the kidnapper tipped off Salmon, put him on your trail.'

  'That figures, Andy. The wee bastard's never had a decent exclusive 52 of his own before. He could even have used it to land his job on the Spotlight.'

  'And something else,' added the Chief Superintendent. 'Salmon cal ed you tonight, and so did the kidnapper; both on your ex-directory number. Is it possible that the kidnapper gave Salmon the number?'

  It had become a game now, one they had often played before, chasing an idea, worrying at it, throwing in possibilities, adding tints and colours until a picture emerged. Skinner beamed. 'Or did Salmon give it to him,' he asked, 'even without knowing why he would use it?'

  His friend shook his head. 'Don't let's stop there, Bob? Let's give that slimeball the benefit of no doubt at al. Or did Salmon know why he would use it?'

  'I couldn't believe that,' said Skinner, doubtful y, 'not even of him.'

  'Neither do I,' said Martin, as Pamela came into the room carrying a cafetiere, 'but it gives us all the reason we need, and more, to arrest the wee bastard. And in the process to leak – accidentally of course