'What was he doing when you bumped into him?' he asked.
'Waving his wad around. Ah got talkin' taste him and he waved some of it in ma direction.'
'Didn't you think it was a bit risky, going to his place?' asked McGuire.
'Naw. Nae danger. Ah've been on the game long enough taste ken the dodgy ones. Wee whit's his name's hermless.'
The Inspector looked her in the eye. 'Did you do any coke?'
She glanced from McGuire to Martin. 'Don't be daft,' she said.
'Ah'm a tart, no a dope fiend.'
'Did you see Salmon using?' asked the chief superintendent.
Joanne nodded. 'Aye. We were hardly in the door before he got out his wee poke and cut himself a line.' She snorted. 'Just as well ah didnae fancy ony. The stingy wee bastard never even offered!'
McGuire leaned across the table. 'Did he tell you anything about himself?'
'Did he no just! He said he wis a reporter, wi' a big international magazine.'
'Anything else? Anything about his work?'
She looked at the detectives, a little cautiously. 'Aye,' she said at last. 'He kept goin' on about this big story he was workin' on. He said it was about your boss, Mr Skinner, and that once it was all out he'd be out of a job, and more.'
'Give me that exactly, Joanne,' said Martin. 'The actual words he used.'
'That's whit he said, Mr Martin. "He'l be out of a job, and more."
And he smiled when he said it, real nasty like. Usual y ah don't chat taste the punters, not at all. Ah'm there for copulation, no' conversation.
But even so, ah asked him what he meant. He wouldnae tell me though. "Buy my paper for the next couple of weeks and find out."
That wis all he'd say.'
'Did he let slip anything else?'
The Big Easy leaned back in her chair, knitting her brows. 'He did say that once it was al done, his source would be very happy.'
'His source. No name?'
She shook her head. 'Naw. And he only said it the once.'
'When did he say al this?'
'Once we got back taste his place.'
'Did he say anything in the pub?'
'No' much.'
'How did you meet him?'
Joanne grinned. 'He came over taste me and started chattin' me up.
He thinks he's God's gift, even though he wis at the end o' the queue when the looks were handed out. I let him go on for a bit, then Ah told him that Ah took neither Bul shit nor Barclaycard, and spelled things out for him.'
Martin looked at her. 'I thought you only worked the saunas, Jo.'
She laughed, a short, hard laugh. 'Aye, but Saturday's ma night off? What d'ye think ah do in ma spare time, ori-fuckm' -garni?'
The Chief Superintendent grunted. 'Nothing you do would surprise me. Miss Virtue. Did Salmon do or say anything in the pub?'
'Just before we left, he went off taste make a phone call, but that's all.'
'D'you know how many cal s he made?' asked McGuire.
'Just the one. I could see him from where Ah was standing.'
Martin nodded and leaned back. 'Okay, Jo. Nearly finished.
There's just one other thing. When Mario banged the door, what happened?'
The woman frowned again, ransacking her memory. 'Well he jumped off me, for a start, and switched off the radio. Then he grabbed his notebook: it's one of those Filofax things. He took something 64 from it, real quick like. After that he picked up what was left of the coke and dived intae the bog.'
'And that's al?'
'Everything,' she said. 'Honest.'
The Chief Superintendent leaned back from the table. 'Aye, Jo, I know you are. Okay, you can go. We'l let you know if we want a formal statement.' He pressed a buzzer on the wal. 'Meanwhile, the WPC outside will see you out. D'you want a lift back to Leith?'
She drew him a frosty look. TheI Going hame in a polis car! That'l be the day.' She stood up picked up her red plastic handbag, smoothed her dress, and strode from the room.
'Well,' muttered Martin, as the door closed behind her. 'That was interesting.' He looked round at McGuire. 'You sure there was no scrap of paper floating in the bog when Neil looked at it?'
'Ask him, sir, but you know big Mcllhenney. He wouldn't have missed it if there had been.'
'Mmm. That's what I thought. So Mr Salmon was even more interested in flushing that page from his notebook down the toilet than he was in disposing of his cocaine. Why d'you think it was so important, Mario, eh?'
'Maybe it was the name of his source, sir.'
'That, or a phone number. It's too damn bad. That piece of evidence will be out at sea by now! We'll just have to see if we can frighten it out of him.'
19
'No! I won't tell you who my source is. The first rule of reputable journalism is to protect the integrity of your informants.'
'Salmon,' said Andy Martin, shaking his head in disbelief. 'You could barely spell "reputable".
'Okay,' he went on, 'let's try another tack. Last night you cal ed Mr Skinner. Agreed?'
The man shook his head, dark stubble showing on his chin. 'No.
I agree nothing.'
'Have it your way, chum,' retorted Martin. 'We know you did.'
Noel Salmon scowled. 'What's the point of all this anyway? I've been here for nearly four hours already, waiting for you lot. I want to go home.'
'The point…' said the Head of CID, pausing and looking hard across the table, '… the point is that Mr Skinner's number, like all his telephone numbers, like mine, like Inspector McGuire's, is ex-directory. We don't like the thought of people – especially people like you – having open access to them, and we want to know who gave DCC Skinner's to you.'
He glanced at the tape recorder, at the side of the table, its red record light shining in the dim interview room. 'Now, I ask you, formal y. How did you come by Mr Skinner's unlisted number, at his Gul ane address?'
Salmon looked up at him from behind furrowed brows. 'I can't remember.'
'Oh, come on. You have the Deputy Chief Constable's ex-directory number in your possession and you can't remember how you got it!
Who gave it to you!'
'I can't remember.'
'We don't believe you, Mr Salmon.'
'Tough!'
'That could be,' said Martin, quietly. 'Let's get this straight. You recal very clearly who gave you that number, but you don't intend to tell us. That's the truth of it, isn't it?'
'Have it your way.'
'We will. Did you pay someone to give it to you?'
'No.'
The DCS paused. 'Think careful y about that answer. If we find out later that you did, it'l go hard for you.'
Salmon paled slightly, wringing his hands together. 'Look, I didn't pay anyone for the number, okay. It was given to me.'
'By the same person who gave you the information on Mr Skinner on which your story in the Spotlight is based?'
The little reporter opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.
'Mr Salmon refuses to answer,' said Martin in an aside to the tape.
He glanced at McGuire. 'But let's make the assumption that the sources are one and the same. I ask you again, who was your informant?'
Salmon stared down at the table. 'Nothing to say. Can I go now?'
'No, sir, you may not. In case you've forgotten, you're being held on suspicion of being in possession of a Class A drug.'
'Aw come on,' the man whined, 'a wee bit of coke!' Almost as soon as the words left his mouth he turned and stared at the tape.
Martin smiled. 'That's right, Noel.' He nodded. 'A wee bit of cocaine… but enough to land you in front of the Sheriff. How do you think your many friends in the media will handle your court appearance? D'you think they won't report it because you're one of their number? I don't think so.'
The detective paused for a second. 'And what about your new employers at the Spotlight?' he continued. 'I've been reading some back numbers. Know what your magazine's official policy i
s? That al drug traffickers should be executed, and that al users should get five years. Do you think you'l be working for them after you're convicted for possession? Do you think you'l be working for anyone?
'All I have to do is file a report to the Fiscal, and professionally you're a goner.'
He paused again. 'Of course, if you were to tell me who gave you Bob Skinner's ex-directory number, maybe I'd think twice about it.'
For the first time, a trace of desperation showed in Noel Salmon's expression. He chewed his lip for a second or two, weighing up his options. Finally he sighed. 'I don't know who my source is,' he said.
It was almost a moan.
'Sure you don't,' said Martin, easily.
'It's the truth,' the man protested. 'I had a letter, a few weeks back.
It was anonymous. Al it said was that if I kept an eye on Skinner, I'd find that he was straying from the straight and narrow. I thought it was crap at first, but just for fun – and because I hate the big bastard
– 1 fol owed him. It didn't take me long to find out about the Masters bird.
'She was staying at his place in Gul ane most nights. When they weren't there, they were at hers. I kept an eye on them, looking for some juicy pictures to back up the story. Eventual y I got them. Juicy was hardly the word – him in the buff, and her bent over him like she was sucking his cock.'
Suddenly Martin was grim-faced. 'This anonymous tipster. Ever had anything from him before?'
Salmon shook his head. 'Not that I know of
'What did you do with the letter?'
'I binned it, long ago.'
'So what was the piece of paper you were so keen to get rid of when I thumped on your door?' asked McGuire.
The man's eyebrows narrowed for a second. 'Ah, the tart told you that, did she?' he said. 'That had nothing to do with Skinner.'
'So what was it?'
Salmon shook his head. 'Nothing to say.' A gleam came into his eye, developing quickly into a smile. 'Did the tart tell you it was her coke?'
Martin laughed; short, sharp and hard. 'No, she did not. She said it was yours, as we both know it was.'
The little man spread his palms wide. 'And I say that it was hers; that she brought it into my flat and offered me some before we had it off. I refused, of course.'
The Head ofCID sighed. 'And you'l say that when Mario thumped your door you panicked and flushed it down the bog.'
Salmon nodded. 'That's right. So charge me. I'l plead not guilty; she'll tell her story and I'll tell mine. Is a jury going to convict me on the word of a prostitute?'
The reporter was recovering his confidence rapidly – and, as Martin knew, with justification. His scenario had a loud ring of credibility about it.
'So,' said the dishevelled little man. 'Can I go now?'
'Oh no,' replied the blond detective. 'Not so easily. Besides, there's a tape I want you to hear.'
'What sort of tape?'
'In a minute. Let's go back to Mr Skinner's phone number. Was that included in your anonymous note?'
'I'm not saying any more about that.'
'We'll see.' Martin reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a smal tape player. He pressed the 'play' button. A few seconds later, Salmon heard his own voice, echoing from the speaker with a metal ic tone. The two policemen gazed at him, as he sat back in his chair, surprised and slightly shocked.
'But think on this: I haven't finished with you yet – not by a long way.' As the recorded conversation ended with a click, McGuire reached across and switched off the tape.
'How did…' Salmon began.
'Work it out for yourself,' said Martin. 'Did it never occur to you that it was a bit dangerous to call a senior police officer on an unlisted number and to make threats.'
'What d'you mean, threats?'
'What else would you cal that last comment of yours?' The policeman paused. 'But wait. There's more. A few minutes after you phoned him, Mr Skinner received another call on his unlisted number.
If you'd been at our press briefing this morning, instead of being banged up in here, you'd know about it already.' He switched on the tape once more.
' have the child. He is alive, but at my disposition. You wil hear from me again.'
Salmon sat bolt upright in his seat at the sound of the smooth, controlled voice. His eyes widened. 'Was that…?'
'The man who murdered Leona McGrath, and kidnapped her son?
We have to believe that it is. Which throws up a pretty big coincidence.
Two men, in possession of a very confidential telephone number, using it within minutes of each other.'
Martin leaned forward, his forearms on the table. Suddenly, although his expression was as affable as ever, there was an air of menace about him.
'Now, Salmon,' he said, in a clear, formal voice, 'do you know that man? Did you give him Mr Skinner's number or did he give it to you?'
The dishevelled reporter gulped, fear showing in his eyes. 'I've no idea who he is,' he protested. 'No, I didn't give him Skinner's number!
No, I didn't get it from him!'
'How did you get it, then? No more bul shit, friend. You are in very dangerous waters, and way out of your depth.'
Noel Salmon slumped back in his seat. 'It was in the second message,' he whispered.
'What second message?'
'I got it last week. It was anonymous, like the other one.'
Andy Martin fixed his green eyes on the man. 'So how do you know that it didn't come from the man we've just heard on that tape?' he asked, in an even tone.
His quarry looked down at the scratched tabletop. 'I don't,' he muttered helplessly.
'No, you don't, do you? Not if you're telling the truth, you don't.
For if we believed that you were lying to us, in any way, we'd have to look at the possibility that you were this man's accomplice.'
'Wait a minute…'
'So prove yourself to us. Let us see the second letter.'
'I can't,' said Salmon, plaintively. 'That was what I flushed down the toilet.'
The detective whistled. 'I see. You are in deep shit, aren't you?'
'Appropriate, in the circumstances,' said McGuire, beside him.
'Help yourself, then,' offered Martin. 'Tell us what was in the letter.'
Salmon turned his face away from them, towards the wal of the windowless interview room, his fingers twisting, intertwined, in an unconscious show of indecision.
'Come on, Noel,' said the Head ofCID.
Salmon turned back to face them, nodding slightly as if he had reached a decision. He looked up in the silence which filled the room and opened his mouth as if to speak.
There was a knock on the brown-painted door. The handle turned.
The door swung open, revealing the bulky frame ofNeil Mcl henney.
A tall, dark-haired man stood behind him.
'What the hell is it?' snapped Andy Martin, in a rare display of annoyance.
'I'm sorry, sir,' said the Sergeant, 'but I had no choice.' He nodded over his shoulder, towards the man who followed him into the room.
'This is Mr Alee Linden. He's a solicitor, retained by the Spotlight to represent Salmon. He demanded that I bring him in here.'
The Chief Superintendent sighed heavily in his exasperation, and nodded, standing up as he did so and reaching out to switch off the tape recorder. 'You're right, Neil, you didn't have a choice. Thank you. Interview suspended.'
He turned to the lawyer, as Mcllhenney withdrew. 'I don't think we've met, Mr Linden.'
The man shook his head. 'No. I'm senior partner of Herd and Phillips, in Glasgow.' Martin recognised the name of the biggest criminal law firm in Scotland. 'I was instructed by Mr Salmon's employers immediately after they heard of his arrest on a radio news bulletin. They are naturally concerned that he is being persecuted because of the story in today's issue of their magazine. So am I.
'I understand from your Sergeant,' said Linden, brusquely, 'that you are questioni
ng my client over his possession of an unlisted telephone number.'
'That, and his possession of a quantity of cocaine.'
The solicitor frowned. 'I wasn't aware of that. You'l do me the courtesy of allowing me a few minutes alone with my client?'
'Of course. Give us a cal when you're ready.' The two detectives stepped outside, into the corridor, where Mcllhenney waited. 'What do you think, sir?' asked McGuire.
'I think he'll piss all over us,' said Martin glumly. 'Fuck me, Neil, if you'd only stopped to tie your shoelace before you knocked on that door. We had Salmon by the stones right then.'
The sergeant looked crestfal en. 'Christ, boss, but I'm sorry.'
'Ach, never you mind, big fel a, you weren't to know.'
They stood silent in the corridor for almost ten minutes, before the door opened, and Linden's face appeared. 'Gentlemen, we're ready for you now.' Martin and McGuire re-entered the room, and resumed their seats across the table from Salmon and his new adviser.
'I'll come straight to the point,' said the solicitor. 'On the matter of the cocaine, my client maintains that it was introduced to his premises without his knowledge by his lady-friend. On the matter of the telephone number, it is not an offence simply to possess such information, and you have no evidence whatsoever that it was obtained corruptly. Also, my client denies any knowledge of, or cooperation with, the person who made the second telephone call to Mr Skinner.'
He paused. 'I have advised my client that he should answer no further questions. Obviously, it is up to you to decide how to proceed on the matter of the cocaine, but in the meantime, I insist that Mr Salmon be released.'
Andy Martin glanced at the journalist, who sat relaxed, beaming back at him, al his arrogance and cockiness restored. In his mind he weighed the options of the situation, realising that, with his solicitor by his side, Salmon would not budge from his story. He knew that he had no practical choice.
'Okay, Mr Linden,' he sighed, at last. 'You can have him. A report wil be submitted to the Procurator Fiscal. It'l be for him to decide whether your client will be charged with possession.
'In the meantime, I suggest that you advise him to be very careful of the people with whom he associates, and to be wary of any further anonymous information he might receive. Now please, take him away, so that we can have this place fumigated.'
Skinner's ghosts bs-7 Page 8