Skinner's ghosts bs-7

by Quintin Jardine

  'It's as if the buyer was going camping, isn't it?' the manager suggested.

  'Oh, he was,' said Maggie Rose, forceful y. 'He was.'

  39

  The zeal that comes from newly acquired but long-anticipated power still shone in the eyes of Dr Bruce Anderson, Secretary of State for Scotland. He stood as Skinner entered his office in St Andrew's House, Scotland's seat of national government, and came towards him, hand outstretched.

  'Hello, Bob,' he welcomed him, with a reassuring smile.

  ' Wonder if this was his bedside manner when he was in practiced Skinner mused. 'Good morning, Secretary of State,' he replied, shaking the proffered hand. He had learned from bitter experience that it was best to keep his relationship with his ministerial boss on a formal footing.

  'Politicians are a bit like rottweilers,' Proud Jimmy had warned him, when he had accepted his appointment as security adviser to the Scottish Office. 'Just when you think they 're domesticated, they can turn round and bite your bloody hand off'

  'Have a seat, have a seat,' saidAnderson, looking fresh despite his night on the sleeper. 'You'l take coffee?'

  'No thank you, sir,' said the policeman, sitting on a low chair facing the Secretary of State's desk. He glanced round the wood-panelled room, which he had come to know so well. 'I've just had breakfast.'

  'Okay. Then let's get down to business. I'm real y asking you this as Deputy Chief in Edinburgh, not as my adviser. What can you tell me about Leona McGrath's murder? It's nearly a week now, and still no arrest. My parliamentary col eagues are badgering me about it incessantly… especially the Tories, since she was their last MP in Scotland. So, how are things going?'

  Skinner frowned. 'As well as can be expected, I'd say. The kil er didn't leave us any forensic evidence at the scene… none that we've been able to find so far, at any rate… and he's been very efficient in covering his tracks.

  'However,' he went on, 'we've had some excellent technical help from an outside agency, and that led to us tracing a caravan where the man held young Mark after the abduction. There was a serial number on the van. It was stolen last week from a dealership near Penicuik.'

  'Did it have number plates?' asked Anderson.

  'Phoney,' Skinner replied. 'We've put out a country-wide alert for any vehicle with that number, but if the killer had one set of fictitious plates, then he'll have two, and he'l have swapped over by now.'

  'How do you know that they were there?'

  Skinner smiled, grimly. 'Like the murder scene, the place was wiped clean. However we found two food labels stuffed down the back of a cushion. One of them was foil, and had the boy's right thumbprint on it, very clearly. We're checking, even as I speak, with the supermarket where we hope the items were bought, but I'l tel you now, that it won't help us identify the killer. If he was there, he'll have paid cash.'

  'So,' said the Secretary of State. 'Another dead end.'

  'Not quite. Now we have an accurate description of the man, and a good witness who can draw a photofit for us. Also, where it's been surmise before, thanks to a fingerprint on an item, we now know for sure that the child was in that caravan, alive. The usual motive for child-stealing is ransom. Whatever the purpose here, I believe that there wil be a further message from the man, and I expect that it wil be addressed to me.'

  'Why do you say that?'

  'Because of the lengths to which he went to contact me, personally, on Saturday evening. He could have taken his pick from dozens of working phone boxes all over East Lothian or Berwick, yet he came to Gullane to make his cal from my very own doorstep. Whether it was risk-taking for thril s, or simply his way of rubbing my nose in it, it was thought out, deliberate, and directed at me.

  'This is personal, I tell you. This man is a ghost from somewhere in my past, only he's a very live one.'

  Anderson frowned. 'I take it that you're looking into all the people who might have grudges against you.'

  'Of course, but without success so far.'

  The Secretary of State nodded. 'I see.' He swung round in his swivel chair and stared out of the window, across towards Calton Hill.

  'Bob,' he said, at last, without looking round, 'don't you feel that it would be better if you were able to give one hundred per cent of your time to this investigation?'

  Skinner thought of Proud Jimmy, and felt a tightening around his wrist, like the phantom jaws of a rottweiler.

  'No, sir,' he replied, evenly, 'I do not. I have an excellent Head of CID, in day-to-day charge and reporting to me. Added to that, if I am a linking factor in this crime, the arguments are all against me being informed personal y.'

  'Nevertheless,' Anderson continued, 'I might feel happier.'

  The detective felt his jaw tighten, and his eyes narrow, quite 129 involuntarily. If Anderson had been looking at him, he might have felt less assured.

  'Secretary of State,' he said evenly. 'Please don't play games with me. And most of al, don't patronise me. I don't honestly give a fuck about your happiness.

  'If you've got something to say, then please, as they say in American Football, let's skip the bul shit and go straight to the nut-cutting.'

  Anderson stiffened and swung round in his seat. Al the earlier bonhomie was gone. 'Very well. I don't have to say, I hope, how much I admire you as a policeman, Mr Skinner. Your record of success speaks for itself. Nor can I fault the advice you've given me since I've been in office.

  'However I would prefer it if my security adviser was with me on a ful time basis.'

  'I am honoured to accept your offer,' said Skinner laconical y. .. and lying in his teeth.

  The Secretary of State reddened, as he took the bait. 'All right,' he snapped, 'Your private life, and the way in which it has become public, gives me a real difficulty. My party has a high moral code, and…'

  'That's crap too,' retorted Skinner. 'I'm in on the MI5 briefings, remember. The Security Service knows of at least fifteen members of your government who are having extra-marital affairs. Two of them are with people of the same sex, and another of them is a junior minister in your own department.'

  Abruptly the policeman stood up, irked by having Anderson look down on him in the low visitor's seat. 'Let's deal with the truth, shal we?' he said. 'Your party still has difficulty in Scotland in keeping your left-wingers under control. You can't afford to give them the slightest weapon to use against you.

  'Aggie Maley and her pals – anti-police to begin with – think that my extra-marital relationship with Pam gives them a bit of leverage.

  She's painting me as some sort of sexual predator, abusing his position within the force, and within your own party circles she's accusing you of being pro-sleaze and anti-women by keeping me in post.

  'Being new in office, you don't need that sort of flak. So you want me to let you off the hook by offering my resignation. That's the truth of it, Dr Anderson, isn't it?'

  The Secretary of State's face was redder than ever. 'I wouldn't have put it quite so directly,' he spluttered.

  'Well,' said Skinner, 'if you're ever going to fill that chair adequately, you'd better learn to. Express it as you wil, but I'm right.'

  Anderson sighed. 'If that's how you see it…' Final y he looked directly at the other man. 'Will you let me have your resignation?'

  The detective, laughed: a short, dry humourless laugh. 'I'd rather .. stick hot needles in my eyes than give Maley that satisfaction. If you want me out you'll have to fire me.'

  'So be it,' said the politician, wearily. 'How would you like me to frame the announcement?'

  'I don't give a damn. If anything you say is actionable, and not covered by privilege, I'll sue you. Other than that, say what you like.'

  He smiled. 'There is of course, the matter of my contract.'

  'You'l be paid in ful, with a termination bonus of six months' salary. My announcement wil say simply that you're leaving the job and that I've decided to make a ful time appointment. Actual y, Sir John Govan wil take up the post when
he retires as Chief Constable of Strathclyde in a few months.'

  'Mmm,' Skinner growled, as he rose to leave. 'It was nice of Jock to cal and tell me.' He smiled at Anderson's expression of sudden shock. 'Don't worry, Secretary of State, he didn't. I'm afraid I've never been very good at sarcasm.

  'Tell you one thing, though… no two. First, if I ever find out that Councillor Maley put the Spotlight on to me, I'll fucking crucify her. Second, I had decided not to apply for the Strathclyde job. Now I've changed my mind. If that bastard Govan thinks he can fil my shoes, I might as wel go after his… even though they might be too tight.'

  40

  'What's up, boss?' said Detective Chief Superintendent Martin as he closed the door of Skinner's office behind him.

  'Fucking politicians, Andy; that's what's up. Never again wil I have anything to do with them. Our Secretary of State's concerned about theAggie Maley Tendency rocking his boat, so he's thrown me to them as a human sacrifice.'

  Briefly, succinctly, but explosively, the DCC described his meeting with Dr Bruce Anderson. 'I tell you, mate,' he concluded. 'From now on, whenever I meet someone with the words Right and Honourable before his name, I'll know it's odds on that both are a fucking lie.'

  His pointing finger stabbed the air. 'And as for Jock Govan! I never had him down as such a slippery bastard, that's for sure.' He picked up his direct line and dial ed in a number. 'Hello,' he barked.

  'Is that Sir John Govan's office? Good. DCC Bob Skinner here, Edinburgh. Put me through please, if he's in.'

  Martin stared at him, screwing up his eyes, and making 'calm down' signals with his hands, but Skinner turned away.

  'Jock. Bob. I hear congratulations are in order.' The younger man waited for the explosion, but none came. Instead, he saw an incredulous look spread across his friend's face. 'You did?' He heard him say. 'He told you that!'

  Skinner shook his head. 'Jock, in the time that you've known me, when have I ever walked away from anything?' There was a short silence. 'Exactly, well it's the same this time. I refused to quit, so Anderson fired me.'

  The DCC held the earpiece of his phone a little away from his ear.

  From its bowl, Martin heard the sound of shouting. 'No, Jock,' said Skinner. 'Don't do that, please. Take the job. MI5 must have an experienced hand up here, someone with common sense. Just make sure that you use the power that you'll have to protect yourself against this sort of rubbish.

  'Good luck. I mean it. Thanks, I'l be al right.'

  Skinner hung up the phone and looked up at his second-in-command. 'Would you believe it! Govan says that when Anderson offered him the job yesterday, he said that I'd asked to be relieved of 132 my duties in view of my compromised position. He says that he told Anderson that he'd only accept after he had made one more determined effort to persuade me to stay on.

  'Half an hour ago, Anderson cal ed him back and said that he'd flung himself at my feet but that I was adamant about going.'

  Martin looked serious. 'You believe Govan, do you?'

  'Come on, Andy. I'd take the word of a chief police officer over that of a politician ten times out of ten. I tell you, I wish I had something on Anderson himself, rather than his sidekick. I'd bloody use it.

  'As for Maley! By God…'

  It was Skinner's friend, not his junior officer, who sat on the edge of his desk. 'Bob,' he said. 'Let it go.'

  'Why should I?'

  'Because with al this lashing about you're in danger of forgetting one thing. Bruce Anderson didn't walk out on his wife, weeks after she nursed him back to health. You did. Aggie Maley isn't sleeping with Pam Masters. You are.'

  Skinner glared at him, ready to erupt once more.

  'Sure, Anderson's behaving badly. Okay, Maley's using your situation to score points. But they're only doing so because you made it possible. No-one else did. Bob. Only you.

  'I… no, not just me… Alex and I are begging you to forget al this shit, and get on with your career, before you blow it.'

  Gradually, the fire faded from Bob's eyes as he looked across the desk. Gradually, he seemed to sag, to slump back in his chair.

  'You're right, of course, Andy,' he muttered quietly. 'I can get as angry as I like with those characters, but I'm real y only trying to shift the blame for my problems away from my own doorstep. I'm their architect, beginning to end, not Salmon, Maley, or anyone else.'

  He smiled suddenly. 'You know if one of my divisional commanders was in a pickle like this, I'd send him on a couple of months' sabbatical to sort himself out.

  'I dressed it up as "irreconcilable differences" when Sarah and I separated, but you're right. I just walked out. I exploded, accused her of disloyalty and manipulation, and didn't make the slightest effort to reconcile anything. Now it's too late.'

  He glanced up, suddenly and sharply. 'So what does that make Pam? Are the Maley clique right? Is she a victim?'

  Andy shook his head. 'No, she isn't You're clearly attracted to each other.' He stopped. 'But if you are asking me,' he resumed abruptly, 'I'd say you might be using her as a shield, a barrier to prevent you facing up to how much you've lost in Sarah, and how much you miss her and Jazz.'

  Bob rose from his chair, and went to the window. He stood with 133 his back to his friend, looking out, oblivious of the people coming and going below. 'D'you think this is my mid-life crisis, boy?' he asked.

  'If it is,' replied Andy. 'I hope it's your first and last, and I hope that it's over soon.

  'I can suggest one cure, though. Some good old-fashioned police work. Arthur Dorward called me, sounding fair pleased with himself.

  He says he's found a potential lead, and he wants to come to see me about it. He's due in my office in ten minutes.

  'Want to sit in?'

  'Sure,' said Skinner, the DCC once more. 'Why not. You head back along. I'll round up Mcl henney and join you directly. 'Oh, and Andy,' he added, as Martin headed for the door. 'Thanks for making me face up to myself, at last.'

  41

  The red-haired Inspector was already in the Head of CID's office when Skinner and his assistant arrived. Both men sat relaxed, as if waiting for him, as they had been.

  'Morning, Arthur. No, don't get up,' said the DCC, as he and Mcl henney took the other seats that Martin had drawn up to his desk.

  'Well,' he said. 'The DCS said you had made a breakthrough. Let's hear about it.'

  'Very good, sir,' said Dorward, sitting more upright in his chair.

  'The first thing I have to report is that the pathologist's staff have completed their examination of Mrs McGrath's body. There was nothing there, nothing at all, that shouldn't have been. The tissue under the fingernails was her own, right enough, and there were no stray hairs lodged anywhere.'

  'Certain?' asked Skinner.

  'One thousand per cent, sir.'

  'So where's your breakthrough?'

  The Inspector fought to suppress a smile of self-satisfaction. 'Wel, sir, it started with a bit of luck, real y. One of my team was talking to the cleaning woman, and she mentioned that Mrs McGrath's en suite bathroom had only been fitted a few months before, with some of the insurance money she received after her husband's death.'

  'Yes, that's right,' said the DCC. 'I remember her mentioning that she'd made some improvements to the house. So where does that take us?'

  Dorward's smile broke through, irresistibly. 'Well, sir, that made me wonder. Like, how many people would have used the shower, or the handbasin since they were installed? And like, did the killer wash away the blood and stuff after the rape and murder?'

  'So I got in a plumber to strip out the piping and examine the traps.' He paused. Skinner and Martin each nodded approval.

  'There were some hairs trapped in the shower,' he continued. 'Al Mrs McGrath's. Some head, some pubic, but al hers, no doubt about it.

  'But in the S-bend of the basin, there we got lucky. We found hair samples from six different people. We've identified three of them.

  The lady hers
elf. Mark, his nanny, and the cleaner. The other two, we don't know about, other than that they're from different people. With your permission,' he looked from Martin to Skinner then back again,

  'I'd like to start DNA testing.'

  'Fair enough,' said Skinner, 'but before you get too excited, remember that Leona had been a widow for quite a few months. There may have been other people in her bedroom, apart from the kil er.'

  Martin shook his head. 'Not since the new plumbing was instal ed.

  We've spoken to the close family members and to her friends. None of them can remember having used that basin.

  'As for man friends, we don't believe that we're in the plural there.

  We spoke to a close woman friend of the victim. She said that the two of them had a drink together on the Sunday evening before the murder, at Leona's place. Once they'd had a few, it got down to girl talk, and Leona confessed to her that since her husband's death she'd had sex just once.'

  'Did she mention a name?' asked the DCC.

  'No, sir,' Dorward answered: 'only that it had happened at her place, in her bedroom, and just on the one occasion.' He smiled.

  'According to the pal, she did say that the guy had a bigger cock than her husband, but that's al she told her about him.'

  'I don't think that's admissible in evidence,' said Martin. 'Okay, Arthur. Run your DNA tests. The budget wil stand them. It's a long shot, but you never know your luck.'

  42

  'The cashier remembers him, sir,' Maggie Rose told DCS Martin.

  'Youngish men shopping alone early in the morning tend to stand out in supermarkets, so it seems. The girl's name is Lesley, and I'd say she's a reliable witness.

  'Her description matches the one Mr Carr, the farmer, gave us.'

  'What about accent?'

  'Lesley said she doesn't remember him saying anything other than

  "Thank you" when she gave him his change.'