Bob Skiinner 21 Grievous Angel (14 page)

‘Oor Mia would just love that,’ she sneered.

‘It wouldn’t bother her one bit, or affect her, because in cases like yours, the court won’t let the media say who the victim is, or why they were blackmailed. So you believe in my promise, you slag, because if I have to I’ll keep it. But I’ll do more than that. While I’m at it, I’ll make very sure that the papers know who you work for, and who you’re shagging when he isn’t in Ibiza boning another bird. We both know how much he dislikes publicity, so unless you want big Lennie there tapping your shins with a baseball bat instead of looking out for you, you will fucking well behave yourself! Understood?’

I heard a long intake of breath. ‘Understood?’ I repeated, loudly enough to draw a glower from a blue rinse at the next table.

‘Aye,’ Bella hissed. ‘Okay.’

‘Wise woman. Remember what I’ve said, and don’t you think, not for one second, that I won’t do everything I’ve threatened.’ I slapped my phone shut, ending the call. ‘Sorry about the language,’ I told Mia, ‘but it was your mother I was speaking to. You can cancel that standing order.’

‘Have you always been that angry?’ she asked me quietly. ‘I don’t know what you did to my mum, but you scared me.’

I looked at her. ‘Angry? Me? That was just me in cop mode, don’t worry about it.’

‘No, it was more than that. There’s real rage in you, Bob.’

‘No, really, I’m a big soft nelly at heart. You should see me at home with my kid.’

‘I’m sure, but you’re not at home just now. You couldn’t see the look in your eyes when you were lacing into my mother; I could. They were full of . . . fury, almost.’

‘Nah,’ I scoffed, lightly. ‘You were imagining some other bloke.’

She wouldn’t be deterred. ‘You told me your daughter doesn’t have a mother any more,’ she said. ‘What happened? Did she run off?’ I shook my head and sought refuge in a large bite of club sandwich. She took it as a snub. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I have no business asking.’

‘It’s okay,’ I told her. ‘It’s no secret. Car crash, eight years ago.’

‘Were you involved?’

‘No, she was alone. It was a silly wee car with too much power. She lost control.’

‘Poor woman. Poor man. It must have hurt you so badly.’

I looked away. ‘That’s a fair assumption. You know the damnedest thing, though? The mind must have some sort of a safety valve, for I’ve got very little memory of the accident itself, even though they told me that I arrived on the scene not long after it happened. There’s before, and there’s after, but the detail of the . . . the thing itself, it’s not there.’

‘I wonder if that’s what makes you angry,’ she mused. ‘Or could it be that when you have to deal with people like my mother, and you must have, all the time, you feel it’s unfair, for them to be alive while your wife isn’t.’

I held my hands up in mock surrender. ‘Hey,’ I exclaimed, ‘I thought you did a broadcast journalism degree.’

‘I did, but there was a psychology element: to help us with interviewing, let us work out what our subjects’ reactions meant.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind next time I’m interviewed on the radio.’ I turned the spotlight back on to her. ‘But what about you? Don’t you feel any anger about your brothers or your uncles?’

‘About Gavin and Billy, no. Not a bit. They had no regard for life. Ryan? You could say he never had a chance, but I could see that Uncle Gavin was a beast, so why couldn’t he? But suppose he had, it wouldn’t have made any difference. He worshipped him, and copied everything he did. Marlon, maybe I feel a bit of pity for him, but not enough to let his death screw up my life. He could have done what I did, if he wanted, got out.’

I found myself thinking of the kid in her mother’s street, Clyde Houseman. He was playing the role of tough guy because he had to, because he knew no other way of making the place survivable. Maybe one day he’d call me; but probably not.

Mia broke through my contemplation. ‘That man you mentioned when you were talking to Mum; who is he?’

‘Lennie Plenderleith? He’s minding her.’

‘No, the other one, the one you said she’s . . .’

‘His name’s Manson. He’s . . .’ How to put it? ‘. . . a person of interest to us, and your brother was his driver. How does that relate to his death? As of this moment we have no idea.’

Her eyes widened, and she put her hand to her mouth, to stifle a grin. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s terrible of me to laugh, but are you saying that my mum’s a gangster’s moll?’

I smiled at her amusement. ‘An old-fashioned term but appropriate. She doesn’t have exclusive rights to the territory, though, Manson spreads his favours far and wide.’

‘Why does she need a minder?’

‘She probably doesn’t, having met her; but her boyfriend might know more about your brother’s death than we do.’

‘He might think that somebody could be after her too?’

‘Not really, but we’re covering the possibility. I’m not just relying on Lennie to look after her. I’ve got people there too. If they see anyone nosing around . . . She’s safe. But most important of all, she’s off your payroll.’

She gazed at me, and her eyes seemed to soften even more. I felt as if they were embracing me. ‘I can’t thank you enough for that,’ she said. ‘It started off at a hundred a week, then she wanted more. She’d have bled me dry.’

‘It’s my job,’ I assured her. ‘I let her off lightly. You let me know if you don’t get that money back.’

‘I don’t care about that. I’m glad she doesn’t have her claws in me any longer; that’s the main thing. She’s a bad bitch.’

That was an understatement: I wasn’t going to tell her daughter but I had Bella marked as the most evil of the three Spreckley siblings. I’d met Gavin only once, in my very early days on the force. He’d been dangerous, yes, but thick with it, so thick that he’d crossed the Holmes organisation and got himself and his nephew killed. His sister, on the other hand, was as amoral as him, but as I was discovering, she had a brain. The truth was that I’d have been struggling to convict her of extortion; a half-decent lawyer would have got her off. No, my real threat to her was in using her to embarrass Tony Manson. ‘You made a smart move when you left home,’ I told Mia. ‘Your mistake when she put the bite on you was in not calling her bluff.’

‘You reckon?’ She was sceptical.

‘Absolutely. You need some good PR advice. You’re underestimating your audience. If your story was told properly and sympathetically, you’d be a role model for thousands of kids who are just as you were, trapped in awful domestic circumstances, and afraid to do anything about it. I’m not saying that you should do it now, with your brother’s murder still a hot media topic, but once that’s all blown over, the right piece in the right newspaper will give your career another shove forwards, rather than hurting it. You’ll be a media darling. You’ll be on telly before you know it.’

‘You’re very sure of yourself, Detective Superintendent.’

I grinned at her. ‘Is that your way of asking who the hell I am, a cop of all people, to be advising a broadcaster on public relations?’

She laughed in return. ‘You said it.’

‘You think you’re the only one who’s studied psychology?’

‘Are you a uni graduate?’ She sounded surprised.

‘As it happens, yes I am. It’s the coming thing with the polis. The lad who was with me yesterday, he’s one; my girlfriend’s another.’

‘You’ve got a partner?’

‘No,’ I said, quickly. ‘We’re not that serious. We see each other, that’s all. It suits us both.’

‘I’m sorry, Bob,’ she exclaimed. ‘I was being nosy.’

‘It’s okay. But . . . to be accurate, psychology wasn’t part of my university degree. I studied that on a senior command course at the police training college, for much the same reason you did at university. Not only that, we were given some training in how to deal with the media.’

‘Who trained you?’

‘Consultants; a couple of television journalists. To be honest I wasn’t all that impressed by them.’

‘Some of it must have rubbed off, for you to be passing it on to me. I will think about it, honestly,’ she conceded, ‘but I’ve still to be convinced that it’s worth taking the chance.’

‘It could be taken out of your hands, Mia. The bigger a name you make for yourself, the more the press are going to be interested in you. Life is about control. Lose it, and you’re vulnerable.’

‘Wow!’ She chuckled. ‘Angry and a control freak. I’m glad I’m not . . .’ She stopped short, and her eyes left mine.

‘Married to me? Is that what you were going to say?’

‘Mmm.’ She nodded. ‘Sorry.’

‘Then don’t be. I wouldn’t wish me as a husband on any woman. Still, I’ll make one plea in my defence. The only place where I’ve never had control is my own house. In reality Alex runs that, just like her mother did before her. It used to be that her needs as a child dictated everything. That’s still true to an extent, but she’s pushing fourteen now, so her adult personality’s developing. She can play me like a guitar.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Mia said. ‘That reminds me.’ She reached into a capacious handbag that lay at her feet, and produced a stiff, cardboard-backed envelope. ‘I brought this.’

I was about to take it from her when my phone sounded; headquarters, the screen told me. I excused myself and took the call.

‘Skinner?’

‘Yes.’ I wasn’t sure of the voice.

‘It’s Davidson here, technical services. I’ve got something for you.’

‘Oh yes? Go on.’

‘One of your underlings left a tape with us to see if the quality could be enhanced. Well, we’ve excelled ourselves. I’ve got a partial number for you.’

‘How partial?’

‘All but one digit. It’s N two seven, D something N. We can’t quite get the middle letter of the suffix. It may be that the plate is damaged. We’ve done bloody well as it is.’

‘I’m not complaining,’ I told him. ‘I’ll take that, thanks.’

I cut him off and called Leggat’s number. ‘Fred,’ I began as he came online, ‘we’ve got something on the vehicle.’ I read out the number that the techies had retrieved. ‘I need you to dig out the licensing authority in Wales, and try to fill in the missing letter. It shouldn’t be too difficult; the odds are against there being more than one Transit van in the range of possibilities.’

‘Will do, Bob. Where’ll you be?’

‘Possibly at home by the time you get back to me, but use the mobile anyway.’

‘Sorry,’ I said to Mia. ‘I’m never completely off the radar.’

‘That’s almost comforting to know.’ She handed me the envelope. ‘Autographed picture, for your daughter.’

‘Why don’t you give it to her yourself?’ The invitation was completely spontaneous. It came out of the blue. There was something about Mia, and I didn’t want to say ‘So long’ and go on my way.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come with me and meet her. Or do you have other plans for the day? Boyfriend waiting somewhere, for example?’

‘I don’t have one of those,’ she replied. ‘I don’t have any other plans for the day either, and I’d love to meet your daughter, but are you sure?’

‘Absolutely. Think of it as audience research.’

She laughed. ‘Nice way of putting it. On that basis, yes, thanks. Let’s go. But I’m paying the bill for these.’

She wouldn’t have it any other way. By the time our waitress had brought the check and picked up the money, it was almost two. While Mia went to the ladies’ room, I called Alex’s mobile to let her know I was heading back home . . . I’d bought it for her thirteenth birthday, on security grounds. She also carried a personal howler alarm, a police-issue pepper spray that she wasn’t allowed to talk about, and she’d been going to martial arts training since she was eight.

‘This is exciting,’ Mia bubbled, as we passed out of the lobby area. ‘You wouldn’t think so, given my background, but I’ve never been picked up by the police before.’ My hands were in the pockets of the denim jacket that had been my Saturday choice; she took my arm. I’d been ignored by the Ladies Who Lunch on the way in but, with my new companion, heads turned as we passed.

There is this thing in my life . . . only my private life, I should stress. Whenever I try to plan a surprise for a near and dear one, be it a party or a present, it never quite works out. I say something by mistake, or somebody else does. But, if ever there is a rabbit that I want to stay in the hat, the furry little bastard is almost guaranteed to jump out and crap all over my day. I’m sure that Parkinson had a law that applies, or if not him, Murphy.

We were approaching the exit when the doors swung open and who walked through them but Alison, with Detective Superintendent Alastair Grant, her new boss.

She saw me, and her face froze.

‘Alison,’ I began. That was all she let me get out.

‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she replied, evenly, then strode on. Grant offered a brief ‘Hello’ but was more or less pulled along in her wake.

Mia didn’t seem to notice the exchange. ‘You haven’t told me where you live,’ she said as we stepped outside into the square.

I pulled myself together. ‘East Lothian,’ I replied. ‘Gullane.’

‘Lucky you,’ she exclaimed, then winced. ‘God, I shouldn’t say that to you, of all people. What I meant was, it’s lovely out there.’

I slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, lightly. She was quite tall, even in heels that were no more than a couple of inches high. ‘Mia, you don’t have to treat me like I’m an emotional cripple. It is lovely out there, and choosing to live there is one of the smartest things I ever did.’ I let her go as we reached the pedestrian crossing in Lothian Road, and waited for the green man.

‘Sorry about the transport,’ I said, as I unlocked the Land Rover. I pointed to a sticker that Alex had put on the rear window; it read, ‘My other car is a BMW.’ ‘That’s true,’ I told her.

She peered at the radio as I drove off, heading up Johnston Terrace rather than for the Grassmarket, even though that would have been quicker. I didn’t want to take her past the mortuary, where her brother was still in a cooler. She wouldn’t have known, but I would. She played with the controls until she found Airburst FM. It wasn’t one of my presets. ‘They want me to do a Sunday morning show through the summer,’ she murmured. ‘Ten o’clock to one. We get thumped by Radio One on Sundays, and they want to change that.’