Lethal Intent (9 page)

'So you are going along with Murtagh's scheming?' he asked, eventually.

'It's going to happen, whether I do or not'

'What is, exactly?'

'The First Minister is legislating to give himself the right to confirm every appointment at assistant, deputy and chief constable rank; he will also have to approve all short-lists for interview. Beyond that, he will take added powers to intervene directly and fire those whom he decides are not performing properly, or are in dereliction of their duty.'

'He's taking command of the police?' Skinner was incredulous.

'Effectively, that's what it means. He showed me the enabling bill yesterday; he's had a team of civil servants and policy advisers working on it in secret. The draft's finished, the preliminaries are under way and it'll be ready for introduction to the Parliament next week.'

'Will he get it through?'

'I'd say so. He's persuaded the coalition partners to back it; he's promised them that approvals and confirmation will be virtually automatic, and that the firing power will only be invoked in extreme cases.'

'And they believed that?'

'They believed in the additional Cabinet post he's offered them. That'll be unveiled next Monday. But it's not just them. The SSP will support it as well, I'm sure, and probably the Greens. I wouldn't be surprised if the SNP do as well.'

'Don't tell me you believe his assurances?'

'No more than you do, but the majority of my party colleagues will; those that don't will obey the whip.'

'What if ACPOS, our chiefs' association, comes out and opposes it unanimously?'

'Then I'd guess that Tommy's spin machine will portray you as self-interested storm-troopers.'

'And you're going along with it?' he asked her. 'You really are?'

'If I don't, if I resign and try to drum up opposition to it, Tommy will use every means to discredit me, but first and foremost he'll come after you. As soon as the bill's signed into law, he'll find an excuse to remove you. I'm not going to allow that to happen.'

'Maybe I would, though!'

'Listen, love, two days ago you persuaded me to stay in government. Back me up now, please. Murtagh's a shrewd wee swine; he knows we care for each other, and he knows we're both ambitious. We've got to sit tight, stay well clear of each other if that's what it takes, and appear to play ball, even if it means letting him pass his bloody law. But I promise you one thing. You keep telling me I have it in me to be First Minister myself one day: if that ever happens, and I inherit that legislation, my very first act will be to repeal it. Trust me, Bob, please.

Tommy was right about one thing: I care about you, and I won't let you come to harm.'

He wrapped the duvet round himself and swung his legs off the bed, to sit beside her. 'I hope, Aileen,' he murmured, 'that I can make you the same promise and keep it. As long as you realise that keeping my head down under a threat from someone like your boss will be just about the most difficult thing that anyone's ever asked me to do.'

Sixteen

Mary Chambers took the folder from the envelope in which it had been delivered. She and Tarvil Singh had witnessed the autopsy on young George Regan, and so she knew that the pathologist's report she held in her hands was unsurprising.

Nonetheless, she looked through it, avoiding the photographic section, and passed it to Stevie Steele. 'Death was the result of a broken neck,' she said. 'The boy received a severe blow to the left side of the jaw, which was also shattered. Professor Hutchinson says that it was consistent with the type of injury that could be sustained as the result of a fall from a moderate height.'

'Were there any other injuries noted?' Steele asked her.

'There were superficial scratches on both his hands, with dirt and fine gravel in them; the same was found on his clothing. They could have been caused by him throwing his hands out as he fell, or by him scrambling up the banking.'

The inspector dropped the report, unread. 'It backs up the accident supposition, then?'

'All the way. There's nothing in it that takes us in any direction other than accidental death. The old profs conclusion is that that's what it was. My view is that we have to accept he's right, and report to the Fiscal accordingly. Have we found any witnesses who can help us top and tail it?'

'None of his pals can help,' he replied. 'We're agreed that they all seemed genuinely shocked when they were told George was dead, and they all describe their last sight of him in the same way. We've found a bus-driver who remembers seeing him standing at the stop in Lothian Road, but his wasn't the route George wanted so he drove on. He said that the boy was alone, and that none of his passengers got off at that stop.'

'So there are no sightings?'

'No, but there is one thing that might be significant. The gates to the castle rock are closed at nightfall, to keep kids out.' Steele pointed out of the window of the mobile office. 'The big one, the vehicle access over there, is padlocked and it's smooth; it'd be easier to climb the rock than that. Yet when the park attendant turned up to open it yesterday morning, the chain was hanging loose. Young Haddock and I found the guy who was supposed to have locked it on Sunday: he wouldn't admit that he didn't, but he couldn't swear that he did. He was very defensive.'

'I'm not surprised. If he was negligent, left the gate unsecured and a boy got in and fell to his death… It's all bloody questions, Stevie,' Chambers complained. 'No bloody answers.'

'And we've interviewed everyone we can. Mary, if this wasn't a copper's son, what would we have done right now? We'd have reported the circumstances to the Procurator Fiscal's office, giving them the pathologist's report and letting them close the book on it.'

'Actually, we'd probably have left the whole thing to the uniformed branch,' she pointed out. 'So are we agreed, then? We should wrap it up and pass the buck to the PF?'

'Almost.' Steele hesitated. 'But not quite: there's one more thing I'd like to do, for George and Jen's sake, to give them as much closure as we can. I think we should go back to basics, and make a press appeal for witnesses. I know it's quiet at that time on a Sunday, but other people than that driver must have seen George. There's the passengers on his bus for a start, and on other buses. The shops were open earlier: some of their staff might still have been on their way home. Why don't we ask them for help in tracing wee George's final moments?'

The detective superintendent sighed. 'I'll go along with it, only because I want to go the extra mile for a colleague, just like you do. I'll get Royston to lay on another press conference. You do this one on your own, though: I look bloody awful on camera.'

Steele hesitated. 'I can think of someone better than me,' he said. 'Why don't we ask George if he'll do it?'

'And his wife?'

'It only takes George to make the appeal. It would be an ordeal for Jen and there's no need to put her through it.'

Chambers shot him a grim half-smile. 'But give her the chance, Stevie,' she said, softly. 'Let her make that decision: she may feel she owes it to her son.'

Seventeen

He liked the feel of the leather against his head as he leaned back; he liked the ease with which the chair swung round, giving him a clear view down the U-shaped roadway in front of the police headquarters building in Fettes Avenue. In one of their arguments, Sarah had told him that his office was the centre of his universe. He had denied it angrily: he believed that ultimately his life was about his children. Yet he had to admit that when he was not around them, the room in which he sat was where he was most happy.

Aileen had dropped him at the foot of Orchard Brae; they had agreed that they would keep in touch by cell-phone, and that they would try to meet again in Glasgow, soon.

On the drive through, she had told him more of Tommy Murtagh's plans: his strategy of direct control went further than the police, although they were his number-one target. Education was in his sights also, with social quotas being imposed on Scottish universities and top-up fees charged to students applying from independent schools. Most serious of all to Skinner was his intention to change the make-up of the judicial appointments board, by giving it a seventy per cent majority of lay members, and by vetting lists of candidates before interviews. 'There's a word for this,' he had grumbled. 'It's called dictatorship.'

Tommy's crafty: he puts it another way,' Aileen had told him. 'He calls it empowering the people by giving them control over the institutions and symbols of authority.'

'I know. One man, one vote, and all that; as long as he's the man and he's got the vote.'

He had repeated his promise, though, to keep his head down, and not to seek confrontation with the First Minister. 'I'm glad,' she had said, as they parted. 'I think what you need most of all right now is some quiet in your life.'

'Quiet?' he mused, as he gazed out of the window. 'That'll be the day.'

Blinking himself back to the present, he picked up the telephone and called his home number. Trish, the nanny, answered circumspectly, as she always did when neither he nor Sarah was at home. When she realised that it was him, the ever-cheerful girl sounded more pleased than he had ever heard her.

'I'll be back as soon as I can,' he told her. 'Kids okay?'

'They're fine,' she said, in her gentle Caribbean accent, 'but they've been missing you. The video calls to the computer were great, but they're not the same.' She paused. 'Do you know when Sarah will be home?' she asked. He read the unspoken 'if.

'She'll be back well before Christmas; that's all I know for sure,' he replied, candidly. 'See you later… by six, I hope.'

He hung up and dialled his daughter's direct business number. 'Good afternoon. Alexis Skinner, can I help you?'

As he heard her voice, a great wave of relief swept through him, and he realised for the first time how tough the last two weeks had been and how emotionally tired he really was. 'You already have, baby,' he said.

'Pops! You're back,' she gushed. 'And not before time. 'I've done my best to be a surrogate mum, and so has Trish, but those kids need you. Have you and Sarah patched things up?'

'Good question, Alexis; I'm not sure that we know how. Come out to Gullane tonight and I'll tell you about it'

'Okay, will do. Got to go now: I'm due in conference with Mitch Laidlaw.'

'Don't keep the boss waiting, then.'

He dialled a third number; Neil McIlhenney answered. 'Hi,' said Skinner. 'You in on this three o'clock shindig?'

'Yup.'

'Good. I want you to set up another meeting, somewhere nice and quiet, and well off patch. Three people present: you, me and Andy Martin, nobody else in the loop. Soon as you can.'

As he hung up, he smiled at a vision of his friend's puzzled expression.

He reached out and buzzed for Jack McGurk, his executive assistant. The towering detective sergeant appeared in his office within seconds. 'Welcome back, boss,' he said, as he laid the in-tray on his desk. Skinner was impressed by the fact that it was relatively small. McGurk was learning to filter out the most important business for his attention and delegate the rest.

'What's this three o'clock meeting about, Jack?' the DCC asked. He checked his watch: it was two forty-five.

'I don't know, sir. The chief, ACC Haggerty and DCI McIlhenney are involved in it; people from London, that's all they've said.'

'Ah,' said Skinner. 'Colleagues from another service, I suspect; spooks, to the punters. Where is it?'

'The main conference room.'

'Okay.' He rose from behind the desk. 'Thanks, Jack. Now I must have a word with Sir James.' He followed McGurk from the room and stepped across the corridor. Gerry Crossley, the chief constable's secretary, was at his desk in the anteroom that led to the chief's office. He looked up as Skinner entered, then blinked in surprise.

'Hello, sir,' he exclaimed. 'Good to see you back.'

'Thanks, Gerry, I'm not sorry about it myself.' He nodded towards the door to his right. 'Is he…?'

'Yes. Go on in.'

Skinner opened the door and stepped into the office. He had never coveted it: although it was bigger than his, the view was over the playing-field behind the headquarters building. The silver-haired figure behind the desk was bent over a folder, studying its contents. 'Yes, Gerry,' he murmured.

'Wrong: try again.'

Sir James Proud's eyes widened; a smile followed. 'Bob!' he exclaimed. 'Willie said that we could expect you today, but he wasn't sure when. You must be exhausted, man.'

'I'm fine,' Skinner replied. 'I managed to get my head down for a while.'

'How did things go? Did you and Sarah…?'

'Things are not yet resolved.' He sighed. 'In fact, Jimmy, truth be told, we're in a right pickle, and it's more my fault than hers. I'd like to talk to you about it, when we've more time.'

'Mmm,' the veteran chief constable murmured. 'Forgive me for asking this, but it's been on my mind. Do I sense a dangerous liaison in the air?'

Bob stared at him, pure surprise in his eyes. 'Has someone been talking to you?'

Proud Jimmy shook his head. 'No,' he said, quickly. 'But the new Justice Minister is a very attractive and dynamic woman, and when I saw her in your office a few weeks ago, it occurred to me that it might not have been an official visit.'

'I see. So you haven't had a visit yourself, then?'

'No. Who'd have come to see me?'

'Greg Jay, perhaps.'

'Jay?' Sir James looked baffled. 'What's he got to do with anything? He's not part of the picture any more. Since you've been away, he's taken early retirement and gone.'

Skinner grunted. 'He might have gone, Jimmy, but he hasn't retired. He's the First Minister's new security adviser, so-called.'

'Good God!' The chief slapped his desk lightly; it was as close as he ever came to an angry gesture. 'The duplicitous so-and-so! He never mentioned a word of it to me. He let me believe that he had had enough and wanted to work on his garden and his golf handicap.'