Skinner's Trail (37 page)

`How did you do it?'

`It was easy. I'd already decided how I would do it. I just watched and waited. Then, when the guy's wife went to work, I nipped into the garage, set things up, and kicked over an oilcan to make a noise. When he came in to investigate, he was a goner. I didn't like killing him, but Tony was right. If he'd been left to talk to the police, the whole thing could have come back on Ainscow, and God knows where it would have gone from there. And, after Linda, it wasn't difficult at all.'

`Funny thing, though,' said Skinner. 'You needn't have bothered. The bloke at the other end of the chain, Vaudan —he was going to do it as well. You just beat him to it.

`Tell me about Linda. That's the bit that I don't understand. You go to jail and your boss shags your wife — not just that, he puts her on the game. When you come out you butcher her, then he's done in. You're the obvious choice for that one too,
yet here you are telling me that Tony was like a father to you. Does that mean that you sold Linda to him, like a piece of meat?'

For the first time, the gentle voice hardened. 'No, Skinner. You've got that all wrong. Linda was a tart, before I married her, and she stayed that way. She was a nympho: she couldn't get enough of it. She was always flashing her eyes around, and sometimes other bits as well. Of course, when I was about, no one would even look in her direction, but once I was sent up, she was off the leash. Tony gave her the flat, and he would have paid the housekeeping, but she told him that she wasn't being kept by him. She said she was going back to her old career. He offered to get her a job in Cocozza's office, but she'd have none of it. So he decided that if he couldn't persuade her, the next best thing was to control her. So he took her into the Powderhall place, and vetted the punters she saw. If anyone got too keen, he moved them on. He never laid a finger on her. When he took her out to the house, it was for a night off, nothing else. Tony couldn't stand her. If it hadn't been for me, she'd have been in the Water of Leith. Tony said that everyone has to have a weakness or they'd be too dangerous to let live. He said that she was mine.'

`All that time you were inside,' said Skinner quietly, 'did you plan to kill her?'

Big Lennie's shoulders slumped; he shook his head. 'No.' It was a whisper. 'I was tormented by the idea of leaving her again. I took the knife into the bedroom to cut her. I was going to mark her face. Not to get even; but to spoil her for the punters. Not for the sake of making her ugly, but as a sign to other guys: one that said "Be very careful of the man who did this." I took the knife in with me, tucked into the back of my
jeans, and there she was, lying back wide open, saying "Come
on, gimme."
And so I did. And even as we were doing it, she
was taunting me. She had her ways to torture you. I had forgotten how much they hurt. Then she talked about Ainscow, and how she loved it when he fucked her because he was so rough. She said that, beside him, I was just a big pussy. That was the last thing she ever said. I lost it. I snapped. Only one time in my life have I ever done violence in hot blood, and when I did — oh Christ, it had to be hers! Another reason for killing Ainscow.'

He began to move towards Skinner once more.

`Come on, Lennie, the whole story, then you can try your luck. You're right. My boys aren't backing me up tonight. So tell me, then we'll go at it. When did you hear about Tony?'

`I read about it in Spain. I bought a copy of the Daily Record, and there it was. And I knew. I knew straight away.'

`You knew that when Tony sent Cocozza to tell Ainscow to shut the InterCosta operation down, Ainscow decided to do something completely different.'

Big Lennie nodded. 'That was Tony's one great weakness, you see. He trusted people. Part of it was because he couldn't imagine anyone ever having the balls to cross him, but most of it was just plain gullibility. Tony was a savage guy at times, but he had standards. If Tony' said you had a deal, you could take it to the bank, and if he said you were dead, you could book Warriston Crematorium. The last true man of his word.'

`Do you know how they did it?'

`Oh yes. That was one of the things Cocozza told me when we had our chat — when he didn't have that towel stuffed in his mouth to stop him screaming. Cocozza — Tony's good friend Cocozza — had keys to the house. He let Ainscow in. They
fixed the alarm later to make it look like a break-in. They both waited in the bedroom for Tony to get in. The wee shit Cocozza hid in the wardrobe. Tony switched on the light and Ainscow was on him with the knife. He never had a chance.'

Lennie Plenderleith paused, with a smile of satisfaction. `Neither did they. You should have seen Cocozza's face when he saw me. He looked like a spectator at his own funeral. As for Ainscow, he didn't even know who I was. I told him that Dick had sent me, and he followed me up here. He was a strong guy — but nowhere near strong enough to stay alive. Treacherous bastards,' added Lennie quietly. 'No way were they going to do that to him and live.

`I could have been off for good, Mr Skinner. I was free and clear, with a new identity and the income from that trust. The whole world was my bloody oyster, but it would always have tasted sour if I hadn't come back to pay my debt to my friend, and finish with these people.

`So after I did the business in Spain, I went to Liechtenstein with Tony's document, Tony's will, and took possession of his trust, my inheritance. Then, with my new passport and my new, genuine, Liechtenstein licence, I bought a car and made my way home. And now I've done the business here, almost. With you out of the way, I'll be free and clear again. So, Mr Skinner, it's time, as you said, to try our luck — and it's yours that's run out.'

Big Lennie moved forward with a speed and balance which were as unexpected as his voice. Skinner knew that the talking was over, and that he faced a fight for his life. The light was bad, and the path was narrow, with the pool on his left, and foliage on his right. He backed off before the giant's advance,
weighing him up as best as he could. Muscles bulged beneath his attacker's black top, and his jeans were tight around massive thighs.

Skinner broke his retreat, and feinted a karate kick, but Lennie reacted lightning-fast, swaying back and ready with a strike of his own. Skinner could tell that the man had no martial-arts training, yet realised that he was as
deadly as any black belt, a natural fighter with enormous strength.

He backed off once more, then came in again with a second feint — a kick to the head. Once more Lennie leaned back instinctively, his hands up to catch the blow he thought was coming. But, instead, Skinner's foot changed direction and slammed into the side of his left knee. Lennie grunted, and sagged slightly, but he stayed upright and balanced. Skinner's momentum committed him to his next move: a sweeping chop to the throat with the cutting edge of his right hand. It would have been a finisher, even against such a formidable opponent, but his wrist was caught in mid-air, just short of the target. The big man jerked him up and towards him. Skinner knew what was coming, but he could only begin to pull back as Lennie's broad forehead crunched into the bridge of his nose. He heard a thunderous crack inside his head, and felt the hot blood flowing.

The fingers of a huge right hand clamped around his throat, and his wrist was suddenly released. Instinctively, skill and technique forgotten, he clawed at Lennie's face, digging for the eyes with his thumbs, luck more than judgement guiding him to his target. The big man snarled as pain made him release his death grip to push Skinner away. He shook his head, blinking. Skinner hit him: a straight right-hand punch square on the chin. It was a blow that might have stunned a
horse, but it seemed only to renew the giant's strength and
determination. He closed again.

`You're tough, all right,' Lennie said softly. 'But it won't be enough.'

Skinner tasted blood in his mouth. And then he tasted something else. An icy coldness flowed through him: a feeling that he had known before, one that he feared; a presence in him that very few had seen. He had wished him gone for ever, but now, when he needed him, his other self was back. He heard himself hiss in the darkness. 'I don't see a gun, Lennie. And without one, you'll be carried out of here, big and all as you are.'

For a second the giant
looked at him, and something in his adversary's eyes made him pause. If there had been an escape route, that expression might have persuaded him to take it, but finally the knowledge that there was nowhere else to go made him close in once more.

This time Skinner did not back off. This time he stepped, lightning-fast, inside the outreaching arms. His cupped right hand smashed against the side of the great head. Lennie screamed as his eardrum burst, but the sound was choked off as steel-hard fingers slammed into his diaphragm. He doubled over slightly, head leaning forward, chin stuck out.

Skinner pivoted on his right foot. The heel of his right hand sped upwards toward its target, aimed in the final blow. But in that very second, the sole of his moccasin found a pool of water on the pathway. He slipped off-balance.

Now it was the wounded giant who was fighting for his life. He grabbed the smaller man, and used his brute force and bulk to bear him backwards towards the pool. Skinner gasped as the small of his back hit the concrete, and as the breath was forced
from him by Lennie's weight. Then the thick fingers were round his throat once more, and his head and shoulders were forced under the surface. He was helpless. There was a roaring in his ears. His eyes felt as if they were popping from their sockets. Somewhere in the depths of the pool he fancied he saw Ainscow, beckoning to him. And then another vision swam into his drowning mind. Jazz, his son, cradled by Sarah. She was dressed in black.

No! he roared in his mind. And he kicked upwards, with both knees and thighs, upwards with more strength than he had ever dreamed he possessed.

The great bulk of Lennie flew over him, and landed in the pool with a splash which sounded to Skinner, with his head still submerged, like an explosion. Again the fingers had left his throat. He swung himself up and out of the water, choking and gasping for breath. Seconds later, a huge hand slapped on to the concrete beside him, reaching for him. He scrambled to his feet, icy anger still coursing through him. He turned round to see both of Lennie's hands on the poolside, arms straightening as he hauled himself upright, like a great black creature emerging from an ocean.

Skinner stood facing him. He waited until both arms were straight, then kicked him with the outside edge of his right foot, with savage force, just above the right elbow. Then as the great trunk hung there helpless, he kicked him again without finesse, without technique, but as hard as he could, with his right instep, on the base of the jaw below the left ear. Big Lennie's desperate eyes glazed over and the huge arms lost all their strength. He slipped back into the water, unconscious, and disappeared beneath the surface.

Skinner slumped to his knees beside the pool, faint
suddenly with exhaustion. A few feet away, Lennie Plenderleith's head and shoulders broke the surface once more. Skinner reached out weakly for him, but he had floated to the centre of the pool. He crouched there, wondering if he had strength left to dive in and pull the giant out, and if he had the will to subdue him once again, should he revive. He hauled himself painfully upright — and, as he did, the chamber was suddenly illuminated by the beam of a flashlight.

Are you all right, sir?'

Skinner looked around. He stood in the spread of the light, his shirt soaked, his steel-grey hair plastered to his head, blood trickling from his broken nose, and from an angled cut over his left eye. His right foot was throbbing from the force of his last kick, and he stood awkwardly, trying to keep as much weight as possible on his left side.

Brian Mackie and Mario McGuire stood in the doorway, gazing at him in naked astonishment.

`Don't be flicking stupid, Brian. Of course I'm not all right! But I'm a fucking sight better than that guy in there — and better still than the one on the bottom. Now, fish Big Lennie out before he drowns, and handcuff him before he wakes up. I'd help but, quite frankly, I'm knackered!'

One Hundred

T
hey brought us here in the same ambulance, would you believe. Big Lennie's still badly concussed, but he's conscious and talking. His right arm's broken and they've just taken him off to set it. Otherwise he's not too bad. I kicked him hard enough to take a normal man's head right off, but they say all he'll have is a headache and a stiff neck for a couple of days, and that'll be it. I had another talk with him once he'd come round. He said that he'd make a statement to the Guardia Civil, admitting to killing Santi Alberni. So tomorrow morning you can call Gloria and tell her she can begin to look forward to sticking it up her insurance company.'

`That's great,' said Sarah, on the other end of the telephone. `But what about you? You aren't kidding me, are you? You are fine?'

He glanced at his face in a mirror on the wall of the Royal Infirmary's Accident and Emergency Unit, from where he had been allowed to telephone his wife. He chuckled. 'I've been better looking, but, yes, love, I'm okay. Honest. They've straightened my nose and put a couple of stitches in my forehead. And they've taken pictures of my foot and satisfied themselves that it isn't broken. So I'll be limping home in a few hours.'

`A few hours! Why so long?'

`Because I'm going into the office to dictate a statement, while it's all still crystal clear in my head, for Ruth to type up in the morning.'

`Okay, I'll see you whenever. Just wear a paper bag over your head, if you think you might frighten the baby! He's with me just now and, as you can possibly hear, he's not best pleased at being wakened in the middle of the night!'

Bob laughed, a mixture of amusement and — though Sarah could not and, if he could avoid it, would never realise it —sudden relief at being alive to enjoy more moments with his wife and son.

'Oh,' said Sarah urgently. 'I almost forgot. How's Andy?'

`No problem. He's got a hard head, too. He was only out for a few minutes. It looked worse than it was. They've X-rayed him and stitched him up, and he's signed himself out. The doctor here offered him a bed for the night, but he said he'd rather sleep it off at home. I'd forgotten: he's signed off on two weeks' holiday. Now I'm off too. There's a driver waiting at the door for me. I had my car taken to Fettes in case I did wind up with my foot in plaster. Go back to sleep now, you and wee Jazz. I'll see you both in the morning.'

He hung up, wondering for that moment how Sarah had known of Andy Martin's accident. Then he shook his head and limped towards his driver at the door.