Thursday legends - Skinner 10 (10 page)

'Dan,
it's Andy Martin; glad I caught you. I'm at home, or rather next door, at a
birthday party. We've just had an unwelcome extra guest.'

'Why's
he unwelcome?' asked Detective Superintendent Dan Pringle, commander of CID in
Edinburgh's city centre.

'Because
he's fucking dead, and floating face down in the Water of Leith.'

'Suicide?'

'Would
I be calling you if it was? No, this is definitely not suicide. We'll need
photographers, and suited divers to get him out. He's stuck under the Belford
Bridge. It's not very deep, but it's mucky down there. Even as I speak I've got
half a hundred weight of slime clinging to me.'

'You'll
be lucky if that's all it is,' Pringle chuckled, darkly. 'Okay, I'll get things
moving. Should I have Belford Road closed off?'

'I
reckon you should, for a while at least. I'll put an end to the party; it'll
get hellish busy down here very soon.'

'Won't
we need statements from everyone?'

'Only
one, I reckon, and she lives here. You get on with it and I'll see you
shortly.'

'Fine,
but do me a favour, Andy.'

'What's
that?'

'Wash
the shit off before I get there.'

10

Bob
Skinner looked at his sons as they played on the grass, on the lawn which
overlooked the sea. It had been a hot day and it was still warm inside the
house. Normally, young Jazz would have been in bed at a few minutes after nine,
but that evening he had been even more full of energy than usual, by no means
ready for sleep.

Bob
had given up all thoughts of Saturday golf; instead he had visited Chief
Constable Sir James Proud, to brief him on the facts - all the brutal, bloody
facts - of Alec Smith's death. Proud Jimmy had been desperate for a role in the
aftermath, and had been insistent at first on going to North Berwick to see for
himself. However Skinner had persuaded him that Maggie Rose had had enough
top-level presence at her headquarters; he had made the point also that if the
head of the force were to visit this murder scene when he did not routinely
turn up at others, then he might be accused of implying that the killing of an
ex-policeman warranted special treatment.

Instead,
the Chief had decided that he would visit Alec Smith's estranged wife, whom he
had met once at a formal police event. Content with that, Skinner had run the
former Mrs Smith to ground through the Police Pensions Office records and,
after making sure that she would be home, had called up a car to drive Sir
James to Penicuik, where she and her new lover had settled.

'Just
remember, Jimmy,' he had warned, as the patrol vehicle had been about to leave.
'Keep it a bit formal.'

'Come
on, this is a sympathy visit, Bob. Why should I do that?'

'Because
the woman hasn't been eliminated as a suspect. You'd better ask her when you
see her whether she and Alec were on reasonable terms
...
and just find out quietly where she and her boyfriend were
last night.'

Proud
Jimmy had driven off, secretly pleased by the opportunity to be a detective, a
job he had never done during his long and distinguished police career. As the
car turned and disappeared from his sight, it was Skinner who had been left
feeling useless. He would have liked nothing more than to go back to North
Berwick and take part in the house-to-house canvass, or to beat Mario McGuire
to the punch by beginning the trawl through Smith's Special Branch career, but
he knew that he had to take the advice he had given the Chief about
interference in the investigation.

So
he had gone home, switching himself off from the murder hunt as best he could
by taking Mark and James Andrew to the busy beach, swimming with them in the
incoming tide, and towing them along in their yellow inflatable dinghy.

He
had expected to find Sarah at home when they returned but, instead, Alex was in
the kitchen, feeding her baby half-sister from a carefully prepared bottle.
'Any word from your step-mother?'

'Yes,
she called from her car. She was on her way to catch Maggie at North Berwick
with the p.m. report.'

Now,
in the evening, he waved to the boys from the doorway. 'Time's up, lads.' Jazz
looked at him, angrily; for a moment he
thought
that they were in for a crying match. But Mark spoke quietly in his adoptive
brother's ear as he helped him down from the top level of the colourful
climbing frame, and the toddler nodded, breaking into a smile as he ran towards
his father.

Different
boys in many ways,
Bob
mused,
yet they couldn't be
closer. Blood brothers, you might say, without the blood link.

Sarah
was in the nursery, settling Seonaid down for the night, as he ushered the pair
towards the shower. She had come home, just after seven, and had gone straight
into the bath - her routine after a post-mortem examination - after seeing Alex
off to Edinburgh, and her Saturday night date with a couple of girlfriends.

'Our
older daughter seemed pretty bubbly tonight,' she remarked. 'I think seeing
Andy again may have had something to do with it. You don't suppose there's a
chance ...?'

He
shook his head, firmly. 'Not a prayer. It's good that they can be friends, but
what happened will always prevent them from being as they were. I know Andy
almost as well as I know her; he thought she was perfect, and it nearly broke
him when he found out that she wasn't.

'Twice
now, that's happened to him with women. No wonder he's back to playing the
safety in numbers game.'

'Is
he?' Sarah asked, surprised.

Her
husband chuckled, quietly, careful not to disturb the baby. 'Is he ever!
Christ, this morning, I tried phoning him just after seven, after I heard
mention of an incident at North Berwick on the headlines. He wasn't in. But
last night he turned up at the crime scene with Karen Neville driving him, and
they left together.'

'That
doesn't mean anything.'

Bob
tapped the side of his nose, knowingly. 'Trust me, I'm a detective. Those two
are of the same spirit; both determined not to be tied down in case they get
hurt again. I tell you, my love, Andy's black book is legendary. I even know
someone who's keen to get in it.'

'Who's
that?'

'Ms
Ruth McConnell, no less. Just lately, since her big romance split up, I've
caught her giving Andy the odd thoughtful glance.'

'If
that's right, will you warn her off?'

'Do
you think she'd thank me? Do you think it's any of my business?'

'She
is your secretary.'

'So?
Does that give me seigneur rights, or what?'

'It
had better not!' She was smiling, but he changed the subject nonetheless:
dangerous ground, still, for them.

'What
about Alec Smith then?' he said. 'You still haven't told me about the autopsy.
Christ, autopsy indeed
...
listen to
me, picking up your Americanisms.'

Sarah
stepped out of the nursery, switching on the baby alarm, but leaving the door
ajar also. Bob glanced into the bathroom, where Mark and Jazz were both in the
shower, covered in foam.

'It
was a difficult one,' she said. 'The man was so badly brutalised. The head
injuries didn't kill him though; they were inflicted post-mortem. No, Mr Smith
died of shock; his heart just packed in. I took a very careful look at the
video the sicko made of the killing, and I could see the moment when it
happened. If you take another look you'll see it too.'

He
winced. 'I promise you this, my darling girl, I will
never
look
at that video again.'

'By
the way, I discovered how he was overpowered. He was—'

The
telephone rang out, interrupting her. Bob stepped quickly into their bedroom
and answered, before Seonaid could be disturbed. 'Skinner.'

'Bob,
it's Andy. Sorry to disturb you yet again, but what a bloody day I've had! As
if the late call last night about Alec Smith wasn't enough, tonight I'm at a
party next door and someone spots a floater in the Water of bloody Leith! I had
to go in there and check it; I've only just dried off.'

'Murder?'
the DCC asked. 'Aye I suppose it must be. Not suicide, anyway. You'd have to be
trying really hard to drown yourself in that stream.'

'You
could manage it if you were able to tie yourself up in a carpet then hop in.
But this one didn't. Someone had some fun with him before he put him in the
water. Pringle's on his way with a team and we've closed the road around the
area. I've had to empty the downstairs bar of the Hilton Hotel too; it's not
far from the scene, and we don't want an audience.'

'What
does it look like?'

'A
gang thing, maybe. Time will tell.'

'Let
Pringle get on with it then. I'll give him a call tomorrow.' Skinner chuckled.
'Buggered up your Saturday night, eh? Still, it'll have kept you out of
mischief.' In the silence that followed, he heard a female voice say, 'Andy,
are these the jeans you meant?'

He
laughed again, loud enough to make Sarah throw him a warning frown from the
bedroom doorway. 'Ah, Jeez. I should have known better.'

11

Andy
took the tailored Lacoste jeans from Rhian, slid them on, then found a blue
crew-necked sweater in a chest of drawers opposite his bed.

'I'm
sorry about breaking up the party, or at least about sending everyone off to
the pub,' he told her. 'But I don't think your pals would have appreciated
watching our diver team haul a very dead guy out of the water.'

'You're
kidding. Some of Margot's friends would have loved that.'

'In
that case, they're well off out of it.'

'Can
I watch them? I'm a medical student and would really like to do scene-of-crime
stuff after I qualify.'

'I
thought you were going to specialise in proctology. Or do you see working with
the police as falling within that field?' She frowned at him for a second, then
grinned as she caught up with his sense of humour. 'Seriously though, the
answer's no. We have a panel of appointed medical examiners and they're not
encouraged to bring students with them.'

'But
you're Head of CID, aren't you? You could fix it, surely.'

'I
could,' he agreed as he slipped a pair of walking sandals on to bare feet, 'but
I'm not going to. I'll tell you what I will do though. Sarah Skinner - Bob's
wife - is a pathologist. If she does the post-mortem on this one, I'll ask her
if you can sit in.'

'I've
seen a dissection before.'

'Maybe,
but you haven't seen Sarah at work on someone fresh from the river. Come on
now, we have to go. Dan Pringle will be here any second.' He ushered her out of
the bedroom, towards the stairs.

'Can't
I stay here?' she asked. 'You won't be all night, will you?'

'No,
but
...'

'Just
this once, please, Andy.'

He
relented. 'Okay, but tomorrow morning we've got to have a talk about things.'

She
smiled. 'Who says I'll fancy you tomorrow?'
In some ways that might be a relief,
he thought. 'How could you not?' he said.

He
left the house and jogged out of the village, then up and round into Belford
Road towards the bridge. Uniformed officers were on duty on either side,
stopping and diverting traffic and pedestrians. The forecourt and foyer of the
Hilton Hotel was thronged with guests, intrigued by the sudden Saturday night
action and eyeing up a big dark blue van which was parked a few yards away.

As
Martin approached, its rear doors opened and two men jumped out. They were wearing
wet-suits. They spotted the Head of CID at once, and walked towards him, a
little stiff-legged.

'Will
we need tanks, sir?' one of them asked.

'Not
at first, Sergeant Hayward. Later on Mr Pringle might want you to have a look
at the river bed, but it's shallow enough for you to get the guy out without
them. You've got a waterproof camera in the van, I take it.'