Skinner's mission

33

Pamela Masters was an early riser. She had done her aerobics routine, showered, dressed and made breakfast, all before the telephone rang at five minutes past nine o’clock.

She gulped down a mouthful of toast and apricot jam as she reached across from her perch on a high stool, to pick it up.

‘Hello, this is Pamela.’

‘Good morning, Sergeant. This is DCC Skinner.’ A cold shiver of nerves ran through her. She slipped down from the stool and stood stiffly upright.

‘Listen,’ he went on, ‘I know I said report on Monday, but there’s something I want to let you in on, and to get started on myself; something that’s been in the in-tray for far too long as it is.’

‘He’s got a nice voice,’ Pamela thought, as her nervousness left her. ‘I hadn’t noticed that before.’

‘I’m at a bit of a loose end today, and I intend to go into the office. This isn’t an order, and I wouldn’t want you to cancel other engagements, but if you’re clear would you like to come in and join me at Fettes?’

She glanced at her wall diary. It showed a hair appointment at 10 a.m., a lunch date at Jenners with a girlfriend, and a 3 p.m. date in the Royal Botanic Garden with an old friend of her former husband, who had called her out of the blue two days earlier. The rest of the day she had left free, just in case. It had been a long time since Alan Royston.

‘Certainly, sir,’ she said. ‘When do you want me there?’

There was a pause. ‘I want to call in to play with my son for a while. Give me a couple of hours, so let’s say eleven thirty. Come straight up to my office.’

‘Very good, sir.’ From the other end of the line she thought she caught a faint chuckle.

‘Oh, and Pamela, remember. Don’t wear uniform this time, just come as you are. I hate formality at weekends. Come to think of it, I don’t like it much at any time.’