A Rush of Blood

Thirty-five

‘You wanted to see me, Bob?’ The force media manager stood in Skinner’s doorway. Behind him, Gerry Crossley, who had been signed off for the day, was putting on his coat. ‘Will it take long?’ he added. ‘I have a meeting this evening, and I’ll have to be off soon.’

The chief constable felt his hackles, always sensitive, begin to rise, but he forced them back down and smiled. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Shouldn’t take a minute. Come on in.’

He waited, standing, as the slim, moustached, forty-something Alan Royston took a seat. ‘I won’t offer you a drink, if you’re in a hurry,’ he said, as he slid into his own. ‘Two things,’ he began. ‘First, we’ve got a PC retiring in a couple of weeks, a man called Charlie Johnston. You won’t have heard of him, I don’t suppose. Charlie’s a real time-server, always careful to keep his head below the radar. He and I joined the force in the same month, and he hasn’t taken a step forward since. That said, Maggie Steele has got it into her head that he might make a very useful addition to the civilian staff in the press office, once he hands in his warrant card. I’m inclined to agree with her. I know Charlie’s strength. . you’ll note I used the singular. . as well as his weaknesses. So, if he’s up for it, and I’m sure he will be, I’d like you to take him on; an initial six-month probationary period, to be safe, but I’m sure you’ll find him an asset.’

Royston fidgeted in his chair. ‘I’ll take your word for it, Bob, if HR are happy.’

Once again, Skinner bridled, but his smile stayed in place. ‘I won’t be asking Human Resources, Alan,’ he chuckled. ‘I’ll be telling them. We’ll keep it within budget by rotating one of your police staff back into the mainstream.’

The media manager shrugged. ‘If you say so, fine. Now, if that’s all. .’

The chief held up a hand. ‘Two things, I said. That press release you issued this morning, about the unknown girl we were trying to identify.’ Royston nodded. ‘You’ll be glad to hear we’ve made progress; we know who she is, where she’s from, and how she got here. It’s an ugly story, and I’m going to crap on the guys responsible from a great height.’

‘That’s good to know, Bob. Do you want me to issue another release saying that she’s been identified?’

‘No, because we’re still interested in the guy who dumped her at the doctor’s. No, my concern is this. I’ve got some fairly pissed-off CID officers who said that you were asked to issue our public appeal last night but declined to do so, on the grounds that nobody would have used it until this morning.’

The media manager’s features tightened. ‘That was my judgement,’ he said, curtly. ‘It was late in the evening, and nobody was dead. The morning papers were pretty much made up by then; they couldn’t have used it.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t agree with it, Alan,’ said Skinner. ‘I know a guy called Spike Thomson who’d have had it on radio by ten. One phone call by me to June Crampsey at the Saltire and she’d have squeezed it in. Another phone call to the Scotsman saying that she was carrying it and so would they. Wrap a bit of colour round it and the tabloids would have jumped in too. Sure, we identified the kid anyway, but there’s still our mystery man, and we have reason to believe that he may be important.’

Royston glared across the desk. ‘Chief Constable, if you’re saying that you don’t have confidence in my judgement. . well, I think we both know why.’

Skinner set his forced bonhomie aside. ‘Chum,’ he said quietly, leaning forward, ‘if I had let personal issues get in the way of the job, you’d have been long gone. It was my faith in your judgement that kept you here. You fucked up last night, and you know it. I’m telling you, don’t let it happen again.’

‘It won’t,’ the man retorted.

‘Good. Enough said.’

‘Not quite. It won’t happen again because I’m leaving.’

‘Aw, for fuck’s sake, Alan,’ the chief exclaimed, ‘don’t be so thin-skinned. If everyone I chewed out did that there’d be no bugger left here.’

‘It’s not that. I’ve been head-hunted, Bob, offered another position, and I’m minded to accept it. That’s what my meeting this evening’s about.’

‘When did this happen?’ asked Skinner, taken aback.

‘Earlier this afternoon, so no, it didn’t have any bearing on my fuckup, as you put it. I apologise for that, as I wouldn’t like us to part on bad terms.’

‘What is this job? Who’s offered it?’

Royston shook his head. ‘I can’t answer either of those questions, Bob, not at this stage. Listen,’ he added, ‘it’s not you that’s making me leave. Don’t think that for a minute. I just feel stale here, that’s all; it’s time to go.’

‘I see. Is there anything I can say to. .’ Before he could complete the question, his phone rang. He snatched it up. ‘Yes!’ he barked, before his expression softened almost instantly. ‘Neil, what’s up?’

Royston watched him as he listened to McIlhenney, as his frown deepened, until his brow was massively furrowed. ‘Jesus,’ he whispered, eventually. ‘Two different threads, tied together. Are you going to the scene?’ Pause. ‘Then head on down there. Gimme the address and I’ll join you.’ He snatched up a pen and a pad and scrawled upon it as he listened. ‘Got that.’ He slammed the phone back in its cradle, then met Royston’s gaze. ‘That man we were looking for,’ he said, ‘about the girl: well, we want him even more now.’