Aftershock

Sixty

‘I appreciate your finding the time to come to see me, Gregor,’ said Andy Martin, reclining in Bob Skinner’s comfortable chair.

‘No problem. I always like seeing what life is like at the sharp end of the criminal justice system.’ He stopped. ‘How’s the family?’ he asked.

‘My girls? They’re great, and they’ll be having company soon. Yours?’

‘Ranald and Fergus? Aged twelve and nine now, and they’re growing frighteningly large. As for Phil, she’s taken to her new job with a vengeance. . Nice phrase for a judge, don’t you think?’

‘I couldn’t top it.’

‘And how about you, my friend? I hear you’ve been up to Chambers Street.’

‘Yes,’ Martin chuckled, ‘and I’m not sure I’ll be welcome there again.’

The fiscal smiled across the desk. ‘He didn’t go into the detail of your conversation, but I don’t think you’re the Crown Agent’s favourite person right now.’ He winked. ‘That’s no bad thing, but watch out that he doesn’t try to bite back at some time in the future.’

‘He hasn’t got the fucking teeth for that. He may not have much of a future either, not in his present job, at any rate. I’ve had DCI Mackenzie go through the list of people at the Rotary meeting where he shot his mouth off about the Ballester killings. One of them is the principal maths teacher at Stewart’s-Melville school. Mackenzie had a quiet chat with him at home, about an hour ago. He admitted talking about it in the staff room, so the genie’s well out the bottle, and your boss is entirely to blame.’

‘What have you done about it?’

‘For now, I’ve passed the information to DI Stallings. It establishes the possibility that this missing youngster, Colledge, was familiar with Ballester’s methodology. For later, I’ll be reporting to the chief constable that I’m as satisfied as I can be that information did leak and that Dowley is the only source. You were my last interview: I’ll be writing everything up this afternoon.’

‘What do you reckon Sir James will do?’

‘Can’t say for certain, but I suspect he’ll pass my findings to the Lord Advocate. It’ll serve the guy right if he does. If he’d kept his head down and his mouth shut when your assistant went running to him, none of this would be happening.’

‘Maybe not,’ Broughton agreed, ‘but any potential case against Davis Colledge would be missing a vital element: possible knowledge of the previous murders.’

‘Cases,’ said Martin.

‘Of course, the Spanish incident: Ms Stallings briefed me about that. In the process she prevented me from going ahead and charging the man Weekes with the Dean murder. . for now at any rate. Very strange circumstances, Andy, if you’re not a believer in the power of coincidence: that the Spanish murder should happen on Bob Skinner’s doorstep.’ He paused. ‘Only it’s not so strange. If the young man Colledge did leave Collioure to explore the coast, as he seems to have told his landlady, that would take him quite naturally through L’Escala, as I understand the geography.’

‘That’s right. I’ve been there.’

‘About Dowley,’ said Broughton. ‘Any chance you could persuade the chief not to take it any further? To be honest, it would suit me if he stayed in post. As you know, the deputy Crown Agent is staring retirement in the face. If Joe went I’d come under renewed pressure from colleagues to apply for the job, and I’d really rather not. I don’t mind stepping into the deputy’s shoes, but with Phil on the Supreme Court bench, the top job would be too high profile for me.’

‘On the other hand, a big chunk of the police service would like a change,’ Martin pointed out. ‘Dowley isn’t popular. The promotion’s gone to his head.’

‘I can control him, Andy, especially if I become his deputy. This embarrassment is bound to bring him down a peg or two. Let me work on him, and I’ll make him manageable. I’ve seen a couple of Crown Agents come and go in my time.’

‘If that’s how you feel. We owe you a couple, Gregor. I’ll try to talk Jimmy and Bob out of going for his throat.’

‘Bob?’

‘Of course. Dowley crossed one of his guys; demanded that he be disciplined. You do that at your peril.’

Broughton laughed. ‘I’ll remember that. Be seeing you.’ He headed for the door, then stopped, admiring one of the works of art that decorated the walls of the absent deputy chief constable’s office. ‘Nice picture. The Crown Office has works on loan from the Scottish Arts Council. I wonder if that’s one of theirs.’

‘No. That’s one of Bob’s own. He has more pictures than he has wall space at home, so he brings one or two in here.’

As the fiscal closed the door behind him, Martin stepped closer to the painting, studying it. He had been glancing at it for much of a day and a half, aware of it, without paying it too much attention. It was an oil on canvas, around two feet square in a blue wooden frame, a coastal scene. In the background the sun was rising out of the sea, giving its waters a reddish tinge. To the left of the picture were distant hills, to the right a rugged, castellated building, and in the foreground, on a beach, a small female figure kneeling as if in prayer.

His eye moved to the signature: it was a single word, and it could have been either forename or family appellation. ‘Sebastian’.