Fallen Gods

Seventeen

Skinner and Martin were heading for the stairs when Rod Greatorix stuck his head out of the door of the main CID office. "Mr. Skinner," he called. "Can I have a word before you go?"

The two stopped and went back to join him in the private room. "There's a couple of things I need to deal with," he began. "First and foremost we'll need to announce the identification. As soon as we've got the post-mortem findings I want to issue a public appeal for information about your brother's movements in the period leading up to his death.

We need to get a handle on where he was when he went into the river, or we can't even start a proper investigation."

"Of course, "Skinner agreed.

"How do you want us to handle it? I mean I don't have to say that Michael was your brother."

"You don't, Rod, that's true. But it'll get out, as sure as God made wee sour apples. You need the press working for you on this. If they start to dig into the story of the black sheep of my family, they might come up with useful information faster than you. By and large, journalists are better than detectives at asking questions. I'll talk to them about my estrangement from my brother if they want." He frowned. "There's just one thing, though. I want to speak to a couple of people before this hits the press. There's my daughter, for one; she has to hear it from me. Then there's Neil Mcllhenney; after Andy here, he's my closest friend."

"How much time do you need?"

"If you brief the press at midday tomorrow, that'll be okay. Alex is flying up from London tomorrow morning for a business meeting on Monday. I'm picking her up at the airport at eleven-thirty. I'll see Neil before that; there's something else I want to talk to him about, anyway."

"Okay, sir. You've got that; the press won't be awake much before noon on a Sunday anyway."

"Thanks. Now what else did you want?"

"I'd like the name and address of the hostel where your brother lived, and the name of the manager. He'll have to be interviewed, and possibly some of the other residents as well."

"It's called Oak Lodge, it's in Gourock like I said, and it's run by the Jesuits. That's as much as I can tell you. I'm going to want to talk to them myself, though."

"Bob…" Martin began.

"It's for my own peace of mind, Andy. I have to find out how he was."

"You won't go running your own investigation now, will you?"

Skinner looked at him, wide-eyed. "Who? Me? Listen, a complaint from your chief constable to my police authority about my conduct is just what I don't need right now."