Fatal Last Words

Forty-three

‘Why do you come to me for this information?’ asked Xavi Aislado.

‘Because I don’t have time to ask my Special Branch team to get it for me,’ Skinner told him frankly. ‘They could, but they’d have to jump through a couple of hoops, maybe go through all the provider directories.’

‘I’m a journalist, Bob, you’re begging a hell of a lot of questions.’

‘You’ll get the answers before anyone else, Xavi; that’s a promise.’

‘I take it this has to do with Glover’s murder.’

‘And more. It involves possession of Class A drugs.’

‘By Anderson?’

‘We don’t think so. Look, you give me the number and I’ll give you a couple of hours’ start on a front-page story for tomorrow’s paper.’

‘Yes, I can guess whose drugs they were. OK, take this down.’ The editor recited a mobile phone number.

‘That’s up to date? You’re sure?’

‘One of my people used it yesterday, looking for a comment on Glover’s death. He was told to fuck off. I don’t like my staff being treated discourteously, Bob.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind for the future,’ Skinner chuckled. ‘I hope the thing’s switched on.’

A soft, deep laugh sounded in the DCC’s ear. ‘It will be. People like Anderson only know how to keep their mobiles charged up, not how to switch them off.’ Pause. ‘Bob, before you go, can you give me anything about the incident my news desk tells me about, in your home village?’

‘The dead man’s an ethnic member of a traveller group, camped out there. That’s all I know for now.’

‘Suspicious?’

‘Not any more. Confirmed as homicide.’

‘Can you give me a name?’

‘Asmir Mustafic.’ He spelled it out. ‘He was Bulgarian, a harmless wee man. We’ll be going public on it pretty soon, I imagine. For any more, have your crime reporter call Neil McIlhenney; he’s on the scene. I imagine you’ve got his mobile number too.’

The editor laughed again. ‘Of course.’

Skinner sighed, making a mental note to have senior officers’ numbers changed, and hung up. He took out his own mobile, which was set to ‘caller details withheld’ when his calls were picked up, and began to key in digits. When he pressed the ‘call’ button, it was with little hope. He heard three rings and then a click.

‘Yes?’ One short word, but filled with tension; no background noise.

‘Dr Anderson?’

‘Who is this?’

‘Are you going to stay on line when I tell you?’

He heard a sigh. ‘You don’t have to tell me, Skinner. I’d know your voice anywhere. What is it?’

‘I want to ask you something, one question, and I want you to tell me the truth without hesitation, because whatever that is, I’ll be able to prove it. Did you murder Ainsley Glover?’

The reply was instantaneous. ‘No.’

‘I believe you. So why did you leg it?’

‘The questioning was going into an area that I didn’t want to discuss.’

‘Something to do with drugs?’

‘What drugs?’ Anderson paused, and this time Skinner could hear an intake of breath. ‘Oh no, let me guess. Bloody Anthea. Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘That stupid twat!’ he sighed. ‘She promised me that she was clean. I should have known, I should have read the signs. What was it? Coke, as before?’

‘No, she’s moved on from the posh people’s party stuff. This is heroin, enough for us to charge her not just with possession but with intent to supply, if we’ve a mind. She’s been inhaling the stuff, “Chasing the dragon” as the Chinese say. As for the signs, you wouldn’t have seen any needle marks or runny noses. I’m told she used a teapot. Pretty ingenious, from what my drugs squad leader tells me; you heat the stuff on the cooker and suck it in through the spout.’

‘Bob, I promise you, I did not know. And I run an addiction clinic, too.’

‘You do? That I did not know.’

‘I don’t advertise the fact. Actually I run two; one’s operated through the NHS, but the other’s at a private place. My patients there tend to be higher up the social scale. Truth is, that’s how I met Anthea. What a mug I am; I really did think she was behaving herself.’

‘Then she fooled you, big time. She was arrested in Harvey Nichols’ restaurant half an hour ago. Your daughter was with her, I’m afraid.’

‘Hold on, man,’ Anderson exclaimed, ‘you haven’t taken Tanya to a police station, have you?’

‘No, we haven’t; give me credit, I’m a parent myself, man. I told Alice Cowan, who made the arrest with another officer, to take her back to Darnaway Street, and stay with her, pending further instructions.’

‘What are you going to do with her? You’re not going to stick her in some social work refuge, are you?’

‘That’s entirely down to you,’ Skinner told him. ‘Where are you right now? Don’t be cute, tell me.’

‘I’m in Gifford, parked next to the Goblin Ha’ pub, trying to work out what to do next.’

‘Then you can stop trying, right now, for this is the only answer: you’re going home to your kid. I’m going to forget about your stupid runner from Sammy Pye. . although he’ll remember being embarrassed, so you’d better not cross him again.’

‘Sure, I go home, and you charge me with possession along with Anthea. You’d love that, Bob.’

Skinner laughed. ‘You know, Bruce,’ he said, ‘one of the many differences between you and me is that when you have a grudge against someone, you shout about it for everyone to hear, like you did on Saturday night apparently, with Ainsley Glover, in a hall full of people. I don’t. To be honest, I like to think I don’t bear grudges, but if someone does me a bad enough turn for me to be bothered about getting even, I don’t tell a living soul, I just wait for my moment. You betrayed me back in our past, sure, but from that I took the knowledge of the sort of guy you are, and that was enough. You were a bad Secretary of State, because you were weak, and you were a liar. We both know that, and that’s all the satisfaction I need. You’re not on my hit list, mate; and you never were. I’m not going to charge you with possession, or anything else for that matter, out of personal spite. Go home and look after your kid, like you did once before; that’s the only thing I’ve ever even half respected you for.’

‘I’m not sure I want to go back to Darnaway Street,’ Anderson murmured.

‘I don’t blame you. But that’s not your only home, is it?’

‘No; I still have my house in Glasgow, but it’s rented out. But I also have a cottage near Oban.’

‘Then if you want some advice, take Tanya up there until it’s time for her to go back to school. But before you do that, you need to complete your interview with DI Pye. You say you didn’t know about your girlfriend’s drugs, and I’ll accept that, partly because I’d have a bit of a job proving that you did, given where she’d hidden them. I could ask you to submit to a blood test to prove that you’re not a user yourself, but I won’t. You say you didn’t kill Ainsley Glover; I believe that also, but we have a witness statement that contradicts yours, and that has to be dealt with. Understood?’

‘If that’s the way it has to be, yes.’

‘OK. So this is what you do. Go back to Edinburgh, and take charge of your daughter; either stay at Darnaway Street tonight, or check into a hotel, if you can find one in the Festival month. Whatever you decide, I want you in my office, here at Fettes, at ten a.m. tomorrow morning, to be interviewed under caution by DI Pye and me, about your movements on Saturday night. You may have legal representation if you wish, but you will tell us the truth.’

‘To do that, it may not be a lawyer I need.’

‘Bring whoever you like, man. But be there or, trust me, you will be arrested. Your girlfriend will be a hot story in tomorrow’s Saltire. Make sure you don’t follow her on Wednesday morning.’

Skinner closed his phone, ending the call, then re-dialled Xavi Aislado. ‘The one I owe you,’ he began, as the Scottish Spaniard answered. ‘It’s not Anderson, and it doesn’t have anything to do with him, but would I be right in thinking that a duke’s daughter charged with possession of industrial quantities of smack might make the columns of even a quality newspaper like yours?’