Fatal Last Words

Sixty-seven

Gerry Crossley prided himself on being an early starter. His job description read ‘nine to five’, but he always made a point of being at his desk at least fifteen minutes before the appointed time, so that everything would be ready for the chief constable’s arrival. There had been heavy overnight rain, and a brief shower had caught him between the bus stop in Comely Bank and the headquarters building; standing in the corridor, he shook surface water off his raincoat before stepping into his compact office and hanging it on one of the two wall hooks. The other was occupied; a short car coat hung from it.

The connecting door to the chief’s room was slightly ajar. He popped his head round, to see Bob Skinner seated at his meeting table, with the daily newspapers spread out before him, and a mug in his hand. He looked up and smiled. ‘Morning, Gerry,’ he called out.

‘Morning, sir,’ the secretary replied. ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’

‘You’re not; I’m early.’ He paused. ‘And listen, we’ve got to get something sorted out. You’re a civilian colleague, not a serving officer, and you’re certainly not a servant, so don’t go “sirring” me all the time.’

‘How should I address you?’

‘In any way that makes us both feel comfortable. You want to call me “Bob” in private and “Mr Skinner” in front of the troops, I’m fine with that.’

‘I’m not sure the head of HR would approve of me being on first-name terms.’

‘The head of HR reports to me; her approval or disapproval isn’t of any consequence.’

Crossley stood for a few seconds, thinking. ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘if it’s all the same to you, Mr Skinner, I’ll call you that, or “Chief”, as appropriate. That’s what you are now, to police and civilians alike, and that’s how I addressed Sir James.’

‘Fine. That’s agreed. Now, as for my daily routine, I plan to be here by eight thirty, partly because the traffic’s slightly easier, and partly because it’ll let me do what I’m doing now, catch up on what the press are saying, before this place comes alive. Once that’s done, I’ll look at any urgent mail, then at nine fifteen, with effect from tomorrow, I want a quick morning meeting with the deputy. . when appointed; until then Brian Mackie’s acting. . the ACC, head of CID, or in his absence Neil McIlhenney, and David Mackenzie. No agenda, just a review of current business.’

‘Understood. I’ll do a note for your signature, for circulation.’

‘Nah, do it yourself; I want you to be seen as an executive more than as a secretary. We’ll maybe give you a new title. “Chef d’équipe” sounds a bit flash, but something along those lines. Frame the circular “The chief constable requests,” and so on. It’ll have the same effect as if I sign it. Tell them I don’t anticipate it lasting any longer than fifteen minutes and that if anyone wants coffee or tea they can bring it themselves.’

Crossley grinned. ‘They’ll love that.’

‘They’ll have to. I’m not making it for them, and neither are you. However, I’ll cater for the head of HR this morning. Ask her to come and see me at nine thirty, to brief me on procedures for appointing the new deputy. It has to be advertised, but tell her I want to know whether we can frame it in such a way that if Brian Mackie’s promoted deputy, we can select an assistant to replace him from the same list of applicants.’

‘Will do, Chief. Will you want to talk to her about designating an acting ACC?’

‘No, Gerry, I’m not going to do that, not yet, at any rate; Maggie Steele comes back from maternity leave next month, and it’s going to be her. HR doesn’t need to be consulted on that, just told.’ The secretary said nothing, but his eyes expressed approval. ‘One other thing,’ said Skinner, ‘while I remember. I’d like you to check Brian Mackie’s leave sheet. Aileen and I will be taking time off in October, while Holyrood’s in recess.’

‘Very good. I’ll leave you to get on with the papers. How was the coverage of your briefing?’

‘Restrained,’ Skinner told him. ‘There are news reports of my appointment, and a couple of photos, but nothing about the interruption. Mitchell Laidlaw’s interdict is pretty comprehensive in what it prohibits. One of the tabloids has done a background piece on me that includes a picture of Alex, but that’s as close to the wind as anyone seems to have sailed. I’m nearly finished. Just the Herald and the Saltire to read.’

He picked up his mug as Crossley left. It was half-full, but the contents were cold, and so he tipped them into the basin in his private bathroom, then poured himself a refill. Coffee was one of his vices, and he knew it. Only Aileen’s firm instruction had made him switch to decaf.

He was studying the Herald when his phone rang. His appointment was reported on page three, but his attention was focused on the front. He reached across to his desk and took the call.

‘I have a call for you, Mr Skinner,’ said his assistant, ‘but I’m not sure you’ll want to take it.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘It’s from Brankholme Prison, near Darlington; the deputy governor who put it through here told me that it takes high-risk remand prisoners from the regional courts. The caller’s Dražen Boras, the man who’s awaiting trial for-’

‘I know who Dražen Boras is, Gerry. Why would that bastard want to speak to me? To congratulate me on my appointment?’

‘He says he has information, and that he’ll only give it to you, nobody else. He says it’s vital, and that you’ll be very interested in it. The deputy governor said she reckons he’s genuine.’

Skinner took a deep breath and gazed out of the window, at the uninspiring view of an empty playing field. The last time he had seen Dražen Boras, one of only two meetings, he and Mario McGuire had arrested him in a hotel in Monaco, and had charged him with the murder of Stevie Steele, Maggie’s husband. The Bosnian-born millionaire had thought himself beyond their reach, thanks to the help of American friends who had repaid favours owed, but he had been wrong. Skinner knew that there was a good chance he would have to see the man again, to give evidence of his arrest, but in truth, if he could have tossed him from the balcony of his room in the Columbus to save the expense of a trial, he would have done so without a second’s thought.

‘Vital, is it?’ he murmured, feeling the anger welling up within him. ‘OK, Gerry, I’ll take Mr Boras’s call, but you be listening in. Tell him he’ll be recorded.’

‘But we don’t have that facility, Chief.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Dražen’s the sort of bloke who’ll assume we do. I wouldn’t want to ruin our image in his eyes.’ As he waited, he realised that he was gripping the phone as tightly as he might if he had his hand round Boras’s throat. He forced himself to relax, to be calm.

‘Mr Skinner.’ The voice was smooth, the accent that of an English public schoolboy, as he had been. ‘I’m slightly surprised you’re speaking to me, since I know you and your people would like me dead.’

‘You’re being dealt with as we would wish, Mr Boras. You’ll have your day in court, then if you’re convicted, as our evidence says you will be, you’ll have your thirty years, or whatever, in jail.’

‘Thirty years, you reckon?’

‘Less than the time my colleague might have had left. Did you know his widow has a baby daughter that he never saw?’

‘That’s a great pity. Without making any admission for your tape, I assure you that I am genuinely sorry about that, as I am about the unfortunate death of DI Steele. If I send you a gift for the child, will you pass it on?’

‘No, I’ll have you charged with attempted bribery. Now what is it that you want? What’s this information that you have for me?’

‘I won’t give it to you over the phone, or in any environment where I can be recorded. I’m a sitting target here.’

‘Be sure you stay close to the window,’ said Skinner, drily.

‘They don’t let me do that. I need to see you, Mr Skinner, to tell you what I know. If you have me brought up to Edinburgh, I’ll tell you there.’

‘There’s no chance of that.’

‘I thought not. Then you come to me, you and that gorilla of a colleague who thumped me in Monaco.’

‘You’re kidding. You really don’t want to meet DCS McGuire again. Anyway, he’s away just now.’

‘Then someone else.’

‘Are you trying to work a plea bargain? If you are, talk to the Crown Prosecution Service, not me.’

‘No, I’m not. Maybe I’m just looking for some credit, when it counts.’

‘Like when it comes to sentencing?’

‘No comment.’

‘You’ll get nothing from me.’

Boras sighed. ‘OK, if you come to me, I’ll take you on trust.’

‘I repeat, why should I? What have you got for me?’

‘This morning,’ Boras replied, ‘when they woke me at the usual ungodly hour, they gave me my usual newspapers. In the Daily Mail, I saw a photograph, three actually, of a man you are looking for, someone calling himself Hugo Playfair.’

‘Yes?’ said Skinner, feeling the hair on the back of his neck start to prickle.

‘I know who he is.’