Gallery Whispers

26

'You want some time off, Andy?'

'You think I need it?'

'I don't know, pal. But if you feel you do, I'll accommodate you.'

Andy Martin smiled across the chief constable's low table. 'With all that we've got on our plate at the moment, you're offering me leave? Bob, what you're really doing is asking whether I can keep my eye on the ball, with Alex moving out and all. Given the example of Neil Mcllhenney, I'd be no man at all if I couldn't. Anyway, I respect what she's doing, and our long-term plans haven't changed; she's still wearing the ring.

'Now, can we get on with our Monday briefing, as usual?'

Skinner nodded. He was in uniform, in preparation for a meeting of the police board, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he sipped his coffee. 'Okay, let's do that. What do I need to know?'

'The main item is the Weston investigation. The son received a letter from his mother on Saturday morning. It was posted in Edinburgh on the day after her death.'

'Was it indeed? Prints?'

'Covered in them: at least five different thumbs, for a start. Some of them will be Post Office staff, and one is Gaynor's.'

'Are you trying to trace the postmen, to eliminate them?'

Martin shook his head. 'No. Their union hates that; they'd probably strike if we suggested printing them all. Anyway, it's not necessary; when we find the person we're after, and his dabs match one on the envelope, that's fine, it'll be another piece of evidence. If they don't'

'It could help the defence,' Skinner suggested.

'True, but I'm not going to start sweating about it till we catch the man.'

'Could Mrs Weston have given the letter to anyone else to post for her? Have we established whether she had any visitors during the day?'

'As far as we can. Joan Ball, her neighbour, looked in on her in the morning. Then, in the afternoon, she made a few phone calls to her office. With hindsight, it's clear she was putting her affairs in order.

However there's no evidence that she had any visitors other than Miss Ball, and the person who helped her die. So it's unlikely that she gave the letter to someone else to post.'

Martin paused. 'However, all that aside, we've got a new name to go on. Maggie and Steele found it on her computer diary. A man, called Deacey.'

'What are they doing to trace him?'

'The usual. Step one: check whether he's known to us. He isn't; according to our intelligence unit there are no Deaceys — first or second name — known to the police in Scotland. Step two: look up the telephone directory. They've done that already, and come up empty.

No "Deacey" listed in Edinburgh, the Lothians, Greater Glasgow, Fife or Tayside. So this morning they'll check with the Department of Social Security, the Registrar General, the Passport Office and the Driving Licence Agency.'

'Is he a serious contender, d'you think?'

'Right now, Bob, he's our only contender.'

'Well, let's just find him and hope. I'd really like to get a clear-up on this one. Too many unresolved possibilities if we don't; too many whispers, too many fingers left pointing, at Professor Weston, or at his son.'

'Fine, but just how much of our resources do we commit to this?'

'As much as is necessary. We cannot be seen to have backed off from this investigation in any way, whatever our personal feelings might be.' Skinner paused. 'For what it's worth, my very private belief is that, given her circumstances, Mrs Weston had every moral right to do what she did, and if she needed someone to help her, so be it.'

'Would you apply that belief to Olive Mcllhenney?' asked Martin, solemnly.

'You know about that?'

'Yes. Brian called me on Saturday. He had it from Maggie, via Mario.'

'Well, God forbid that it should come to that, but if it does, then yes, I believe that Olive should be able to choose her moment… and that Neil should be free to be part of it, should he choose. What about you?'

The Head ofCID took a sip from his cup, and slowly replaced it in its saucer. 'I had this conversation last week with Mackie,' he began, 'in a roundabout way, but mostly I hid my views behind the law then.

The fact is…

'Bob, as you know, I was brought up as a Catholic. As I've grown older, I've come to differ with my Church on a number of issues.

For example, no bloody celibate is going to dictate to me about contraception or about interpersonal relationships. However the one thing that's ingrained in me is my belief in the sanctity of life.'

Skinner's eyebrows rose. 'Even after all these years, you surprise me, Andy,' he said, quietly. 'Especially given the things that you've had to do in this job. I don't have to remind you of them.'

'How could I forget? That once I had the choice between killing someone or letting you die. Afterwards, when I had done it, I discussed it with my confessor and I was absolved. The priest agreed with my choice. But that wasn't enough for me. I went to confession in four more churches, and in three of those I was absolved again. The fourth priest, an Irishman and old by the sound of him, told me that what had been about to happen was God's will and that I had committed a mortal sin. He refused me absolution.

'Right there in the box, through the grille, I told him to go and fuck himself. I haven't been to Church from that day; I suppose I have to recognise that I've withdrawn from it. And yet its teachings still will not allow me to accept that life is something that we can switch off as a matter of course. Look at it this way. If a state will not take the life of a murderer, how can it sanction the killing of the innocent?'

'I take that point,' Skinner conceded, 'and I'll think hard on it. But to come back to you. Given your belief, how can you bring yourself to carry a firearm on duty?'

'Because I accept that there are circumstances when a gun can be used to preserve life — yours, for example. But I can never be dispassionate about it, like you and Brian, say.'

The big DCC grunted. 'Huh. I can't speak for Mackie, but there's nothing dispassionate about me, Andy. When I've had to shoot people they've bloody deserved it, and I've been positive about it.

'Take this Hawkins man, for example. When he's traced, he'll be arrested if he doesn't offer resistance. Depending on who catches him, he might be delivered to the CIA, but somewhere along the line, someone will put a bullet behind his ear and the South African press will be told that a well-known local businessman has been killed in a car crash or whatever. That's the way this one will be played out, make no mistake. If that troubles your conscience, maybe you'd better have no more to do with the search for the man. If you'd prefer it I'll take you out of the chain of command altogether.'

Martin shifted in his seat once more and grunted. 'No, don't do that. This man's a fucking head-hunter, for God's sake, and he could be after our Head of Government. My responsibility is to the innocent, and I'll fulfil it. I've already made that choice, remember, even if that old Irish bastard did damn me to Hell for it! 'So what's the latest on the Hawkins front?' he asked.

Skinner glanced at his watch. 'Mcllhenney should be ready to report by now. Let's call him in.' He reached across to the console on his desk and pressed a button. Less than a minute later the side door of the office opened and the bulky sergeant stepped into the room, carrying a thick folder. To Martin, he seemed tired and drawn. There was none of the usual joviality in his eyes; in its place, the chief superintendent saw a steely determination.

'Sit down, big fella,' said the DCC. 'Want a coffee?'

Mcllhenney laid his folder on the low table. 'No thanks, boss. I've decided to cut that out. I went to the doctor on Saturday morning and had myself checked out. The last thing we need right now is for anything to be wrong with me.'

'There isn't, though?'

'Naw. He just told me to give up coffee and lose a few pounds. I've to get more exercise, he said, but the fact is I've lost five pounds in the last week without doing a bloody thing.'

'How's Olive doing?' asked Skinner.

'She's fantastic. She told the kids last night that she had a wee problem, and she'd be off work for a while, but that it was nothing to worry about. Incidentally, boss, I talked to her about your offer to look after Lauren and Spencer next weekend. It's very kind of you and Sarah, and we'd like to take you up on it.'

'That's good. When does the treatment begin?'

'She goes in on Wednesday afternoon for assessment, then they begin on Thursday. She gets out about five on Friday.'

Skinner nodded. 'Okay, Sarah'11 collect the children after school on Friday afternoon.

'Right,' he continued. 'Hawkins: what's to report?'

'Absolutely nothing, I'm afraid. Since that bloody fiasco caused by the man from Dumfries'

'whose hide is even now drying on his office door.' Skinner interrupted with a growl.

'… there hasn't been a sniff of him in Scotland, not a single scent.

There's been nothing else across Europe either. You know, boss, it's been a while since the original tip came out of South Africa; I'm beginning to wonder whether he's slipped the net altogether.'

'So am I,' said the DCC, heavily. 'But we maintain surveillance regardless, though. The preparations for the economic conference are going ahead too. ACC Elder's working on the general policing arrangements, and on traffic management, following the blueprint that was drawn up when we had the Commonwealth Heads of Government. We may make the vehicle restrictions even tighter than they were then.

'That's all background stuff, though. As far as our force is concerned, McGuire and Neville, and the rest of the SB people, are our front line.'