Lethal Intent

Twenty-three

Skinner and McIlhenney had crossed the Forth Bridge and were heading along the M90 for Kinross before the silence was broken. The chief inspector had insisted on driving: he knew that his friend must still be tired from his long journey, but there was more to it than that. His recurrent nightmare had left him with an irrational unwillingness to sit in the passenger seat.

They had paid an awkward, painful visit to George and Jen Regan, offering what condolences they could, before leaving and heading almost gratefully out of the city.

The DCC had indeed nodded off almost as soon as the Vectra had turned on to the Queensferry Road, but he woke when they pulled up at the toll booth. As they sped away, McIlhenney muttered his usual imprecation about having to pay for driving on the public road. Skinner grinned: he had heard it all before, and as a long-term property owner in Spain he was used to paying road-toll charges.

'What do you think, then?' he asked, out of the blue, as they passed the exit that led to Deep Sea World, the giant aquarium to which he had promised to take his children on the following Sunday.

'About what?'

'About the bloody Albanians, what else?'

'Honestly? Until I see the original intelligence reports on them, I think the Home Secretary has his knickers in a twist. So four gangsters disappear from their home base and are traced to Britain. The best way to find them is by involving all the agencies with an interest in what they might be doing, not by handing it over to the spooks and having them screw it up by running covert operations with unreliable bampots like Jingle Bell.'

The DCC nodded. 'I agree with you, up to a point. Telling them not to advise or involve anyone else was a mistake, but that's what can happen when politicians start taking operational decisions. When it comes to intelligence reports, if Whitehall hasn't learned by now to treat them with the utmost caution, then it never will.'

'You can say that again, gaffer. Do you think they're telling us everything they know?'

'I think they are. At the very least, they're telling us everything we need to know.'

'What about Green?'

'I don't know about that lad: he was a bit glib about pulling that knife on Andy, and that begs the question nobody's asked him yet.'

McIlhenney's eyebrows rose slightly. 'You mean what would he have done if Andy hadn't been there, when Jingle called him in as back-up?'

'Exactly. Would he have carried on in his Richard Cable mode, and would he have carved up Mackenzie?'

'That's a question that hasn't occurred to the Bandit boy yet. When it does, I hope our Sean has a convincing answer.'

'A good reason why they shouldn't work together in this operation. Make sure it doesn't happen, will you?'

'As far as I can; but what if the ACC throws them together? I'm reporting to you and him, remember.'

'No, you're reporting to me. Willie's role is to talk with the Scottish refugee charities and the other public bodies; yours and Bandit's is to keep an eye on the underworld; and mine is to keep an eye on everything. So you come straight to me. I'm sorry: I should have made that clear.'

'No matter, I know now. What do you think our chances of tracing these guys are?'

Skinner frowned. 'I expect you to trace them, if they're still here. I've got no doubt that you will. The question is, can you do it before they attempt whatever stunt they've come here to pull?'

'Let's hope so.' Suddenly McIlhenney chuckled. 'Hey,' he said. 'A thought occurs. What if those four big rucksacks the Dutch guy described had golf clubs in them? Maybe they're just here on a golf tour.'

Skinner laughed with him. 'If they are… well, I've seen bigger gangsters than them as visitors to my home village. There's nothing better than a golf tour for bringing out the worst in middle-aged men.' He paused, looking out of the window as they passed the turn-off for east Fife. 'When are you going to ask me, Neil?'

'You mean why we're heading for Kinross to meet Andy? No point, you'd only have to repeat it once we got there.'

'I didn't mean that. When are you going to ask me about Sarah and me?'

'I'm not. I'm going to wait for you to tell me, in your own time.'

'And what if I tell you that we're finished?'

The chief inspector concentrated even harder on the road ahead. 'Then I will be very sad,' he replied, slowly, 'for both of you, because you're both very fine people. But I'll be sadder for your children.'

'So will I, but if it isn't right for us, can it be right for them?'

'There's no simple answer to that. So, are you telling me that you're finished? Can't you save it? The fact that you came home alone might say as much.'

'No, I'm not saying that, not yet; but I'm having trouble finding anything to save, other than friendship.'

McIlhenney sighed. 'I've never been in that situation, so I can't offer anything. Can I chance my arm and ask you one thing, though? Does this have anything to do with Aileen de Marco? When the Justice Minister calls me on my private line and asks if it's okay if she picks you up from the airport rather than me, it's liable to make me a bit inquisitive.'

'Touche,' said Skinner. 'I might be deceiving myself here, Neil, but I honestly don't think it has. Aileen's… a friend; but if she didn't exist, Sarah and I would still have this trouble. There are issues between us that can only be resolved by one of us capitulating. I won't; I've told her so. Now she's got to decide how to deal with that.'

'I see.' The DCI drove on in silence for a while, until the exit for Kinross came into sight. As he drove off the motorway, he glanced across at his friend. 'Good luck, Bob,' he murmured. 'That's all I can say.'

'It's enough; thanks.'

They followed the road off the roundabout that took them into the small county town, and drove along its leafy main street until, on their left, they came to the Green Hotel.