Lethal Intent

Fifty-nine

Bob Skinner was happy. He had spent his morning watching cartoons with Seonaid, and playing video games with Mark… without winning once. After a hamburger lunch round the kitchen table he had spent two hours watching James Andrew hit orange-coloured golf balls in the snow on the children's course outside the Mallard Hotel. When they were finished, he had taken him into its warm, stone-floored conservatory, sat him down, and bought two pints, one lager, the other orange squash, and two packets of salt and vinegar crisps.

He looked at the bright face of the youngster, as he clutched his glass in both hands, and felt as if he was in another world, one without death, danger, sorrow, one full of optimism and bright dreams. It was a place he enjoyed. 'Sorry about the football, son,' he said, not for the first time that day, 'but it's not safe for the players in the snow.'

'I'd play in the snow,' Jazz replied.

'Sure you would, and I'd play with you if you wanted, but it couldn't be a real game, because nobody would see the lines, so they wouldn't know whether the ball was in play or not'

'We just played golf in the snow.'

'Not quite: we hit some shots, but we didn't putt; you can't putt through it.'

'I don't like putting. I only like hitting shots.'

Bob laughed. 'You and me both, kid, but if you want to play well, you'll have to practise chipping and putting for just as long as you practise hitting.'

'Will you practise with me, Dad?'

'Whenever I can, son, I promise.'

'It's a pity Mark doesn't like golf: he could practise with us too.'

'One day he will. Once I can persuade him that there are mathematics about golf, he will. Right now, he's only interested in playing it on a computer screen.'

'And Seonaid too.'

'No reason why not: she's in the process of mastering walking right now, but once she's done that, we'll try her out.'

'And Mum?'

Bob paused, and smiled. 'You sneaked that one up on me, you little so-and-so,' he thought. 'If she wants,' he replied. 'Mum hasn't played golf for a while; I think she might be going off it.'

'Will she be home soon, Dad?'

'Yes, she will. She called me the other day and promised that she would. She has some business to do back in America and then she'll be home.' He glanced out of the conservatory windows, up towards the Smiddy and across the main street, where three new homes had replaced the old filling station and garage. Gullane was changing, but slowly, at its own pace.

The street-lamps were starting to shine bright: the short afternoon had become evening already. 'Come on, son,' he said. 'Time we went home.'

'Can we watch The Lion King DVD?'

'Again?'

'Please.'

He grinned. 'We'll put it to the vote.'

'That's all right, then: Seonaid'll do what I tell her, so I'll win.'

Bob was still smiling as he took their empty glasses and the crisp wrappers back through to the bar, and as he walked with his son up East Links Road and across the Goose Green playground. He was still smiling as he reached home, going in by the utility-room door where they discarded their snowy footwear and jackets. 'Go on, then,' he told James Andrew, 'you see what's on telly, while I check on the other two.'

The youngster ran off, and he stepped into the kitchen. Trish was there, preparing the children's supper. Seonaid was on the floor, happily making a mess with some flour and a mixing bowl. 'Teach them young,' the cheerful nanny said.

'You'll be teaching her to knit next.' He chuckled.

'No, sir. I'll be teaching her to shop!' She looked at him. 'Two messages for you; just as well you left your mobile at home. One was from Mr Pringle, and the other was from Sergeant McGurk.' In her Bajan accent, she pronounced 'McGurk' without the r. 'The numbers are there, on that notepad.' She nodded towards the telephone. 'Oh, and Alex called too: she said the buses are running so she'll be out for dinner.'

'Thanks, Trish,' he said. 'I'll call them back from my bedroom; there'll be a row if I tell the boy to turn down the telly.'

He took a Budweiser from the fridge, uncapped it, and made his way upstairs, looking in on Mark; his older son was playing chess on his computer. He frowned, and made a mental note to show him the relationship between mathematics and golf, as soon as he had worked out what it was.

He sat on the bed and dialled Dan Pringle's mobile number, the one that he had left. He did not expect good news, and when his veteran colleague answered his call, he could tell in an instant that there was none. 'She's gone, Bob,' he said. 'Peacefully, this afternoon. Her mother and I were with her when they. . when it happened.'

'I can't tell you how sad that makes me, old friend. My condolences to both of you. I'll call on you soon, once you've had some time to grieve together.' He replaced the phone in its cradle. He was back in the real harsh world, ripped away from the happy island that his day with the kids had been. 'Maybe Sarah's right after all,' he whispered to himself. 'Maybe I should turn all this in.'

He pushed the notion away and dialled McGurk. 'Hi, Jack, it's the DCC. Have you heard from Dan?' he asked at once.

'Yes, sir,' the sergeant replied, quietly.

'It's just too bad, isn't it? And her just a kid too. Was that what you called to tell me?'

'Not that alone, sir; there's something else. About twenty minutes ago, the control room at Fettes had a call from a kid. She told them that her name was Lauren McIlhenney, and that she was calling from the top of the ski slope at Hillend. She said that she was with Detective Superintendent McGuire and that someone had abducted her brother. Mr McGuire had set off in pursuit and wanted snow-equipped officers there, pronto.'

Skinner could barely take in what he was being told. 'Jesus!' he whispered. 'What did they do?'

'They took her at her word. They had caller ID; it was the superintendent's phone she was using. The duty inspector in the control room ordered all available units to the scene.'

'Good. And Neil? Have you, has anyone, called Neil?'

'I vetoed that, sir, until I'd spoken to you. I hope my judgement was right, but I didn't want him charging up that hill like a one-man army.'

'Your judgement was spot on, Jack. Having Mario there is enough; my main worry is that if he catches the abductor, they'll have to scrape him off the hillside. Leave Neil to me. I'll call him, and while I'm doing that I want you to get a car to pick me up from Gullane and take me to the scene. I'd drive myself, but I've had a couple of beers.'

'Very good, sir. Er, you'll let me know how it turns out, will you? With the boy?'

'Sure.' He hung up once more, and took a deep breath; when he was ready he dialled McIlhenney's cell-phone number.

'Yes?' Skinner could tell by the background noise that his friend was on the road.

'Neil, it's me. Where are you?'

'We're on the M8, just short of Livingston, heading for Glasgow. Bandit's taking me to his favourite curry shop before we go to the pub.'

'Forget it for tonight: your stake-out has been cancelled.'

'By whom?'

'By me, for fuck's sake! Isn't that enough?'

'Sure. Sorry, boss. What's up? Is the situation resolved?'

'No, and it won't be tonight either. Who's driving?'

'I am.'

'Well, come off at the first exit, head back to Edinburgh, check in your firearms, drop off Mackenzie and go home. Understood?'

'Yes, but…'

'But nothing; that's a direct operational order, so obey it, please… to the letter.'