Murmuring the Judges

30

Skinner sat behind the Chief Constable’s huge desk, staring morosely at the documents piled high in the in-tray. He swung round in Proud Jimmy’s chair, looking out of the window only to see an array of vents and aerials rising from the roof of the rear section of the headquarters building.

Suddenly, one of the telephones on his right gave an insistent beep. He picked it up. ‘Can I come in, sir, to run through the day’s appointments?’ asked Gerry, his temporary secretary, who came with his temporary office.

‘Sure. If there’s coffee on the hob bring us in a couple of mugs.’

‘Mugs, sir?’

The acting Chief grinned. ‘I’m not going to copy all of the boss’s ways. You use a cup if you like, but I’ll have mine in a mug; touch of milk, no sugar. I need a serious caffeine fix.’

Within a minute the door opened and Gerry Crossley stepped into the room, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits, and with a folder tucked under his arm. The young man placed a mug on a coaster by Skinner’s right hand, and made to take a seat across the desk.

‘Pull your chair round to the side,’ said the DCC. ‘You’re bloody miles away sitting over there.’

Gerry nodded and did as he had been asked. Skinner looked at him appraisingly. From the day on which he had come to work for Sir James, he had made an impression with his neatness, his efficiency and the speed with which he got things done. Yet even in such enlightened times, a male secretary was still regarded as a shade peculiar, and Skinner had overheard the odd remark calling Crossley’s sexuality into question.

In fact, Gerry was married to a public relations executive, who was expecting their first child.

He opened the folder. ‘Today’s business, sir. At ten o’clock, you have two pupils from St Augustine’s High School coming in to receive Certificates of Commendation for Bravery. Their names are Hugh McQuillan and Andrew Byrne, and they tackled a man who was trying to snatch an old lady’s bag.’

‘Did they detain him?’

‘Yes, sir. He pleaded guilty in Edinburgh Sheriff Court and was imprisoned for eighteen months. The boys’ head teacher proposed them for recognition, through our community relations section.’

‘Which reports to ACC Elder,’ said Skinner. ‘In that case it’s only right that Jim makes the award in the Chief’s absence, rather than me. Brief him, please, Gerry. Right, what’s next?’

‘At ten-forty-five, sir, you’re scheduled to receive a Commonwealth visitor, Mr Kwame Ankrah, from Ghana. He’s a senior police officer on a Foreign Office-sponsored tour of the UK, looking at methods in this country.’

‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘We’ve been asked to give him a briefing on the force, sir, with the emphasis on criminal investigation.’

‘How long?’

‘It’s scheduled to include lunch, sir, in the Senior Officers’ dining room.

‘Who’s accompanying him?’

‘Mr David Seward, sir, from the Police Division in Scottish Office, and Miss Hilda Thomson, from the Information Directorate.’

The DCC frowned. ‘I suppose I’d better do that one myself. Ask Andy Martin to join me, though.’

‘Very good, sir. The party is scheduled to depart at two p.m. After that you’re due in Galashiels at three p.m. for young PC Brown’s funeral.’

‘That’s going to be tight.’

‘Traffic say that it should be easily enough time, sir, as long as you leave at two sharp.’

Skinner sighed. ‘In that case, I’ll have to receive them in uniform, because it doesn’t sound as if I’ll have time to change after they’ve gone.’

Gerry nodded. ‘That sounds like a good idea, sir.’

‘As far as I’m concerned, son, wearing uniform is always a fucking awful idea. Any evening engagements?’

‘No, sir, not tonight. There’s one on Thursday, though. The City Council is launching a new Zero Tolerance campaign, and you’re invited.’

Skinner shook his head emphatically. ‘One thing you should know about me. I never take on any engagements on Thursday evenings. That’s Lads’ Night. No, pass the details of the event to DCI Rose, out in Haddington, and ask her if she’d represent the force.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Tell you what, Gerry, why don’t you cut down on your quota of “sirs”. I’m not really a very formal guy. I look for performance rather than deference, and you have no worries on that score.’

The acting Chief Constable was immaculate, in full uniform as his secretary announced the Ghanaian visitor, and his party, at exactly quarter to eleven. While Skinner never felt comfortable in official dress, on the occasions on which it was required, he always ensured that his trousers had knife-edge creases and that his silver buttons were sparkling. He stood straight and tall as he shook hands with the stocky African, showing him to an armchair with exactly the right mix of courtesy and authority.

Beside him, Andy Martin was edgy, trying as hard as he could not to show his impatience at the interruption to his major priorities.

‘How long is your visit to Britain, Mr Ankrah?’ Skinner asked, as the pleasantries drew to an end.

‘This is my second week. I leave on Friday. I spent all of last week with the Met, yesterday I was in Manchester, and tomorrow and Thursday, I will spend with Strathclyde. I am very pleased. You are the first Chief Officer who has met me personally. The others have sent their press officers or executive assistants.’

Inwardly, Skinner cursed himself for not thinking of delegating his guest to Alan Royston, but he kept a welcoming smile on his face. ‘What is your rank in Ghana?’ he asked.

‘I am Mr Martin’s equivalent in Accra: Head of Criminal Investigation.’

‘What sort of crime do you experience?’

‘Violence, robbery, rape, drugs: much the same as you, only more of it, and with less resources to fight against it.’

‘What have you seen so far on your visit?’

Ankrah smiled, showing perfect white teeth. ‘I have seen many police stations, Mr Skinner, and I have seen criminals in court. But I have not seen any criminal investigations.’

The DCC chuckled. ‘It’s easier to lay on lunch than crime. The major investigation which we have underway at the moment, is I’m afraid, stalled. Our only witness fled the country at the weekend.’ Martin glanced at him, wondering for a moment why he had only mentioned one inquiry, until he realised that he would not want to talk about Archergait’s murder with the Scottish Office people in the room.

‘Still, this is a very fine police office, and we will be happy to show it to you, and to let you see some of our people at work. I sympathise with your lack of resources, yet in my experience, however much you have, there will always be times when it just doesn’t seem to be enough.

‘On the other hand, there can be times when all those resources can be irrelevant. Take our current investigation, for example. Until we can uncover new lines of inquiry, by analysing the material which we have, most of our people are sitting on their hands.

‘There’s another essential resource, of course.’

‘Yes,’ said Ankrah. ‘Instinct. Some things are international. ’

Skinner laughed out loud. ‘You’re right, of course, but that’s not what I was going to say. I was talking about criminal intelligence. The greatest gift that information technology has given investigators is the ability to source facts and figures about types of crime, and the people who specialise in them, more or less at the touch of a button.

‘I thought we’d start our tour with a visit to our intelligence-gathering unit.’

The five rose and were moving towards the door, when there was a light knock and it opened. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir,’ said Gerry Crossley, ‘but I have Superintendent Pringle on the line for DCS Martin. He says it’s very important.’

Frowning, the Head of CID stepped into the outer office and picked up the phone which lay on the desk. His back was to Skinner as he spoke, but the DCC could see the change in his body language as his conversation developed. At last he replaced the phone, and stepped back into the doorway.

‘They’ve done it again, Boss,’ he said grimly. ‘But this time, they’ve changed the target. Raglan’s, the jeweller in Castle Street, was held up just over half an hour ago by three men wearing Hallowe’en masks, and carrying shotguns.’

‘Casualties?’ Tension gripped the room.

‘Not this time, thank God, but they’ve ripped off just about every gemstone in the place. I’d better go down there.’

Skinner turned to his Ghanaian guest. ‘You say you haven’t seen any action since you’ve been here, Mr Ankrah.Well, now’s your chance. If your escorts will allow it, Andy and I will be pleased to take you to see a genuine, fresh, Scottish crime scene.’