Pray for the Dying

Sixty-One

‘Is this not a real bore for you, Davie?’ Skinner asked his driver, as they passed the clubhouse that welcomed golfing visitors to Gullane, and picked up speed. ‘Same round trip every day, sometimes twice a day.’

‘Absolutely not, Chief,’ Constable Cole replied. ‘I love driving, especially nice big motors like this one. I’ve done all the advanced courses there are, too. When I get moved out of this job, as I will, ’cos nothing’s for ever, I’m going to try to get a spot as an instructor.’

‘Good for you. But don’t you ever miss the company? Most cops work in pairs. Most cops meet people through their work. . even if some of those are rank bad yins.’ He laughed at his own words. ‘Listen to me,’ he exclaimed. ‘Second week in post and I’m lapsing into Weegie-speak already. I’m spending too much time with that wee bugger Provan, that’s what it is. Maybe being a lone wolf isn’t such a bad thing.’

‘Maybe not,’ Cole agreed.

‘No, but seriously, does this never get to you? Don’t you ever get the urge to see some action?’

The constable tilted his head back slightly, to help his voice carry into the back seat. ‘The last action I saw, Chief, was over two years ago. We got a call to a cesspit of a housing scheme they’d used as accommodation for asylum seekers. Some of the neighbourhood Neds had given one of their kids a going-over and the dads went after them, mob-handed. It went into a full-blooded riot. My crew was sent in there with shields, batons and helmets, to re-establish order, we were told.’ He chuckled. ‘There hadn’t been any proper order in that place for about five years, so they were asking quite a lot of us.

‘Anyway, we waded in, and got the two sides separated. Just as well, because the local hooligans had turned out in force. They were winning the battle and there would have been fatalities if we hadn’t stopped it. What we done, in effect, was protect the immigrants, but they never seen it that way. We had tearaways coming at us with swords and machetes, and behind us the foreigners were chucking bottles, rocks, all sorts of shit at us.’

Skinner glanced at the rear-view mirror as he paused, and saw him frown.

‘Those riot helmets, sir,’ he continued, ‘they’re pretty good, but if somebody drops a television set on you from the balcony of a third-floor flat, there’s only so much protection they can give. It probably saved my life, but I still had a skull fracture, three displaced vertebrae in my neck and a broken shoulder. I was off work for nearly a year. When I came back they sent me on an advanced driving course. I did well at it. When Chief Constable Field arrived she wanted a full-time driver, and I got picked.’

‘I see,’ Skinner said. ‘In that case, as long as I’m here, you’ll be in the driving seat. Besides,’ he continued, ‘this is good for me too. Having you lets me get through shedloads of paperwork that I couldn’t do if I drove myself, or if I took the train, for that would be too public. And the more of that I do while I’m travelling, the more time I have to put myself about, to see people, and, as important, to let them see me. So,’ he said, pulling his case across the seat towards him, ‘time to shift some of it.’

He worked steadily for fifteen minutes until the car was half a mile from the slip road that joined the Edinburgh bypass.

‘Davie,’ he called, ‘I want to make a detour, if you would. Go straight on, then take the next exit and head left, until you come to the second roundabout. You’ll see a hot food and coffee stall. I’d like you to wait in the shopping centre car park, while I pick up a couple of bacon rolls. It’s a lot less fuss to buy my breakfast than to make it myself.’

‘I’m lucky, sir. I get mine made for me.’

‘I’m lucky too. Looking out for yourself can be a price worth paying.’ He grinned as he saw the driver’s expression in the mirror. ‘Don’t mind me,’ he said. ‘I’m not always that cynical. The fact is, when we are together as a family, I enjoy making it for everybody.’

His directions were clear and accurate. PC Cole spotted the stall as he passed the first exit from the second roundabout, did a complete circuit and parked in the road facing the way he had come.

‘Want anything?’ the chief asked him.

‘No thanks, sir, I’m fine.’

He relaxed in his seat as his passenger stepped out. He watched him in the nearside wing mirror as he sprinted towards the pedestrian crossing to catch the green light. Davie had never seen a senior cop who would go to work in a light tan cotton jacket; even the CID people usually wore suits, or expensive leather jackets in the case of some of the young, newly blooded DCs.

The stallholder must have known Skinner, he reckoned, for the boss smiled at him as he gave him his order. Or maybe he was only in a chatty mood, for he seemed to strike up a conversation with the scruffy wee man who was the only other punter there.

Whatever they were talking about, it must have been serious, for the other guy never cracked a smile, not even when the chief, his back half turned towards the car, slipped him something.

Christ, Cole thought, the wee sod’s on the scrounge. Not a bad guy, my boss. He likes getting the breakfast for everybody, even for a wee panhandler like that.