Skinner's festival

32

Bob and Sarah decided to give the performing arts a miss that evening. Instead they visited a private view of a major exhibition of Inca treasures in the Royal Scottish Museum. After their guided tour, they mingled with the rich and famous of Edinburgh and various members of the visiting glitterati, at a drinks reception in the Museum's main hall, under its magnificent high-arched glass ceiling.

They had just spent some time in confusing conversation with one of Scotland's leading young jazz saxophonists and his identical twin brother, and were circulating towards the next group, when they were confronted by a stocky, bull-like, crewcut figure sweating in his pink shirt and white cotton jacket, even in the controlled climate of the Museum.

'Skinner?' The man seemed to bark rather than speak.

Skinner nodded, hackles rising instantly.

A1 Neidermeyer. We spoke on the transatlantic horn on Saturday. Remember?'

'Oh yes, I remember.' Skinner's voice was suddenly soft. He felt Sarah's hand tighten on his arm, as if she was holding him back.

A vein throbbed on the side of the shorter man's bullet-like head. 'I want you to know that I'm watching you, Skinner. You fucked me around. I don't forget that. You slip up just once on this case, and I'll make you international bad news. I'll screw you so hard your eyes'll pop. You get me? Now tell me what the fuck you're doing to catch these people.'

A slow, cold smile spread across Skinner's face. Beside him Sarah was trembling in fury. She made to speak, but Bob, still smiling, silenced her with a slight movement of his hand. The chattering of the groups of guest around them had stilled, and a circle had opened up around them. The closest bystanders stared selfconsciously into their wine glasses. 'Mr Neidermeyer – or can I call you Al? You're new in town. You're probably jet-lagged.

And, like my wife, here, you're an American. All that cuts you one piece of slack. You've just used it up.' The smile left his lips.

'So now you listen to me, and listen well. Here you get the same rights and privileges on this story as any other member of the foreign press. In your special case, that means you're at the back of the queue. You want to ask any questions about this investigation, you contact my information office. You don't waylay me in a public place. Understood?'

Suddenly his voice was different, still quiet but hard now, and very, very cold. 'And one more thing. You ever talk to me like that again, or block my way, or use language like that in front of my wife, and you'll either be on liquids for a week, or locked up, or both.

'Come on, love. Time we were going.' He slipped an arm around Sarah's waist and led her from the Museum.