Skinner's festival

54

'I am Assistant Chief Constable Robert Skinner, and I don't believe I'm saying this, but. Grant Forrest Macdainnid, I am arresting you on suspicion of being a party to the illegal importation into the United Kingdom of a controlled substance, namely heroin, and of being involved in its illegal sale. You have the right to silence, but I must caution you that if you do say anything, it will be taken down and may be used against you.'

Macdainnid looked from Skinner to Willie Haggerty, and back again, in blank-faced astonishment.

As soon as the call had come through from Maggie Rose, they had gone in, four of them. Mcllhenney and Macgregor made up the quartet, and all but Skinner were carrying firearms. They had; brought a search warrant and, even as Skinner cautioned Macdainnid, the two detective constables were beginning to take his flat apart.

'Seems you didnae reform after all. Grant.' The intensely angry edge to Haggerty's tone was one that Skinner had never heard from him before. There was a passion in it which was totally unexpected in the normally cynical, worldly Glaswegian.

'Ah remember you as a tearaway, wi' yir heavies, and yir dirty wee protection racket. Ah wis one of the team that lifted ye the last time, but ye won't remember that. There were we thinkin' that ye'd seen the light, but ye had us kidded on, all along. You never gave it up, did ye? You jist got dirtier. How did ye get taste be an MP? How did ye get away wi that?'

'Most people in Glasgow are just as thick as you, so it wasn't difficult.' There was contempt in Macdainnid's voice.

Haggerty's fury was ready to erupt. He took a pace towards the man, his heavy fists balled, but Skinner held him back.

'You're the thickhead in this room, pal,' Skinner said. 'With all that's going on just now, you should have known that we'd have been on you like bluebottles on a turd, yet you still got involved in this deal. You must be fucking mad.' As he said this, it occurred to him suddenly that he might well be right. For a man in his predicament, Macdainnid's arrogance seemed beyond belief.

'Don't count your chickens, Skinner. I want my lawyer here now. I bet that any evidence you have against me won't be admissible in court. Once I'm out, I'll crucify you. The next election isn't that far off, you know. I expect to be a Scottish Office Minister, once it's over. Then you'll see.'

With lazy strength. Skinner picked Macdainnid up and slammed him against the wall, hard. The back of his head cracked against the plaster.

'Listen, boy, to what you are,' he said, in a controlled steady voice. 'You are a fucking horse trader. You're a heroin dealer.

You are less than dog-shit on my shoe. Make no mistake, you are going away for a long, long time. There is someone in this room who's an expert with a hammer and nails, and you're looking at him. But before your public crucifixion in the High Court, you're going to tell me how a Glasgow snot-rag like you comes to be mixed up in a drugs deal with Jesus Giminez, international terrorist numero uno. How do you think old Jesus is going to like having had his messenger, his two hundred grand and his drugs all nicked? Maybe I will let you go, and see just how long you survive. Personally, I wouldn't give you a month.'

As Macdainnid stared at him, fear and amazement replaced the bellicosity. 'What the hell do you mean? Who's this Jesus whatever-you-called-him? I've never heard of him. My only contact was some Colombian. Even then, we only spoke over the phone, and only ever on secure lines.' Macdairmid was convicting himself with every word, but he cared not a bit.

'Not as secure as you thought,' said Skinner. 'We heard you talking to Giminez. He was identified by the best. You wouldn't believe some of the heavyweight things he's done, so why's he messing himself with a wee shite like you? That's what you're going to tell me – and bloody fast, too.' He let go of Macdainnid's shirt front. 'You've got some serious talking to do before the day's out. But not here. I'll see you again through in Edinburgh. Neil, Barry, finish up here, and take Mr Macdairmid, MP, though to Fettes. His lawyer can see him there. He'd better be bloody good, though!'

Macdairmid was handcuffed, and the two detective constables hustled him away.

'Well, sir,' said Haggerty. 'We didnae expect all this, did we?'

'No we bloody did not.

'Fucking ironic, Willie, isn't it. You and I have just made whai for most coppers would be the arrest of a lifetime, yet here we an – well, me at least – absolutely pissed off. We started of thinking that Macdairmid was our best lead to the Fighters foi fucking Freedom. Now we find he's just another drug-dealer.

Look at the time we spent on it. A great result, sure, and I'm glad that stuff isn't going to hit the street. But as far as our main business in concerned, we're right back to square one!'