Skinner's ghosts

26

Sammy Pye was waiting in the Command Corridor as Skinner bounded up the stairs from the smal entrance hal way. The DCC knew at once that, whatever news he had brought, he would not be starting his afternoon with a smile.

'What's the damage?' he asked the glum young detective.

'It's that phone box, sir,' said Pye, heavily. 'The cash compartment was emptied at half past nine this morning. By the time I spoke to Telecom the money was back at their regional office, mixed up with the takings from about thirty other kiosks.

'I've told them not to bank it til they hear from us.'

Skinner shook his head. 'Sam, with that number of boxes, even if we had enough technicians to dust all those coins, we'd be cross-matching prints from now til Christmas. You tell Telecom they can bank their cash. Let them concentrate on giving us that list of numbers in use last Saturday night, at eleven.'

The young man's earnest face brightened. 'I've got that already, sir. There were six phones used in Gullane at that time, as well as the cal box.' He caught Skinner's expression and nodded. 'Yes, sir, BT confirmed that it was used at the time in question.

'Mr Martin told me to give the list to Superintendent Mackie,' he went on, quickly, 'for him to check it out.'

'That's good. Thanks, Pye.'

The young man nodded and made to leave, but hesitated. 'Yes?' said Skinner. 'Something bothering you?'

The constable took a deep breath. 'Well, sir, couldn't we just check the subscribers and see who they are? I mean most of the folk in Gul ane are…' He stopped, sensing a chasm before him.

Skinner smiled. 'Are old bufties, you were going to say? Like me, you mean?'

'Well, eh.,.'

'You're right, of course. I'l probably know most of them. No, Sam, the main reason for checking every call is to prove beyond doubt that it was the phone box that was used.'

Pye nodded, and headed off, back to the CID suite to pass his message to BT. Skinner stepped into his secretary's office. 'Any deliveries?' he asked.

Ruth nodded and picked up a tape cassette box from her desk, waving it in the air. 'Ten minutes ago,' she said.

'Excellent,' said the DCC. 'Let's hear it. Full blast.'

On her side table, his secretary kept a radio cassette player, which was used mainly for monitoring radio news bulletins. She took the tape from its box, inserted it in the slot and pressed 'play', twisting the volume control to a high setting.

At first they heard only hissing, but after thirty seconds or so, the sound changed. There was no background noise at al, only a woman's voice, shouting but slurring, her words insistent, but thick, as if with alcohol. 'Lemme go, lemme go,' she called out.

Then a man's voice – not so loud, flatter, but sounding just as drunk. 'Fuckn' bitch,' he said.

'Lemme go, ya bassa.' Another slurred shout. Then a sound, a crack, the noise possibly of palm meeting cheek.

The hissing resumed once more. Ruth pressed the stop button and rewound the tape. 'There's a note with it,' she said, handing Skinner a folded sheet of paper. He opened it and read.

' This is what we were able to do. The man s voice was a bonus. I guess your cal er used a phone box and that he had the door open!

Skinner smiled, guessing why he would choose to do that at such an hour on a Saturday night. 'The mikes on your public phones are very good. The people you hear on the tape could have been up to twenty-five yards away. Good Luck, Caroline Farmer.'1

He looked at Ruth. 'Some bonuses from my Saturday cal,' he said. 'It was made from the phone box near my cottage.'

'Mmm,' she said. 'You do have the nicest neighbours, don't you?'

Skinner grinned at the waspish dryness of her humour. 'Aye,' he nodded, 'and I'm going to find out who they are too. Have a copy made, and give it to me. I'll send Mcllhenney out to Gullane to play it, discreetly, to the pub owners and bar staff in the vil age.

'He should get a laugh from them, at least, and maybe, a couple of names.'