Skinner's ghosts

59

Pamela was at work at her desk when Martin and Alan Royston returned from the stormy Sunday morning press briefing, held only to record the fact that, twenty-four hours after the murder of the Secretary of State's wife, there was stil no progress to report.

Not unnatural y, neither man was smiling.

She had offered to go with Skinner on his search for Balliol, but he had turned her down firmly. 'I can't do anything to help find these kids, Pam, but you can, even if it's only by sitting at a desk beside a telephone, waiting for it to ring.'

And so she had gone to work, to her desk, and the telephone had rung, once.

She waited for Alan Royston to leave the Chief Superintendent's office before knocking on his door. 'Excuse me, sir,' she said, impeccably formally, 'while you were away, there was a call; from a lady. She didn't leave a name, just a number.'

She handed him a note, and left.

Once he was alone, he punched the 0171 number which Pamela had given him into his direct telephone. The cal was answered after three rings. 'Yeah?' said an unmistakably American voice.

'Andy Martin, Head of CID, Edinburgh. You rang me?'

'Yeah, hi, I'm Caroline Farmer. I cal ed about the tape you sent down yesterday. No luck with this one, I'm afraid.'

'Is there anything at al that you can tell me?' the Scot asked.

'Nothing that's gonna help you. The message was recorded on some fairly average equipment, a standard ghetto-blaster, I'd say. Apart from the sound of the tape motor itself, and someone breathing next to the mike, there is absolutely no background noise.

'This tape was recorded indoors, for sure. There's no traffic noise, no birdsong, no rustling leaves, just that motor and the breathing, like I said.'

'How about the message? The news bulletin and the child were definitely recorded at the same time, were they?'

'For sure. The radio sound came from another receiver. If he'd been dubbing off the ghetto-blaster itself you wouldn't hear the kid over it as it fades. Also there's a faint click as he switches the other radio off.'

'How about the breathing itself?'

Caroline Farmer chuckled. 'What can I tell you? You breathe in, you breathe out. From the rate of respiration, I'd say that it was a man, but that's al. Sorry to disappoint.'

'Fair enough,' sighed Martin. 'Thanks, Ms Farmer. There's no disappointment; we real y didn't expect anything more. Have the tape sent back up with your report, please.'

He hung up, staring out of his window and cursing quietly, at the slamming of another door. When he looked round, there was a bul et-headed figure in his doorway. 'Yes?' he asked, curtly, 'Don't you believe in knocking?'

'Not a lot, no. We haven't met. I'm DCC Al Cheshire, and you'l know why I'm here from your fiancee, and from her father, no doubt.

I wonder if I could ask you to come with me, Chief Superintendent.

I assure you. It's necessary.'

Curiosity overcoming his annoyance, Martin nodded and rose, following his visitor out of the office, past Pamela and past Sammy Pye, both of whom looked up as they passed. 'Have you seen Salmon yet?' he asked, outside in the corridor.

'Yes,' said Cheshire, amicably. 'He is an obnoxious little shit, isn't he? Pity you couldn't make that cocaine charge stick. He didn't tell us anything new, really. Stil insists that his sources on both stories about Skinner were anonymous.'

'D'you believe him?'

'Doesn't matter, real y. We can't force him to tel us anything, the way we're set up. Do you?'

Martin smiled and shook his head. 'I never believe Salmon, not unless I know he's terrified.'

'Then I suggest you scare him, Mr Martin,' said Cheshire quietly.

He led the way into Skinner's office. Chief Superintendent Ericson was waiting inside, grim-faced.

'We wanted you to see this right away,' said the investigator. 'Even though you're Skinner's mate, you're the senior man available.

'As you know we searched his premises yesterday, and Miss Masters' flat. Clean as a whistle, as we'd expected, and frankly as we'd hoped.

'But we were sitting here half an hour ago when Ronnie said to me, "Al, where do you feel most secure?", and I said to him, "In my office, don't I?" So we searched, in here, and I'm afraid we found this.' He walked behind Skinner's desk and pul ed out the top right-hand drawer, raising it slightly to free it from its track and lifting it clean out.

He upturned it and held it out to Martin. The Chief Superintendent's heart sank, and his face fel. Taped to the underside of the drawer was a receipt. He looked closer: it bore a signature, a number, 200 the crest of the JZG Bank, Guernsey, and a second number, UK 73461.

'I'm sorry, Mr Martin, I really am, but we're going to have to see the Lord Advocate at this point, with a recommendation. Can you call in a forensic team for us, please. I want this item removed by them, with the greatest care, then dusted independently for fingerprints.

'I think you should cal your Chief Constable as wel, as a courtesy.

Not Miss Skinner, however. We've reached a stage in this investigation when co-operation with the defence team should be suspended, in everyone's interests.

'I hardly think I need to tell you. Chief Superintendent, but we real y are talking about criminal charges now.'