Skinner's ghosts

74

The post lady was early on a Wednesday also, but Skinner was showered and shaved by seven fifteen, ready and waiting when he heard the loud metal ic bang, as the spring-loaded letter box cover snapped back into place. He was alone, having suggested to Pamela that she should spend the night in Leith, to be in promptly for her last day at the Fettes headquarters.

A bowl, empty save for traces of milk and one sad, solitary cornflake, and a half-finished mug of coffee lay on the table before him as he scanned the Scotsman for any reference to the charges laid against him less than twenty-four hours before. To his satisfaction there was none. Both Lord Archibald and Davie Pettigrew had promised him secrecy until the moment of his first court appearance, and they had been as good as their word.

Reading the newspaper, which led with a report of widespread demonstrations against a terrorist murder in Spain, he still felt the cold burning anger which had gripped him as Pettigrew had recited the formal charge, that he had corruptly accepted a payment of one hundred thousand pounds from a person then under investigation in respect of serious offences.

He felt no surprise at all, only an eager satisfaction, when he saw the Jiffy bag, with its handwritten address, a twin of the earlier package, except that this time, the postmark was sharp and legible.

He looked at it, and noted with interest that the padded envelope had been posted in Inverness on the day before. 'So he's taken them north,' he said to himself.

He carried the parcel through to the kitchen, and opened it in exactly the same way in which he had unfastened the first, taking the same precautions. However, when the contents of the bag finally fell on to the counter it was, as he had expected, a second tape cassette.

Quickly he slid it into his hi-fi deck, and pressed the play button.

The pips broke the silence of the room. 'This is BBC Radio Four

…' the announcer began. The Monday news headlines included reports of half a million people on the streets of Bilbao in a mass demonstration, and of the relatively peaceful passage of Orange Marches in Ireland.

As the second story reached its conclusion the radio faded, and Mark McGrath's voice, frightened but control ed, rose once more.

'Uncle Bob,' he shrilled. 'Mr Gilbert says I've to tell you some things.

I've to tell you that Tanya's here. She's too frightened to speak, and she cries all the time, but she's here.

'The next thing I've to say is that Mr Gilbert wants a mil ion pounds each forTanya and me, from the Guv'mint. He says it's to be paid into the bank that you know, the one in…' The child paused as the noise of a low-flying aircraft threatened to drown out his voice:

'… in Gernzie.' He said the name awkwardly and with difficulty, as if he had needed coaching.

'It's to be paid in at exactly ten o'clock on Friday morning.' There was a pause: in the background Skinner could hear a murmur, and the sound of a second child crying. Mark went on. 'Mr Gilbert says I've to tell you that it's money he's owed by the Guv'mint, and that if you ask, you'll find out why. He says that if it isn't paid, you know what'l happen.'

'That is right, Mr Skinner.'The cold, flat voice broke in, suddenly and unexpectedly. 'You know, exactly. And afterwards, there wil be more.'

The detective stared at the tape as it went dead. Then he rewound it and searched through it, replaying the same section over and over again, putting a face to a voice, and making certain also that the thing which even he had believed unthinkable must after al be true.