Skinner's ghosts

75

Skinner burst into the CID office like an avenging angel, sweeping past Pam with a nod and a wave, and beckoning Sammy Pye to fol ow.

'It's here, Andy,' he said to the surprised Martin, waving a cassette.

'The contact I've been expecting since Saturday. This has got to go to London too. Sammy, it's your turn for the Shuttle. I'll give you the address and contact name.

'Now both of you, listen to this.' He walked across to Martin's player and put the tape into the slot. Big Ben, fol owed by Mark McGrath's shrill young voice, filled the office.

'Did you hear?' he asked, when it was finished. 'The bank that I know. The one in Guernsey. I'd thought that it couldn't be possible, Andy, but it's true. The kidnapper and the courier are one and the same man. It has to be. None of that stuff has been in the public domain in any way.'

The Head of CID nodded as Skinner wrote Caroline Farmer's name and the Ml 5 office address on a pad on his desk. 'Has to be, but how about the rest of it?'

'Later, Andy, later.' He handed the note and the original of the tape to Pye. 'Get yourself a travel warrant and get going now, Sam.

Tell the lady I want a ful analysis as usual – with a voice analysis to confirm that the man at the end is the same as in the telephone cal to my house.

'Come on, shift!'

As the young constable bolted from the room, Skinner turned back to the Chief Superintendent. 'There's something else, Andy.' He picked up the telephone and cal ed Ruth McConnell. 'Ruthie,' he barked, without pleasantries. 'Find big Mcl henney, and get him down here.'

Martin looked at him, as he replaced the phone. There was a new edge to his friend, beyond the underlying confidence which Mitch Laidlaw had described to Alex, and which he had observed himself.

This was cold, hard and lethal, and he had seen it before.

'Mr Gilbert's made a mistake,' said Skinner. 'You heard the plane on that tape? It was a jet, a military aircraft, flying very low and flat out from the noise, and the duration. Yet it was after ten in the evening; gathering dusk if not dead of night.

'There are very few places in Scotland where aircraft are allowed to fly at that height, and that late. Every one of those flights is logged and recorded in detail.' He paused, and smiled. 'When I saw Everard Bal iol on Sunday, he went on at some length about low-flying jets over his castle. He told me that the RAF agreed to move the route ten miles to the north. Even so, part of that training run probably still goes over his land.'

Martin started. 'You don't think Bal iol…'

Skinner laughed. 'Everard needs a mil ion pounds about three and a half thousand times less than you and I. That's how many of them he's got already. Besides, he's a man who thinks that all rapists and paedophiles should be castrated.'

He turned as Detective Sergeant Mcllhenney came into the room.

'I owe you and McGuire a big drink, Neil,' he said, 'but it'll have to wait. For now, I want you to get up to RAF Leuchars. Have them plot the route of every plane they had in the air on Monday night, and show you on the map where each one was at exactly fifty seconds past ten.

'Then, I want you to bring that map back here.'

'Very good, boss.'

As the Sergeant headed for the door, Skinner fol owed, beckoning to Martin. 'Now it's our turn, Andy, yours and mine. Let's leave my lovely Pamela in charge of CID, while you and I go for another consultation with Christabel Innes Dawson, QC.

'She'l enjoy meeting you again, and this time, you might too.'