Skinner's Mission

15

Skinner was sitting at his desk, working his way silently through his paper mountain, when Martin stepped into his office to give him an update on the Charles investigation.

He listened in silence to the report, shrugging his shoulders once or twice, showing real interest only when the Chief Superintendent mentioned Medina’s story about his notes from Carole Charles’ mysterious ledger.

‘What did Donaldson and Rose think about that?’ he asked. ‘Did they think he was making it up?’

‘Donaldson thought he was probably at it. Mags believed him though.’

‘What do you think the notes might tell us?’

‘From what Medina said, they won’t give us names. But they might give us a better clue of what it is we’re looking for. If the guy is speaking the truth, and we’re right about what he saw, then at least we know that we’re on the right track: that there is a record of Charles’ bent businesses, and the form that it’s in.’

Skinner swung his chair round and looked out of the window. ‘Tell you what I think,’ he said softly. ‘If Carole was carrying the ledger when Medina saw it, then it wasn’t just for that night. I’d guess that Carole kept those books personally, and that Jackie never went near them or saw them.’

The DCC glanced back quickly towards Martin. ‘He’s so careful that he’d keep them at arm’s length from himself. He’d never let Dougie Terry hold them. He’s an employee, not a shareholder and accountancy isn’t his game anyway.’ He stood up and looked across the headquarters approach road to the school beyond, studying the comings and goings. Ruth McConnell was hurrying up the pavement, back from her dentist’s appointment. Alan Royston was hot on her heels as if trying to catch her up. Dave Donaldson, heading in the opposite direction passed them both, with brief nods.

At last he turned back to face Martin. ‘So let’s say that Carole had charge of the books. But where did she keep them? Not at the house, that’s for sure, in case we ever did find a Sheriff soft enough to give us a search warrant on no evidence.’

‘How about a bank safe deposit box?’ asked the Head of CID.

‘Possible, but too visible. I stick to the theory that the Charleses had a sort of head office in one of their properties, like we were told when we were given those two abortive tips. Remember, the ones where we turned up but the cupboard was bare.

‘We gave up on that theory after the second let-down, but what if we were right? It’s possible that the ledger was cremated along with Carole, but what if it isn’t? It could be lying somewhere in Edinburgh, full of the evidence we need to nail Jackie Charles.

‘If it is, then there will be only one person who knows where it is. That’s Jackie himself. And my guess is he’ll never trust anyone else to collect it for him. It’ll be only a matter of time before he has to take the chance of picking it up himself.

‘I know it’s ifs and buts, Andy, BUT . . . Keep a specially close eye on the little fucker, just in case he shops himself.’

Martin was struck by Skinner’s expression. There was a hard, mean gleam in his eye that he had never seen before. ‘Christ,’ said the Chief Superintendent, ‘and here was me thinking that you were going soft on the guy.’

The DCC stared back, coldly. ‘That was yesterday. He’s had his moment. Now he’s back in the pond with the rest of the piranha and I’m after him.’

Andy Martin had always been keenly attuned to his friend’s moods. His forehead wrinkled in a frown as he sensed his underlying tension. ‘Bob, what’s up?’ he asked.

Skinner’s broad shoulders sagged, his grey-maned head dropped, and the anger left his blue eyes. ‘I’ve moved out to the cottage, Andy.’ He paused, as Martin gasped, surprise and concern mingling.

‘I told you that Sarah and I haven’t been hitting it off for a few months.’

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘Last night we had a Premier League bust-up, and it left us with nothing else to do but put some space between ourselves.’ He slumped back into his chair.

Martin gazed across at him. ‘God, Bob, it’s got that bad?’ Skinner nodded. ‘What was the fight about?’

‘Andy, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about it. Every time I think about it, I get so angry.’

‘How long is this separation going to last?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe for good.’

‘For Christ’s sake, man, you can’t mean that. This is you and Sarah we’re talking about. There’s nothing you two can’t sort out.’

Bob shook his head. ‘This is a different me, and a different Sarah, not the Scotsman couple of the month, as you called us once. She can’t cope with my need to investigate Myra’s death, I can’t cope with her . . .’ He stopped short. ‘Never mind sorting things out, Andy, at the moment we’re finding it difficult just to be in the same room as each other.’

‘What about the baby?’ asked Martin, anxiously. ‘You can’t just walk out on him.’

‘I’ll see the wee man every day, starting with lunchtime today. Longer term, we’ll have to see how it goes, but the way it is just now, he’s better off with his parents living apart than putting their arguments before his needs. Whatever happens James Andrew will cope.’

‘And what about you? The loss of Myra has caught up with you, all of a sudden. When you stop to think about it, the loss of Sarah is going to hit you as well. Jazz is just a baby, and babies are resilient: but you, will you cope?’

He smiled. ‘Oh yes, Andy, I’ll cope; if it comes to it, like I did before, by focusing completely on my work. It may not make me a nicer guy, but the villains of Edinburgh - or maybe somewhere else - will come to regret it.’

‘What do you mean, somewhere else?’

Skinner glanced across the desk. ‘Sir William Green retires next year as Metropolitan Police Commissioner. Just between you and me, Andrew Hardy - yes, the Secretary of State for Scotland, no less - called me in to see him just before I went to America.

‘He said that my name had come up in discussion, and he’d been detailed by the Home Secretary to ask me if I would wish to be a candidate. How about that, no experience in the top rank, yet I get an approach?’

Martin stared at him, his mouth hanging open in amazement. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said I’d think about it, and let him know when I got back. I had decided more or less to say “Thanks, but no thanks. I wouldn’t fancy the change in my family’s lifestyle”. Now, things are different. The way I’m feeling, I’m swinging towards saying “Yes, please”. I have to give him an answer next week, because they want to make the appointment before the General Election.

‘I’m sure there isn’t a cat’s chance they’d actually give me the job, but the approach started me thinking. It’s common knowledge that the Chief Constable’s job in Strathclyde comes up around the same time. I just might have a punt at that.’

Martin held up his hands. ‘That’s big stuff, Bob, but don’t do anything for the wrong reason, please. You have to take considered decisions on career moves like those, rather than just taking a punt, as you put it, because your private life has gone sour.’

‘I know that, Andy. Yet all of a sudden I need a new direction in my life. Either of those jobs would provide that for sure, if I, and other people, decide I’m up to it.’

‘Which they will,’ thought Martin. He began to move towards the door. ‘Look, there’s a hell of a lot happening to you right now, more than anyone can expect to handle alone. If you’d like, I’ll come out to Gullane and we can talk everything through, away from this place.’

Skinner nodded. ‘Yes, my friend, I’d welcome that. But not just yet. There’s someone I need to talk to, before I see anyone else. Do me a favour and ask her if she’ll come out to see me, tonight.’