Skinner's Mission

19

‘Jimmy, don’t blame yourself. There’s no need. You were misled into doing something that you believed was in my best interests.

‘Sarah and I have screwed things up between us. We’ve both been at fault, and now we need to back off from each other, to see if we can sort it out. And,’ Skinner added, ‘to let me do something that I have to do.’

He paused, looking across the coffee table at the Chief. ‘Do you remember when my wife was killed?’

Sir James Proud sighed. ‘Never forget it. I was ACC Operations then. I saw the report myself.’

‘Can you remember how the incident was handled by the Procurator Fiscal? I was in a haze around then, but I don’t recall there being a Fatal Accident Inquiry.’

‘There wasn’t, Bob, not a formal court hearing at least. The officers at the scene reported that it was a straightforward loss of control due to excessive speed; no eye-witnesses but no indication of any other vehicle involved. The post mortem confirmed that death was due to crushing injuries to the chest and would have been instantaneous.’ He gazed at Skinner.

‘I ordered the report completed and sent it to the Fiscal in Edinburgh.’

‘Not the deputy in Haddington?’

‘No, I sent it over his head. I went straight to the top man and told him I didn’t see the need for a full FAI before Sheriff and jury, and that I didn’t want one. He agreed.’

‘Did you keep a copy of the report,’ Skinner asked, quietly.

Sir James shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t. It was the Fiscal’s property, not mine. I sent him the only copy.’

‘And were there photographs with it?’

‘There were, but I didn’t forward them. I sent them back to the photographic unit. I imagine they were destroyed.’

Proud Jimmy looked anxiously at Skinner. ‘This is part of what’s between you and Sarah, son, isn’t it?’

‘That’s the way she wants to see it,’ said the DCC, choosing his words carefully.

The Chief hesitated, studying his friend’s face. ‘Bob,’ he said at last. ‘You don’t want to get into this. Not after all this time. And you don’t want to see that report. Take my word on it.’

‘Ah, but I do, Jimmy. I do. I need to see it. You take my word on that.’

He stood up and left the room by the side exit. Across the corridor, his secretary’s door was open. ‘Ruthie,’ he asked. ‘Would you get me Mr Pettigrew, the Procurator Fiscal, please.’

‘Yes, sir, but Brian Mackie and Mario McGuire are waiting in your office.’

‘As soon as they’ve gone, then.’

Mackie and McGuire stood up as he entered the room, but he waved them to the comfortable seats around his low table. ‘You’ll have read something of the Carole Charles death, I take it,’ he began, briskly.

‘Yes, boss,’ the thin, dome-headed Detective Chief Inspector replied. ‘Only press reports, though.’

‘My wife told me about it last night, sir,’ replied the powerfully built, black-haired McGuire. ‘She told me they interviewed someone yesterday.’

‘That’s right,’ said Skinner. ‘She and others are following it up today. But DCS Martin and I have a job for Special Branch too. We want you to consult your colleagues in the network around the country, and find out anything you can about anyone with a grudge against John Jackson Charles . . . a big enough grudge to make him a target for murder.

‘We need a full report as soon as possible. Consult Andy Martin as you require, but let me know at once of anything you turn up. I’ll be at my Gullane number over the weekend, or available on my mobile.’ He stood up, almost jumping to his feet.

‘That’s it, go to it.’

He was buzzing Ruth as the door closed behind the two detectives. Within two minutes, she called him back. ‘Mr Pettigrew on the line, sir.’

‘Davie,’ said Skinner, heartily, as she put the call through. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’ll be doing better when you give me someone for that fire in Seafield.’

The DCC smiled as he pictured the mournful, black-bearded face at the other end of the line. ‘We will, Davie, don’t you worry. With a bit of luck, and a bit of time, we might give you more than that.

‘But this is about something else. How long does your office keep police reports on accidental deaths? What’s the Crown Office rule on retention?’

‘There’s a certain amount of discretion on that,’ said Pettigrew. ‘In this office we keep them for at least twenty years.’

Skinner smiled in huge satisfaction. ‘Excellent. In that case, I want you to do me a favour, by having some weekend reading couriered to me at Fettes Avenue by close of play today, under Eyes Only cover.

‘I want to see the report on the death of my first wife, in a car accident in East Lothian, eighteen years ago.’

‘I’ll still have it,’ said Pettigrew, hesitant, and clearly curious.

‘I’ll tell you why in due course, Davie. Meantime, it’s just possible that you might have a call from my Chief Constable asking you not to let me see that file.

‘If that happens, my friend, you’re going to have to decide which of the two of us you’d like least to upset!’