Skinner's Mission

63

‘Ricky, Ricky, Ricky. What’s come over you?’ the Chief Superintendent laughed. ‘Yesterday you were so keen to get away from Alnwick that you were singing like a bird.

‘Today we can’t get a fucking note out of you.’ The bull-like McCartney sat there, glowering at the wall. ‘Of course, the song sheet keeps changing. Yesterday it was Jimmy Lee - Know that one? Aretha Franklin does it brilliantly - today, there’s a blues number as well. Three murders and you’re bang to rights for them all.

‘Do you know how long you’re going to get? What age are you, again? Let’s see.’ Martin picked up a criminal record sheet from the interview-room table.

‘Forty-five. Jesus, Ricky, do you know what that means?’ He walked across to the interview-room door, opened it for a few seconds, then closed it again with a bang. ‘You never think of an unlocked door as a luxury, do you? At least I don’t. But you . . .

‘Three murders, abduction, a vicious, brutal, crippling attack on a successful young footballer: the most liberal judge on the bench would give you at least a twenty-year minimum sentence for that lot, and God knows what some of the hard ones would do.’ He sat down on the corner of the table and looked down at McCartney. Then he picked up a photograph which had been lying face-down, turned it over and thrust it under McCartney’s nose.

‘That’s just part of what you’re going down for. His name’s Eddie Chang, and on Saturday night you blew his right eye and a chunk of his brain out through the back of his head. We’ve recovered the bullet, and you know we’ll match it to the gun found in your car, a gun which those tests carried out in England can prove you fired.

‘Ricky,’ said Martin, heavily, ‘you will never be alone again in an unlocked room from this day on, until you’re at least sixty-five years old. Maybe you never will be. As a free human being, you’re history. You’re just as dead as Chang, Maloney and O’Flynn are . . . only it’ll be a few years before they bury you.

‘That’s the consequence of playing the silent hero. Whatever you think that Dougie Terry might pay you, it won’t be enough. My guess is that he won’t pay you anything. It’d be cheaper to have you killed in jail than put your family on a pension.

‘It’d be relatively easy too. How can we arrange for special protection if you just sit there and carry the can yourself?’

McCartney looked up at him, doubt invading his defiance.

‘You can’t see any other way, Ricky, can you?’ He paused, letting his words do their work.

‘Well I can,’ he said at last. ‘Yesterday you were ready to tell us all about Jimmy Lee, just to get away from that Rover. Its contents have caught up with you, but the remedy is still the same. Talk to us, tell us the whole story, and we’ll do what we can to help you.

‘But don’t keep us waiting. Even as we speak, DS Donaldson is leaning on your friend Kirkbride. Once we’ve got his statement we might not want yours. Sergeant McIlhenney here, he doesn’t want to offer you any deal at all. I tell you, it’s just as well for you I outrank him.’ McIlhenney smiled across the table at McCartney, and nodded his head, slowly.

The thug stared from one detective to the other. Finally his eyes settled on Martin. ‘Okay then. What sort of a deal are yis talking about?’

The Chief Superintendent nodded and sat back in his chair. ‘Common sense at last! Here it is then.

‘You plead guilty to the culpable homicide of Eddie Chang, the driver of the Scorpio. You’ll claim that the gun discharged accidentally and we’ll accept that. You’ll also plead to being involved in the assault on Jimmy Lee. We’ll close the book in Scotland on Maloney and O’Flynn, and we won’t single you out as the leader of the team that did Lee. You’ll get time, about twelve years I should think, and you’ll probably do the lot, but that’s better than the alternative.

‘This is a once-only offer. To qualify, you have to give us, locked up tight, the man behind the Lee attack and behind Saturday night’s job. Of course, for a conviction it’ll take more than your evidence alone. We’ll need a duet, not just a solo.’

Martin paused. ‘Now. Who gave you your order to have Lee crippled?’

‘Dougie Terry,’ said McCartney, quietly. ‘After the boy crossed him over fixing a Hearts game.’

‘And who ordered the killings on Saturday?’

‘Dougie Terry.’

‘Why?’

‘He said that he had information that a team was coming up tae do a friend of his. He told us where they would be and when, and that he wanted it done as far away from his pal’s house as possible.’

‘Did he mention the source of his information?’

‘No.’

‘Did he ever mention by name the person who gave him his orders?’

‘No, but we all know.’

‘That doesn’t matter, Ricky, unless you can prove it. Again, did he ever mention his boss by name?’

‘No.’

‘Right, now the question that could decide whether you draw your old age pension as a free man. Was anyone else present on each occasion when Terry gave you your orders?’

McCartney nodded vigorously, as if with relief. ‘Willie Kirkbride,’ he said. ‘Both times.’

‘This gets better. All you need to do now is hope that Kirkbride tells the same story as you.’

Martin stood up once more and walked to the window. ‘While you’re in this frame of mind, Ricky, is there anything else you can clear up for us? You know who we’re really after. Can you tell us anything that might help us nail him?’

Suddenly and surprisingly, McCartney’s big brutish face broke into a smile. ‘Them, you mean, not him.’

‘Eh?’

‘Same deal right? Ah plead to those two charges and that’s it?’

The detective nodded.

‘The Indico job. Twenty-something years ago. Ah was on that one. Tony Manson called me in and said that this lad had come to him with a proposition, looking for money and muscle to back it. Tony had agreed, but on condition that the lad was involved in the action himself.’

Martin sat back in his chair. Beside him, Neil McIlhenney leaned forward, expectantly. ‘So,’ asked the Chief Superintendent, quietly, ‘who was on the team?’

‘There was five of us on it. Me, Barney Cogan, Dougie Terry, Jackie Charles and Carole Charles.’

The two policemen stared at him. ‘Carole?’ said McIlhenney, incredulous.

McCartney nodded. ‘Aye. Ah’ll swear to it. She drove the getaway car. Dougie Terry drove the other one, that we used tae block in the van. Jackie didn’t want her on the team, but she didn’t give him a choice. As far as I could see she never gave him a choice about anything. It was okay in the end, though. She was a great driver.’

‘One of the security guards was shot,’ said Martin. ‘Who did that?’

‘Jackie did it. Dougie Terry got careless, and turned his back. The bloke was about to brain him with a pickaxe handle, but Jackie blew his leg off. That’s why the pair of them are so close. It all goes back to that.

‘Jackie Charles shot that guard, and saved Dougie Terry’s life.’