Skinner's mission

17

‘Have you ever gone in for weights and the like, Sammy?’ asked Detective Chief Inspector Rose.

‘Me, ma’am? No, I’ve never fancied it. Running’s my game; that and a bit of squash. I did karate when I was younger though.’

‘You should start again. Join the club at headquarters; Mr Skinner helped start it years back. He still keeps it up; says it’s the best combined physical and mental exercise there is.’

Detective Constable Pye nodded down the line of weight-training apparatus. ‘That’s right, ma’am. I reckon that the guys who go in for this sort of stuff are only trying to make up for other shortcomings.’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Maggie Rose. She paused. ‘My husband lifts weights. Have you met him? DI McGuire in Special Branch. Big bloke. I must tell him about your theory.’ Sammy Pye fell suddenly silent.

Smiling still, the Detective Chief Inspector looked around the Royal Commonwealth Pool fitness suite. Although it was late morning, six men and two women were exercising on the machines, making their way through arduous circuits, working on a different group of muscles each time. The heavy smells of sweat and analgesic sprays mingled in the air.

‘Hello.’ The voice came from behind them. ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Simon Horner, the manager. What can I do for you?’

Maggie Rose shook the outstretched hand, introducing herself and Pye. ‘We’re looking for someone who used to train here,’ she said. ‘We don’t have a name, but we do have a good description. A man with a big moustache, and a distinctive tattoo of a vulture on his shoulder. Does that ring any bells?’

Horner pondered for few seconds, clutching his chin as if it were an aid to concentration. ‘A vulture, eh? We get a lot of tattoos in here. We had a burst of Pocahontases a year or two back, and a few Lion Kings before that. There’s loads of snakes wound round daggers, eagles and other stuff. I’ve even seen a unicorn. But I don’t remember a vulture.

‘When was your man here last?’

‘Around three years ago, we think,’ said Rose.

‘Mmm,’ said the manager. ‘I was only appointed two years ago. Maybe you should ask my predecessor, Calum Berwick. He’s down at Meadowbank Stadium now.’

‘We’ll do that.’ The Inspector paused. ‘If he can’t help us find this man, how many other weight-training places are there in Edinburgh for us to cover?’

Horner shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m guessing, but if you count the other sports centres, private clubs, colleges, office and factory facilities, there must be upwards of a hundred.’

Maggie Rose sniffed the pungent air. ‘Thanks,’ she said, wryly. ‘You’ve made our day.’