With Stephanie fed and readied for the night, she held her in her lap and picked up the television remote. She joined a holiday programme half-way through, watching a package on Jamaica, but imagining Monaco instead.
It was almost over when the telephone rang. Bet had gone out to meet an old school friend, so she laid the baby in her cot and picked it up.
‘Maggie?’ Maurice Goode’s voice was unusually hesitant. ‘Sorry about the hour. It’s for a colleague again; this time it’s the guy who took over my old job. I might as well go back on the crime desk. That bastard doesn’t seem to have a single reliable contact.’
‘I think I prefer you where you are, Mo,’ she told him. ‘You can do less damage there. What is it? Another highly placed source claiming to know who blew up Lord Darnley?’
‘This isn’t a source. It’s an anonymous tip-off.’
‘You know how much they’re worth.’
‘That’s exactly what I said, but the editor wants it checked out because of what the caller said. I told them to take it to the force press officer, but the boss said that if it was true Royston wouldn’t admit it. The informant’s claiming that Bob Skinner’s been suspended from duty, and that he’s under investigation.’
Maggie gasped. ‘That’s all bollocks,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve spoken to Bob twice today. I know exactly where he is, and I know exactly what he’s doing. . and before you ask, I’m not going to tell you. But, believe me, he is on police business.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘You calling me a liar?’
‘Sorry, Maggie, of course not.’
‘Just as well. You go back to your editor and your colleague and tell them they’ve been had. Tell them this too. You know Bob’s daughter?’
‘Not personally, but I’ve heard of her.’
‘In that case you’ll know she’s a lawyer, with the biggest firm in town. If you or anyone else runs that story, you’ll find out how she reacts when anyone has a go at her dad.’
Eighty-five
‘Do you think we’ll be in trouble with the Northumbria force for this,’ asked Mario McGuire, seated opposite Skinner in a restaurant in the place des Armes, ‘since Stevie died on their patch? Not that I give a damn if we are, you understand.’
‘Only,’ the DCC replied, ‘if Les Cairns and his chief want to get involved in a public row that’ll very quickly focus on their failure to achieve in three months what our Maggie did in three days, armed with no more than a phone and a computer. But if they do kick up a fuss, I reckon we’re on pretty solid ground. He was one of our officers, killed in the line of duty. As far as I’m concerned, that gives me the right to investigate his death, regardless of where it happened, and to pursue suspects as far as we have to. I ran that thinking past Gregor before we left and he agrees with me.’
‘Did you tell him where we were going?’
‘No, the fewer people who know that the better. If word got to that bastard Dowley, you never know what he’d do, especially after what Aileen told me when I spoke to her five minutes ago. Someone’s nicked a drug haul from the evidence store in Dundee. He was going to have a ball with it, until she told the Lord Advocate to stop him.’
‘Revenge on Andy?’
‘What else? Aileen was talking about firing him, but I persuaded her to back off. Instead the Lord Advocate’s going to give him a lecture about pissing in the right direction from now on. If that doesn’t work, he’ll wind up on the bench in Stranraer Sheriff Court.’
He stopped as a waiter approached to take their orders. Skinner had just chosen a focaccio when his mobile sounded. They were seated in an archway, in the shadow of Monaco’s great rock, and so he walked away from the table to take the call, in search of a stronger signal.
‘Boss?’ McIlhenney’s voice was staccato, but understandable. ‘You need to hear this. I’ve just had a call from Mags.’ He relayed the story of Maurice Goode’s approach, and of the way in which it had been dismissed. ‘What’s all that about?’ the superintendent asked.
‘How many enemies have I got, Neil? Tell Andy about it, and make sure that anybody else who asks that question gets the same response. You’d better brief Alex too, just in case somebody’s silly enough to run it tomorrow. If that happens, I will want her involved. Apart from that, fuck it. Thanks for letting me know.’
He replaced his phone in his trouser pocket and rejoined McGuire. ‘Routine,’ he announced, picking up his beer.
‘So we’re all set for tomorrow,’ said the head of CID. ‘Do you think he’ll show?’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Skinner replied. ‘It’s a gamble, us coming here, but it’s one we had to take.’
‘On emotional grounds?’
‘Operational. Let’s keep emotions out of this. All the same,’ he admitted, ‘I wish I was more certain. There’s something about the whole equation that doesn’t sit quite right, just a small piece that’s out of place. I wish to hell I could spot it.’
Eighty-six
‘Morning, boss,’ Jack McGurk called out from his desk, as Becky Stallings walked into the CID room.
She stared at him: his clothes were crumpled, and familiar, and a shadow showed on his chin. ‘Have you been here all night?’
‘Yup,’ he replied, ‘but not awake, not all the time at any rate. I had a kip in one of the cells. Not too bad, actually; it felt strange, not having my feet hanging over the edge.’
‘Are you trying to ramp up the overtime?’
‘No, just trying to fit some pieces together. Before I forget, we had a call last night from Mr Colledge, MP. He’s been reunited with his tearful son: they’re flying up at lunchtime. I said we’d send an unmarked car to meet them at the airport.’
‘Have we got an unmarked car?’
‘I can dig one up if you want, but I thought. .’
‘You’re right,’ said the inspector. ‘I should pick them up myself. It might help the boy’s memory if he sees that he and his dad are getting VIP treatment.’
He followed her into her small office. ‘I’ll come with you. I’ve never met a shadow defence secretary before.’
‘How did he sound when he called?’
‘Co-operative, and more than a bit relieved to have his son back home.’
Stallings smiled, as she threw a copy of the Scotsman on to her desk and hung up her jacket. ‘I wonder if young Dave’s told him the story of his trip to Holland yet. He thought his squeeze had changed her mind so he went to the most famous red-light district in Europe to get his ashes hauled. Boys will be boys.’
‘And that’s all this one is, too; just a kid, for all he’s a big lad.’ He picked up the newspaper and glanced at the front page. ‘What the hell’s this?’ he exclaimed, holding it up for her to see.
‘What? “Returning Artist Gets First Minister Plaudit”? Caitlin Summers? Never heard of her, but she must be good if Aileen de Marco’s endorsing her.’
‘No, not that.’ McGurk straightened the paper, so that she could see the lead story.
She blinked at the banner headline. ‘Jesus. “Red Faces for Tayside Cops. Who Let the Drugs Out?” Blimey, that’s a warning to us all. Someone’s nuts are in the wringer, for being that careless.’
‘If it’s carelessness,’ the sergeant murmured, as he read the story. ‘The biggest hoodlum in Dundee’s going to be the beneficiary of this. They’ve got him on a twenty-year-old murder charge, but he’d probably have got longer inside for the drugs.’
‘You think somebody’s been bunged? I didn’t think that happened in Scotland. I thought you were all too tight with the bawbees.’
‘Why go to the expense of a bribe, when a simple threat to chuck acid in someone’s wife’s face is just as effective?’
‘Either way,’ Stallings pointed out, ‘it’ll get the media off our backs for a day or so. Their pain, our gain.’ She looked at McGurk. ‘If you’re coming to the airport with me, a wash, a shave and a change of clothes won’t do any harm. Nip off home for a couple of hours.’
‘Be sure,’ he told her, ‘that’s on my agenda. But before I go, come back through here and take a look at what I’ve been doing for most of the night. Once you’ve seen what I’ve found, I don’t think you’ll have any problem signing my overtime claim.’