‘You’ll forgive me if I say I hope not.’ The police officer glanced back over his shoulder. ‘My house is on the hill, yes.’
‘I didn’t think it would take long. Have the vigilantes gathered already, and are you the scouting party?’
Skinner shook his head. ‘No, I’m just walking a neighbour lady’s dogs, because she didn’t fancy coming down here this morning. Their names are Joe and Jarvis. . the dogs, that is.’
‘Same as half the cockers in Britain,’ the traveller chuckled. ‘And my name’s Baillie, Derek Baillie.’ He glanced down at the other man. ‘This is Asmir Mustafic; from the European side of the family, you might say. So, they aren’t hiding round the corner armed to the teeth, but it would be fair to say that the natives are restless, yes?’
‘Only a few so far, but word hasn’t really got around yet. And the people who use this beach on a fine Sunday in August, they haven’t started to arrive yet either. They will, though, soon, and a lot of them are going to be upset, just like they were at Dunbar, and at Longniddry and at Yellowcraigs.’
‘Upset to see a bunch of smelly, thieving pikeys sharing their space?’ the man challenged. ‘Just like you and your friends are upset by us spoiling your view?’
Skinner listened for aggression in Baillie’s tone, but heard none, only a hint of resignation. ‘To be frank,’ he admitted, ‘you don’t improve it. There are other places you could park, even in this village. Why here?’
‘We can get the vans in and out easily.’
‘I like the sound of “out”, I have to say.’
‘In good time. But look now, are you a golfing man, sir?’
‘I play, yes.’
‘Well, it would have been just as easy for us to park right in the middle of your course, but we didn’t do that.’
‘That’s private land.’
‘You try telling that to the Rights of Way Society,’ Baillie suggested.
‘We do. So tell me, how long do you plan to stay here?’
The man scratched his stubble. ‘It’ll be about three weeks,’ he replied. ‘That’s the way it usually pans out. Isn’t that right, Az?’ His companion nodded, and grunted assent. ‘The police will be here soon, and they’ll ask us to move. They might even pitch up mob-handed, but they won’t actually do anything. They’ll make it uncomfortable for us, but they won’t find us breaking any laws, for we don’t.’
‘Camping here is breaking the law.’
‘It’s for the court to say that, my friend, and that’s what will happen. The council will go to the Sheriff, and ask for an interdict against us. Eventually they’ll get it, and when we see it we’ll move.’
‘Where?’
‘Somewhere else.’ Baillie chuckled, and in spite of himself, Skinner grinned.
‘You’ve got it planned all right. I’ll tell you what-’
‘I’ll bet you will!’ As the two had conversed, a few travellers had emerged from the caravans, observing the scene with casual interest. From the steps that led to the third along, a man jumped, heading for them as he shouted. He wore shorts, a checked shirt, and Timberland boots over thick green socks. He was short but thick-chested, red-haired, with a full beard that seemed to bristle. ‘I know who you are!’ he announced, speaking to the crowd, rather than to Skinner. ‘Be careful, Derek, this man isn’t who he seems.’
‘And who do I seem to be?’ the policeman retorted. ‘Just another local idiot?’ He turned to Baillie. ‘For the record, my name’s Bob Skinner, and my day job is deputy chief constable, but that isn’t relevant to our conversation, unless you choose to make it so.’
‘Don’t talk to him,’ the newcomer barked.
‘Let the man make that choice for himself,’ the DCC said lightly. ‘Who would you be anyway, the shop steward?’
‘My name’s Hugo Playfair. I travel with the group, and I represent their interests.’
‘Those sound like well-chosen words, Mr Playfair. You travel with the group? “Their” interest, not “ours”? Does that mean you don’t see yourself as one of them? Without getting into stereotypes, your accent more than hints at that. Tell me, go on. Public school educated?’ The man’s right eye twitched. ‘Good guess, Bob. How about university? Oxbridge or red-brick? Degree in sociology? Want me to keep going?’
‘If you must know,’ he said, his voice fallen to normal level, ‘I’m attached to a voluntary body called REG, an acronym for Right for Ethnic Groups. We defend people like Derek, Asmir, and groups like theirs from people like you.’
Skinner glared at him. ‘You’re going to annoy me in a minute, chum. I promise you, you’ve never met anybody like me.’ He realised that his fuse had been lit; mentally, he stamped on it to extinguish it. ‘If you’ll grant me a few seconds’ silence, I’ll finish what I was going to say to Derek. A few hundred yards along from here there’s a flat area that’s kept as an overflow car park. It isn’t in anyone’s line of sight to the coastline; it’s used very rarely, and never in August. As a gesture of goodwill on your part, Mr Baillie, I’d like you and your group to move along there. As a gesture of goodwill on my part, I will ensure that the chemical toilets that I see alongside your vans are emptied by the council and I’ll have screens erected, to minimise friction between you and the local community, and to give you a bit of privacy.’
‘You’re going to get us out of sight?’ Playfair snapped.
‘You got it in one,’ said Skinner. ‘Does that bother you? Do you like being a public spectacle?’ He turned back to the travellers’ leader. ‘As I say, this would be co-operation between parties, no more, and doesn’t imply acceptance by me or anyone else of your being here. You will still be formally warned and asked to move; the council will still go for its interdict, and I’ll take a personal interest in seeing that it’s made as effective as possible. But my job is keeping the peace, and in the short term you’ll help me do that if you accept my suggestion.’
‘Be very careful. .’ Playfair began.
‘Shut up, Hugo,’ said Baillie sharply. He looked the policeman in the eye and nodded. ‘Az and I will talk to the group about it. That’s how we do things.’
‘How will I know what you decide?’
The traveller smiled. ‘Just look out your window in a couple of hours.’
Sixteen
‘This job can be really glamorous at times, Sarge,’ said Kylie Knight, as she surveyed the contents of the first rubbish bag that Ian McCall had opened and spread on a table in a storeroom behind the Speigeltent Bar, commandeered for the purpose.
‘It’s not the movies, Constable,’ he conceded, ‘that’s for sure. Now, before we start, are you happy that you know what we’re looking for?’
‘Yes.’ She held up a tiny hypodermic needle, enclosed by a safety cap. ‘One of these.’ She put it back on a corner of the table and picked up a full insulin capsule. ‘And one of these, only empty.’
‘Where did you get them, Ray?’ McCall asked DS Wilding, who stood beside him.
‘The insulin, if that’s what it is, came from Glover’s fridge. His daughter took me to his house. He carried a supply of the wee needles in the pouch that held the injecting pen. There were ten of the capsules, in sealed packs. The others have gone to the lab.’
‘What for?’
‘So we can determine whether they really do contain insulin. Did Sammy not tell you?’
‘No. He’s been keeping things close to his chest. All he said was that we needed to recover the things that Glover used last night, and that since they weren’t found near the body, the assumption was he’d chucked them in the bin; hence Kylie and me up to our oxters in all this crap. You are going to help us, Ray, aren’t you?’ he added, as an aside. ‘Are you telling me that the guy shot himself with the wrong stuff? What? Was he doing heroin? Was the diabetes just a cover?’
‘No, nothing like that; he was diabetic all right. Look, Sammy will brief you when we’ve got the whole story to tell, at least a bit more than we have now. Meantime, I’m sorry, but get digging. I’d love to help, but this shirt was a birthday present from Becky, and it’s straight out the wrapper.’