The chief constable’s eyes turned to ice as he stared at her, unblinking. He said nothing, but she seemed to shrink and her eyes went to the floor. A ripple seemed to go through the crowd, a faint collective sigh. ‘What?’ he snapped.
When no one replied, he looked at Hunter. ‘John, what’s up?’
The old man shook his head. ‘This is not for me, Bob,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn’t touch it with the proverbial.’
He moved on to Fisher. ‘Jock,’ he asked, ‘are you going to let me in on the joke?’
‘No joke, Bob,’ the Saltire reporter sighed. ‘I wish it was; I hate these things.’ He reached into a side pocket of his jacket, took out a brown envelope that only just fitted, and passed it across the table. ‘About half an hour before this meeting was due to begin, every news desk in Scotland received these by email, from an unknown address, with no covering message. I had our IT people trace the source. They were sent from an internet terminal in a café in Leith. Apparently you don’t have to register with it; you just sit down, put money in the slot, and go ahead.’
Skinner ripped the envelope apart; two photographs fell on to his table, face up. He picked them up and stared at them. The first was a location shot, showing a building, centred on an uncurtained window. Alex’s apartment building: Alex’s apartment: Alex’s bedroom. In the shot, there were two figures, close together, indistinct, but one, a dark-haired woman, was wearing a blue robe, and the other, a fair-haired man, was naked from the waist up. The second image, taken with a telephoto lens, was much closer. The blue robe was gone, and the woman was unfastening the man’s belt. The figures were recognisable, all too recognisable: Alex, with Andy Martin.
‘There were others,’ he heard Jock Fisher say, somewhere. ‘I chose not to bring them with me.’
He stared at the images, then turned them over. He was about to rip them into shreds, he was about to slam them on to the table, he was about to explode with rage, when he remembered that he was under the scrutiny of a room full of people, that the video cameras were still running, and that the stills photographers were still snapping. And so, albeit with a great effort, he laid the pictures down, and looked up at Fisher. ‘Yes?’ he asked. He spoke quietly, but in that instant, the air in the room seemed to have been chilled.
‘My paper wouldn’t dream of using those, Bob,’ the Saltire reporter replied, ‘but their very existence is a story and we can’t ignore that.’
‘Is that your daughter?’ Rebecca Unthank shouted, her courage seemingly restored.
‘I didn’t answer your earlier question,’ he told her. ‘For the avoidance of doubt, I will not discuss any family matters in this forum with you or anyone else.’
‘Were you aware that she’s still seeing DCC Martin, even though he’s married?’ the woman persisted.
‘Are we speaking the same language?’ he fired back. ‘Are you short of comprehension as well as manners?’
His gaze returned to Hunter and Fisher. ‘Listen,’ he began, in a voice loud enough to be heard at the back of the room, ‘I understand and respect the job that the responsible media have to do, but I won’t tolerate irresponsibility, wherever I find it. The only other personal comment I’m prepared to make is this: I regret that people who take and disseminate photographs like those I’ve just been shown are not subject, in this country, to criminal prosecution.’ He paused, frowning, as Alan Royston approached, and handed him a folded note. He opened it, read it, nodded, then looked back across the crowd of reporters. ‘Some news for you,’ he told them. ‘I’ve just received this message from Mitchell Laidlaw, chairman of Curle Anthony and Jarvis, solicitors. Any newspaper or broadcast organisation that publishes those images, or names the people in them, will be in breach of an interim interdict that has just been granted to my daughter by the court.’ He stood. ‘Any other questions you can put to me through Mr Royston,’ he said. ‘I have a job to be getting on with.’
He swept from the room, impassive, as a young journalist tried to block his way, only to be swept aside by the media manager. He was aware of eyes upon him as he walked from the gym and along the corridor, until he turned the corner and was out of sight.
He took the stairs two at a time, and strode along to his new office, pausing to open the door of its anteroom, where his secretary sat. ‘I’ll return Andy Martin’s call now, Gerry,’ he said. ‘I want you to listen in to this one,’ he added.
He had just eased himself in behind his desk when the phone rang. He was about to snatch it up when he stopped himself, and took a deep breath. ‘Calm,’ he whispered.
‘Bob,’ said Andy Martin.
‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ he asked, conversationally, as if his toe had just been stood on, nothing more. ‘My introduction to the media as chief constable, and I find myself looking at my daughter, in the buff, easing her way into your jockeys.’
‘Christ, Bob, listen-’
‘I don’t want to listen to you, Andy,’ he said. ‘I know it takes two to tango, but you have to understand that I’m biased here. I will do anything to protect my daughter, and her interests, private and professional. I’m going to assume that Karen knows about this, or will find out. Well, you make fucking certain that you give her my sincere, personal apologies for Alex’s involvement with you. And this is personal too; you can be sure that I will do everything in my power to thwart any thought you might have of ever working in the same city as my kid again. You will not see her again, you will not approach her, you will not accept any misguided calls she may make to you. Now, I don’t imagine that you rang her doorbell and asked her if she fancied a shag. You were in her house, so I must assume that she invited you there. Well, she’s got my genes, so in her personal life she’s going to make a few mistakes. To be honest, I always regarded you as one of them, although I kept that to myself when you were together. I’ll help her through this. What you have to do now is get your sorry arse home, get down on your knees, and rescue what’s left of your marriage, if you can. As for your career, you’ve crossed me, so that’s fucked.’
He replaced the phone in its cradle, gently. A few seconds later, Gerry Crossley came into the room, his face paler than before. ‘Boss, did you really want me to hear that?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ the chief constable replied. ‘If I hadn’t known you were on the line, I reckon I would really have lost it with my former best friend. Now, get me my daughter, please. . but don’t listen in this time.’
It took the secretary a few minutes to make the connection, but finally he buzzed through. ‘I have Ms Skinner for you, sir,’ he said.
‘Hi, kid,’ Bob murmured, as she came on line. ‘You’ve had a tough afternoon, I hear.’
‘Oh, Pops,’ she sighed; he wondered if she was in tears. ‘I’m so sorry; for this to have happened today of all days, and for it to have embarrassed you. I heard about your press briefing from Alan Royston; it’s just awful. There’s nothing I can say to excuse myself. It was a one-off, a meeting between the two of us, for a chat, as it was for a while, until it got out of control. I should never have put us in that position. It was my fault, so don’t be too hard on Andy.’
‘Alexis,’ he told her, ‘I couldn’t be too hard on Andy, short of killing him. You’re vulnerable where he’s concerned, and he took advantage of you. The guy’s got a pregnant wife, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Dad, don’t make me feel worse. You and he have been friends for ever. He even gave you a clear run at your new job.’
‘I never asked him to do that. Anyway, the truth is, he wouldn’t have had a prayer against me, and he knew it.’
‘I’ll give tonight’s dinner a miss,’ said Alex suddenly.
‘Then it’s cancelled,’ her father replied firmly. ‘If you’re not there, it doesn’t go ahead, and Aileen will back me in that. You’ll be among friends, so you’re coming.’
‘I need them,’ she confessed heavily. ‘I’ve just had Karen on the phone. That’s why I was delayed taking your call. Mitchell Laidlaw wasn’t going to let the switchboard put her through, but I insisted.’