‘Crossing the Rubicon,’ I told him, as I slipped my phone back into its pouch on the strap of my knapsack.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Doing something that you can’t go back on. The Rubicon’s a river in Italy: in ancient Roman times if you crossed it with an army, it was a declaration of war on the state. Julius Caesar did.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Nothing. He won.’
He frowned. ‘Will you win?’ he murmured.
I smiled, reached out and ruffled his hair. ‘I have done already, son. I’ve done what I believe to be right. If I hadn’t, that would have been a defeat.’
I rose and we walked towards the receding tide, out to the spot that James Andrew had chosen for his latest sand sculpture. He was working away, in spite of, rather than with, his sister’s assistance.
‘Can you tell what it is yet?’ he asked as we approached.
‘You sound just like Rolf Harris,’ I told him.
He stared at me. ‘Who’s Rolf Harris?’
Wrong generation, Bob. ‘A very famous man,’ I said, lamely.
‘Does he build sandcastles?’
‘Probably.’
I dug four drinks from my bag and handed them round, then gave each of the kids a banana, Seonaid’s favourite food since she’s been old enough to stuff one in her mouth. I cast an eye over Jazz’s work in progress. ‘A car,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be a car.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What kind?’
‘That’s beyond me.’
‘Like Alex’s,’ he revealed, proudly. ‘With the roof down.’
His older sister had acquired a new convertible coupe, to celebrate her assumption as a partner in her firm. It could only have been her car that he would have chosen.
‘How long can we stay, Daddy?’ Seonaid asked.
I checked my watch. I’d told Trish we’d be back at one; that gave us more than two hours. ‘At the very least,’ I declared, ‘until you’ve had a test drive in your big brother’s car. If you come for a paddle with me, maybe the boys will be able to finish it faster.’
She didn’t see the logic in that, but she took my hand as we walked towards the water’s edge. ‘I like it when you’re home, Daddy,’ she said, looking up at me.
‘I like it too. I promise that I’ll spend more time at home from now on.’
Tempting fate is always a bad idea; when you do it with your kids it’s criminal. My daughter had barely put a toe in the water before my police phone rang. ‘Bugger!’ I snarled, quietly. I took a few paces backward as I fished it out of its hiding place. I checked the number before I answered, and recognised it as our force communications centre, our hub.
‘Yes?’ I snapped, unreasonably. ‘Chief Constable.’
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir,’ a woman began. I didn’t believe her. ‘Sergeant Christie here. I’ve got a caller on the line who insists on speaking to you, and to you alone. He says it’s most urgent and the nobody else can deal with it.’
‘Have you told him that wasting police time is an offence and that wasting mine can be positively dangerous?’
‘I’ve done my best to dissuade him, sir,’ Christie assured me, ‘but I felt I had to call you just in case it was genuine. He doesn’t sound nearly old enough, but the caller says he’s your grandfather.’
Jesus, I thought, what next? I took a deep breath to stop myself from roaring abuse at the woman, and as I did, an outside possibility occurred to me.
‘Is that exactly what he said?’ I asked.
‘No, sir, not quite. He said, “Tell him it’s Grandpa.” Those were his exact words.’
‘What a surprise,’ I murmured. ‘Since it’s family you’d better put him through. Understand also, we do not record this call. Got that?’
‘Loud and clear, sir,’ Sergeant Christie assured me.
A moment later, the background noise changed. I waited for another few seconds to ensure that Christie had cleared off, then said, ‘Mr McCullough, I presume.’
‘Yes,’ a voice replied, one I knew from what I’d assumed would be a one-off meeting a few months earlier, ‘it’s me.’
‘I’m not sure I welcome this,’ I told him. ‘I’m on the beach with my kids at the moment, so it’s a wee bit intrusive.’
‘Give them my apologies, won’t you. Mr Skinner, if you think I’d be phoning you without a bloody good reason, then the sea air’s going to your head. I’d an intrusion myself this morning, from my granddaughter, on behalf of her boyfriend.’ The man sounded agitated. That was a surprise; Cameron McCullough had struck me as a man who was never ruffled.
‘Look,’ he continued, ‘when I sent you that message via young Haddock, it was no more than a goodwill gesture, a sign that I am out of that life and that young Cameron should be allowed to get on with hers.’
‘Mr McCullough,’ this was definitely not someone with whom I’d ever be familiar, ‘you’re out of the life because circumstances made it so. For example, those two brutes who used to do your dirty work are fertilising a cemetery, because they, and you, crossed the wrong man a while back, and there are no obvious replacements available. If you’ve seen the light, it was a police officer who was shining it on you. People like you don’t reform, you do what’s expedient. If you expect me to pass your retirement announcement on to Brian Mackie, the new Tayside chief, or to Andy Martin at the Agency, you’re wasting your time. I’m very happy for young Sauce and Cheeky, but you are still going to be under police scrutiny for the rest of your life, and if you make one slip, you will be put away.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know, man,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m not fucking naive.’
‘Then why are you calling me?’
‘Because this is no longer something I can have our Cameron involved in, or even her lad. It’s dangerous for her and it’s way above his rank and station. This has to be between you and me.’
‘If that’s how you want it. .’
‘It is,’ he insisted. ‘First off, though, are you recording this?’
‘No; I’ve forbidden it, specifically. You have my word on that. But I can’t promise that other agencies aren’t listening in.’
‘I’m secure,’ he retorted sharply. ‘I swept my place this morning and this is a throwaway phone.’
I laughed. ‘This from a man who assures me he’s straight.’
‘I value my privacy, Mr Skinner, in every aspect of my life.’
‘Fair enough. Now go on.’
‘Okay. We’ve established that I tipped you off about Kenny Bass. I did so for the reasons I mentioned a minute ago, but I’ll admit that there was one other. The little bastard really annoyed me. He came to me, in my hotel, and he had the fucking temerity to tell me that he’d moved a load of contraband tobacco into Scotland, too much for him to handle in Edinburgh, and to ask me if I wanted to take some of it off his hands. The bloody cheek of it! Me! Smuggled fags, for Christ’s sake! In my hotel!’ he raged. ‘My legitimate place of business! I turned down his generous offer and I told him to get the fuck down the road and never come back. It niggled me for days afterwards, until finally I thought, fuck it, and decided to sort the pipsqueak out, but do it constructively, if you get my drift.’
‘I get it,’ I told him. ‘Hence your goodwill gesture.’
‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘but I had to be careful. I didn’t want to end up on some Edinburgh detective’s informant list; those things can leak out. So I passed the message the way I did. I didn’t expect any thanks for it, mind; I don’t envisage being on the Queen’s honours list any time soon. I didn’t expect to hear any more about it other than a line in the paper saying that Bass had been sent off on holiday. So when our Cameron came to see me this morning, it threw me right off balance.’ He paused. ‘What the fuck do you mean, Skinner, using my granddaughter in that way?’
‘Eh?’ I exclaimed, astonished. ‘You were the one who used her in the first place. . Grandpa.’
‘The hell I did,’ he protested. ‘I just gave her a wee message to pass to her boyfriend to pass to you. I didn’t intend for her to be a conduit for a police investigation, to be carrying a fucking questionnaire from you.’