'I'll bet you think I wouldn't do that, though. Not given the story that's running in the on-line Scotsman, and the Herald,' he tapped the computer monitor on his desk as he spoke, 'and on the latest radio and television news bulletins.'
'What story's that?' she asked, genuinely surprised. She had rushed to the office, not taking time to read a newspaper.
'I'm sure you know damn fine: the one about the terrorists. Their removal was supposed to be announced in the Sheriff Court this morning, but there's been a leak. The beans are well and truly spilled. You're even quoted.'
'What do you mean I'm quoted?' she demanded.
'Well, maybe not quoted, but you're mentioned. It's all very slanted against government as usual, but this time against the Prime Minister and me in particular. All the stories I've read say that senior police officers are angry and frustrated by the decision, and they say also that it's understood you were not consulted. You can imagine what the opposition parties are saying about it' The little man frowned across the desk, with a hint of menace. 'I'd love to know who the source was.'
'I'll bet you would,' said de Marco, evenly.
'It shouldn't be too hard to find out, though. There were so few people in the loop: Milton, you, me, the Prime Minister, Foreign Secretary, three private secretaries and Greg here. That's all.'
'I haven't spoken to any journalists since last night, Tommy.'
'I'm sure you haven't' Murtagh chuckled. 'You're much too shrewd to do that.' He paused, and she could tell that a grenade was about to be thrown. 'You did speak to other people after our meeting, though. For example, you had a twenty-minute conversation with Mitchell Laidlaw, the chairman of Curie Anthony and Jarvis, the law firm. Just before that you made a short call to a number in Key West, Florida; the Pier House Hotel, I believe. A few hours later, you had an incoming call from the same number.'
The Justice Minister managed, but only just, to control the great gusher of anger that she felt welling up inside her. For the first time she understood why Jay was present at the meeting. 'Am I to understand,' she asked, calmly, 'that you've had your new security advisor tap my telephone?'
Murtagh raised both hands in mock protest. 'Heaven forbid!' he exclaimed. 'It would be almost unthinkable for me to do that to a senior colleague. But Greg and I did discuss your outburst at our Bute House meeting last night and we agreed, given the sensitivity of the whole matter, that it would be best if we kept an eye on your personal calls: until everything was done and dusted, so to speak. That's as far as it's gone, I assure you.'
He smiled again: thin-lipped, smug, humourless. 'That's to say it's as far as it's gone up to now. I could, of course, ask Mr Jay to obtain a copy of the guest list in that hotel. I'm sure that with the help of the American authorities… who now owe us a favour, you'll appreciate… he could even identify the occupant of the room you called.'
'I'm sure he could,' de Marco exclaimed. 'Listen, Tommy, I have my own advisors: not on the public payroll like your man here, but friends, experts in their own fields, who can help me do my job better. If I want to seek their advice, that's my business, not yours.'
Murtagh nodded; for a second his sleek, crinkly hair reflected the light above his head. 'Granted. I appreciate that, and it doesn't worry me; I have my private network too. And,' he conceded, 'I'm not above using them to get things into the media that I can't have directly attributed to me. I know what you and Bob Skinner have been up to: you've put a few personal things on the record. Possibly I'd have done the same thing in your shoes. But you know as I do that this will all be forgotten in a week. I'm sure Mitchell Laidlaw told you that these people were handed over legally.'
She nodded. 'That's not quite how he put it: he said it raised a question about human-rights legislation, but he pointed out that these people were hardly in a position to ask the court to stop the hand-over, and he told me what I knew already, that as soon as they were out of our hands they were beyond rescue since they're under American military jurisdiction in Cuba.'
'Exactly. That was the advice the Attorney General gave the Prime Minister in London.'
'All well and good, but let's go back to something. What do you mean by "you and Bob Skinner"?'
Murtagh looked at Jay. 'Greg,' he murmured, 'would you leave us now, please?' As the door closed on his security advisor, the First Minister turned back to de Marco. 'I know,' he resumed, slowly, 'that until he left the country for Key West around ten days ago, you and he had been meeting regularly. At the Scottish Arts Club, of which you're a member, at the flat you share with your private secretary, in his office at Fettes, and, just before he went to join his wife on holiday, in the Open Arms Hotel, in Dirleton. To top it off, I also know that his marriage is in trouble, thanks to his wife's recent indiscretion in the USA.'
Her temper snapped at last. 'You little…' she exploded. 'You've been having me tailed!'
'Not in the sense you mean; my information all came after the event, or events, to put it more accurately.'
'And just what conclusions have you drawn from it?'
'It doesn't matter what conclusions I draw from it. What matters is the conclusions that the tabloid press will draw if they ever find out.'
She pushed herself out of the low chair and looked down on him. 'You little snake!' she snapped. 'Are you trying to threaten me? Because if you are, we'll see how long you last with me on the back benches throwing rocks at your administration.'
'No, we won't, Aileen, because I won't let you go to the back benches. I want you all nice and docile and co-operative, not working to undermine me; I want you on the front bench where I can keep an eye on you. So you go back to your office and toe the line.'
'And why should I do that?
'This is why,' Murtagh told her, his cold smile back in place. 'You may not care about your own office right now, but do you want to sacrifice Skinner's on the altar of your long-term ambition? He's an outstanding policeman, no doubt, but if he thinks he can play politics with the big boys, he's wrong. I intend to take a lot tighter control over the police service, and I want you as my Justice Minister to be my instrument in that.'
He stood up to face her, still not quite at her eye level. 'You asked me about my conclusions earlier. Here they are: I think you care about Deputy Chief Constable Skinner, and I think he cares about you. So here's what I'm telling you. If you do value each other, you will do what I say, and he will lower his profile and stop interfering in things that don't concern him. Otherwise, regrettably, I will fire you and take my chances, and I will ruin him, without a second thought.'
Nine
'What knife?' Richard Cable looked across the table at the two detectives.
'The knife with which you attacked my colleague,' Bandit Mackenzie replied. 'The knife with which you cut his jacket. The knife that's going to land you in the dock on a charge of attempted murder.'
'It's your colleague that should be in the dock,' said Cable evenly. His voice had little accent, but what there was was cultured, suggesting a comfortable background and upbringing. 'He was the one who did the attacking. I was standing there minding my own business, waiting for my girlfriend to come out of the toilet. My phone rang, I went to answer it and next thing I knew I was having my face bounced off the wall.' He reached up and touched the heavy white plaster that covered his nose. 'This is the result. As soon as I'm released from here, you can expect a formal complaint to the Chief Constable, and probably a civil action too.'
'Feel free to consult a lawyer,' Mavis MacDougall told him. 'We'll stop this interview right now, if you want to change your mind and have one present. Call him; tell him you're being held at Danderhall police office.'