‘Sir Hubert would probably back me up.’
‘No he wouldn’t,’ the chief chuckled. ‘Do you have any idea of what would happen if I even hinted to the media that MI5 was getting in the way of my investigation? You’re forgetting who’s been killed here. Toni Field was a big name in the Met, plus the Mayor of London was said to be her biggest fan. All of their weight would come down on Thames House if I dropped the word. Plus,’ he added, ‘I’ve got the tape. You’re worried about YouTube, son? If I chose I could edit it, destroy the footage of me shooting Botha, and leak the rest myself. If I chose,’ he repeated. ‘Not that I would, but I won’t have to, because you’re going to. .’ he smiled, ‘. . share with me again. Aren’t you?’
Houseman sighed, then reached inside his leather jerkin. For an instant Skinner tensed, but what he produced was nothing more menacing than an envelope.
‘I had a hunch our meeting might go this way,’ he said, ‘so I brought the things along.’
He handed it across to the chief, who took it, ripped it open and shook its contents out on to the desk: a car key, with a Drivall rental tag bearing a vehicle registration number, and a parking ticket.
Skinner picked up the rectangle of card and peered at it with the intense concentration of a man who had reached the age of fifty and yet was still in denial of his need for reading spectacles.
‘Have you done anything with this yet?’
His visitor shook his head. ‘I decided to wait for instructions.’
‘On whether to hand it over to me or not?’
‘Yes, more or less.’
‘Now you’ve done it, story’s over as far as I’m concerned. If Amanda gives you a hard time, although I don’t believe she will, you can tell her I coerced you into it. So,’ he held up the ticket, between two fingers, ‘you know where this is for?’
‘It doesn’t say on it.’
‘Maybe not, but given the exit they chose, the likeliest is the multi-storey on the other side of Killermont Street, beside the bus station. One way to find out.’ Skinner pushed himself to his feet. ‘Gimme a minute.’
He picked up his uniform jacket from the back of his chair, and stepped into the private room behind it. When he emerged, three minutes later, he had changed into the same slacks and cotton jacket that Houseman had seen the day before.
‘We’re going ourselves?’ the younger man asked.
‘Of course. I seize every chance that comes up to get out of my office; there may not be too many more, now I’m here.’
He led the way out of his room, but instead of heading straight for the exit, he turned left, stopping at the second door. He opened it and called to the occupant. ‘Lowell, I have an outside visit; I could use your help.’
Payne had been working on the chief constable’s forward engagement diary. He closed it and crossed swiftly to the door. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked, then reacted with surprise as he saw Houseman for the first time.
Skinner did the introductions on his way to the lift. ‘Clyde’s come in with some new information,’ he added. ‘He’s found the vehicle Smit and Botha were using yesterday. Well, that’s to say, we know where it might be.’
‘Should we call Lottie?’ the DCI asked.
‘Yes, we should, but we won’t until we’ve got something to tell her.’
They rode the lift down to the sub-level that accessed the police headquarters park, then took Payne’s car, which he had left in the space allocated to the deputy chief. The journey along Sauchiehall Street and Renfrew Street to the Buchanan Street bus station took only two minutes, five less than it might have on a weekday. Skinner smiled as they passed the McLellan Galleries, his mind going back thirty years to a visit to an art exhibition, in a foursome with Louise Bankier and a couple of their fellow students, when he had spotted, on the other side of the big room, Myra, his fiancée, with a spotty guy he had never seen before. They were heading for the exit, hand in hand, with eyes only for each other. He never had found out who the bloke was, but it had never occurred to him to ask. He had been too wrapped up in his own guilt over Louise; indeed the close encounter had been the beginning of the end of that relationship.
He was still dwelling on the past as they approached their destination. In case his daydream had been noticed, he took out the Drivall car key and made a show of peering at the number written on the fob, until he gave up and handed it to Houseman, and his younger eyes.
‘We’re looking for a Peugeot,’ he announced, after the briefest study, ‘registration LX12 PMP. Doesn’t say what colour it is.’
Payne ignored the official entry point and drove to the office instead. The way was blocked by a barrier. A staff member, in a Day-Glo jacket, came out to meet them. The DCI showed his warrant card, and the parking ticket that Skinner had handed to him. ‘That one of yours?’ he asked.
The attendant studied it. ‘Aye,’ he confirmed. ‘It’s dated yesterday afternoon. Left overnight, eh, and no’ picked up yet. Stolen car? There’s nae TV in here so we get them.’
‘Not necessarily, but we need to find it. Is the park busy?’
‘Jam packed, but go on in.’ He pushed a button at the side of the barrier, and it rose.
‘Okay. Two ways of doing this,’ the chief declared. ‘We either drive through very slowly, and hope we get lucky, or we do the sensible thing and split it. Lowell, drop me on level two, Clyde on four and you go to the top and park. We work our way down till we find it. You’ve both got my work mobile number, and I’ve got yours; either of you find the car, you call me and I’ll alert the other.’
Payne did as he was instructed. As each of them reached his starting point, he realised that the multi-storey was spilt into sub-levels, making it bigger than it had looked from the outside. They searched their separate areas as quickly as they could but nonetheless almost fifteen minutes had passed before Skinner’s mobile rang. By that time he was at ground level.
His screen told him that it was Houseman who had made the discovery. ‘I’m on level five,’ the spook said. ‘At the side, overlooking the street.’
‘Good spot. Be with you in a minute; I’ll tell Lowell.’
‘There’s no need. The way this place is built he can see me from where he is.’
Skinner took the stairs, two at a time. As he stepped out on to level five he saw Payne, on his left, coming towards him down a ramp.
The Peugeot was a big saloon model, in a dark blue colour. Skinner took the key from his pocket and worked out by trial and error which button unlocked it. Houseman was in the act of reaching for the driver’s door handle when Payne called out to him.
‘No, not without gloves.’ He smiled. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s a CID reflex.’
‘Understood,’ the MI5 man conceded. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to open the door.
Skinner stepped up behind him and looked inside, then slotted the key in to light up the dashboard. ‘Satnav,’ he said.
‘So?’ Houseman murmured.
‘With a bit of luck they’ll have used it. With even more, they won’t have deleted previous entries. When did they collect the uniforms and equipment? Where? That may give us a clue.’
‘Mmm.’
‘And if they did pick up the gear from an inside source, he may have left us a print, or a DNA trace.’
‘That’s if he’s on the database,’ Payne pointed out. ‘If he is inside, how likely is that?’
‘Come on, Lowell,’ Skinner chided. ‘Think positive.’ He glanced into the back of the car, saw it was empty, then withdrew the key and closed the driver’s door, leaning on it with an elbow. Moving round to the back of the vehicle, which had been left perilously close to the wall of the building, he pushed a third button on the remote. There was a muffled sound and the boot lid sprang open.
‘Jesus Christ!’ the DCI yelled, jumping backwards in alarm and astonishment.
His companions stood their ground, gazing into the luggage compartment.
‘Surprisingly capacious, these things,’ the chief constable murmured, ‘aren’t they, Clyde? You’d get at least two sets of golf clubs in there, no problem. Maybe two trolleys as well.’