There was a personal link between the two men, one that had nothing to do with the job. Ten years after the death of Skinner’s first wife, Myra, Alex’s mother, Payne had married her sister.
‘Thanks, Bob. I appreciate that.’
‘Don’t mention it. Listen, Lowell, this job I’ve taken on, temporary or not, I have to be on top of it from the start. That means I need to get up to speed very quickly on the basics of the force, areas where my knowledge may be lacking: its structure, its strengths and its weaknesses, as perceived within the force.
‘I’m going to need somebody close to me, to advise me and instruct me where necessary, a sound, experienced guy. You’ve got twenty-five years plus in the job, all of it in Strathclyde. Will you be my aide, for as long as I need one? Officially, mind; you’ll come off CID for the duration and operate as my liaison across the force. You up for it?’
The DCI seemed to hesitate. ‘Are you not worried there might be talk, about you and me being sort of related?’
‘No, and anyway, we’re not. My daughter being your niece does not make you part of my family, or me part of yours.’
‘In that case the answer’s yes.’
‘Good. Now, what’s happening outside?’
‘Everybody’s calm, and they’re leaving. They’re all potential witnesses, I know, but there’s no need to ask them all for contact details, since they’re all on a central database. They all booked through the internet, so they all had to leave their details.’
‘Good man. Not that we’ll need to go back to any of them. None of them can answer any of the questions we need to ask.’
‘Those being?’
‘Who sent the hit team, and why?’
Payne frowned. ‘Why? Does there have to be a why these days, when terrorism is involved, and politicians are the target?’
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s our job to look for it.’
‘And mine to help you.’
Skinner turned. He had recognised the voice, from many similar scenes over many years. The man who faced him was clad in a crime-scene tunic, complete with a paper hat that failed to contain the red hair that escaped from it. Looking at him the chief wondered if he would have recognised him in ordinary clothes, or, God forbid, in uniform.
‘Arthur,’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re looking as out of water as I feel. What the hell are you doing in Glasgow?’
‘You should know, boss,’ Detective Inspector Dorward replied. ‘You approved the set-up. Ever since forensic services were pulled together into a central unit, we’ve gone anywhere we’re needed and more than that, we’ve had a national duty rota at weekends. I drew this straw. And bloody busy I’ve been. I’d not long left a very messy scene in Leith when I got the call to come through here.’ He paused. ‘But I could ask you the same question. Why are you here?’
‘I was following a line of inquiry. It led me here.’
Dorward raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh aye,’ he drawled. ‘I know what that means. So far I’ve counted four bodies on the ground. Any of them down to you?’
‘Just the one.’
Dorward nodded towards the figure under the jacket. ‘Not her, though?’
‘Definitely not. Now don’t push your luck any further, Arthur.’
‘Fair enough, Chief; in return, you get your big feet off my crime scene.’ He looked at Payne. ‘And you.’ He paused. ‘Here, weren’t you at Leith?’
The Strathclyde DCI nodded.
‘Then what the fuck’s going on here? What’s the connection?’
‘Never mind that,’ Skinner told him. ‘This is what matters. For openers, we need you to recover the bullets that killed our victim here, for comparison with the ones that were recovered from the two bodies in Leith.’
‘Are you saying they’ll be the same?’
Skinner nodded.
‘And if they’re not?’
‘Then we’re all going to find out how deep shit can get. Go to work, Arthur.’
‘Errr. .’ a deep contralto voice exclaimed from the relative darkness beyond the floodlights, ‘can we just hold on a minute here?’
Its owner stepped into the bright light. She was tall, around six feet, and wore, over an open-necked white shirt, a dark suit that did nothing to disguise the width of her shoulders. Her hair was dark, swept back from a high forehead, her eyes were a deep shade of blue, but her nose was her dominant feature. A warrant card was clipped to the right lapel of her jacket.
She eyed Skinner, up and down, no flicker of recognition on her face. ‘So who the hell are you, to be giving orders at my crime scene?’ she asked, slowly.
The chief constable took his own ID from a pocket and displayed it. She looked at it, then shrugged.
‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ the woman retorted. ‘That says Edinburgh. Okay, the earth might have moved for me last night, but not that much. As far as I know, this is still Strathclyde.’
Payne took half a pace forward. ‘Cool it, Lottie. This is Chief Constable Bob Skinner, and you know who I am.’
She frowned at him. ‘Sure, I know who you are. You’re a DCI and you’re in strategy. I’m serious crimes, which this as sure as hell is, from what I was told and what I saw outside. That puts me in command of this crime scene.’ She nodded sideways, in Skinner’s general direction. ‘As for our friend here. .’
‘Sir,’ Payne sighed, ‘I must apologise to you, on behalf of the Strathclyde force. My colleague here, DI Charlotte Mann, she’s got a reputation for being blunt, and sometimes she takes it to the point of rudeness. Lottie, get off your high horse. We know what’s happened here. .’
‘I don’t,’ she snapped back. ‘I know there’s a dead cop outside in Killermont Street, and two other gunshot victims, but I don’t know how they got there. I don’t know who’s under that jacket. .’
‘You’d better take a look, then,’ Skinner told her.
‘You speak when you’re spoken to. . sir. And don’t be trying to tell me my job.’ She stepped across to the body.
‘Be careful over there,’ the blue-suited Dorward warned, but she ignored him as she lifted the jacket from the prone form.
‘Bloody hell!’ she exclaimed as she observed the shattered head. She peered a little closer, then looked over her shoulder, at Payne. ‘Lowell,’ she murmured ‘is this. .?’
He nodded.
‘And the two men outside?’
He nodded again. ‘The shooters.’
‘So you see, Inspector,’ Skinner said. ‘We do know what’s happened here.’
The DI glared at him. ‘You might, chum, but the procurator fiscal doesn’t, and it’s my job to investigate these incidents and report to her. So you can shove your Edinburgh warrant card as far as it’ll go. It means nothing to me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just another witness, and for all I know you might even be a suspect. My team should all be here within the next few minutes. Do not go anywhere; they will be wanting to interview you.’
‘Aw, Jesus!’ Payne laughed, out loud. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ He glanced at Skinner. ‘May I, sir?’
‘You’d better,’ the chief conceded. He moved aside, letting the DCI step up to his CID colleague and whisper, urgently and fiercely in her ear, then catching her eye as she looked towards him, nodding gently, in answer to her surprise.
She walked towards him. ‘They didn’t waste any time filling the chair,’ she said.
‘They. . they being the First Minister and the Police Authority chair. . felt that they didn’t have a choice. I was asked and I accepted: end of story. It’ll be formalised on Monday, but as of now you take orders from me and anyone else I tell you to.’ He paused. ‘Now, Inspector, tell me. How are your traffic management skills?’
Lottie Mann held his gaze, unflinching. ‘The traffic will do what I fucking tell it, sir,’ she replied, ‘if it knows what’s good for it. But wouldn’t that be a bit of a waste?’
Skinner’s eyes softened, then he smiled. ‘Yes, it would,’ he agreed, ‘and one I don’t plan to have happen. I know about you, Lottie. ACC Allan told us all about you, at a chief officers’ dinner a while back.’