For the first time, her expression grew a little less fierce. ‘What did he say?’ she asked.
‘He said you were barking mad, a complete loose cannon, and that you were under orders never to speak to the press or let yourself be filmed for TV. He told us a story about you, ten years ago, when you had just made DC, demanding to box in an interdivisional smoker that some of your male CID colleagues had organised, and knocking out your male opponent inside a minute. But he also said you were the best detective on the force and that he put up with you in spite of it all. I like Max, and I rate him, so I’ll take all of that as a recommendation.’
Mann nodded. ‘Thank you, sir. Actually it was inside thirty seconds. Can I take your statement now. . yours and the guy I was told you arrived with?’
The chief grinned again. ‘Mine, sure, in good time. My colleague, no. His name won’t appear in your report and he won’t be a witness at any inquiry.’
‘Spook?’
‘Spook. That reminds me.’ He turned to Payne. ‘Lowell, there is bound to be at least one CCTV camera covering the Killermont Street entrance. I want you to locate it, them if there are others, and confiscate all the footage from this afternoon. When we have it, it goes nowhere without my say-so.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As the DCI left, Skinner led Mann away from the floodlight beam and signalled to Dorward that he and his people could begin their work. He stopped at an auditorium doorway, beneath a green exit sign and an emergency lamp.
‘Lottie, this is the scenario,’ he said. ‘On the face of it, a contract hit has taken place here. I can tell you there have been rumours in the intelligence community of a terrorist attempt on a British political figure. So, it’s being suggested there’s a possibility Chief Constable Field was mistaken for the real target: my wife, Aileen de Marco, the Scottish Labour leader. Aileen usually wears red to public functions. This evening she didn’t, but Toni Field did.’
‘That suggestion’s bollocks,’ she blurted out. ‘Sir.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Why?’
‘A couple of reasons. First, and with respect. .’
The chief grinned. ‘I didn’t think you had any of that.’
‘I do where it’s deserved. I know about you too. And I know about your wife. She’s my constituency MSP, and she’s a big name in Glasgow, even in Scotland. But not beyond. So, killing her, it’s hardly going to strike a major blow for Islam, is it?’
‘Go on.’
‘Okay. You say this is a contract hit. So, let’s assume that the two guys outside weren’t amateurs, however dead they might be now.’
‘Far from it. They were South African mercenaries, both of them.’
‘Right. That being the case, they’re going to have seen photographs of their target. Your wife is about five eight and blonde. Toni Field was five feet five with her shoes on and she had brown hair. But even more important, Aileen de Marco is white, and Chief Constable Field was dark-skinned. These people knew exactly who they were here to kill, and they didn’t make a mistake. That’s my professional opinion. Sir.’
Skinner gazed at the floor, then up, engaging her once again. ‘And mine too, Detective Inspector,’ he murmured. ‘But let’s keep it to ourselves for now. The media can run with whatever theories they like. We won’t confirm or knock down any of them. Tell me,’ he added, ‘what did you think of Toni Field?’
‘Honestly?’
‘I don’t believe you could tell it any other way.’
‘On the face of it, she was a role model for all female police officers. In reality, she was a careerist, an opportunist and another few words ending in “ist”, none of them very complimentary.
‘I liked DCC Theakston, but she had him out the door as fast as she could. I more than like ACC Allan, he’s the man I’ve always looked up to in the force, and she had her knife out for him as well. She might have been a good police officer herself, but she didn’t know one when she saw one. I have a feeling that you might.’
‘I believe I’m looking at one.’ He pushed the door open. ‘Come on. You’re with me.’
‘Where? I’m supposed to be in command here.’
‘Mmm. True,’ he conceded. ‘Okay, get your team together, and give them dispositions. You need to search the building for anything the shooters left behind. The weapon they used was a Heckler and Koch, standard police issue, so the assumption is, they must have worn uniforms to get in.
‘Tell your people to find those, and then find out whether they’re authentic. If so, we need to establish whose they were, because we’re looking for those owners. Beyond that the work here’s for Dorward and his people. Once you’ve got your people moving, I have to do a press conference, and I want you with me.’
‘Me?’
‘Absolutely. I think Max was wrong to hide you away. You’re a gem, Lottie; the Glasgow press deserve you. Just mind the language, okay?’
Three
‘Can I get you coffee?’ the Lord Provost of Glasgow asked.
Bob Skinner smiled. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ he replied, ‘but given that it’s nine o’clock on a Saturday evening, if we accepted you’d either have to make it yourself or nip out to Starbucks. No, the use of your office for this short meeting is generosity enough. Now, if you’ll. .’
Dominic Hanlon took the hint. ‘Come on, Willie,’ he murmured. ‘This is operational; it’s not for us.’
‘Oh. Oh, aye.’ The two councillors withdrew.
The Lord Provost was still wearing his heavy gold chain of office. Skinner wondered if he slept in it.
‘Right,’ he said, as the door closed. ‘We’ll keep this brief, but I wanted a round-up before we all left.’ He looked to his right, at Lottie Mann, and to his left, at Lowell Payne, who had joined them as the press briefing had closed.
The conference had been a frenzied affair. It had been chaired by the Strathclyde force’s PR manager, but most of the questions had been directed at Skinner, once his presence had been explained.
‘Can you confirm the identity of the victims, sir?’ the BBC national news correspondent had asked. She was new in the country, and new to him, sent up from London to make her name, he suspected.
‘Sorry, no,’ he had replied, ‘for the usual next-of-kin reasons, not operational. However,’ he had added, halting the renewed clamour, ‘I can tell you that the First Minister is unharmed, as is the Scottish Labour leader, Aileen de Marco, who was also present.’
‘Joey Morocco says the victim inside the hall was female, and that she was sitting next to the First Minister.’
‘Joey Morocco was there. I wasn’t. I’m not going to argue with him.’
‘Why isn’t the First Minister here?’
‘Because he was advised not to be.’
‘By you, sir?’
‘By his own protection staff.’
‘Does that mean there’s a continuing threat?’
‘It means they’re being suitably cautious.’
‘There are two men lying in Killermont Street, apparently dead. It’s been suggested that they were the killers. Can you comment?’
‘Yes they were, and they are both as dead as they appear to be.’ Skinner had winced inwardly at the brutality of that reply, but nobody had picked up on it. ‘As is the police officer they murdered as they left the hall,’ he had continued. ‘His colleague is in surgery as we speak.’
‘Are you looking for anybody else?’
‘You’re asking the wrong person. I’m here by accident, remember. That’s a question for Detective Inspector Mann of Strathclyde. She’s the officer in charge of the investigation.’
Lottie Mann had handled herself well. She had given nothing away, but she had made it clear that the multiple killings at the concert hall would be investigated from origins to aftermath, like any other homicide.
The one awkward question had been put by a Sun reporter, with whom Mann had history, after arresting him for infiltrating a crime scene.