The DCC looked after him as the door closed. 'That boy, Maggie — I want him on my team. Andy will have CID officers on his personal staff. He'll want McIlhenney, I know.
Make sure that Pye's another. Anyone his age who volunteers for that task deserves looking after.'
Rose smiled and nodded. 'Very good, sir. Will you tell Mr Radcliffe or will I?'
`No, you leave that to me. It's only courtesy for me to tell him that I'm pinching one of his bright lads. But for now, I'm off to make a formal identification of Roy Old. I owe that much to Lottie. What am I talking about! I owe her more than I'll ever be able to say.'
`Steady on, boss. Think back to what you told Alison Higgins.'
Skinner took his right hand from the door handle. 'What I said to Ali about guilt and recrimination, I said to make her feel better. What I feel in here,' he tapped his chest, 'I can't change.'
SEVENTEEN
To outward appearances, Death seemed to have dealt relatively gently with Roy Old.
Skinner held his breath as he unzipped the body bag, but sighed loudly, with something which on another day would have been classed as relief when he saw that his colleague's features had survived the impact intact. Eyes closed, he looked almost serene.
`He could be asleep,' said Bob to Sarah, who was standing behind him. 'What would be the cause of death, d'you think?'
The death certificate will say multiple fractures and shock. The soldiers who brought him in said that he had been thrown clear of his flight seat on impact, and landed face up on a rock. His spine and his pelvis were shattered, and the back of his head was smashed in.'
Skinner sighed. 'But he'll look all right for Lottie, and that's the main thing. I'll arrange for an undertaker to come for him as soon as I can.' He zipped up the bag and stood up.
`What are we going to do with the bodies once they're all recovered?' asked Sarah. 'We have to move them somewhere more, more.
He laid his hands on her shoulders. 'That's taken care of. Charlie Radcliffe has commandeered the Aubigny Centre in Haddington. As soon as recovery is complete we'll move them down there for identification by relatives.'
She was barely listening to him. 'And undertakers,' she went on. 'What will we do about undertakers?' She sounded increasingly distressed. Bob put an arm around her shoulders.
`There are specialists,' he said quietly. 'People who are able to cope with something on this scale. They go from disaster to disaster, around the world. The airline is bringing them in.
They're on their way here now, and they'll take care of the first part of it. All that the family undertakers have to do is make their local funeral arrangements. The specialists will ensure that the victims from London and the South, and the foreign nationals, are all ready to be shipped home, wherever that may be, as soon as they're identified.'
Her shoulders shivered under his touch. 'God, Bob,' she whispered, 'that someone could make a business out of that. It all sounds so cold and regimented.'
It is — but it's necessary. You don't think the Co-op undertaker in Tranent could handle this, do you? The families need to know that their people are being looked after properly and as quickly as possible.'
He led her out of the tent. It was almost full now, of black bags in still rows. He squeezed her shoulder. 'Are you holding up all right?'
Of course,' she snapped defensively. 'There's still work to be done. There are another eighteen bodies to be recovered.'
`Make that sixteen,' said Bob, nodding towards two laden stretchers, as their soldier bearers made their way carefully towards them.
`Right,' said Sarah, freeing herself of his encircling arm and disappearing back into the tent.
He watched her go, frowning with his concern for her.
EIGHTEEN
‘Bloody 'ell, Bob. Every time I see you it's in the midst of chaos.
Skinner turned, his frown disappearing at the sound of a familiar voice. The newcomer had a friendly, inquisitive smile, and receding, gingery, close-cropped hair. He was dressed in a comfortable well-worn Harris Tweed jacket, a check shirt, and navy slacks.
His black shoes shone even in the watery light.
He stood only five feet four inches, not far from a foot shorter than Skinner, yet he was powerfully built, and even in his loose-fitting clothes, the width of his shoulders gave him a chunky, almost round appearance.
It's the life we lead, Adam. It's good to see you again. I'm only sorry it's here.
The two men shook hands. They made an odd and incongruous couple, stood there on the moorland. Mutt and Jeff, Little and Large, Bootsie and Snudge, likely to raise a laugh from any unknowing passer-by. Yet Bob Skinner and Adam Arrow were well-matched, and they had a bond between them that would have wiped such a smile away quickly.
Occasionally, in dangerous places, dangerous people would laugh at the idea of Captain Arrow as a figure of menace. No one had ever laughed twice. No one at all had ever laughed at Bob Skinner.
Just over a year before, the policeman and the soldier had been together as Skinner had played out some of the most dangerous scenes of his life, leading to a climax in which Arrow had stopped a bullet. The nature of their jobs was such that they had not seen each other since the second day after that event, and now as they stood together, each knew that the other was thinking back to that night.
`So, my friend,' said Skinner at last. 'You're in MOD Security now, are you?'
Another bloody contradiction in terms,' said the little round man, smiling.
`Had you finally run out of terrorists, then?'
`That'll be the day. I was past my sell-by date where I was, though. I knew that. The opposition knew that. Fortunately, so did my senior officers.'
`You were all right after…?' The question went unfinished.
Arrow shrugged his disproportionate shoulders. 'Sure. I had a cracked rib, but that were all. The jacket did its stuff all right. First time I'd ever been shot, that were; and it's my ambition never to get shot again, I'll tell you.'
Skinner smiled, remembering old pain. 'Mine too.' He paused. 'Still, we're both driving desks now, so it's one we've got a good chance of achieving.'
`Hope you're right,' said Arrow, sounding unconvinced. `Trouble is, there are times when it's difficult to stay behind the desk. Know what I mean? From what I heard, it even follows you on to t' golf course!'
`Hah!' said Skinner sharply. 'That's another story. Some time I'll tell you all about it. But for now, we've got our hands full here.'
`Too right. What's the picture, then?'
Skinner pointed towards the mortuary tent. 'There are one hundred and eighty-eight bodies in there.'
And our Secretary of State?'
`Not yet. Not as far as I know.' Skinner grimaced. 'I have a feeling we won't find him on this site… if we find him anywhere, that is.'
`What d'you mean?'
I mean, my friend, that there was an explosion on the plane, and that from witness statements, from the seat plan and from the condition of the wreckage, your Secretary of State was right in the middle of it.'
`Shit!' Arrow whispered.
`Major Legge and his boys are up in their chopper right now, checking around the moor for other wreckage. So far there's been no word, but let's go back to the Command vehicle and check again.'
As they walked to the mobile headquarters, Skinner briefed his soldier friend on the disaster morning as it had developed. `Your colleagues from Scottish HQ at Craigiehall have been a great help,' he said. 'If it hadn't been for them we'd still have bodies lying uncovered on open ground.'