Finally, he wound up by inviting questions. 'You understand I can't say anything about current investigations, but that should still leave plenty of scope.'
A plump, dark-haired man in a severely cut business suit raised a hand. 'I believe in arming the police. What's your view, Mr Skinner?'
Skinner nodded, unconsciously, at this question which he was regularly asked. 'When it's necessary, we do it and we're pretty good at judging necessity. Like most policemen, I am dead against general arming. Community relations are tricky enough to manage without making life even more difficult for our officers by hanging pistols from their waist. There's the familiarity angle too. If all our coppers had guns, pretty soon all the hoodlums would have them too. Then, night generally following day as it does, we'd have an increase in their use in muggings and in trivial situations; arguments in pubs, that sort of thing. Apart from all that, the use of firearms is a skilled business. If you're an armed and threatening bad guy, and you see me or any other officer showing a gun, you'd better be bloody careful, because we are all qualified marksmen. I've got a man in my team who could singe your eyebrows from one hundred yards.'
He turned to indicate his host. 'Now, look for example, at the place where Peter and I live in Spain. I'm relaxed about the Guardia, but the local police carry guns, and that scares me witless. There's a young fellow patrols the beaches. He has a bike and he wears shorts and trainers as part of his uniform. His job takes him into the midst of crowds of children, yet he carries a gun. They use girls on traffic duty. Their uniforms don't even fit properly, but they carry bloody great.38 magnums. God forbid that any of them should ever think 'to draw a weapon. I'd bet you that none of them could hit an elephant in the arse if they were holding its tail! Those young traffic girls would dislocate their wrists if they fired those things they carry. That's what general arming of police means, and I hope we never see it here. Right now, I have guns when I need them. . and in normal times that is a rare occurrence.'
A bald man at a table twenty feet from Skinner raised a hand. 'How does a policeman feel when he kills a man?'
Skinner shrugged. 'I can tell you how he — or she — should feel. Concerned, and personally upset. It's a hell of a serious thing. But if the officer has acted properly and professionally, then that concern will be countered by the knowledge that the criminal committed effective suicide by putting himself in that killing situation.'
`Mr Skinner.' A bulky man in a tweed jacket, with heavy eyebrows and a beard, broke in over his answer. 'Wasn't it the case that one of your officers shot and killed a man last year as he was leaving a crime scene, but the unarmed victim was shot in the back? What do you say to that?'
There was a smile on Skinner's lips as he answered, but his eyes were suddenly icy cold. 'I say that was the finest shot I have ever seen in my life.'
He paused for several seconds to allow his answer to sink in, holding the bearded man in his gaze. Then, 'You seem well read, sir. In which case I'd ask you to recall that the criminal in question had just killed a number of people, including one of my officers. And I expect you realise that in such circum shy;stances it was the duty of the police to ensure that man did not escape us to kill again. I'd have made that shot myself, if I had the skill and the necessary weapon.
`Have you ever shot anyone?' asked the man in the business suit.
Skinner nodded.
`How did you feel?'
`Better than he did.
Peter Payne sensed that the mood needed lightening. `Come on, colleagues, let's have another question. Anyone want to ask about traffic wardens?'
`Sorry,' said Skinner. 'You are definitely not allowed to shoot them. Although, on occasion.
Welcome laughter lightened the atmosphere.
Towards the rear of the room, a thin, middle-aged man raised a hand. 'Mr Skinner, could you say something about the level of co-operation these days between European police forces?'
`Yes. I'd say it's getting better — certainly within the EU. We're finding that it's easier for police colleagues in different countries to get together to solve problems. We're all working harder at it, I think. For example, my head of Special Branch now has general responsibility for international relations. And only this week, as you may have read, I was able to send a detective to Spain to advise the Guardia Civil in their search for a man we want to talk to back here about a current murder investigation.
`When he's caught, will it be easy to get him back?'
`Sure. The Spanish won't want to feed him for any longer than they have to.'
The questioner smiled. 'Can you tell me, if a person in this country feels that he may have been the victim of dishonesty in another country, can he make a complaint here?'
`Technically, no. As an investigator, I work for the Crown Office and the Procurator Fiscal. If the crime occurs abroad, then the complaint should be raised in that country. In practice, if anyone on my patch feels that they may have been stitched up in a foreign country, then my department will certainly listen to them. If it is warranted, we might even raise the complaint on their behalf. . unofficially of course.'
The bald man raised a hand again. 'Mr Skinner, about the traffic wardens.
The question session ran on for a little longer, growing more light-hearted by the minute, until Peter Payne drew it to a close, eliciting a final round of applause for Bob's contribution to the evening. As the gathering broke up, Skinner noticed that the thin man who had spoken from the back of the room seemed to be holding back as if waiting. Peter Payne spotted him in the same moment, and beckoned him across.
`Bob, this is the chap I mentioned earlier,' he said as the man approached.
`Greg Pitkeathly,' said the thin man, shaking Skinner's hand.
`Pleased to meet you,' said Skinner.
`Tell me, am I right in thinking that your questions back there had some purpose to them?'
The man smiled, and nodded. 'Afraid so. I rather think I've been defrauded. Probably in Spain, but I'm not certain. Is there someone who'll speak to me?'
`If it's in Spain, and you're a L'Escala dweller, that makes it almost personal. I'll take a look at it myself.'
`That's very good of you. If you're sure of that, I've got a file on it all. When can I let you see it?'
`Well, if it'll keep till Tuesday, I'll be back in my office then. Why don't you call my secretary tomorrow and fix a time. Tell her where we met.'
Pitkeathly's thin face broke into a smile of gratitude. 'That's very good of you. I'll look forward to telling you my story. It seems almost too obvious to be a fraud but, the way the figures add up, I don't see any other answer.'
`Well, let's find out on Tuesday. I must go now, I'm in danger of being absent without leave!'
He shook Peter Payne's hand and hurried off, leaving Pitkeathly staring in some surprise at his disappearing back.
Seventeen
When Bob returned to Fairyhouse Avenue, he found the scene already set in the nursery for the ritual of Jazz Skinner's first bathtime before guests in his new home.