Skinner's festival

'God no! Andy treats her like a sister, too. He's known her sinceshe was a little girl. He'd probably have Ingo deported! No, don't say anything to him. We'll let Bob sort himself out first, then he can sort out Andy!'

At the insistence of Sarah and Julia, no shop was talked during supper. Instead Bob replayed, shot by shot, his round of golf with Adam Arrow. The walk in the sun had added a pink touch to his tan and a bleached hint to his hair. His account rose in its superlatives until it climaxed in his description of his eagle two at the seventeenth, passed off casually at the time, for Arrow's benefit, but in fact, a life-time first.

'And what happened at the eighteenth?' asked Andy.

'Trust you, boy. I was going to gloss over that, but OK. Gave it the long handle again, didn't I. Stuffed my drive in that chest-high rough up the right. Bunkered my second ball. Took eight.

Anyway, by that time I was thinking about work again.'

In a sense that was true. In fact, as he stood on the tee, he had been considering still, in depth, the subject of betrayal.

31

He seemed the usual Skinner on arriving at his office next morning, but Ruth, ever the perceptive secretary, caught a preoccupied, slightly sharp edge to his 'Good morning'.

'Where's Alex?' he had asked, as the door had closed on Andy and Julia seven hours earlier. Then Sarah had told him. He had taken the news better than she had thought he might, but his reaction had opened a new shaft of concern for Alex in Sarah herself.

'Sarah, love, in all of her life since her mother died, the girl's never known disappointment. Some of that I've seen to, but most of the credit's hers. She's never failed an exam in her life. And as far as I can remember, or at least know about, she's never made a serious error of judgement. But I suspect that she's made one this time.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that guy Ingo isn't right – not for her at any rate.

There's something about him that I don't like. I can't say what it is. All I can tell you that in my time I've interviewed a lot of people in the course of police investigations. I've reached the stage when I can usually smell the wrong ones. And believe me, that fellow smells wrong. He's a self-centred bastard, and he doesn't give a damn about Alex. He's just taking a loan of her.'

'Come on. Bob, you're hardly being objective.'

'I'm hardly objective about criminals either, but I'm usually right.'

Sarah reached out a hand and touched his cheek, whispering as she did, ' "Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up, fostered alike by beauty and by fear." '

'What's that?'

'Wordsworth. It just came into my head, thinking about you and Alex. Your relationship is beautiful. Bob, but there's fear there too. Your fear, every father's fear, of what might happen to his little girl.'

He shook his head. 'I wish it was so simple, or so poetic, lover, but the hair on the back of my neck prickled the first time I ever met the guy, when Alex introduced him just as one of the squad. without even saying there was something between them. And the day I stop trusting the hair on the back of my neck – that day I'll be finished as a detective.'

'Well if you really believe that, what are you going to do?'

'What can I do? I can't talk her round. It's gone too far for that. I could put the fear of God into him, but to do that properly I have a feeling that I might have to break at least one of his legs!

And what would that do for me and Alex? It'd never be the same again.

'No, I – what do I mean – we just have to accept it for now, but watch the situation and be around to pick up the pieces when he dumps her and buggers off back to Sweden.'

They sat up until 2:00 am discussing Alex's decampment.

Back in his office, faced once again with the tyranny of his pending tray. Bob could feel the loss of those few hours' sleep, but he persevered until, by mid-morning, he had worked his way through most of the heap of files and folders.

Just after 11:00 am he was interrupted by a call on his private line. He picked up the receiver and heard a familiar voice echoing through a bad international connection.

'Bob, Jimmy here. I've just seen a copy of yesterday's Telegraph. What the heU's going on there?'

Sir James Proud's celebration of his recently conferred knighthood was taking the form of a four-week break with Lady Proud in Lanzarote. 'Twenty-eight days of doing absolutely sod all,' he had announced before his departure. His holiday still had almost twenty-one of those days to run.

Skinner was not in the least surprised by his call. 'Hello, Chief.

I thought you'd be on the phone as soon as the news caught up with you. If you've seen the Telegraph, you probably know it all.

Since the murder of the Guillaum woman, we've had no more incidents, or any further contact from the terrorists. That's nearly forty-eight hours now. We've put as much security in place as we can, including some of the boys in black from Hereford. Maybe we've scared them off, but I have my doubts.'

How's Ballantyne taking it?'

'I don't want to talk about that.'

For a few seconds there was only a whistling sound on the otherwise silent line, as Proud considered the implications of Skinner's reticence. When he spoke again, there was a warning in his tone.

'You watch our friend, Robert. Like most politician's, he's not to be trusted. Look, I'll try to get a plane out of here. I should be back home there.'

No you should't. What could you do that I haven't done?

Besides if you've read the Torygraph, you'll know that this isn't a force matter anyway. Officially, it's in the hands of an antiterrorist squad, and I'm in command, courtesy of our friend Ballantyne. So you just lie in the sun with Lady Chrissie, and try to enjoy doing all that bugger-all that you were looking forward to.'

'But, man, I'll feel terrible, worrying about you lot.'

'Why should you? Do you think all crime stops in Edinburgh just because you've gone on bloody holiday? Think of it as just another investigation.'

Proud grunted. 'I suppose you're right. I have to admit that Chrissie did give me the start of a very black look when I mentioned going back home. How's McGuinness getting on?'

'Not bothering me.'

'And Sarah? How's Sarah?'

'Terrific. She's taking years off me.'

And Alex?'

Playing house with some Swede at the moment. Much to my displeasure, I have to say.'

Take some advice from an expert, Bob. Let her get on with it.

When you're her age, no one else knows anything about life.' "That's more or less what Sarah says too.'

Warning pips sounded on the line. Ok, boss, thanks for the call. Now go on. Get back to your sunbed.'

Proud laughed. 'All right. If you're certain. It's true what they say, by the way. I have to get up at 7:30 to book our places. So long.' The line went dead.

The rest of the day passed peacefully, apart from the distraction of a mid-afternoon bank robbery at the Bank of Scotland in Picardy Place – a crime which was almost refreshing in its normality after the tumult of the weekend. The bearded senior manager's terse and vivid description of the raiders struck a chord with the investigating Detective Chief Inspector, and a replay of the bank video confirmed his suspicions. Within three hours of the crime, arrests were made and the stolen 33,000 recovered.

32

Bob and Sarah decided to give the performing arts a miss that evening. Instead they visited a private view of a major exhibition of Inca treasures in the Royal Scottish Museum. After their guided tour, they mingled with the rich and famous of Edinburgh and various members of the visiting glitterati, at a drinks reception in the Museum's main hall, under its magnificent high-arched glass ceiling.

They had just spent some time in confusing conversation with one of Scotland's leading young jazz saxophonists and his identical twin brother, and were circulating towards the next group, when they were confronted by a stocky, bull-like, crewcut figure sweating in his pink shirt and white cotton jacket, even in the controlled climate of the Museum.