Skinner's ghosts

The old reporter was quick on the uptake. 'Jesus wept!' he whispered. 'You don't think…'

18

Joanne Virtue looked up as the door of the interview room opened.

In a corner stood a female officer in uniform, staring fixedly at the wall opposite. As Detective Chief Superintendent Martin entered, with Inspector McGuire fol owing behind, she stiffened and came to attention.

'You can leave us. Constable,' said the Head ofCID, quietly. The woman nodded and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

'Hello, Jo,' the blond detective began, with a smile. 'Don't take this personal y, but I'd hoped I wouldn't see you again.'

The prostitute snorted as he sat down. 'Nobody's forcin' yis taste see me, Mr Martin,' she said, in a heavy Glasgow accent, stil hard at the edges despite her years in Edinburgh. 'There's nothin' ah can tell yis about that fella.'

'Let's just see about that. When did you meet him?'

'Last night, in a boozer off Constitution Street.'

'You'd never met him before?'

She shook her head firmly. 'Okay,' said Martin, believing her. He had known the big blonde whore since he was a beat constable, and had a policeman's grudging respect for her as a basical y honest working woman.

'What was he doing when you bumped into him?' he asked.

'Waving his wad around. Ah got talkin' taste him and he waved some of it in ma direction.'

'Didn't you think it was a bit risky, going to his place?' asked McGuire.

'Naw. Nae danger. Ah've been on the game long enough taste ken the dodgy ones. Wee whit's his name's hermless.'

The Inspector looked her in the eye. 'Did you do any coke?'

She glanced from McGuire to Martin. 'Don't be daft,' she said.

'Ah'm a tart, no a dope fiend.'

'Did you see Salmon using?' asked the chief superintendent.

Joanne nodded. 'Aye. We were hardly in the door before he got out his wee poke and cut himself a line.' She snorted. 'Just as well ah didnae fancy ony. The stingy wee bastard never even offered!'

McGuire leaned across the table. 'Did he tell you anything about himself?'

'Did he no just! He said he wis a reporter, wi' a big international magazine.'

'Anything else? Anything about his work?'

She looked at the detectives, a little cautiously. 'Aye,' she said at last. 'He kept goin' on about this big story he was workin' on. He said it was about your boss, Mr Skinner, and that once it was all out he'd be out of a job, and more.'

'Give me that exactly, Joanne,' said Martin. 'The actual words he used.'

'That's whit he said, Mr Martin. "He'l be out of a job, and more."

And he smiled when he said it, real nasty like. Usual y ah don't chat taste the punters, not at all. Ah'm there for copulation, no' conversation.

But even so, ah asked him what he meant. He wouldnae tell me though. "Buy my paper for the next couple of weeks and find out."

That wis all he'd say.'

'Did he let slip anything else?'

The Big Easy leaned back in her chair, knitting her brows. 'He did say that once it was al done, his source would be very happy.'

'His source. No name?'

She shook her head. 'Naw. And he only said it the once.'

'When did he say al this?'

'Once we got back taste his place.'

'Did he say anything in the pub?'

'No' much.'

'How did you meet him?'

Joanne grinned. 'He came over taste me and started chattin' me up.

He thinks he's God's gift, even though he wis at the end o' the queue when the looks were handed out. I let him go on for a bit, then Ah told him that Ah took neither Bul shit nor Barclaycard, and spelled things out for him.'

Martin looked at her. 'I thought you only worked the saunas, Jo.'

She laughed, a short, hard laugh. 'Aye, but Saturday's ma night off? What d'ye think ah do in ma spare time, ori-fuckm' -garni?'

The Chief Superintendent grunted. 'Nothing you do would surprise me. Miss Virtue. Did Salmon do or say anything in the pub?'

'Just before we left, he went off taste make a phone call, but that's all.'

'D'you know how many cal s he made?' asked McGuire.

'Just the one. I could see him from where Ah was standing.'

Martin nodded and leaned back. 'Okay, Jo. Nearly finished.

There's just one other thing. When Mario banged the door, what happened?'

The woman frowned again, ransacking her memory. 'Well he jumped off me, for a start, and switched off the radio. Then he grabbed his notebook: it's one of those Filofax things. He took something 64 from it, real quick like. After that he picked up what was left of the coke and dived intae the bog.'

'And that's al?'

'Everything,' she said. 'Honest.'

The Chief Superintendent leaned back from the table. 'Aye, Jo, I know you are. Okay, you can go. We'l let you know if we want a formal statement.' He pressed a buzzer on the wal. 'Meanwhile, the WPC outside will see you out. D'you want a lift back to Leith?'

She drew him a frosty look. TheI Going hame in a polis car! That'l be the day.' She stood up picked up her red plastic handbag, smoothed her dress, and strode from the room.

'Well,' muttered Martin, as the door closed behind her. 'That was interesting.' He looked round at McGuire. 'You sure there was no scrap of paper floating in the bog when Neil looked at it?'

'Ask him, sir, but you know big Mcllhenney. He wouldn't have missed it if there had been.'

'Mmm. That's what I thought. So Mr Salmon was even more interested in flushing that page from his notebook down the toilet than he was in disposing of his cocaine. Why d'you think it was so important, Mario, eh?'

'Maybe it was the name of his source, sir.'

'That, or a phone number. It's too damn bad. That piece of evidence will be out at sea by now! We'll just have to see if we can frighten it out of him.'

19

'No! I won't tell you who my source is. The first rule of reputable journalism is to protect the integrity of your informants.'

'Salmon,' said Andy Martin, shaking his head in disbelief. 'You could barely spell "reputable".

'Okay,' he went on, 'let's try another tack. Last night you cal ed Mr Skinner. Agreed?'

The man shook his head, dark stubble showing on his chin. 'No.

I agree nothing.'

'Have it your way, chum,' retorted Martin. 'We know you did.'

Noel Salmon scowled. 'What's the point of all this anyway? I've been here for nearly four hours already, waiting for you lot. I want to go home.'

'The point…' said the Head of CID, pausing and looking hard across the table, '… the point is that Mr Skinner's number, like all his telephone numbers, like mine, like Inspector McGuire's, is ex-directory. We don't like the thought of people – especially people like you – having open access to them, and we want to know who gave DCC Skinner's to you.'

He glanced at the tape recorder, at the side of the table, its red record light shining in the dim interview room. 'Now, I ask you, formal y. How did you come by Mr Skinner's unlisted number, at his Gul ane address?'

Salmon looked up at him from behind furrowed brows. 'I can't remember.'

'Oh, come on. You have the Deputy Chief Constable's ex-directory number in your possession and you can't remember how you got it!

Who gave it to you!'

'I can't remember.'

'We don't believe you, Mr Salmon.'

'Tough!'

'That could be,' said Martin, quietly. 'Let's get this straight. You recal very clearly who gave you that number, but you don't intend to tell us. That's the truth of it, isn't it?'

'Have it your way.'

'We will. Did you pay someone to give it to you?'