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'No.'

The DCS paused. 'Think careful y about that answer. If we find out later that you did, it'l go hard for you.'

Salmon paled slightly, wringing his hands together. 'Look, I didn't pay anyone for the number, okay. It was given to me.'

'By the same person who gave you the information on Mr Skinner on which your story in the Spotlight is based?'

The little reporter opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.

'Mr Salmon refuses to answer,' said Martin in an aside to the tape.

He glanced at McGuire. 'But let's make the assumption that the sources are one and the same. I ask you again, who was your informant?'

Salmon stared down at the table. 'Nothing to say. Can I go now?'

'No, sir, you may not. In case you've forgotten, you're being held on suspicion of being in possession of a Class A drug.'

'Aw come on,' the man whined, 'a wee bit of coke!' Almost as soon as the words left his mouth he turned and stared at the tape.

Martin smiled. 'That's right, Noel.' He nodded. 'A wee bit of cocaine… but enough to land you in front of the Sheriff. How do you think your many friends in the media will handle your court appearance? D'you think they won't report it because you're one of their number? I don't think so.'

The detective paused for a second. 'And what about your new employers at the Spotlight?' he continued. 'I've been reading some back numbers. Know what your magazine's official policy is? That al drug traffickers should be executed, and that al users should get five years. Do you think you'l be working for them after you're convicted for possession? Do you think you'l be working for anyone?

'All I have to do is file a report to the Fiscal, and professionally you're a goner.'

He paused again. 'Of course, if you were to tell me who gave you Bob Skinner's ex-directory number, maybe I'd think twice about it.'

For the first time, a trace of desperation showed in Noel Salmon's expression. He chewed his lip for a second or two, weighing up his options. Finally he sighed. 'I don't know who my source is,' he said.

It was almost a moan.

'Sure you don't,' said Martin, easily.

'It's the truth,' the man protested. 'I had a letter, a few weeks back.

It was anonymous. Al it said was that if I kept an eye on Skinner, I'd find that he was straying from the straight and narrow. I thought it was crap at first, but just for fun – and because I hate the big bastard

– 1 fol owed him. It didn't take me long to find out about the Masters bird.

'She was staying at his place in Gul ane most nights. When they weren't there, they were at hers. I kept an eye on them, looking for some juicy pictures to back up the story. Eventual y I got them. Juicy was hardly the word – him in the buff, and her bent over him like she was sucking his cock.'

Suddenly Martin was grim-faced. 'This anonymous tipster. Ever had anything from him before?'

Salmon shook his head. 'Not that I know of

'What did you do with the letter?'

'I binned it, long ago.'

'So what was the piece of paper you were so keen to get rid of when I thumped on your door?' asked McGuire.

The man's eyebrows narrowed for a second. 'Ah, the tart told you that, did she?' he said. 'That had nothing to do with Skinner.'

'So what was it?'

Salmon shook his head. 'Nothing to say.' A gleam came into his eye, developing quickly into a smile. 'Did the tart tell you it was her coke?'

Martin laughed; short, sharp and hard. 'No, she did not. She said it was yours, as we both know it was.'

The little man spread his palms wide. 'And I say that it was hers; that she brought it into my flat and offered me some before we had it off. I refused, of course.'

The Head ofCID sighed. 'And you'l say that when Mario thumped your door you panicked and flushed it down the bog.'

Salmon nodded. 'That's right. So charge me. I'l plead not guilty; she'll tell her story and I'll tell mine. Is a jury going to convict me on the word of a prostitute?'

The reporter was recovering his confidence rapidly – and, as Martin knew, with justification. His scenario had a loud ring of credibility about it.

'So,' said the dishevelled little man. 'Can I go now?'

'Oh no,' replied the blond detective. 'Not so easily. Besides, there's a tape I want you to hear.'

'What sort of tape?'

'In a minute. Let's go back to Mr Skinner's phone number. Was that included in your anonymous note?'

'I'm not saying any more about that.'

'We'll see.' Martin reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a smal tape player. He pressed the 'play' button. A few seconds later, Salmon heard his own voice, echoing from the speaker with a metal ic tone. The two policemen gazed at him, as he sat back in his chair, surprised and slightly shocked.

'But think on this: I haven't finished with you yet – not by a long way.' As the recorded conversation ended with a click, McGuire reached across and switched off the tape.

'How did…' Salmon began.

'Work it out for yourself,' said Martin. 'Did it never occur to you that it was a bit dangerous to call a senior police officer on an unlisted number and to make threats.'

'What d'you mean, threats?'

'What else would you cal that last comment of yours?' The policeman paused. 'But wait. There's more. A few minutes after you phoned him, Mr Skinner received another call on his unlisted number.

If you'd been at our press briefing this morning, instead of being banged up in here, you'd know about it already.' He switched on the tape once more.

' have the child. He is alive, but at my disposition. You wil hear from me again.'

Salmon sat bolt upright in his seat at the sound of the smooth, controlled voice. His eyes widened. 'Was that…?'

'The man who murdered Leona McGrath, and kidnapped her son?

We have to believe that it is. Which throws up a pretty big coincidence.

Two men, in possession of a very confidential telephone number, using it within minutes of each other.'

Martin leaned forward, his forearms on the table. Suddenly, although his expression was as affable as ever, there was an air of menace about him.

'Now, Salmon,' he said, in a clear, formal voice, 'do you know that man? Did you give him Mr Skinner's number or did he give it to you?'

The dishevelled reporter gulped, fear showing in his eyes. 'I've no idea who he is,' he protested. 'No, I didn't give him Skinner's number!

No, I didn't get it from him!'

'How did you get it, then? No more bul shit, friend. You are in very dangerous waters, and way out of your depth.'

Noel Salmon slumped back in his seat. 'It was in the second message,' he whispered.

'What second message?'

'I got it last week. It was anonymous, like the other one.'

Andy Martin fixed his green eyes on the man. 'So how do you know that it didn't come from the man we've just heard on that tape?' he asked, in an even tone.

His quarry looked down at the scratched tabletop. 'I don't,' he muttered helplessly.

'No, you don't, do you? Not if you're telling the truth, you don't.

For if we believed that you were lying to us, in any way, we'd have to look at the possibility that you were this man's accomplice.'

'Wait a minute…'

'So prove yourself to us. Let us see the second letter.'

'I can't,' said Salmon, plaintively. 'That was what I flushed down the toilet.'

The detective whistled. 'I see. You are in deep shit, aren't you?'

'Appropriate, in the circumstances,' said McGuire, beside him.

'Help yourself, then,' offered Martin. 'Tell us what was in the letter.'

Salmon turned his face away from them, towards the wal of the windowless interview room, his fingers twisting, intertwined, in an unconscious show of indecision.

'Come on, Noel,' said the Head ofCID.