Command Suite.
'Tell you something,' he said quietly as she took her seat. 'I ain't half going to miss the big fella's presence. Whoever set Bob up has done Leona McGrath's killer a favour.'
'… Unless, of course, they're one and the same person.'
He looked down at her. 'The same thought's been niggling away at me. But let's not turn a long shot into a conclusion. The boss would tel you that setting up the McGrath crime was a ful -time job. He'd say that the guy wouldn't have had time to spare for him.'
The Head of CID switched his gaze to the far corner. 'Sammy,' he cal ed, 'come through and give me a report on the supplier of those false plates.'
'I've been waiting to do just that, sir,' the young Detective Constable replied. 'I think I might be on to something.'
Martin had been heading for his office. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Pye as he rose from his desk. 'You do, do you? Good work if you are, lad. Come on, let's hear it.' He strode back into his office, with his junior at his heels.
'It's like this, boss,' said the constable, closing the door behind him. 'I was plugging away like you told me to, round the used car network, and round our informants, without getting as much as a 'w1" sniff about anyone supplying dodgy plates. I thought I had run it dry: then I had an idea.
'Remember those two guys we encountered in the Jackie Charles investigation? Whitehead and Bailey, the two salesmen who worked for him in the Seafield showroom?'
'Yes,' Martin acknowledged, 'I remember we interviewed them.
But they were on the up and up, weren't they?'
'That's right. The inquiry concluded that the showroom was the only legitimate part of Charles's business portfolio, and that they were exactly as they seemed, honest car salesmen.'
The Chief Superintendent nodded. 'Go on.'
'Well, sir, I thought, wasn't that a bit unlikely, really? Everything else about Charles was completely bent. Surely some of it must have washed over the car operation. Then I remembered that guy McCartney, the heavy who was nicked in Ainwick with the, eh… incriminating cargo… in his boot. He was one of Charles's team, and the plates on that big white Rover of his turned out to have been false too.
'So I took a chance. I went down to Seafield, to see Bailey and Whitehead. You know that Jackie's showroom was rebuilt, and that his dad's managing it for him?'
'Yes.'
'The old man was out when I called, so I saw the two salesmen together, without being bothered by him interfering, or intimidating them by his presence. I told them that we were wrapping up the prosecution case against Ricky McCartney, and that we had info that Jackie's workshop, behind the showroom, had put false plates on the Rover. I asked if they could confirm it, but I said that we were pretty sure of our ground. Of course, I sort of pointed out that it would mean the end for the business. The finance companies would blacklist it; that sort of thing.'
'So?'
'They bought it. Bailey swore blind, and Whitehead backed him up, that nothing dodgy ever happened at Seafield. Then he told me that on the morning of the incident that McCartney was nicked for, Dougie Terry, Charles's minder, cal ed him. He asked him to pick up a parcel from a workshop just off Dairy Road, and deliver it to big Ricky at his home address.
'Bailey said that he didn't look in the parcel, but that it was long and rectangular and was about the right weight for a couple of plates.'
'Could he remember the address of the workshop?' asked Martin, eagerly.
'Yes, sir. He gave it to me. He said the guy who handed over the package was cal ed Eddie Sweeney. I checked, but it doesn't appear that he's known to us.'
The Head of CID smiled. 'Good work right enough, Sammy. Of course, there's nothing to link our man on the moors with Sweeney, but Bailey's information gives us grounds to pull him in. When we squeeze him, you never know what'l pop out.
'I should really turn it over to Superintendent Pringle. It's his divisional area. But what the hell, you did the legwork on this, so let's you and I pay a call on Mr Sweeney ourselves.'
47
As Lord Archibald had anticipated. Skinner's way was blocked by a small group of photographers as he, Mitchell Laidlaw and Alex stepped out of their taxi in Chambers Street. Beside them stood the exultant figure of Noel Salmon.
'Look this way, Bob,' the Spotlight journalist cal ed, a triumphant edge to his tone.
'What,' the policeman called out, with an easy contemptuous smile.
'You mean short, cross-eyed and crumpled?' Several of the photographers laughed.
'Sorry about this, Bob,' said one, a bulky, bearded figure whom Skinner knew well, raising his camera to focus on the group.
'That's al right, Denis. I've never objected to being photographed before, so why should I now?' He looked to his left, at Laidlaw and Alex. 'Just walk on,' he said, 'and smile if you look into anyone's lens.'
'How does it feel to have a crook for a father, Miss Skinner?'
Alex stopped in her tracks and turned to face her heckler, the Spotlight reporter. She stared at him with something closely related to the unblinking glare with which her father had transfixed a thousand criminals through his career. 'Are you just plain stupid, or can you really stand the cost of a defamation action, Mr Salmon?' she asked him, edging closer to him, as the little man backed off.
'Because when this is over, what you've just said will give us grounds.'
'Come on, lass,' said her father. 'That'll come in due course. Let's not keep Archie waiting.'
The trio strode off through a gateway and towards the entrance to the Crown Office, from which Scotland's criminal prosecution service is run. The photographers watched them leave. They were not al owed beyond the pavement, since the building also housed Edinburgh's Sheriff Court, from whose precincts they were always banned.
Inside the recently built office, Laidlaw headed for the reception desk. His approach was anticipated by a young woman in a smart grey suit. 'Hello,' she introduced herself. 'I'm Susan Shaw, the Lord Advocate's assistant. If you'll follow me, I'll take you straight to Lord Archibald.'
They walked in silence as she led them along a corridor which ended at a light oak door. She knocked lightly upon it, then held it open for Skinner and his companions.
Lord Archibald crossed the room to met them, smal, grey and twinkling, his hand outstretched in greeting. 'Hello Bob,' he said, then smiled as he saw the other man. 'I'm not too surprised to see you here, Mitch.'
'It's an honour to be in your new chambers, My Lord,' Laidlaw responded. He and Archie Nelson had been contemporaries at university, and had served their legal apprenticeships in the same office. He turned to Alex. 'This is my assistant. Miss Skinner.'
The LordAdvocate's eyebrows rose in surprise, as he looked from Alex, to her father and back again. 'We'd better watch our step, then,' he said, managing to sound not in the least patronising.
'Come, let's sit down.' He turned towards a big conference table to the left of his desk. On the far side, sat two men, unsmiling, in dark suits. Neither rose as the others joined them..
'These are the investigating officers,' announced Lord Archibald, briskly. 'Deputy Chief Constable Cheshire, and Detective Chief Superintendent Ericson. They've just arrived.' The men nodded in turn as they were introduced. Cheshire was in his mid-fifties, Ericson ten years younger. Skinner had heard of the Manchester DCC. He had a reputation within his own force as a fierce disciplinarian, and had handled a number of similar inter-constabulary investigations in England for the Home Office.
He gave him an affable, appraising look. The Englishman stared back, with an expression which made the room suddenly colder.