Skinner's ghosts

'Where's the back door?' asked the Chief Superintendent.

'Through the kitchen. There's a wee garden to the back, with a wee burn running through it.'

Skinner and Martin leaned over the plan, studying it in detail.

'How wide is the floor of the Gully?' asked the DCC.

'About two hundred yards. The cottage is in the centre of the basin.'

'How is it approached, normal y?'

'By vehicle, from a rough track to the east.'

'And what's the terrain?'

'Bracken,' said the factor. 'Tal green bracken. None of the estate workers ever go into the Gul y. There's no point. It's no use for pasture, so you don't get sheep or deer going in there either. Only rabbits. Mr Peters is free to shoot as many of them as he likes for the pot. There's a wee loch just to the north. He can fish that for trout if he wants, too.'

'Does he shoot, do you know?' Skinner interposed.

'I've never seen him, but I've heard shots that could only have been him. If it had been poachers, the keeper would have found their signs.'

'What sort of firearm? Shotgun?'

'No. Rifle, it sounded like.'

'Mmm, I see,' mused the detective.

'One more thing,' he asked. 'Can you remember where the phone is?'

'The telephone, sir? Yes, it's on a wee table by the front door, beneath the window.'

'Is that the only one, or are there extensions?'

McDonald shook his head. 'As far as I recall there's only the one, unless Mr Peters has put in more. But it would not be easy to do that, because it's an old-fashioned instal ation, not the kind they have today that you can unplug and move about.'

'Right,' said Skinner, pointing at the plan. 'The phone's under this window. Can you remember, is there a curtain or a blind?'

'No, sir, there is not, or at least there has not been. The front door is solid, so there is only the window to catch the light.'

'That's good. That's very good,' said the DCC, almost to himself.

He picked up a hamburger, glancing at his watch in the process. 'It's nine thirty, so there'll be some half-decent light left. Could you take us up towards the Gul y, now, to a point about a mile short? So that we know how to get back there in the morning?'

McDonald glanced at Bal iol, who nodded.

'Thanks,' said Skinner, taking his mobile phone from his belt, where it was clipped. 'Before we go, I must cal my daughter. Will I get a signal up here?'

'Sure,' Balliol told him. 'I had a cell specially installed so I can be contacted anywhere on the estate, anytime.'

He stepped to the study window and dial ed Andy and Alex's number. The signal was strong and her voice was clear when she came on line. 'That's good, love,' he said. 'I wasn't sure this thing 266 would work up here. Andy and I have had to go up north. We'l be back tomorrow.'

'Okay, Pops. I know better than to ask why. Tell him to bring back some salmon.'

'Venison, more like. We're off hunting. See you.'

He reclipped the phone and turned to see Martin follow McDonald from the study. Only Bal iol remained. 'See here. Bob?' he asked.

'What's this about?'

Skinner looked him in the eye, debating with himself for a moment or two. At last he decided. 'Your Mr Peters has killed two women and kidnapped their children. He's holding them for ransom, in your cottage. Pay-day is the day after tomorrow. Andy and I have to get those kids out before then. That's if they're still alive.'

The billionaire's sallow face went pale. 'I have done some things in my time,' he snarled. 'But women and children…' His eyes narrowed. 'You want my Koreans? They're damn good. Mercenaries.

Night fighters.'

'Not good enough for this guy. He'll have the area around the place wired with traps and geophones so's he'd know as soon as they were within fifty yards. He'd kill the children for sure at that, then your Koreans, and he'd be off into the night.'

The big policeman looked at the American. 'If you could lend us a Land Rover tomorrow morning that would be good, but I don't want your men anywhere near the Gully. I don't want anyone around.

'I didn't have a firm plan, before I'd spoken to Mr McDonald, but I do now. If everything is as he said, it'll work.'

'And if it isn't…'

'Then, Everard, I will simply wait, for as long as it takes.'

'For what?'

'For a clear shot. Then I'll just kill the fucker.'

83

It was 7.45 a.m. as they left the Land Rover in the smal copse beside the track which Donald McDonald had shown them the night before.

On the slow drive from the castle, where they had spent the night, and breakfasted with Bal iol, Andy had asked Bob about Pamela, and about their split.

'Later, man, later. I'l tell you and Alex together. But for now we have to concentrate completely on what's to be done here.'

There were no estate workers about as they made their way north, up the climbing, winding track, towards the Gul y. Nor would there be any. On Balliol's orders, McDonald would direct them all to work on the south side of Loch Mhor.

The two policemen were clad in the green trousers and pul overs which the Army had provided for them. Pouches hung on their belts, and each carried a short stubby assault carbine. Skinner's weapon was fitted on top with a cumbersome, awkward-looking device, with an eyepiece.

Even in the early morning cool, they were both sweating as, after a thirty-five-minute trek, they reached the slope which, as their map showed them, led up to King's Gul y. As the factor had described it they could see that, near the top, the grass gave way abruptly to wavy green ferns.

Skinner waved to Martin to stop just at the point where the bracken began, the two of them sitting down, heavily, at the edge of the open grass.

'Okay, Andy,' he said. 'Once we've got our breath back, we'l get into position. You're clear on the plan?'

Martin nodded. He wore a dark green beret to hide his blond hair, and his powerful shoulders bulged in the tight battledress pul over. 'I take up position to the north, behind the house, no closer than one hundred yards away.'

'Right. With your two-way radio on receive. Listen and do as you hear me say. It'll take you longer to get in position than me. I'l wait fifteen minutes before I move in.'

Martin nodded, and snaked off eastward, keeping below the ridge of King's Gul y. Skinner sat on the grass and waited, hefting his carbine, testing and re-testing the device on top. At last, with a final 268 check of his watch he moved off, up towards the crest of the slope, diving into the thick bracken before it opened out into the bowl of the Gully.

He snaked forward slowly and careful y on his belly, taking care so that any disturbance of the thick ferns would look like no more than morning breeze. After a few yards he stopped, and peered through a gap in the undergrowth. He saw the cottage, exactly where the map had promised, and exactly as Donald McDonald had described it. At the side stood a silvery grey car, a hatchback, with a slightly bulbous rear.

He changed course, wriggling to the left of his original approach, parallel with the front of the cottage, careful not to go too close. At last he was in his chosen position, around one hundred yards away from the cottage, directly facing the front door and the wide green-framed window. He smiled. The window stil had no curtain or blind.

From the pouch on the left side of his belt, he took out his two-way radio. 'Ready to go, Andy,' he said quietly, into its microphone.

Next, from the same pouch, he took his mobile phone and laid it on the ground in front of him. Final y he removed a smal headset, with earpiece and mouthpiece, which he put on before plugging its lead into a socket in the phone casing.

Taking a deep breath he switched on his phone, then pressed the short code for the telephone number which he had programmed in the night before: the number which Donald McDonald had given him, the number of the King's Gul y cottage.