‘So let’s pursue all of those lines of investigation. Use what manpower you need, but report to me at every stage. Neil McIlhenney and Sammy Pye, from my personal staff, are at your disposal too.
‘The first thing to do is find Carl Medina. The second is to get into the books of Charles’ legit businesses.’
He paused, and took a deep breath. ‘But the third . . . and this is another priority . . . is try to find his other records. Jackie’s criminal business is too extensive for it to have been conducted all in his head, or in Carole’s, or in Douglas Terry’s. Somewhere there have to be records, maybe bank books and evidence of cash deposits and movements.
‘We’ve worked for years in the belief that if we could find the nerve centre of his other business we’d have Charles by the balls. Twice in recent years we’ve had tips that there were books kept in properties belonging to his companies.’
Martin frowned. ‘In each case when we got our search warrant and got in there we found unfurnished apartments and empty safes. It was as if they had known we were coming. I want you to listen out for more whispers in the course of this investigation. We might be in luck next time.’
He paused. ‘The big complication in this investigation is the husband of the victim. You’re right, Mags. The DCC can warn all he likes. He could even take the guy into a small, dark room for half an hour. But it wouldn’t make any difference.
‘Jackie Charles will be after the man who killed his wife. He will run his own investigation alongside ours. If we can’t stop him, we might as well make what use of him we can. So from this time on, keep an eye on him, and on Douglas Terry.
‘You never know where the two of them might lead us.’
He stood up. ‘I’ve asked our press office to call a media briefing for one o’clock.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘That’s in five minutes.
‘Royston’s line has been melting all morning, but I told him to hold fire until the Boss and I had seen Charles and I was ready to make a statement in person.
‘Let’s go to meet the press, and start a few hares running.’
9
‘Your four o’clock appointment is here, sir.’ Ruth’s tone over the intercom was neutrally formal. It was the one which she used on the odd occasion on which the DCC summoned an errant officer for a reprimand.
‘God. I hope she’s told the woman what this is about,’ he thought to himself, fearing that she had not.
His supposition was all but confirmed a few seconds later when the door opened and Sergeant Masters entered briskly, in a sharply pressed uniform. She stood stiffly in front of his desk and saluted, looking nervous, her eyes unnaturally narrow. Her hair had grown since he had seen her last, and she had struggled to fit it inside her cap.
Skinner smiled broadly as he rose to his feet, returning her salute clumsily. ‘At ease, please, Sergeant. Take a seat.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you like CID?’
The expressive eyes widened. She shook her head at first, then nodded. ‘No, sir, I mean, of course I do, sir. I mean . . . oh God.’
He smiled again, moving from behind his desk, to the low leather chairs which surrounded his coffee table. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve confused you or embarrassed you,’ he said. ‘Come on and sit over here, and calm down, this is nothing to be nervous about.
‘I didn’t go into detail when I asked Ruth to make the appointment, but I should at least have made it clear that I didn’t expect you to come in uniform. You’re not on parade here, so take off that damn silly hat.’
Sergeant Masters sat where he indicated, arranging herself neatly, and tugging her uniform skirt down to cover her knees. She removed her cap and shook out her hair. ‘Then may I ask, sir, why am I here?’
Skinner nodded. ‘Of course, and we’ll get to that, but let’s have a chat first. It’s Polly, isn’t it?’
To his surprise, she hesitated, ‘Well, sir, that’s what they call me at the station, and it appears on my record. It’s a nickname I picked up at school, and it’s followed me ever since. Actually, I was christened Pamela. That’s what my parents call me and that’s what I prefer . . . if I’m given the choice, that is.’
He grinned. There was something about her style which set him at ease, at the same time as he was trying to unbend her. There was nothing pretentious about her. Her expression was open and honest, and her voice was clear, with no trace of a Sunday accent. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘I understand, although I’m the opposite, myself. Anyone calls me Robert, other than my nearest and dearest, my hackles start to rise. Pamela it shall be.’
He looked at her, appraisingly, for a few seconds. ‘Do you remember, Pamela, that outrageously loaded question that I asked you at your Promotion Board?’
She smiled, for the first time since she entered the room. ‘Oh yes, sir. I worried for ages afterwards in case you thought that my answer was just trite interview bullshit.’
Involuntarily, as if she had drawn it from him, Skinner smiled back. ‘And was it?’
She shook her head vigorously, serious again. ‘Oh no. I asked myself the same question over and over again, before I left my marketing job . . . incidentally sir, it was a top-of-the-range Sierra, not a Cavalier. If I hadn’t believed my answer then, I’d be a director of the consultancy now; driving a Scorpio, probably.’
‘And earning more than me, no doubt,’ he said. ‘You’ve had six months in CID since we met last, six months with the duties of rank as well as its privileges, such as they are. Is your view still the same?’
Her head cocked to the side as she thought about his question. ‘Basically yes, sir. I think it’s a bit less simplistic now, less idealistic. I’m coming to understand that helping people live better lives can sometimes mean locking them up for thirty years. But I think that my reasons for being in the job are still positive.’
‘You’ve come to it,’ he hesitated, ‘. . . forgive me . . . later than most. Can I ask you, has that limited your career ambitions?’
‘I don’t know that I have defined career ambitions, as such, sir. I’ve never thought in those terms.’
‘Well, think about them now, Pamela. Take your time, while I pour us some coffee. Sugar?’ She shook her head as he stood up.
A minute later he resumed his seat, placing a white cup and saucer before her. ‘Well?’
‘Okay. My career ambition, sir? I would like to be promoted to the limit of my competence, not one grade above it.’
‘Like too many people you have observed in the police force?’ he asked, with a grin.
‘No, sir,’ she said, quickly, but not too quickly. ‘Not too many in the force, but quite a few in other places. When eventually I retire, I would like to think that I have made a positive contribution all through my career, and not got in the way at the latter end.’
‘Fair enough. Now can I ask you, indelicately, about your private ambitions. You’re divorced. Why?’
‘David was involved with someone else. I left him and moved to Edinburgh.’
‘Are you in a relationship at the moment?’
‘No, I’m not. I’ve had enough of those for a while, I think.’ Suddenly the brown eyes narrowed again. ‘Sir, is this about me and Alan Royston? If it is, I admit that we had a relationship for a time. It didn’t work out, but it didn’t even occur to me that it might have been improper, or against regulations. It began after I moved into the press office; it wasn’t the reason for my being transferred to it.’
Skinner was taken completely by surprise. ‘Pamela, I didn’t even know about your relationship with Alan Royston, nor do I care. The force press officer is a civilian, and you are both single people. What you do or did outside the office is none of my damn business. Listen, the only time I care a stuff about my officers’ sex lives is if there is a chance of them affecting performance on the job . . . and don’t misunderstand my meaning!’