The anger in the eyes flared again. ‘I am saying that they invented stories about my daughter. If they had suggested that a white girl of good family would go off with three Chinese boys, the jury would not have believed them for an instant. I am saying that the lawyers of my daughter’s murderers conspired to deny me justice, and revenge for her death.’
‘Yobatu san, where were you last Thursday?’
Skinner caught what could have been a flicker of comprehension in the eyes.
‘I was in the Court in Glasgow, watching one of the people who cheated me trying to free another guilty beast.’
‘How did the case end?’
‘This time the victim was white. This time the jury did not believe the lies.’
‘How did you return to Edinburgh?’
‘By railway.’
With an effort, Skinner managed to conceal his surprise.
‘By which train?’
‘The 5.30, but it was delayed by an accident in the station.’
Now Skinner’s eyes grew hard.
‘Not an accident, Yobatu san. Not an accident. A woman was pushed in front of the train.’
‘I did not hear that said.’
‘Do you know who that woman was?’
Yobatu sat motionless and impassive for several seconds.
Eventually Skinner filled the silence in a hard-edged voice. ‘I believe that you do. I believe that you know that she was the woman whom you had watched that day, and throughout the trial.
‘And where were you on the night of November the seventh, and on the next night, and two nights after that?’
Yobatu sat silent as a statue.
‘Where were you on the night that the other advocate in your daughter’s trial was butchered-with a sword-and on those other nights when three other people were done savagely to death?’
Still the man sat, and silent, but the anger in his eyes seemed to be joined by something which, Skinner thought, resembled frustration.
‘I will tell you how it looks to me, Yobatu san. It looks as if you were so thirsty for justice that you decided to administer your own. That you killed Shun Lee and made it look like a Chinese quarrel. That you killed Michael Mortimer, and then, in the same part of the city, you slaughtered three other people, at random, to make it all look like the work of a maniac. And, finally, that you killed Rachel Jameson, quickly, in a moment of opportunity, and made it appear like suicide.
‘That is how it looks to me, Yobatu san. Perhaps to you it looked, and still looks like an honourable thing to do. Perhaps those three random victims, being Westerners, and one a policeman, you saw as sharing the guilt.
‘I have sympathy for someone who has lost as you have. I have a daughter myself. If you killed Shun Lee, I will lock you away, but I will understand. But if you killed those five other people- three, simply to help you avoid detection - then I will lock you away as I would a dangerous animal, one with nothing in its heart but death. What do you say, Yobatu san? Are you such an animal?’
Yobatu sprang out of his chair. Skinner, who had been leaning forward, his right forearm on his knee, fixing the man with his glare, was on his feet in a flash. He stared into the eyes and saw something beyond comprehension, something that seemed to transcend fury. Martin was on his feet too, watching, waiting, as lightning seemed to flash between the two men.
Now the challenge was in Skinner’s eyes, facing down the flame in Yobatu’s.
And then the silence was broken.
‘Excuse me, sir.’ It was Brian Mackie, stiff and formal, but insistent. ‘Would you come with me, please.’
The tension did not evaporate; it was too high for that. It simply eased a little, and Martin found to his relief that, after all, he was still able to breathe.
Skinner nodded. ‘You too, please, Yobatu san,’ he said, curtly this time. ‘Andy.’ He signalled Martin to bring up the rear.
Mackie led the way into the hall and out through the front door. They walked in single file towards the double garage, with its door still raised.
Even with two cars inside, there was still room for a wide workbench, with four drawers running along its length. The third of these was lying open.
‘Nothing has been touched, sir,’ said Mackie. Wearing a pair of cotton gloves, he slid the drawer from its runners and placed it carefully on the workbench.
To the front of what was now a wide shallow box, Skinner saw a jumble of twine and two tins without lids, each full of nails. To the rear, he saw two short-handled axes and a heavy hunting knife. Mackie withdrew each object in turn for inspection, held it up before Skinner, Yobatu and Martin, and replaced it carefully in its original position.
Along the back of the drawer was a black bundle, tied with string. Mackie withdrew it and released the slip knot. The bundle unrolled into a lightweight one-piece tunic, topped off by a balaclava-style hood. As it did so, a pair of black woollen gloves fell to the floor.
Again, Mackie held the objects up in turn for inspection. Again he replaced them, bundled and tied, in their original position.
And last, pushed into a corner of the drawer, they saw a small cardboard box, the kind used to gift-wrap special confectionery. Skinner saw Mackie’s hand tremble as he reached out to pick it up. For the first time, he noticed that his assistant was deathly pale.
Oh Christ, he thought, as the box was lifted from the drawer, knowing - without needing to see - what it contained. Mackie raised the lid and held it out towards them. And as Yobatu looked into the box, so Skinner looked at him. For the merest second he thought that he saw a flicker of confusion in the eyes. Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone, replaced by a look of terrible exultation.
Finally, Skinner forced himself to look, and as he did so, he became aware of the odour of decay, dissipated by time. Shun Lee; or at least the missing pieces. Martin turned away and retched. Still trembling, Mackie returned the box to its position in the drawer.
30
When Skinner spoke he was suddenly hoarse. ‘Toshio Yobatu, I am arresting you in connection with the murder in Glasgow of one Shun Lee. You have already been advised of your right to remain silent. You will accompany Mr Martin and me to police headquarters at Fettes Avenue, to assist us with our enquiries into several incidents which we believe are related to this murder.
‘Let’s go, now. Mackie, complete the search and advise Madame Yobatu of what has happened.’
Without a word, Yobatu accompanied the two men to Skinner’s car. He sat silent in the back, between them, as the capless constable drove back into the centre of Edinburgh. It was Sunday, and so they arrived unobserved.
Martin signed them in, with their prisoner.
‘Sergeant,’ he instructed the duty officer, ‘take Mr Yobatu to the interview room. He is to be accompanied by two men at all times. And make sure they’re big guys.’
He and Skinner went upstairs to the Chief Superintendent’s office, where they collapsed into chairs.
‘Good thinking down there, Andy. I don’t want an escape, and I don’t want any bloody hara-kiri either. This man has to be as dangerous an individual as we’ve ever seen, so make sure that the guys on guard duty are up to it.’
Suddenly Skinner sighed. ‘Let’s have a coffee, and wait for Brian to get back. Then he and I will get a statement out of the guy. You can get back to spycatching.’
Martin noticed a change in Skinner. With the adrenalin surge of the confrontation dissipated, he looked spent.
‘Boss, I should be saying “well done”, but instead I’m thinking, “what’s up”. You should be doing handsprings, but you’re not. Don’t tell me that bloke got to you.’