‘At this stage, only Andy and I need to know.’
53
As Skinner and Martin left the neat little garden flat, the mid-afternoon sun hung low in the western sky. Martin carried Rachel Jameson’s address book. As they drove back towards Fettes Avenue, Skinner told him of Maggie Rose’s discovery.
‘Does she know that would confirm everything we suspect?’
‘ You can be sure of it. She has a fine mind, has our Maggie. She’s figured ut that it proves that Rachel didn’t kill herself, and that the person who did has been into that flat removing any leads. She’s been told in confidence, along with every one else involved in the Balerno search that Yobatu turned out to be as daft as a brush, and that he’s been shipped very quietly to a laughing academy in Japan. She knows that Kenny Duff has pinned the break-ins down to December the ninth at the earliest - after Yobatu was lifted. Her mind’s working away; so she can guess that Yobatu was set up. But what she can’t know is how far that could lead us, to the possibility of the Foreign Secretary and the Lord Advocate being parties to the frame.’
Martin whistled. ‘You don’t really think that, do you, boss?’
‘No, that needn’t follow. As I told Shi-Bachi, there was a ring of unpleasant truth in what Allingham and Wilson said at that meeting. Diplomatic immunity is a valuable principle, and I can understand the Foreign Office not wanting that boat rocked.
‘But the theft of that diary, and the break-in at Mortimer’s place make it certain that we are on the track of something solid here.’
Martin turned the car into Howe Street. ‘One thing, boss. Whoever our guy is, he’s a really clever bastard. So why didn’t he conceal the fact of the searches?’
‘Yes, I’m asking myself that one. Plain carelessness is one answer. Another is that with Yobatu firmly in the frame, he didn’t see the need. He couldn’t have known about the wills, or the joint executor. If it hadn’t been for Kenny Duff, these break-ins would probably have been reported separately, to different shifts at Gayfield. Or maybe they wouldn’t have been reported at all. We’ve had a slice of luck there, I think.’
He paused for a moment, in reflection, and went on: ‘You’re right, Andy. This is an extremely clever sod, and we’re back in this game only by the skin of our teeth. He’s left one unavoidable lead, by stealing Rachel’s briefcase, and he’s made one major mistake, leaving his mark on Mortimer’s.
‘We’ve just got to hope that he’s made others and that the trail isn’t wiped completely clean from here on.
‘You take that address book of Rachel’s, and I’ll take Mortimer’s Filofax. Let’s disregard for now every listing of full name and addresses in Edinburgh and Glasgow. Start off by looking for entries that might be usual or cryptic in any way.’
Martin turned into the Fettes Avenue car park and pulled up beside Skinner’s Granada.
The tall man climbed out. Ducking his head back through the passenger door he said, ‘I’m off home. You should do the same, but don’t forget your evening reading.’
On impulse, Skinner walked back to Stockbridge. At his brisk pace it took ten minutes. He and Sarah had marked their engagement by an exchange of keys. For the first time in his life, he let himself into the apartment.
‘I’m home!’ he called from the hall to the warm flat.
Fresh food smells drifted from the kitchen. Sarah emerged, with her hair tied high and her shoulders bare. She wore a long wrap-round apron, a pair of sandals, and nothing else. She stood on tip-toe and kissed him.
‘God, I must get used to this new situation!’ she whispered. ‘You coul have had Andy with you, or anyone.’ Bob grinned and wound his arms around her, grasping a firm buttock in each hand.
‘Hungry?’ she asked softly. It was a loaded question.
Later, Bob wearing a leisure suit and Sarah still in her apron, but worn over a tee-shirt and denims, they cooked the meal which Sarah had been preparing earlier. They ate at the rectangular pine kitchen table, following the stir-fry with fruit salad taken from the freezer, and opting for Swan low alcohol lager rather than wine.
While they ate, nothing was said about the investigation. It was only after Bob had poured their coffee that Sarah asked him about it.
‘What did you achieve today, my darling?’
‘Today we’ve only built the machine and set it in motion. Now the hard part begins.’
He paused for a moment, staring into his coffee mug, then looked up at Sarah as she leaned across the table, her chin resting in her cupped hand.
‘I made a heavy point about secrecy this morning. I told the team not to talk to anyone about what they’re doing; and I meant anyone, wives and or sweethearts included. Now I want to break my own rule. I feel I’ve got to tell you all about it.’
Sarah dropped her hand from her chin and looked into his eyes, frown ing slightly. ‘Of course you do. And you should. Bob, you’re not like th team. Only you and Andy know the whole story. And you think that you might be involved in something tremendous, and awful. You know for sure it’s highly dangerous. You’re wrapped up in it. If you don’t have some sort of confessional, a safe, secure sounding board, you coulc become obsessive about it. This is your doctor speaking.
‘But there’s one other thing. I’m part of the team too. I saw what was done to those four people. I had to poke around in the mess. So I have a personal interest in seeing that this animal, whoever he is, is rounded up and put away.’
Bob smiled at her intensity, taking her hand. ‘Thanks, love. I’d almost forgotten that you’ve been in since the dirty start of this business.’
He crossed to the fridge, took out two more cans of Swan, popped the top of each and handed one to Sarah. Across the table, he told her of the beginning of the search, of the importance of Kenny Duff’s discovery of the break-ins, of Maggie Rose’s perceptive analysis of Rachel, anc finally, of her discovery of the theft of the current diary.
By the time he had finished, Sarah had grown sombre. ‘So there was some kind of plot. And all those people were killed in cold blood, not by some crazy man. Horrible!’ She shuddered.
‘Let me help. You mentioned Mike Mortimer’s Filofax. Let’s look at it together.’
They moved through to the living room and sat together on the comfort able yellow settee. Bob opened the brown leather binding and held the book so that Sarah could read it with him. Inside the front cover, ther was a card in a clear plastic holder. The words ‘Happy birthday, 4/6/94 All my love, Rachel’ were written in blue fountain ink in an elegan hand. The leather still smelled new. The pages, held by a ring-binder, wer arranged in four sections, diary, addresses, information and financial. Bob opened the financial section.
Mortimer had been a careful man. Every financial transaction involv ing payment by cheque or credit card was recorded, along with cash withdrawals, and set against receipts. Several incoming payments were marked in the ledger with the letters ‘FS’. ‘What do you think that means?’ Sarah asked.
‘It’s probably Faculty Services, the company that manages advocates business and collects their fees. Nearly all work goes through it.’
At the end of each month the amount was totalled. Any surplus over a minimum balance of E500 was marked ‘Transfer to SA’. Mortimer had been saving over £2000 per month out ofincome.
‘That’s quite a surplus,’ said Sarah.
‘The taxman will want his share,’ said Bob. ‘All practising advocates are self-employed.
‘I wonder where his savings record is.’ He flicked through the rest of the financial section, but found nothing. ‘This is a current account. It’s his cash book, ready for his accountant to argue the case for some spend-. ing to be treated as business expenses. Somewhere there’s got to be a bank-book, or a building society account, where we can cross-check these transfers.’