Skinner finished the document, then read it through for a second time. He leaned back in his chair and scratched his head. He must have met Malou in Brussels, over forty years ago; there could be no more to it than that.
He laid the biography aside and turned to Pringle’s folder. He was about to open it when his phone rang. ‘I have Father Collins on the line, sir, from the Pope’s secretariat.’
‘Put him through.’
‘Good morning, Mr Skinner.’ The young priest’s accent betrayed his Western Isles origins. ‘I spoke to the Holy Father last night and asked him your question. He asked me to tell you that the name Auguste Malou does mean something to him. He met him during the period of his attachment to the Cathedral of St Michael in Brussels, and they’ve remained in touch ever since. Their friendship is the reason for his invitation to the Bastogne Drummers to play at Murrayfield.’
‘That’s all he said about him?’
‘That is all, sir.’
‘I see. Thank you for your trouble, Father.’
‘Don’t mention it, sir. His Holiness also asked me to tell you that he’s looking forward very much to seeing you and Sir James Proud again. After this evening’s mass, he’ll be having supper with the Archbishop, at his residence: he’s staying there, as you know. He wonders whether you and the chief constable would care to join them; around nine thirty. He promises that the conversation will be almost entirely about football.’
The DCC was taken aback. ‘I think I can speak for Jimmy on that,’ he said. ‘We’d both be honoured. I’ll let him know. Mind you,’ he added, ‘being a Hibs fan, the Pope may have little to talk about.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Angelo Collins, laughing as he hung up.
Skinner did not have time even to reach for Pringle’s folder before his phone, barely in its cradle, sounded again. ‘Yes, Jack,’ he said.
‘Boss,’ began his assistant, ‘remember that thing I mentioned last night: the investigation that DI Steele might need to involve you in? Well, it’s come up. DCS Pringle’s just been on the phone; and he’d like to bring Stevie to see you. He said it was urgent, so I said okay. They should be with you in ten minutes, tops.’
‘Okay. I guess Dan’s folder will get done some time. There have been no more reports of incidents involving the Belgians, have there?’
‘No, sir. I’ve been keeping an eye on them like you asked. All’s quiet. I checked with the Humberside police too, to see whether they’ve made progress with their investigation.’
‘Let me guess at this morning’s headline in the Hull Daily Mail. . “Police remain baffled”. Right?’
‘I don’t think it’s making headlines any more. They’ve hit the wall and they know it.’
‘They’re not the only ones.’ He sighed. ‘Jack, do you have any feelings just now, anything you can’t pin down?’
‘Sorry, sir?’
‘Ach, it’s okay. Call me when Stevie arrives.’ He hung up, switched the light outside his door to green, then called McIlhenney. ‘Neil,’ he exclaimed when the DI picked up, ‘it’s me and I’m as frustrated as hell.’
‘You are, are you? Let me guess. You think there’s something up. You see all sorts of threads waving in the breeze, and you’re dead certain that they all weave together into a great big tapestry, only you don’t know how and you can’t work it out for the life of you. Right?’
‘Spot fucking on! How did you know?’
‘Because I feel exactly the same way.’
‘Fat lot of help you are, then,’ Skinner grunted. ‘Let me know when you work it out.’ He hung up again. ‘Fuck it!’ he shouted to the empty office. ‘Why the hell did I talk Andy Martin into going for the DCC’s job in Dundee?’
For a moment he was on the point of calling his friend and one-time protégé; instead, he called his own number.
Trish, the nanny, picked up the phone. ‘Sarah, please,’ he asked her.
‘You sound knackered,’ she told him. Trish’s gift for plain speaking was one of her best points. ‘Sarah isn’t here. She’s gone up town.’
‘Carving someone up?’
‘She didn’t say, but I doubt it. She told me she hoped to be back in time for the boys’ lunch. Can I give her a message?’
‘Tell her not to wait up for me. I’ve got a late engagement in town.’
‘That’ll come as a surprise to her.’
‘You push your luck; you know that?’
‘Sorry, Bob. I just can’t help myself sometimes. . okay, any time. Say hello to your daughter.’
‘Hello, Seonaid.’
There was a squeal from the other end that contained most of the five letters of ‘Daddy’.
‘Hey,’ said Trish. ‘She remembers you.’
‘Bugger off, girl,’ he laughed. ‘If you weren’t too good to fire. .’
He stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking about home, thinking about Sarah and, although he tried not to, thinking about Aileen de Marco, and how hard it would be to keep his promise to her and to himself. He did not see Stevie Steele’s car as it rolled up the drive, or the woman who emerged from the passenger seat.
When the knock sounded at his door, he recognised it as Dan Pringle’s thump rather than Jack McGurk’s more circumspect rap. ‘Come in,’ he shouted. ‘Don’t make me open the fucking thing for you.’
He was half-way round from behind his desk when the head of CID came into the room. He expected Stevie Steele to be behind him. He did not expect the short, crinkle-haired black woman who was flanked by the two detectives.
Skinner grinned, in surprise as much as anything else. ‘Special Agent Merle Gower,’ he exclaimed. ‘How long has it been?’
‘Since I was last in Edinburgh?’ she replied. ‘Since the former president’s visit, as I recall, although the Secret Service was so thick around him that day you probably never saw me.’
Merle Gower was the official resident presence in London of the FBI, although Skinner suspected that she had links in addition with the secretive National Security Agency. She had succeeded his late friend Joe Doherty, on his recall to Washington by the previous administration; at first she had been cocky and abrasive, but she had learned quickly and had won the trust of her British contacts.
‘Do you have decent coffee here, Bob?’ she asked him.
‘No.’ He walked across to the filter machine on his side table and poured her a mug. ‘But you can try this crap if you like.’
‘As long as it has caffeine, I suppose it’ll be okay.’
He poured another for himself, and brought them over to the coffee-table, leaving his colleagues to fend for themselves. ‘This is a big surprise,’ he said, as they sat on the low leather couches.
‘For me too.’ She took a sip from her mug. ‘Hey, this isn’t bad. What is it?’
‘Fair-trade coffee. My wife buys it from a Nicaraguan importer. It means that the growers get a fair price, as opposed to being screwed by the bulk buyers. I’ll give you the address if you like.’
‘You wanna get me fired? I thought you liked me.’ She turned as Pringle lowered his bulk on to the seat beside her.
As Steele joined Skinner on his couch, the DCC leaned towards him, his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Congratulations,’ he murmured, as Special Agent Gower shuffled sideways to give herself more room.
‘You know?’
‘I always know. You be good for her, hear me.’
‘Do I hear “or else”, sir?’
‘You better.’
‘No worries.’
The exchange was quick and whispered. Neither of their companions heard them, as they completed their seating arrangements. ‘Okay,’ Skinner barked, ‘take me through the reason for this intrusion into the most important day of this force’s year.’
Pringle gulped and began. ‘It’s DI Steele’s story, boss. It has to do with a bank fraud.’