Andy Martin picked up the last of the bacon rolls, which was still piping hot after having been revived in the Command Suite microwave. 'So how can I help you, boss?'
`You're helping just by being here, my friend,' Skinner said sincerely. Martin looked at him, and saw the dark marks of exhaustion under his eyes, and worry lines where none had been before. He sensed a tension in the man that he had never seen in all the years of their acquaintanceship, professional and personal.
`More practically, I would like you to handle the organisation of Roy Old's funeral. With Lottie's permission, I'd like to give him the full official send-off, like we did for the young lads who were killed in the last couple of years. Roy died on duty, just like them, hurrying to get back for a meeting. We'll call in on her later on today after the briefing, to pay our respects and talk things over.
Ànother thing you can do, if it proves necessary, is keep the American out of my hair.
Merle Gower has a part to play, but I won't have any spare wheels in the Command structure. So if they do send in a Shitehawk from Washington, I want you to nursemaid him. I've got you a new boy for your personal staff. He can drive him around.'
' I w a n t M cl l h e n n e y' s a i d t h e n e w H e a d of C ID emphatically.
`Fair enough, you can have him, but you're having this lad too. It's young Pye from Haddington.'
Martin's eyebrows rose. 'Young Sammy. Sure, I'll take him any time.'
Ì thought you would. Right, here's the third thing you can do to help me. You can run CID
like clockwork. You've got carte blanche to review the present structure and operating practice and make any changes you think fit. Your brief is to raise detection rates to a uniform level across the whole Force area, and then to keep the graph moving upwards.
Continuous improvement is the name of the game, and in CID we have plenty of scope for that. Until our clear-up rates hit one hundred per cent we can never say, "We couldn't do any better." Your job is to make sure that I can go along to the Joint Police Board and Say, with a clear conscience, "We're doing our best."
Às Head of CID, you won't be there to court popularity, but to earn respect. You acknowledge loyalty and reward achievement. You listen to your staff and you give weight to their views and their experience, but once the decisions are made, you make it clear that it has to be done your way. When somebody does that and gives of their best, you've succeeded. When someone doesn't, you've failed. And one of the reasons you're sitting there now is that you are incapable of living with your own failures. So when someone thinks that he or she knows better than the rest, or when someone is sloppy or careless, or obstructive or abusive, I know that you'll do something about it, and fast.
Ìn other words, I know that when necessary you'll do all the stuff that the late Roy, God rest him, was too nice and easy-going to handle.' He smiled sadly for a moment then continued.
`Before the shit hit the fan yesterday, I was on my way down to the Borders to do an unannounced bollocking job. I want you to take that over too. When you read the figures, you'll see why. I shouldn't have had to do that, but I knew that Roy couldn't. He was my failure, in a way. He wasn't sloppy or obstructive, and a less abusive man you'd never have met, but he didn't have the heart for the tough stuff. I made a mistake installing him as Head of CID, but I didn't have the heart to correct it. So, Chief Superintendent, you see what I want from you?'
`Yes, sir,' laughed Martin. 'You want a clear desk.'
Às far as day-to-day management is concerned, you're spot on. I want to be free to concentrate on crime strategy, and on the big issues, knowing that paper and problems aren't piling up in my in-tray when they could have been dealt with further down the line.
But I've got an immediate need for that clear desk, and you know why, don't you?'
`Yes. Because the world and its brother-in-law will be watching you on this one, and you can't afford any distractions. Don't worry, you won't have any.'
Skinner sighed and leaned back in his chair. Martin thought that he had never seen him so tired. 'Thanks, Andy. You've no idea how much of a relief that is. You're right — the world, and his brother-in-law, and his best pal will be watching. But the fact is I haven’ t a fucking clue where to start!
'Evidence and logic are my two guiding principles in detecting criminals. But so far, I've found only a scrap of the first, and not a sign of the other!'
TWENTY-SEVEN
Nine faces looked along at Skinner as he tapped the briefing room table with his pen to call the meeting to order.
He was flanked by Adam Arrow and Merle Gower. Ranged around the table and facing him sat Andy Martin, the burly figure of Detective Sergeant Neil Mcllhenney, young Sammy Pye, looking fresh-faced and eager, Maggie Rose, Brian Mackie, Mario McGuire, Alison Higgins, and her deputy, a young, sleek-haired, well-groomed Detective Chief Inspector named Dave Donaldson.
`Good morning, everyone,' said the DCC. 'Things were pretty chaotic yesterday, for all of us. What I'm going to say now will come as no surprise to those of you who were at the scene of the disaster, but to those who weren't, that's Ali, Dave, Brian and Mario, let me say that we're here to begin a murder investigation. A crime with two hundred and four victims.
The press are clamouring for more information. I've asked Alan Royston to schedule a briefing for twelve-thirty: this is what I'll be telling them.
`We were able to establish at the scene of the crash, and it has since been confirmed by the Black Box flight recorder, that an explosion occurred on board the aircraft. We have been able to establish still further, to our complete satisfaction, that the explosion was caused by a bomb.'
He looked round the table, his eyes settling on Higgins and Donaldson. The Superintendent's eyes were wide with surprise, but her colleague sat impassively, waiting for Skinner to continue.
`You don't seem surprised, Dave.'
‘I’m not, sir. I never doubted that's what it was.'
Ìndeed?' said Skinner. He sounded interested, rather than irked. 'Most of us operate on the basis of evidence first, conclusions second. What makes you special?'
Ì don't think I am, sir. I'm a believer in the laws of averages and possibilities, that's all.'
`What d'you mean?'
`Well, it's a matter of odds, isn't it? The odds against an aircraft coming down through mechanical or structural failure are pretty long, yet still it happens. The odds against the British and American Defence Secretaries travelling on the same civilian plane are pretty long too, yet that happened yesterday.
`But when you take the two situations and put them together - the two guys travelling on the same plane and that plane coming down — well, to a statistician, the odds against an accident might have been exactly the same, but to a policeman, they have to be astronomical.'
The DCC smiled. `Suspicious bugger, aren't you?' Donaldson's expression took on a chorister's innocence. `Who me, boss?'
It's no fault in a copper, Dave. Just be sure you don't make one assumption too many, that's all.'
He turned his attention back to the rest of the gathering. `Clever Dave here worked out that this was no accident; I dare say some of the rest of you did too. But what neither he nor anyone else could have guessed is how the bomb was taken on board. I know, and it's something I'm not going to tell the Press . . . and neither is any one of you!
The device was hidden inside the Defence Secretary's document case — his Red Box. It's made out of solid steel and bound in leather, and it's one of those rare items, like a protection officer's handgun, that is usually allowed to by-pass the airport security screening.
`There were two Red Boxes on that plane. One belonged to Roland McGrath, the Scottish Office Minister who was among the dead. That's been accounted for.'
He produced two colour photographs from a folder before him on the table. They showed front and back views of the fused piece of twisted, tangled metal which they had found on the moor. 'This was recovered in the area where the w
reckage of the front two rows came down. We believe this was the second Red Box.
The scientists and the bomb boys have been working on it all night. The lab confirms that most of the black coating on the outside was leather, although they can't tell us what the original colour was. They have confirmed also that other parts of the coating, those raised marks, are carbonised human tissue.
`The Bomb Squad have confirmed that there was an explosive device inside the box.
Major Legge says that it was at least half-full of very powerful military high explosive, of the kind used in artillery shells, bombs and the like. There was no trace of the detonating mechanism, but he is guessing that there was a simple trigger device which completed a circuit as soon as the box was opened.
`Questions so far?'
Alison Higgins raised a hand. 'Have all of the bodies been recovered?'
Skinner nodded to Maggie Rose. 'All but two,' she said. 'We think we've matched a body to every seat except for Row 1, seats D and E. So far, the only trace we've found of Mr Davey or his private Secretary was what was melted into the Red Box.'
On Skinner's left, Merle Gower leaned forward. 'Does that mean that you've found Secretary Massey's body?' she asked eagerly.
`We've found . . .' Rose hesitated `. . . remains, which include a right hand with the second finger missing. That matches the description of Mr Massey which we were given by your Embassy. . They said he lost the finger in Vietnam.'
`He got off lightly there,' said Skinner. 'Too bad his luck didn't hold.' He looked around the table once more. 'Ms Gower and Captain Arrow have reports for us. I can't stress strongly enough that what they say here is in deepest confidence, and must not go beyond this room. However, before they begin, there are a couple of things I'd like to deal with.
Às you all know by now, we lost Roy Old yesterday. We all knew Roy, and we all liked him, so be assured that the Force will pay him a proper tribute in due course. But he would have been the first to say that you cannot have a vacuum in a Police Force. Consequently, Andy Martin is here today as our new Head of CID and Roy's successor as my immediate deputy. Like Roy, and like the Heads of Divisions, he will have the title of Chief Superintendent.'
In a corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Alison Higgins. He thought that just for a second, her face betrayed a trace of disappointment.
He put the notion aside and went on. 'While I intend to devote myself full-time to this investigation until it is complete, if for any reason any of you is unable to report to me directly on anything which you feel to be important, you will report instead to Chief Superintendent Martin. Clear?'
Seven heads nodded around the table, that of Alison Higgins most vigorously of all.
`Good. Now I want to clear up any doubts that anyone might have over jurisdiction. This is our investigation, be in no doubt about that. I don't say that out of territorial jealousy, but because the law has placed the burden on us. As I've said, I will take direct control over the operation. Normally I would look to the appropriate Divisional CID to supply the manpower; since the plane came down in your area, Alison, that would mean your people.
`However, you have your normal workload to handle, and that mustn't suffer. So I won't dump it all on you. What I'm proposing to do is to set up a dedicated team. The members will be DCI Mackie and acting DI McGuire from Special Branch, DI Rose from my office, DS Neil Mcllhenney and DC Sammy Pye from Mr Martin's staff, and DCI Donaldson, whom I will second from other duties,' he glanced at Higgins, 'subject to your comments, Superintendent, for the duration of the enquiry.
`We will call in help from other Forces and Agencies as and when we need it, but we will co-ordinate everything and set the strategy. With that in mind, I want all the important interviews carried out by members of this team.'
He paused to sip from the coffee cup on the table before him, and to pick up a chocolate digestive biscuit.
Òkay, we've got a plane down as a result of an explosion; we know where the bomb was hidden. Where do we go from there? Thoughts, anyone?'
Around the table, people shifted in their chairs. There was an awkward silence for a few seconds.
`Don't all speak at once, will you,' said Skinner.
Dave Donaldson raised a hand. 'Shouldn't we begin by finding out all we can about Mr Davey's Private Secretary, sir, and everyone else in his office who might have been involved in filling that Red Box?'
The DCC nodded. 'You're right. That's exactly where we should begin. That's why you and DS Mcllhenney are going straight to London with Captain Arrow after this briefing.
You will interview all of Mr Davey's Private Office staff about the way in which his box was normally filled, and you will try to pin down a comprehensive eye-witness account of its movements from the moment it was brought into the office until the moment it left.'
Donaldson frowned. 'All of them, sir? Are you sure we'll be able to see them all?'
`Bloody right,' Arrow interposed. 'They're all under orders to report to their office at two p.m. today, and they've all been under surveillance since yesterday. If anyone had tried to do a runner, he wouldn't have made it past the garden gate.'
Às well as quizzing them about the Red Box,' Skinner went on, 'you should also ask every person you interview what they thought of the late Private Secretary . . . his name was Maurice Noble . . . and you should ask them to give you a candid view of the Minister, too. Whatever gossip there is, make sure you bring it back.
`Finally, while you're there, I want you to speak to Sir Stewart Morelli, the Permanent Secretary. He'll be expecting you at four o'clock. Kid gloves for him, by the way. He'll have known Mr Noble pretty well. The senior Private Office appointments are usually made on his recommendation. So ask Sir Stewart for his comments on the man, and yes, ask him to tell you candidly what he thought of Colin Davey. You'd better make sure that Captain Arrow is with you when you see him. Adam's a familiar face, and that might encourage him, if he needs it, to be Completely frank.
`You'll be supported by an officer from the Met Special Branch, but you two will be in charge, and you will lead the interviews. You'll find the Met guy waiting for you in Whitehall. `Questions?'
Donaldson and Mcllhenney shook their heads.
Òkay. Adam, would you like to give us your input.'
The little soldier leaned forward. 'Thanks, Bob. The first thing I should say is that every person on the Minister's staff has been given a full security check by my unit. I hold the vetting reports, and I'll let you see them.'
Did you vet the Secretary of State, too?'
Arrow shook his head. 'No. We're not allowed to snoop on our own Ministers. If that's done, and I don't know whether it is or not, it'd be by the Security Services.
Ì did Maurice Noble, though, and I can tell you about him. Age thirty-four, an Oxford economics graduate, he'd been in post since May. Didn't drink alcohol, and stopped smoking ten years ago. Liked a punt on the greyhounds, though. He had a mathematical system, and he bet a fixed amount each month. On the whole, he was a winner.
`He was married three years ago, to a barrister called Ariadne Tucker, same age as him.
They live in a brick terrace house in Putney with a mortgage well within their means.
There are no kids, they drive a three-year-old Mazda MX5, they eat out a lot and they have a cat called Tigger.
`Maurice had a medical problem at one point, about five years ago. He contracted hepatitis on holiday in India, and it left him prone to bouts of depression. But it was controlled by medication, and the MOD doctors passed him fully fit for the Private Secretary job.'
`When did you do his vetting?' asked Brian Mackie.
Àpril. Before he was offered the job with Davey.'
Ì suppose it won't have been topped up since then?'
Arrow shrugged his shoulders. We keep an eye on bank accounts, and we tap telephones at random, but there's been nothing other than that since he's been in post. Normally, we'd have taken another look at
him after a year.'
`Fair enough.'
`Now for some other stuff, which will probably be more relevant than Maurice. I'm sure you can guess that we're always on the look-out for threats to Ministers. Just recently, they've been on the increase. We take them all seriously, till we're satisfied that there's nowt in 'em, but most of them turn out to be cranks.
`Currently, there are three that we're worried about. The first is an Irish outfit, a Republican splinter group that doesn't like the way things 'ave gone over there. They've 'ad one go already, a year or so back, when they tried to smuggle a bloody huge car bomb across the border. They lost half their strength then, but there are still a few of them on the loose. We believe that they're out to pull off a big score, and the word was that Davey was a target.
`Then there's the Enviro-terrorists.'
`Who?' said Maggie Rose.
À group of Australasian radicals who are still carrying a grudge over French nuclear testing in the Pacific, and our support for them. They made some public threats when the first tests were carried out, but after that they went quiet. Then, a couple of weeks ago, the New Zealand Special Branch dropped us a tip that they'd been funded by the Iranians to make some mischief, and that they had it in mind to stage a big stunt in Europe, probably an assassination. They wouldn't get near Chirac, or our PM, but the French and British Defence Ministers, and Army Chiefs of Staff are seen as likely targets.
`Finally, there's General Yahic.'
‘Who’s he? ‘asked Donaldson.
`Miroslav Yahic. He's the most fanatical Serb commander of them all, and he's still holed up in a little enclave in Bosnia. The leadership try to keep him quiet, but his men seem to be loyal to him rather than them, so short of shooting him they can't do a thing about him.
He's declared a personal war on all the NATO countries, and he means it.
`You may have read or seen telly reports a week or two back about the assassination of a Dutch General in his car in The Hague. Then, a few days later, an American fighter was blown up on the ground at a base in Germany. The Intelligence community is dead certain that Yahic was behind both of those attacks, and they've put the word out to expect more.'
Skinner's Ordeal Page 10
