Quintin Jardine - Skinner Skinner 07

by Skinner's Ghosts (pdf)

  'Oh yes,' said Christabel Innes Dawson QC. 'That's him all right.

  That's Heuer. Peter Gilbert Heuer.'

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  'I'd forgotten everything about him,' said Andy Martin, back in his office.

  'So had I,' Skinner agreed. 'But why should either of us have remembered? Neither you nor I ever interviewed him: we only handled the support players. We were hauled off drugs work to do it, remember, and we were pissed off about it.

  'But when Christabel came on the scene as my counsel, and we started to talk about it, I began to have an itch about something.

  When I heard his voice on the tape this morning, insistent, angry, as it was in court, I was almost sure. If the old dear hadn't picked him from the first message, I'd have played her the other, but she knew him well, knew all sides of him.'

  He looked at the case notes on Martin's desk. 'It reads oddly, doesn't it. He was caught in the Polish Consul's house, with a gun, and some of the Consulate silver in a bag, yet at first he wouldn't make any statement. All the notes say that he was arrogant and confident, yet silent as the grave, until the case was almost ready for trial.

  'It reads as if he thought someone was going to spring him.

  'He acted that way in court too. But if you recal , my evidence was about how the technicians had found his prints on the disabled alarm, and about how he had activated the second system, linked direct to Fettes, that he hadn't known about.

  'When I was finished, he knew that he was done for. Thinking back, I remember the way he looked at me, when I stepped down from the box. Pure hatred. It was as if I had been sent along as his executioner.'

  He paused, and picked up the notes. 'When Heuer was arrested, he gave his address as Cromden, in Derbyshire. I'm sure if we had

  time, we'd find that recently he's been living somewhere in Edinburgh, maybe as Mr Gilbert. You should put Clan Pringle's team on to checking that, but let's not base our hopes on us.

  ' I left Bruce Anderson to consult the Prime Minister about payment of the ransom. I think that he'll agree.'

  'But how will Heuer collect it?' asked Martin.

  'He won't leave it in Guernsey, that's for sure. It'll be forwarded 250

  to another bank, and maybe one or two more after that, till it reaches its final destination. I'd guess it'l go somewhere we've no jurisdiction, where Heuer can pick it up and disappear for good.'

  'And the kids?'

  Skinner looked at him. 'You have to ask? He'l kill them, Andy, if he hasn't already. At best,' he checked his watch, 'we have forty-seven hours to find them. And we can't do anything until Neil gets back from RAF Leuchars.'

  Skinner threw open the door of Martin's office. 'I hate hanging around, Andy,' he cal ed from the doorway. 'I'm going off to make a phone cal . After that, I'm going to find Noel Salmon, take him into a quiet corner and find out exactly what he knows about al of this.

  'Once Mcl henney gets back, with a bit of luck, we'l have a good idea of where to look for Mr Peter Gilbert Heuer. Given that, then tomorrow we'll take him, and pray that the children are still alive.'

  'I hate to remind you, Bob,' said Martin, 'but you're stil suspended.'

  'Bugger that. When we run this bastard to ground, I'm going to be there, and no rucking politicians are going to stop me.' He paused.

  'Anyway, I called in to see Bruce Anderson, just after eight, on my way in here. I played him that tape, and this time I let him lift my suspension when he offered.'

  He looked across the room. 'Before I forget, Pammy, come out to Gul ane tonight. After al , you start your new job tomorrow. Somehow or other, we must fit in dinner to celebrate that.'

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  Skinner sat behind his desk for the first time in days. It felt secure and comfortable as always, not defiled at all by its temporary occupancy by Algernon Cheshire.

  He picked up the telephone, and dial ed Mcl henney's mobile number. Road noise almost drowned the Sergeant's voice as he answered.

  'Neil,' he said, in something approaching a shout. 'A slight change of plan. If you get a result up at Leuchars, meet me at Fairyhouse Avenue. Got that?'

  'Understood, sir.' There was not a hint of a question in his assistant's voice.

  Skinner replaced the phone and picked up another. From a book which he never left in the office, he selected another number. 'Yes?'

  said the voice at the other end of the secure line, knowing that wrong numbers can happen anywhere.

  'Adam,' snapped Skinner tersely. 'It's Bob here.'

  'Hello mate.' All of a sudden, the Derbyshire accent was warm and friendly. 'How are you doing? And 'ow's that lovely wife of yours?'

  'Living in America,' said Skinner, even more shortly than before.

  'I'm with another lady now. Don't you read the Spotlight? Have you been abroad for the last couple of weeks?'

  'As a matter of fact, I have. But stil , I mean, Jesus Christ, Bob.

  You and Sarah?'Adam Arrow was rarely knocked off balance, in any respect.

  'No time for explanations, Adam. I need a favour, very fast.'

  'If I can.'

  'Let's hope. I want you to try a name for me. Peter Gilbert Heuer.

  Mixed German-UK parentage. A few years ago he was nicked in the Polish Consul's residence in Edinburgh with a gun and a bag which more or less had "swag" written across it.

  'I was young and naive then, but now I don't believe for one second that he was a burglar. I need to know what he was there for, who sent him, and what his deal was meant to be.'

  'Okay,' said Arrow. 'I'll try. Why's this name come up al of a sudden? Can you tell me?'

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  'Sure. Mr Heuer seems to have diversified into stealing politicians'

  children and selling them back to the Government for a mil ion pounds a time.'

  'I see. I've heard about that al right. Let's not hang about then.

  Where can I get back to you?'

  'Use my mobile number. We've no time for niceties, even if the MI5 snoopers might overhear something that could be hazardous to their health.'

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  Noel Salmon was easy to find. There was no answer to the doorbell of his seedy flat, when Skinner rang it, but a single phone cal to John Hunter established that the Spotlights former ace reporter could be found on most mornings in a pub cal ed the Eastern, not far away.

  Skinner knew it well. It was the type of place where knives were regarded as fashion accessories.

  The journalist had his back to the door as Skinner opened it. The two men's eyes met in the mirror behind the bar, but before Salmon had time to react, far less to run, the policeman reached across, seized his col ar from behind and hauled him out into the street, into the summer rain. 'Your place, or mine?' he hissed. 'Yours I think, this time. More discreet and I don't mind making a mess there.'

  He hustled his helpless captive along the wet pavement as fast as he could, away from the Eastern, as the first curious morning drunks lurched out to see what was happening. Together they turned a corner, and found themselves almost at the stairway to Salmon's building.

  The policeman was barely breathing hard when they reached the fourth-floor doorway, yet the little man's chest was heaving. 'Open it,' Skinner snarled. Salmon tried to obey, but he could only fumble for his key and poke it ineffectively at the lock, with a shaking hand.

  Impatiently, the detective tore it from his grasp, opened the door, and threw him roughly inside, sending him tumbling and fal ing along the floor of the hallway.

  The quarry scrambled to his feet, completely terrified now. 'You

  . . . you . . . you . . .' he wailed. To Skinner's disgust, his former tormentor wet himself.

  'Through there,' he ordered. 'The living room, if that's what you call it.' Salmon obeyed and collapsed, helpless, into a chair.

  'There are no lawyers about now, Noel,' snarled the policeman.

  'Not a soul in fact, just you and me, and
this place being where it is, no-one wil remember having seen us on our way up here.'

  He crossed to the sash-cord window and pulled it up, tugging hard and opening a gap of around two feet. 'Know what defenestration means, cockroach?' he asked.

  Salmon gaped at him, speechless.

  'It means jumping or being thrown out of the fucking window.

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  And that is just about where I am with you. You've given me grief, son, and now you're going to find out just how stupid you've been.

  'I'm not going to thump you around or anything. It's as simple as this: you either give me the name of the person who tipped you off about Pam and me, and who gave you the info on this bribe setup, or out you go. Splat. You'l be back on the front page again, only as a headline, not a byline.

  'A drunken suicide, it'll be. There won't even be a Fatal Accident Inquiry.'

  Skinner seized the reporter by the collar once more, jerked him upright and hauled him, whimpering, over to the wide-open window.

  'I know it was one of two people. I think I know which, and I'm certain you do too. For your sake, I hope I'm right.

  'So what's it to be?' he asked, and Noel Salmon found himself with no reason to doubt the sincerity of his question. 'Are you talking or flying?'

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  Skinner was in his dressing gown as he opened the door of the Fairyhouse Avenue bungalow. For once in his life, Sergeant Mcl henney looked nonplussed.

  The DCC laughed. 'Relax, Neil, it's all right. I'm alone. I just felt the need of a shower and a change of clothes, that's all. Go into the kitchen and make us a couple of coffees. The milk in the fridge should be okay. I'l be with you by the time you're done.'

  He was as good as his word. Mcl henney turned from the counter and handed him a steaming mug as he walked into the room, dressed in a black teeshirt and light cotton trousers.

  'Did you get caught in the rain, boss?'

  'No. Not for long, anyway. The company I was in made me feel unclean, that's al . I've seen the last of the wee bastard though. He decided to take a flight.'

  The Sergeant looked at him curiously. 'Mr Salmon's going to make a fresh start in London. I persuaded him that Edinburgh was too small a place for his talents to blossom.'

  'He'll be able to walk on to the plane, will he?'

  'Walk! I reckon he'l run up the steps. So, Neil, how did you get on at Leuchars?'

  His assistant beamed his satisfaction. 'Score one for us,' he answered. 'You were right. Or if you weren't, those planes were Russian. The CO up there was a bit coy at first, until I explained to him that if he didn't co-operate, you'd arrange for the Secretary of State to shit on him from a great height.

  'From what he said, he had good reason to be coy. They've been running secret tests out of Leuchars at night, on a new radar system, using it to try to keep track of American Stealth fighters. You know, those Star Wars-looking things. It was one of them you heard on the wee boy's tape.'

  'And was the course plotted?'

  Mcl henney nodded. 'Oh aye, boss. Both by the radar system and by the plane's on-board system.'

  He took a map from the pocket of his jacket and spread it on Skinner's kitchen work-surface. 'We timed the noise from the Big Ben chimes on the tape to within a couple of seconds. When the 256

  recorder picked it up, it was right here, travelling from east to west.'

  He leaned over the map, and pointed to an oval, drawn in blue bal point ink, with an arrow indicating direction. 'This is a detailed Ordnance Survery map, boss. The flight-path at that point went over a valley called King's Gully. It's twelve miles north of your man Balliol's place, on Loch Mhor.

  'There's nothing but hills between the two, but the map shows a couple of cottages in King's Gully itself.'

  'Yes,' Skinner hissed. 'I think tomorrow morning we'l pay a cal .'

  As he spoke, his mobile phone, which he had laid on the counter, began to ring. He picked it up and answered, walking towards the back door and out into the garden. 'Skinner.'

  The,' said Adam Arrow, tersely. 'Your man is known to certain people down here. If he's done what you say, then they are very, very angry with him.

  'I'm authorised to tell you about him. Also I have a very specific request for you: a request, not an order. If you feel you'd rather not, then I'l come up to handle the matter, but the belief is that it should be dealt with locally if possible, and I've told them that you're more than capable.'

  Skinner felt the hair prickle at the back of his neck. 'Is this your request?' he asked. 'Or does it come from someone else?'

  'Oh yes,' Arrow replied. 'This doesn't come from me or my boss, or even his boss. It comes from the very top man. From everyone's boss.

  'Now, let me tell you about your man.'

  Skinner was grim-faced and thinking hard when he walked back into the kitchen.

  'I've been thinking, sir,' said Mcllhenney. 'If we're going after this man, shouldn't we let the Northern Force know about it? King's Gul y's on their patch.'

  'You're right, Neil,' said the DCC. 'We should. But we're not going to.'

  He took the kitchen telephone from its wall bracket and dialled the Head ofCID's direct line. 'Andy,' he said, as soon as the call was answered, 'I want you to meet me at headquarters at six thirty. Don't discuss it with anyone, not even the Chief, but make sure that the sports field is clear. There's an army helicopter coming to pick us up

  . . . just you and me, that is. I'll be there sharp, but I've something to do between now and then.'

  'Understood. Is there any equipment that you want me to draw?'

  'No,' Skinner replied. 'The army's providing suitable clothing and boots. Your size and mine. Other items too. Everything we'l need wil be on the chopper.'

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  He was in the bathroom when he heard the key in the lock. The door opened and closed quickly, then light footsteps crossed the living room.

  He dried his hands, listening with a soft smile as he heard drawers and doors sliding, and general sounds of rushing around.

  Silently, he stepped out of the bathroom, grinning as he stood in the doorway of Pamela's bedroom. 'Christ,' he chuckled, 'haven't you got enough clothes out at my place already? Did Andy let you go early? It's just gone four o'clock.'

  With her back to the door, she jumped at the sound of his voice.

  'Bob,' she cried. 'I almost died.' She turned to face him, looking flushed. 'What are you doing here? I thought you said you'd see me at Gullane.'

  He shrugged. 'Cal of nature, madam, like we used to say when I was in uniform. I was nearby, so I answered it here.'

  'I didn't notice your car,' she said, recovering her composure.

  'As you guessed, I just looked in to pick up one or two more things.'

  He laughed. 'In a suitcase?' He shook his head. 'Love, why don't you just admit it?'

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her face flushed again as she looked at him, quizzically. 'Admit what?'

  'That you're moving in with me, piece by piece, dress by dress, shoe by shoe, tight by tight, knicker by knicker.'

  Her face lit up as she grinned, gauchely, like any young girl in love. 'Well,' she said, 'now that I'm transferring to another force, now that, hopeful y, I don't have to feel threatened by this madman, isn't it time that you . . .'

  Bob chuckled again. 'Ah, you mean - like I said to Andy - that I made an honest woman of you . ..'

  'Well?' she asked, with an expectant tone in her voice.

  His grin widened into a broad smile. Then she looked into his eyes, and was hit like a hammer by the truth of something that she had been told, once before: that he was the most dangerous man she had ever seen.

  'Pamela,' he said, quietly, still smiling, but deadly and cold. 'Quite 258

  literally, I couldn't make an honest woman of you to save your life.

  It's way beyond that.

  'You're my implacable enemy, my so-called love.
I was more baffled and bewildered than I've ever been, trying to find the person who wanted to finish me, and yet all the time, I was sleeping with her.

  'Even though in the end he was desperate to tell me al about it, I didn't actual y need Noel Salmon to admit to me that it was you who tipped him off about our being together, or gave him the bribe information.' He caught her gasp. 'Never underestimate anyone, even a weasel like him. Not even he is going to take an anonymous tip without at least trying to check the source.'

  He pushed himself upright, off the doorframe. 'Remember, when you cal ed him and dropped that note for him in the dustbin near the Norwegian Memorial in Princes Street Gardens? He went there early, and watched you drop it. He didn't know who you were, not then, until he saw the two of us together after he started watching us. When you dropped him the information about the bank account in the same way, he didn't need to follow you again.'

  Skinner paused. 'At first, I wondered why anyone would pick a useless pissed-up wee twat like Salmon as a means of shafting me.

  But as soon as I knew it was you I worked that one out for myself.

  You were having it off with Alan Royston when I barred wee Noel from Fettes. You found out from him, on the pil ow, which journalist hated me the most.'

  His smile was al gone now. 'Come, on Pam, don't disappoint me.

  Protest your innocence.'

  She looked at him, her once-soft eyes blazing. 'I can't. Because I can't believe what I'm hearing. I didn't realise you were so desperate that you could do something like this.'

  'If you can't believe it,' he answered her, 'then why did you call Air UK this afternoon and book a flight for Amsterdam at five forty-five this evening?' He eyed her evenly. 'Mario called me just afterwards, on my mobile, while I was in the garden at Fairyhouse.'

  He smiled cruelly at her surprise. 'Ever since I knew it was you, Special Branch have been bugging your phone.

  'That's what the suitcase is about, Pam.' She started to speak, but he silenced her with a single look.

  'No. Don't interrupt me. You are in very great danger. Just listen.

  'I knew it was you, my pet, because of two stupid mistakes you made. The first was when you slipped me a blank sheet of paper to sign when you were my executive assistant. For a second or two, I actual y believed my own story, that I had given someone my autograph. Then I remembered that when I do that I always sign myself "Bob Skinner". The ful Monty signature, "Robert M.