'The guy who blew up his cruiser yesterday afternoon, with him in it.
He's dead. My team confirmed this morning that the explosion was no accident.'
'Dead?'
'As a rucking doornail, Rusty; and so are Wilkins and Garrett. They were both murdered in their homes within the last month. Their kil ings 172
. . ok like they happened in the course of burglaries; but they nla nro hits, both of them, as were the Graces' deaths. The Wylie Homicide wasn't disguised as anything; there was enough explosive one of his cabin lockers to have made a good-sized hole in the battleship New Jersey.
'So that's why we're here, my friend. We have a problem and so have there's someone out there who's making serious inroads into the rol of registered Democratic voters. If he isn't stopped, you could start to
run out of them.'
'How can I help?'
'We're looking for connections,' said Skinner. 'We have several already from the backgrounds on the victims, gathered by the police officers who originally investigated their killings. We know that these men were al active members of your Party. We know that they were al lawyers. We know that they all worked in Washington in the sixties, during the Kennedy administration.
'But that's as far as it goes. There's something we don't know, something that links al four men together, something that's got them killed. There's nothing in the files of my father-in-law's old firm. We have people asking similar questions about Wilkins and Garrett, but if there's nothing in Buffalo, there's unlikely, in my view at least, to be anything in Chicago or Las Vegas.
'So we're here. You're the end of the road, more or less. We need to go as far back as we can into your records, to see whether they got involved in something through the Party that's led to this.'
The Democrat official took a deep breath and pushed himself up from his chair. He walked over to the window and looked out over the city, back up towards the seat of national government. 'You tried the State Department?' he asked. 'Or the attorney general's office?'
They were questions that Skinner himself had not asked, but Doherty answered. 'Of course I have. There's nothing that helps us.''
Savage turned back to face them. 'In that case, guys, I'm sorry, but I'm don't think I'm going to be able to help you, either.' He paused.
'You are correct to assume that we do store biographic material on our activists, usually going back to the earliest days of their work within our movement. However, these days we keep very few long-term paper records; just about everything we have is on computer. Last week, when I heard about Mr Grace's death, I went into our mainframe and cal ed up his file. It wasn't there; I asked our head of information technology what had happened to it.
'He looked into it, and reported that it had been erased; we've lost all the bios beginning with the letter G, and al of the Was, too. We interrogated al our users, but nobody admitted to doing it, accidental y or otherwise. His conclusion, although he couldn't be certain, was that someone had hacked in and done it.'
He frowned down at them. 'Looks like now we know for sure.'
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'This is a mistake,' he whispered to no one, as he stood on the dark landing. He had knocked on George Rosewell's door, just in case; there had been no answer but he had decided against taking another unauthorised look inside. He had almost gone back downstairs, but instead, against his instincts, he had rung Ivy Brennan's doorbell.
'Hello, Mr Detective.'
She was tal er than she had been, the first time she had looked up at him in that doorway. He glanced down and saw that she was wearing thick-soled shoes, with high heels. She was better dressed too, in a close-fitting blue dress, and this time, there was none of the waif about her.
'Come in,' she said, holding the door wide for him.
'Are you going out somewhere?' he asked, as he fol owed her through to the living room.
'No. I was expecting someone, so I thought I'd get dol ed up for him.'
'Who? Rufus's dad?'
'No, thicko! I was expecting you.'
'Now listen, Ivy. . .'
She laughed, a sound as gentle as wind chimes fanned by an opening door. 'Don't get al heavy on me, now. I could have stayed the way I was; no make-up and all smelly, like the first time you came here. Would you have preferred that?'
He smiled, in spite of himself. 'No; this version's more to my taste.'
'Oh,' she murmured, turning and stepping close to him. 'Do you fancy a taste, then?'
'Ah, Christ,' Mario exclaimed. 'I knew I shouldn't have come here!'
'Ah, but you did, though. In spite of al your better judgement, you did.'
His grin was gone; he glared down at her. 'You know fuck al about my uncle, do you, girl.'
'I know that he's dead, because I saw it in the Mail today. That's how I knew he was your uncle, because you're mentioned in the story, you and your cousin, Paula. I know her, though; she owns a sauna, round the corner from here and along the road a bit.'
McGuire gasped with surprise. 'Are you on the game?'
'Certainly not!' she laughed, in a tone of mock protestation. 'I'm a good mother, I'l have you know, and I'm not a junkie.'
'I've met many a working girl who was a good mother,' he told her.
'As for being a junkie, you're acting like you're on something.' He seized her wrists and turned them, looking for needle tracks along the flat of her pale forearms and in the folds of her elbows, but they were unmarked.
When he let her go, she took a pace back from him, and hoisted up the blue dress, showing him the inside of her thighs. 'D'you want to check there as well?' she challenged. 'D'you want to check anywhere else?'
She slid the dress higher; she was wearing a G-string, but he could tell that she was blonde, for real.
'Just chuck that,' he warned her, 'or I'm out that door right now.'
'Are you really?' She reached behind her and, in a flash, pulled down a long zip, and wriggled her shoulders. The dress fel in a circle at her feet. 'See? Not a needle mark anywhere.' Her tiny body was almost classic in its proportions; a little wide in the hips, perhaps, after Rufus, but otherwise perfect. Smal , bud-like pink nipples seemed to wink up at him. 'Want to make certain?' She slid her thumbs inside the black thong and began to roll it down.
Suddenly he was aware that every muscle in his body seemed to be tensed; he could feel them bunched under his shirt and jeans. He could feel them, and more. With an effort of wil he turned, and headed for the door.
'Okay!' she called after him. 'Okay, I'l behave myself. Just don't go.'
He stopped in the doorway. 'Get dressed, then.'
'I'm doing it; I'm doing it. There.'
When he turned, her back was to him. 'Zip me up.' He did as she asked, drawing the dress closed and tight to her.
'One thing you should know about me,' he told her. 'I love my wife.
Anyone who harms her, or who even threatens it... in any way ... is in big, big trouble. Understand me?'
She nodded. 'Yes. That's why you want to find George, isn't it? He hurt her before he went away. Now he's in bother with you.'
'Is he ever.'
'So you haven't found him.'
'Not a trace. He's either gone back to Portugal or he's in the Water of Leith.'
176
'I don't think the fish would fancy him.'
And then she grinned up at him. 'You have to admit, though, I did give it a good try. Did you like the quick flash? Just a bit?'
The girl-waif-woman look was back in her eyes; somehow, he found it disturbing, as if the poisoned apple had been offered and he had begun to reach for it.
'A work of art. Ivy,' he said, acidly, 'but a bit smal for me. Never mind, though; one day you'll make some guy a fine desk ornament.'
'Ohh! We do have a way with the insults, don't we. Although that's not what that lump in your jeans was saying, a minute or so back.
Stil ... far be it from me to come between a man and his wife. W
ant a coffee?'
'No, thanks. But if you have any mineral water, I'd take some.'
She nodded and went through to her small kitchen, returning with a bottle of San Pellegrino and two tumblers. 'That's how I got to know Paula, by the way,' she said, holding up the bottle as he took one of the glasses. 'I shop in her deli; I go in there quite a lot with Rufus. She likes him; she's very fond of children.'
'She's very fond of men,' he grunted, 'but I'm not so sure about kids.'
'She is; take my word for it. Anyway, she's my pal. She told me about the sauna; that's how I knew where it was. And that's where I saw your uncle.'
'You real y did know him?' Mario exclaimed. 'That wasn't just rubbish?'
'Well, I wouldn't exactly say I knew him. I did exaggerate a bit when I phoned you. I was passing the place one day, and I saw him. The door was open and he was standing, framed in it.'
He looked at her, doubtful y. 'Are you sure it was him? Beppe had nothing to do with those businesses. There was no reason for him to go there.'
'Most men go to places like that for a pretty good reason.'
'Not Beppe.'
'I'm pretty sure,' Ivy assured him. 'That was a good photograph in the Mail, and when I saw him, he was dressed much the same.'
'Okay, you saw him once. But how does that tel you who kil ed him?'
'I didn't just remember him because I saw him. Like I told you, he was standing there, and he was having a screaming argument with someone.'
'Beppe? He wasn't the screaming type.'
'He was when I saw him.'
'And who was he screaming at?'
'Ah well, I laid that on a bit thick too, when I cal ed you. The other person was inside the place, I couldn't see who it was and I couldn't hear their voice, other than that it was raised. But I can tell you this, your uncle was shouting at whoever it was as if he wanted to kil them. If the other person was as mad with him as he was with them, all you have to do is find him.'
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'Well, Sauce, what do you have for me this morning?'
'Weekend reports, ma'am,' the probationer replied. 'The front desk said that Mr English normal y checks them over first thing on a Monday morning.'
I'l bet he does, thought Maggie.
'Just put them in my in-tray,' she said, leaning back in her chair and looking up at the young man. 'Did you have a good one, then?'
Haddock stared at her, bewildered. 'Good what, ma'am?'
'Weekend, son; did you have a good weekend?'
'Oh, that. Yes, ma'am, it was okay. Went out wi' my girlfriend on Saturday, like. Watched the fitba' on telly yesterday. Just ordinary, like.
What about you, ma'am?' he asked, emboldened.
'Mine? Family stuff, mainly.'
'Ahh,' he said. 'I suppose.' He paused. 'They were saying downstairs, about your husband's uncle, like. That must have been an awful shock for him.'
She grimaced. 'A bul et in the back of the head usually is.'
Haddock gasped at her response, and Maggie saw him go pale. 'Sorry, son,' she exclaimed. 'That was a bit blunt. But you do know what you can come across in this job, don't you?'
'Aye, ma'am,' the probationer replied, 'but you don't, do you, at least no' very often?'
'Potentially, every day you pul on that uniform, you're going to see something very unpleasant. The second week I was out on patrol, I was cal ed to a traffic accident out on Queensferry Road; three young girls, all pissed, in somebody's daddy's Rover. All pissed, like I said, and all very dead. I picked one kid's head off the road and put it back in the car, then I was sick in the gutter.
'Two weeks later, my partner and I answered a call to a flat in Morningside. One of the neighbours had complained about the smell.
As it happened, it was coming from an old lady who'd died of a heart attack, in front of her electric fire, about a week or so earlier.
We had to break into the house.
'I don't want to sound hard. Sauce, but if you're squeamish about this job, you'd better get it out of your system. Have you been out in a patrol car yet, or on the beat?'
'Not yet, ma'am.'
'How long did you say you've been with the force?'
'Four weeks now, ma'am.'
'It's about time you had some outside experience, then. I'l arrange it with Inspector Wright.'
'Yes, ma'am, thank you.' Haddock left, looking significantly more serious than when he had arrived.
Maggie shook her head, sighed, then drew her in-tray across the desk towards her. She had just picked up the first of the weekend reports, from the Oxgangs police office, when there was a faint knock on her door.
'Come in,' she cal ed, but it was opening as she spoke. Chief Superintendent Dan Pringle's lugubrious form stepped into the room.
'Hello, sir,' she exclaimed, surprised.
'Aw, come on, Maggie,' the new head of CID protested. 'Don't start wi' the "sir" bit, not after pouring me into a taxi last Friday night. I hope that sitting in for Manny English isn't turning you into a book operator too.'
'Sorry, Clan,' she said. 'But you might be right. Our new ACC's a clever so-and-so, you know. I've only been doing the job for a couple of days, and part-time at that, but already it's got me thinking like management.
'I've just had a probationer in here, the lad who's acting as my runner; the boy's nice, and willing, and all the rest, but doesn't understand what the job's real y about, or what it can involve.'
'So you've told him.'
'Too right. I'm going to make bloody sure he sees what it can involve, too. Young Sauce has potential, but he's got to get his feet on the floor and his head out of the clouds.'
'Sauce?'
'Nickname.'
'Bet you Manny English doesn't know his nickname,' Pringle murmured.
Maggie shrugged her shoulders. 'So?'
'So, for all that he's the very model of a modem divisional commander, that's something missing in him. Guys like him think they have to be 180
aloof from the people under them. I'l bet you know the Christian name of everyone in this office.'
She thought for a moment. 'I probably do,' she conceded. 'Most of the nicknames too.'
'Manny doesn't though. I used to sit in this very office, so I worked with him, and I know that for a fact. He's a decent man, you can't fault his motives, and he never puts a foot wrong, but he doesn't know his officers. He'd never call your lad "Sauce", to his face or behind his back.
I doubt if he even knows that the Chief's cal ed Proud Jimmy, or that Bob Skinner and Andy Martin used to be Batman and Robin, or that you and Mario are ...' He stopped short, as he saw her eyes widen.
'Oh yes,' she said, trying not to smile. 'And what do they cal my husband and me, behind our backs?'
Pringle grunted. 'As if you don't know. You two are dark and Lois, to just about the entire force . . . apart from Manny English.'
'I must tell Mario to stop wearing that bloody cape,' Maggie retorted.
'Anyway,' she continued, 'al that and Wil ie Haggerty's deviousness aside, what's brought you in here?'
The big, middle-aged detective tugged his moustache. 'I'm the new Head of CID,' he answered, blandly. 'I can come in here any time I like.
I wil , too.' She leaned back and waited. 'Ach, it being my first day in the job and al that, I thought I'd get out and about.
'I did think about cal ing in al the divisional CID heads for a roundtable session, but then I thought better of it. Nothing against Andy, but I'm not going to run things quite like he did. I'll stil have the odd headquarters meeting, but not every Monday; maybe one every three months, something like that. No, my idea is that I'll come to see you, rather than the other way around.
'I figure I might learn more that way. If someone's got a problem, he
... or she . . . might be more likely to come out with it in a one-to-one session than across the big table with everyone listening in.' He looked her in the eye. 'You're the newest in the rank, but
don't tell me you haven't picked up on the politics of it.
'Every one of us at those meetings knew that Andy wasna' going to be in that job long. He'll be a chief constable by the time he's forty, maybe in Dumfries and Gal oway, maybe somewhere else; he was bound to move on up the ladder.'
'Why didn't he get the job here?'
'Us humble mortals can only guess at that, Maggie. Mine would be that it didn't fit in with Bob Skinner's plans . . . but you'd know more about that, having worked for the Big Man. Anyhow, those Monday sessions used to amuse me, watching certain people grinding their axes and jockeying for position, fancying themselves up as Andy's successor.
Big McGrigor, he was near retirement, so he didna' give a stuff. As for me, I thought I'd been passed over for good when Andy got the job, then I was sure of it when I was shifted down to the Borders.
'The others, though, they all had ambitions, and two of them, Jay and Michaels, don't even like each other. They never offered an opinion; they said what they hoped Andy wanted to hear.'
'That's not true of Brian Mackie,' Rose protested.
'Even Brian was careful before he stuck his neck out.' The chief superintendent laughed suddenly. 'God, it was funny, though, when you came into the meetings. That changed the whole thing around, wi' you being so close to the Boss, and everything. When you were promoted straight into the Central Division job, Greg andWillie were really rattled.'
'I can't say I noticed.'
'Well, by Christ I did!' He laughed softly. 'Anyhow, I don't fancy listening to any more of it. And I'd have to. I won't be here al that long myself, and wi' Mario in the mix, those two's jockeying wil be even worse. No, I'm going to do it my way.'
'Mmm,' the red-haired superintendent murmured. 'Just remember who started those meetings. It wasn't Andy, or Roy Old, it was Mr Skinner himself.'
'Oh, I remember that al right. There was no bul shit in those days though; they were all too scared of the Big Fella to take any chances wi'
him. There's no problem there, anyway; the DCC's told me I can run things any way I like.'
'So this is the start of it, then. You're going to be peering round my door every Monday morning from now on.'
Quintin Jardine - Skinner Skinner 12 Page 20
