'What about Jimmy's senior officers' dinner tonight?'
'Postponed,' said Mcl henney. 'The Chief's going to wait until you're back.'
'Good for him. I feel better about that.'
"That leads me to something I have to ask you. What about my move to SB? It's supposed to happen on Monday, when Mario heads off to the Borders Division. Do you want to put a hold on everything, save Clan Pringle's move, and leave the deputy in charge in the Borders, pro tern?'
'No,' Skinner replied, firmly. 'I've thought about that. My private office is secondary in my absence; you go ahead with your move. Keep an eye on my stuff long distance, you and Ruthie can manage that between you. Take anything with a health warning on it straight to Willie Haggerty.
'But what I do want you to do,' he went on, 'is to appoint your own successor.'
'Eh? You serious?'
'Sure I am. You know better than anyone, bar Andy, how I think and how I work. Look at the available talent, either a detective sergeant or a recently promoted DI, and make a choice.'
'I'd pick Jack McGurk, right now,' said Mcl henney, 'but Mr Pringle plans on bringing him in as his own exec.'
Skinner thought for a moment or two. 'Listen, if you think big Jack's the man for the job, pul rank. Tell Dan I want him and that's that. He'l huff for a bit, but he owes me one, and he bloody knows it. Go on; do it.
I'll hose down the new head of CID if necessary.'
'Okay, if you say so. Christ,' the Inspector laughed, 'you can cause bloody chaos from three thousand miles away.'
26
'Wel my God; it's our Mario! It's not like you to frequent the family business. What brings you here?' Paula Viareggio grinned at her cousin across the counter, her dark eyes carrying a mix of mockery and challenge, as they had done since they were children.
'A packet ofporcini mushrooms and some Seranno ham, actual y,' he said.
As he looked at Paula, across the counter, he was struck by the contrast she presented to the girl he had just left. Ivy Brennan was locked in a sort of extended childhood, her life shaped by her diminutive size and her elfin features. Paula, on the other hand, was ageless, her silver hair, high cheekbones and velvet skin giving her the appeal of a work of art, of an old master oil painting.
For a time in his late teens and early twenties, Mario McGuire had lusted after his Uncle Beppe's older daughter… something which Paula had understood from an early stage. The chal enge had been in her eyes from that time on, but he had been sensible enough to know that if he rose to it, he would be setting off down a dangerous path from which there would be no turning. There had been a couple of close cal s though; one at a party at Beppe's, and another after he had left home, when Paula had turned up at his flat late at night with a couple of drinks under her belt and mischief on her mind. And in truth, there had been another night, another party at which everyone had been very drunk, after which he had never been entirely certain what had happened. He had never asked, and Paula had never mentioned it.
'Mushrooms and ham indeed,' she laughed, scornful y.
'Why not? We're having friends for dinner and Maggie's got this new recipe.'
'So she sends you here to shop for her?'
He glanced around the big, double-fronted shop. 'This is still a deli, isn't it?'
'For the moment, yes. Come on, cuz, this is Paula; you're not kidding me. Your office is just along the road, but in al the time you've been 104 working out of it, you've never set foot in here. Now, the day after Aunt Christina drops her bombshell, here you are. This is an inspection visit by the new trustee, isn't it?'
He smiled at her; the full high-octane Mario smile, the killer leg opener from his single days which he had always been careful, until then, never to flash in her direction, for fear of what it might unleash.
'No fooling you, eh. Okay I admit it; I thought I'd drop in for a chat.'
'I'll chat to you any time, Big Irish, but why here? You can come round to my place any time you like.'
'I don't like to drop in there unannounced; you might have company.'
'Not right now, I don't; the lady is on her own. Anyhow, I never used to bother about paying you a surprise visit.'
'I remember.'
'Much good it used to do me, too. So what do you want to chat about?'
It was his turn to throw her a chal enging look. 'Now who's being coy? You know bloody well; I want to talk about you, our Paula, and your place in the family business. By the way, how's Uncle Beppe taking it?
I thought he was uncharacteristical y quiet after Mum made her announcement.'
'Dad's very sad that she's going. He's relied on her advice whenever a major decision has had to be made in the past, and he'll miss her greatly.'
Mario laughed out loud. 'Hah! That's a belter, that one. Whatever Mum said he did the opposite. Remember after Papa died, he left a plan to launch Viareggio fish and chip shops as a franchise? My mother was all for going ahead with that; she pleaded, almost, with Uncle Beppe to agree to it. But did he? Not on your life. I was only sixteen then, and more interested in birds than business, but I remember Mum coming home from that last meeting with him. I've never seen her so angry; before or since. At the end he'd laughed at her. "Franchised fish and chip shops," he'd said. "Never heard anything so fucking stupid in my life."
'He's a real business tycoon, is your dad,' he chuckled, sarcastically.
'If he'd relied on my mother's advice, he'd be the chairman of a pie right now. D'you know there's a Harry bloody Ramsden in Singapore? If Papa Viareggio hadn't dropped down dead twenty years ago, it would have been his name… and yours… over the door.'
Paula looked at him cool y. He had tried to rattle her, but he had failed. 'Do you think you're going to change things then, Mario? Because if you do, I have to remind you that my father stil has the casting vote in the event of a disagreement between the two trustees. You've got no more power than Aunt Christina had. You'l be a figurehead just like she was.
McGuire crumpled up his mask of false bonhomie, and threw it away.
He looked at her without a flicker of humour in his eyes. 'Don't you believe that, cousin, not for one moment. You see, I'm not blind to my mother's only fault; she had this classical y Italian thing against washing the family linen in public. That's why she let Uncle Beppe get away with it, that time and on every occasion since. But I'm not like that; if I believe as a trustee that the casting vote is being used in a way that's against the best interests of the beneficiaries, then I won't hesitate for one second to go to court to have it overturned. That's the truth, a our dad better believe it. You too, for that matter.'
A flame kindled in her dark eyes. 'Are you threatening me, Mario?'
He shook his head, firmly. 'No. I'm telling you, that's all. Paula, I've got my own life to lead and a career outside the family business, so I've got no wish to get involved in day-to-day management things. I have got one or two ideas that I'm going to air, but I don't think that Uncle Beppe wil have a problem with any of them. There's contracts of employment, for example. As I understand it, our managers have none at the moment; not formally, at least. That's dodgy legal y, and it's not right moral y, so I'm going to propose that they have.
'They don't need to be fancy; just the standard rights and obligations, and the customary loyalty clause.'
'What's that?' asked his cousin.
'You know, the one about no additional like employment without approval. It just means that if one of our managers, like you are, wanted to take on a second managerial appointment in her spare time. .. let's say she ran a few saunas for example… she couldn't without the approval of her principal employer, the trust.'
He watched as her face seemed to set into a hard shell. 'Now,' he said, his smile back in place, 'about those mushrooms and that ham.'
27
'Are you serious, Mcllhenney?' Dan Pringle growled.
'Oh yes, sir, I'm serious. My boss has asked me to put my successor in place by the time he
gets back from the States, and Detective Sergeant McGurk is number one on the list… providing he accepts the job, of course.'
'So that's what it's going to be like at headquarters, is it? The DCC takes a fancy to my chosen exec and that's it. I don't know if I fancy this job after all. Aye, fuck it, I think I'll just stay on in the Borders Division.
Big McGuire can get back in the queue and you can stay in Skinner's office.'
Mcllhenney glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the door of the head of CID's private office was completely closed. 'Speaking privately, sir, you don't know how fucking near you were to staying on in the Borders. It was a toss-up between you and Greg Jay, in Leith, who got the head of CID job; you won partly because the Boss preferred not to have both Mario and Maggie based in the city.
'If you real y want to stay in the Borders, I reckon he'd agree to let you make that choice; but you'l have to decide it right now.'
The superintendent glared at him. 'You know, son,' he said,, 'you might look like a big amiable bastard, but you're real y good at putting the boot in. No wonder you and Bob Skinner get on.'
'I'll take that as a compliment, then,' Mcl henney murmured. 'But just so's you know, the Boss didn't take a fancy to McGurk. He asked me to find the best man for the job, and I said that he was. Would you argue with that?'
Pringle lowered his eyes and shook his head. 'No, I wouldn't, because you're right; big Jack's got command potential. Okay, okay, if the DCC wants him, or if you want him… What's the difference?… I won't stand in his way.'
'That's good, sir. Mr Skinner thought you would agree when you thought it through.'
'Good for me. It stil leaves me stuck for back-up, though.'
'Not necessarily. There's Ray Wilding, McGurk's old partner in Central; he's just been promoted to DS. You could have him.'
'Aye, but would I have to fight Maggie Rose for him?'
'No,' said the Inspector, quietly. 'He's yours if you want him. I'm off to tell McGurk he's got a new job.'
As he turned to leave, Pringle called after him. 'Was this personal wi' you, Mcllhenney?' he asked.
'No, sir. I don't let personal issues cloud my judgement.'
'But you don't like me.'
'I'm entirely ambivalent to you, Chief Superintendent.'
'Aye, that'll be right. Are you still carrying a grudge over that time I wanted to lift your wife's doctor?'
Mcllhenney looked him in the eye. 'How could I, sir? Stupidity's a condition, not a vice. We all have occasional lapses.'
He closed the door on the new head of CID, wondering how big an enemy he had made… but not caring too much… and walked the long corridor back to his old office in the command suite. He asked Ruth McConnel to find Jack McGurk for him, then cast an eye over the DCC's morning mail. Spotting nothing contentious, he took over the cal to McGurk and broke the good news.
'Is Mr Pringle okay about it?' asked the young sergeant.
'He's very happy for you. Talk to him yourself and he'll tell you that, I'm sure. Report here on Monday morning; I'l be a bit schizophrenic for a while, jumping between this office and my new one, but between us, Ruthie and I'l show you the ropes, and get you up to speed in time for the Big Man coming back.'
'When will that be?'
'Not next week, that's for sure. See you Monday, Jack.'
Having cleared his desk, he asked Ruth to re-direct his calls to the Special Branch suite and headed off to meet up as arranged with McGuire. He found him, shut away in his private office, seated, hunched, at his desk with the phone to his ear.
'Look, Mr Gwynn, let's not be fucking coy about this. You've cal ed me back through the switchboard, so you know that I real y am a detective superintendent and that this is not a hoax. I know yours is only a wee branch and you're worried about being crapped on from way up there, but I promise you that isn't going to happen. I'm trying to conduct a discreet enquiry here. Now are you going to co-operate or do I have to make some waves?'
He winked at Mcllhenney as he poured a coffee from the filter jug.
'Yes, I can promise you that. None of the information you give me wil be disclosed and nobody wil ever know that you provided it. What do you get from it?' He laughed. 'You get friends in high places and two unlisted telephone numbers that you can call whenever you're knee-deep in shit. That's a good swap, believe me.'
Mcl henney watched him, saw him nod quietly.
'Good, good. Okay the man's name is Rosewell, George Rosewell. He has a current account and a credit card, that's also operated through your bank. I need to know whether either of them has been used this week, I need to know the last time either was used, and in the case of the cash card I need to know how much money was withdrawn. Oh yes, and I'd like the current account balance.' He nodded again. 'Sure you can call me back; I'l be here for a while. Use this number, and keep a note of it for the future: emergencies only, mind.' He read out his direct line number.
'That's changed every so often, isn't it?' asked Mcl henney as he hung up.
'Aye, but he'll never use it. The boy just needed to feel important, that's all; a lot of these small branch managers are shit-scared of head office these days.'
'Why do you need that stuff anyway?'
'I'm stil trying to find Maggie's old man, so I can beat his fucking brains in… or at least run him out of Edinburgh. He hasn't been at work all week, and his house looked like the Marie Celeste.'
'You went in?'
'You're dead right I went in. I was paying a family visit, Neil.. . and even if it, hadn't been, in this job I could have justified it. The man has a history of violence and child abuse, he's living under an alias and he's in a wholly unsuitable job.'
'Child abuse?'
'Don't ask. Anyhow, there were the congealed leavings of pie, beans and chips on his kitchen table, with a half-read Sunday Mail beside them. I spoke to a neighbour. She hasn't seen him since then.'
'He's not in the nick, is he?'
'No. I've just checked that. Nor is he in any hospital in this area. Nor is he lying in a mortuary with a John Doe tag on his toe. Al this week's stiffs are accounted for. He has either gone on a very last-minute bargain break to Shagaluf, or he's been kidnapped by international criminals and is being held for a multi-million-pound ransom, or he's done something or upset someone to the extent that he's decided to do a runner.'
'He's upset you.'
'Aye, but he doesn't know that… at least I don't see how he could.'
The phone on his desk rang; his hand shot out and picked it up.
'McGuire. Ah, Mr Gwynn; that didn't take long. Aye, sometimes I wish the mil ennium bug had been for real; the bloody things are ruling our lives now. Okay, just hold on a minute.' He picked up a pen. 'Right.'
As he listened, he made notes on a pad on his desk. 'That's excellent,' he said, as he finished. 'Now here's that other contact I promised you.'
He glanced at a list on his desk, and read out a number. 'Thanks. So long.'
'What was that one?' asked Mcl henney.
'My new direct line in the Borders. You never know, the boy might be moved down there one day.'
'Indeed, you have been here for too long.'
'Just long enough.' McGuire glanced at his notepad. 'It was useful though. George drew thirty quid from his bank account on Tuesday of last week. Since then, neither his cash card nor his credit card has been used; his account balance is eleven hundred and forty-one pounds.'
'He can't have run far, then. Do you think he could be in the founds of a new building somewhere?'
'I'm beginning to wonder. If he is, I just hope it'l be heavy enough to hold the swine down.'
28
Bob Skinner had been several times to the USA, before and since his marriage to his American wife. He had been to New York City and State, to Florida and to the original California Disneyland with his daughter Alex, to Houston, Texas, on an exchange visit, and to Atlanta, Georgia, as a delegate to a security conference. However he had
never been to the north-western states, and nothing had prepared him for their size or for the spectacle they offered.
The flight to Great Falls, Montana, was blessed with cloudless conditions all the way, across the pale blue of the Great Lakes, the green of Michigan, and the changing shades of the landscape below as they flew westward. Even Skinner, who tended to view the wonders of nature with a jaundiced eye, spent the entire journey looking out of the window of the aircraft.
The hundred-mile drive down Interstate Fifteen to Helena was no less dramatic; the first half of their route, through Cascade County, ran close to the great Missouri River… the Scot had had no idea that it originated so far north… past Cascade itself, then into the great open spaces of Lewis and dark. Finally they drove into the Helena Valley, overlooked by its gently sloping mountain, with the small state capital nestled at its heart.
'Well, did you enjoy that?' asked Doherty, who had driven from the airport in a rental car, as they cruised past the State Capitol building, to arrive at the Investigations Bureau headquarters on North Roberts.
'Yes,' Skinner admitted. 'But enough of the tourist bit. Who are we seeing?'
'The Bureau guy's name is Tad Polhaus. The police chief is Chuck Harris, but he's on holiday, so we'll be met by the senior detective, Lieutenant Gordon Sumner.'
The Montana investigators were waiting for them in the Bureau Chief's office on the second floor of the building. Both were in their mid thirties; Polhaus was big and beefy, his broad features proclaiming his German ancestry, while Sumner was lean and wiry, equally tall but looking like a welterweight alongside his colleague.
Ill
As they ran through the formalities of the introduction, and took their seats around a coffee table. Skinner looked for signs of one deferring to the other but found none. State cop and city cop seemed to treat each other as equals; there was no sign of the jurisdictional jealousy that he had found in Buffalo. However they were both visibly impressed by, and slightly in awe of, the Deputy Director of the FBI, and his Scottish companion.
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