She nodded. 'A glass of red wine for me, and a spritzer for you.' She pulled a face. 'A spritzer, for Christ's sake! What happened to the three or four pints of lager? Are you up yourself, or what? Is this what happens when you marry an actress?'
He grinned. 'No. It's what happens when you decide that you'd like to live to see your kids grow up, and maybe even your grandkids.'
As he spoke, their first courses and their drinks arrived at their table.
'So what's the honour?' Debbie asked, as she picked up her fork to attack her calamares Romana. 'It's got to be serious if you're paying.'
'It is,' he said, testing the temperature of his minestrone. 'I'm doing a heavy vetting job on one of your clients. I want to know everything about him without him or anyone else finding out.'
She whistled. 'You don't ask small favours, do you?'
He smiled at her, cheerfully. 'No, I only give them.'
She looked him dead in the eye. 'I take it this is in the national interest.'
'My colleagues and I think it is.'
'So who's the client?'
McIlhenney waited until she had forked a large piece of battered squid into her mouth. 'Tommy Murtagh,' he murmured, then smiled as her eyes bulged and her round face reddened.
'To…' she gasped. 'How did you know that he was a client of ours?'
'Your manager in Dundee was best man at his wedding; call it an educated guess. Will you do it?'
'Are you serious?'
'Never more so.'
'I'd be putting my arse on the line, never mind my career.'
'They'll both be in good hands.'
She looked at him, for a long time. 'Well, you make damn sure you don't drop them,' she said.
Thirty-nine
Excitement and Willie Haggerty did not go hand in hand, yet as he stood in the DCC's office, the assistant chief constable looked about to burst. Skinner could not keep his amusement from showing. Even Amanda Dennis was smiling.
'It's great when we get a result, Willie, isn't it? I heard an author say once that the best bit about his job comes when something appears on the page as he's writing it that not even he expects. It's the same for us detectives. When we walk into an interview and something happens that we weren't looking for at all, we get a buzz like… Ah, you know what I mean.'
Haggerty beamed. 'It's even better when the guy who gives you your break isn't even in the interview in the first place. If young Bulent hadn't come into the kitchen for the salads when he did, I'd never have known any better.' He paused. 'How do we find out about this Frankie Jakes character?'
'Not through the SDEA, that's for sure,' Skinner replied. 'They'd want to know why we were asking, and since we've agreed to keep them out of it, that could be awkward. I've got a contact in the National Criminal Intelligence Service; I can try her in confidence. If he's a small-change guy, though, they might not know too much. While they're looking, let's ask nearer home.' He picked up a phone on his desk and dialled a number. 'Bandit? You're in, good. This is the DCC; come up to my office, now.'
The three waited. 'I heard about Pringle's girl,' Haggerty said eventually, breaking the silence. 'How is she?' he asked Skinner.
'Gravely ill, and unlikely to get any better. I checked with the hospital just before you got here. The consultant's due to meet with Dan and Elma any time now, to give them a full rundown on her condition.'
There was a rap on the door, and then it opened: Bandit Mackenzie breezed into the room. 'Yes, sir,' he exclaimed, then saw the others. 'Sorry, sirs and ma'am. What can I do for you?'
'Do you still have friends in Glasgow?' Skinner asked. 'By that I mean do you have friends in the CID at street level, that you can trust to be discreet?'
'One or two, boss. Gwennie Dell, my old sergeant in the northern division, works out of Baird Street now. Why?'
'I want background on someone, a bloke who goes by the name of Frankie Jakes. He's a dealer who works around Partick, in and around a pub called the Johnny Groat.'
'Why are we interested in him?'
'Because we've got a confirmed sighting of Samir Bajram in Jakes's company,' said Haggerty, with a hint of pride.
'Where did this come from?'
'You don't need to know that.'
'Do you know Jakes yourself, Bandit?' asked Skinner.
'Never heard of him, sir.'
'Do you know or are you known in the pub I mentioned?'
Mackenzie shook his head. 'I've never worked in Partick, and I sure as hell wouldn't drink there out of choice.'
'Good, because I want you to start now. Use your contact through there to get info on Jakes and known associates, and get her to show you mug-shots if they have them, so you'll recognise them.'
'What do I tell her if she asks why I want this?'
'Tell her more or less the truth, that something's come up in Edinburgh that Jakes is linked into and that it's very hush. What you don't tell her is that you'll be hanging about the Johnny Groat this weekend, waiting for Samir or one or more of the others to show up again.'
'Alone?'
Skinner almost replied, 'No, I'll be with you.' It was on the very tip of his tongue. Then he thought of promises made, of a football match, of Deep Sea World, and he had a vision of a small boy's hurt if they were broken. He frowned. 'Your wives will both hate me for it, but you'd better take Neil with you. I reckon that Mavis might attract too much attention in a boozer like that. Besides, if you do get into bother…'
'He can handle himself, then?'
'You'd better believe it. But he can also shoot straight. We have to assume that the Albanians will be armed, so you guys will be too.'
Bandit grinned. 'If we have to shoot somebody that'll kind of blow our cover, won't it?'
'You let me worry about that. But please, try not to. If Samir shows up, do no more than tail him; if all of them appear, get word to me, or to Amanda, but otherwise do nothing without further orders.'
The DCC saw Haggerty's frown. 'What if they do get rumbled, Bob, and all the team are there?'
'Why should they?'
'I could go too.'
Skinner chuckled. 'Willie, I've seen you at firearms practice. If you fired a warning shot in there you'd miss the ceiling. Besides, your mug's well known in Glasgow; you've probably lifted half the guys in that pub in your time.'
'Could we get a few SAS in there in plain clothes?'
'Maybe we could,' Dennis conceded, 'but do you really want to fill the place full of strangers?'
'Maybe not,' the ACC conceded.
'Plus, it would be overkill,' said Skinner. 'Let's be clear this will be an intelligence-gathering operation, no more. If these guys have jumped to Glasgow, against expectation, the objective is to find out where they're based. Once we know that, we can take them out at a time of our choosing, hopefully when we've identified the fifth guy.'
'Frankie Jakes couldn't have been the fifth guy, could he?' asked Mackenzie.
'Unlikely. If it was him, why did he come to Edinburgh when they could have jumped off the flower truck in Glasgow earlier in the day?'
'Granted.'
The DCC raised an eyebrow. 'Thank you, Chief Inspector. Okay, time's pressing. Call your contact through in Glasgow and get what you can from her. If you need to go through there to meet her, do it. I'll brief Neil when he gets back from his lunch date. On your bike.'
Mackenzie nodded and left, with Haggerty at his heels. Dennis remained behind. 'I could have a detachment of special forces close by, just in case,' she said.
'Too many people on the ground, and unnecessary at this stage,' Skinner maintained. 'Look, if things really do look like going pear-shaped, we can have a Strathclyde armed-response team there pretty fast. But somehow I don't think they will. Frankie Jakes is supposed to be Macedonian, according to Willie's contact. Maybe he's just another cousin, and Samir went to look him up. This investigation is full of maybes.' He looked at her. 'How are you coming along with Sean Green's new identity?'
'It's done. This afternoon he'll be ready to call Bassam and ask for an interview for the job. After that we trust to luck and Sean's persuasiveness, which can be pretty effective, I assure you.'
'Good. Maybe this weekend we'll find out what we really need to know… what the hell these guys are doing here.'
As Dennis nodded agreement, the phone rang on Skinner's desk: his direct line. He picked it up, his mind still on their discussion. 'Yes?' he exclaimed, not realising that he sounded irritable.
'I'm sorry,' said Sarah. 'Have I called at a bad time?'
'No, no,' he assured her quickly, then put a hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Dennis. 'I have to take this,' he told her. She nodded and left.
'Sorry,' he said, as the door closed. 'I had someone with me.'
'Something important?'
'Very.'
'Another shitty fan, eh, Bob? That's the story of your life.'
'I wish my life was that simple. Where are you?'
'I'm still in Key West, but not for long. I'm about to check out.'
'You're coming home, then?' Part of him wanted to add 'please', yet the rest felt ambivalent.
'Not straight away. I'm going back to Buffalo; I've made some decisions and I need to be there to put them into effect. I'm going to sell all the property there, both my parents' house and the up-state lakeside cabin; the cars as well, the furniture, everything. I'm finished with that city, Bob.'
'And once you've done that?'
'Once I've instructed estate agents, and all the other people I need to see, I'll come back to Scotland to you and the kids.'
'Still in time for Christmas, though?'
'Of course.'
'And after that?'
'I'll tell you when I see you.'
He felt his stomach flip. 'Not "we'll talk about it"? You'll tell me?'
'I'm sorry: that was badly put. When I get back we'll sit down and have a discussion and compare our respective ideas about the future. How's that?'
'Come on, Sarah,' he said. 'What do you mean by that?'
'Leave it. I'm sorry I said it. I'm not going to discuss the state of our marriage over the phone. How are things with the Justice Minister, incidentally?'
In spite of himself, he bridled. 'You can leave that out, too. You're the one living in the…' He stopped himself before 'glass house', but she caught his meaning. There was a long, expressive silence.
'How did we get like this?' she murmured, eventually.
'We've just lost the plot, honey, that's all,' he replied, wearily. 'Can we pick it up again?'
'I don't know. That's what I don't want to discuss at long distance. I'll see you in a few days.' She hung up, leaving him staring out of his beloved office window on to a world that was in danger, for the first time in his adult life, of moving out of his control.
Forty
As soon as she stepped through the front door Maggie kicked off her heavy black shoes and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Twenty minutes later she had showered, towel-dried her thick red hair and changed into a sweatshirt, jeans and slippers.
As she stepped into the big kitchen she glanced at her watch, wondering what had delayed Stevie, until at that moment she heard his key turn in the Yale lock. She was there to kiss him as he stepped through the door. 'Hi, boy,' she greeted him. 'What kept you?'
'Mary,' he said. 'She wanted to fill me in on the latest about Ross Pringle.'
'Mmm,' Maggie murmured. 'That's terrible, isn't it? How is she? What did Mary say?'
'She's still unconscious, and nobody's taking any bets that she'll ever come round. Apparently Dan's just devastated. He collapsed completely at the hospital. They had to sedate him, then Mario took him and his wife home. He wouldn't let her hand go, apparently.'
She frowned. 'The whole thing's tragic,' she said. She led him into the kitchen and poured him a large glass of red wine from a bottle that had been left over from the previous evening, then went to the sink and drew herself a large glass of water from the tap. 'I'm not surprised that Dan's taken it like that. It's in contrast to the way George Regan's handling his loss, but they're very different people. Dan's emotions have always been closer to the surface.'
'Plus, he's older,' said Stevie. 'He probably figures he owes it to his wife to be with her.'
'I doubt it. Elma's always struck me as the stronger emotionally of the two of them. I'd guess that he needs to be with her.'
'Are there any other kids?'
'They have a son, Samuel. He's at least ten years older than Ross, maybe more than that; he works in Hong Kong with a merchant bank. I don't think he and Dan got on: he never talked about him much.'
'They'll have to get on now.'
'It might not be as easy as that. Closeness between parents and kids isn't something that can be switched on at will.'
He sipped his Coronas. 'You sound bitter when you say that. Personal experience?'
She nodded, looking at her glass. It was empty, so she refilled it. 'Yes. My mother and I never got on; it wasn't my fault, at least I don't think it was. There was no bond between us, that's all.'
'And your father? You realise you've never talked about your parents?'
'My father's dead. I've never talked about him because I don't want to, don't want even to think about him, ever again. Does that shock you?'
'No. If he makes you sound like that, I don't want you to think about him. I'll never ask you again, I promise.'
Her smile returned. 'You know, Stevie Steele, you can be a real love sometimes.'
He chuckled. 'Only sometimes?'
'Okay, all the time. But some times even more than others, like yesterday, when I told you my news. Honestly, I wasn't sure how you'd take it, with us still being so new to each other. But you looked so happy, you made me want to cry.'
'If you're right, I'm still just as happy, I promise you. You're still sure, are you?'
'Yes, but I'm a copper, so I need evidence.' She reached into her handbag, and held up a package wrapped in paper. 'I can't wait any longer. I left a bit early today so that I could go into a chemist where nobody was likely to know me, and I bought this. It's a testing kit:
He laughed out loud. 'I wondered why you were drinking all that water.'
Maggie patted her stomach. 'It's having its effect, too.' Still holding the kit, she headed for the door. 'I won't be long… at least I don't think I will.'
'Do you want me to come with you?' He was joking, but for a second she took him seriously.
'I know how to aim, thanks,' she retorted. 'Shut up or I'll use your beer tankard for the sample.'
He watched her as she climbed the stairs, then drained his glass. As he poured himself a refill, he realised that his hands were trembling and that his heart was beating fast. He walked to the window and looked out into the night. The weather had become progressively colder, and he thought that he could see a few snowflakes in the beams of the streetlights. He smiled as he dreamed of building a snowman in the garden.
He was lost in his thoughts and so he did not hear her come back into the kitchen, until she coughed quietly behind him, to attract his attention.
He turned. Her face was impassive, and her hands were behind her back; and then a grin turned quickly into a beam as she held up a white plastic strip. 'I got a black dot,' she said. 'Congratulations, Dad.'
Forty-one
Bob Skinner felt a pang of shame as he stepped through the front door: he had never set foot in the Pringles' house before, something that he regarded as a major sin of omission, since he was on calling terms with most of his senior colleagues. And beyond his guilt, he felt a great weight upon his shoulders. It was Friday morning; he tried to recall a more stressful week in his professional or his private life, and found it impossible. There was the time he had been stabbed, of course, but he had been out of it for the worst of those days.
Elma stood aside to let him in. 'It's good of you to come, Bob,' she whispered, making him feel even worse.
> 'No,' he replied, automatically. 'It's the least I could do.' He followed her into the living room, and recoiled slightly at what he saw. Dan Pringle sat slumped in an armchair; he was wearing a heavy cardigan over a white shirt; it was open at the neck and he saw the flesh hanging loose and flabby. His face was streaked and his eyes were red. He clutched a glass of whisky in his right hand, and Skinner guessed that it had just been refilled.
The chief superintendent looked up at him; for a second his eyes were blank, then as recognition set in, he made to rise, until the DCC waved him back into his chair. 'I'm sorry, Dan,' he said, as he sat on the couch to his left. 'I am so sorry.'
'Aye, Bob.' The words cracked in his throat. He picked up a glass of water from a small table at his side, and drank from it. 'It's a terrible thing to lose a child,' he went on, his voice steadier. 'I never thought it would happen to us:'
'Come on, now,' said Skinner. 'Ross is still alive; there's hope.'
'Since when were you a neurologist?' Pringle snapped at him, rejecting what they both knew was a platitude. 'She's in a deep coma. They say that if she does come round, she'll be seriously braindamaged. That's what gas does to you.'
Skinner was aware of Elma, taking a seat on the couch beside him. 'They're not giving us any hope at all, Bob,' she said quietly, more in control than her husband. 'The doctor we spoke to said that there are only minimal signs of brain activity. They're going to observe her for a wee bit longer. Then, when we've all had time to reflect, they're going to talk to us about what her future might be. At least, that's how they put it.'
The DCC thought of Alex: she was only a few years older than Ross Pringle. 'Jesus,' he whispered. 'They haven't pulled any punches with you, have they?'
'We wouldn't want them to. Dan and I find that it's better to face the truth from the start than to have the rug jerked out from under us later.'
'Have you thought about what you'll do?'
She nodded. 'Yes, we have. Whether we'll be able to do it when the time comes, that's another matter, but we've reached a decision, one that we believe Ross would support.'
Lethal Intent bs-15 Page 17
