Pray for the Dying

by Quintin Jardine

  As it happened, those no more included heading Graham’s proposed force than they had inclined him towards Strathclyde. Skinner was firmly against the idea, on principle. He had shunned the Glasgow job because he felt that a force that covered half of Scotland’s land mass and most of its population was itself too large.

  He had always believed that policing had to be as locally responsible as possible, and when he had discovered a few days earlier that his wife, the First Minister’s chief political rival as leader of the Scottish Labour Party, intended to back unification and help rush it through the Holyrood parliament, their marriage had exploded. Aileen had moved back to her flat, ostensibly for a few days, but they knew, both of them, that it was for good.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked the First Minister. He had no personal issues with him. His position and that of his party had been clear from the start; his wife’s, he was convinced, was based on political expediency, pure and simple.

  ‘In need of another very stiff drink,’ Graham replied. ‘Yes, I’ve already had one, but I suspect I’m going to get the shakes pretty soon. What happened . . . it hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Please brief me, on everything. I can’t get any sense out of the locals, and my protection boys don’t know any more than I do.’

  Both Skinner and McGuire realised that he was making a determined effort not to look at the thing on the floor.

  ‘Are the ladies safe?’ he continued.

  ‘Yes,’ Skinner replied.

  ‘The pregnant one? She’s . . .’

  ‘My wife,’ McGuire whispered.

  The First Minister stared at him.

  ‘This is DCS McGuire,’ Skinner explained. ‘My head of CID. I had promised my kids some attention today, so Aileen invited Paula to use the other ticket.’ Not a lie, not the whole truth. ‘And yes, thank you. She’s okay. Obviously Mario here will be keeping her in cotton wool from now on, but she’ll be fine, I’m sure.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. Now, do you believe there’s a continuing threat?’

  ‘No, I don’t, but we shouldn’t take any chances.’

  ‘What happened? None of us really knows, Bob. Who was it? Did they get away?’

  ‘It was a professional hit team. Originally there were three, but one of them, the planner, died a few days ago, unexpectedly, of natural causes. The body was dumped in Edinburgh. The other two didn’t think for a minute we’d identify him, but we did, and as soon as we knew who he was, we knew as well that something was up. We guessed the venue, but we got the target wrong. We thought they were after the pianist, the guy who was supposed to be playing at this thing.’

  ‘Theo Fabrizzi?’

  ‘Yes. For all his name, he’s Lebanese, and he’s a hate figure for the Israelis. We didn’t find out any of this until the last minute. When we did, we got him out of here. You were probably told he’d been taken ill, but that was bollocks. The guy’s a fanatic, a martyr with a piano; he wouldn’t back off, so we arrested him and took him away, spitting feathers, but safe.’

  ‘My God,’ the First Minister exclaimed. ‘Why wasn’t I told this at the time?’

  ‘We were too busy sorting the situation out,’ Skinner shot back, irritably. ‘Or so we thought. And there was another reason,’ he added. ‘I shouldn’t have to tell you that your devolved powers do not include counter-terrorism. That’s reserved for Westminster.

  ‘As soon as we identified Cohen, the planner, MI5 got involved, with the Home Secretary pulling the strings. There had been intelligence that a hit was planned in the UK, but no details. With Cohen and his team in Scotland, assumptions were made, and we all bought into the piano player as the target. Then the Home Secretary got brave . . . God save us all from courageous politicians in fucking bunkers in Whitehall, Clive . . . and decided that she wanted her people to catch the rest of the team. She declared that it was a Five operation, and that the police shouldn’t be alerted, in case of crossed wires.’

  ‘So how did you get involved?’

  ‘I was in play by that time, having asked them for help in identifying Cohen.’

  Graham’s face was creased into a frown that made him unrecognisable as the beaming man on the election posters. ‘But if . . .’ he growled.

  Skinner nodded. ‘There was someone else involved, the man who supplied the weapons. My MI5 colleague and I got to him,’ he paused and checked his watch, ‘less than ninety minutes ago. We interrogated him and he told us that from a remark by one of the shooters, when they collected the guns last night, the target was definitely female.

  ‘Obviously that changed everything. At that point . . .’ he paused, ‘. . . well, frankly, it was fuck the Home Secretary’s orders. We headed straight through here. I tried to stop the event, but in all this mighty police force, Clive, I could not find anyone willing to take responsibility, until it was too late. You know what happened then.’

  ‘What about the terrorists? Did they escape in all the confusion? Nobody can tell me, or will.’

  ‘They’re dead. They were making their escape when we arrived. They’d just shot the two cops manning the door.’ He sighed, shuddered for a second, and shook his head. ‘Fortunately my Five sidekick was armed or we’d have been in trouble. We didn’t negotiate. Captain Houseman killed one. I took down the other one as he tried to run off. But don’t be calling these guys terrorists, Clive. They weren’t. No, they were . . .’

  He broke off as his personal mobile phone . . . he carried two . . . sounded in his pocket. He took it out and peered at the screen, ready to reject the call if it was Aileen spoiling for a renewed fight, but it was someone else. ‘Excuse me,’ he told the First Minister. ‘I have to take this.’

  Graham nodded. ‘Of course.’

  He slid the arrow to accept, and put the phone to his ear, moving a few paces away from the group, skirting Toni Field’s body as he did so.

  ‘Hi, Sarah,’ he murmured.

  ‘Bob!’ she exclaimed. Skinner’s ex-wife was cool and not given to panic, but the anxiety in her voice was undeniable.

  ‘Where are you? Are you okay? What’s happened? I’ve just had a call from Mark. He told me he heard a news flash on radio about a shooting in Glasgow, at an event with the First Minister and Aileen. That’s the event that she and Paula were going to this evening, isn’t it? He says someone’s dead and that your name was mentioned. Honey, what is it? Is it Aileen?’

  ‘Shit,’ he hissed. ‘So soon. They’re not saying that, are they, that it’s Aileen?’

  ‘I’m not sure what they said but Mark was left wondering if it might be. He’s scared, Bob, and most of all he’s scared for you.’

  ‘In that case, love, please call him back and calm him down. Yes, I am at the scene, yes, there is a casualty here, and others outside, but none of them are Aileen or anyone else he knows. And it’s certainly not Paula. They’re both safe.’

  ‘But how about you?’ Her voice was strident.

  ‘You can hear me, can’t you? I’m okay too. I might not be in the morning, when it all sinks in, but I am fine now, and in control of myself.’ As if to demonstrate, he paused then lowered his voice as he continued. ‘Are you alone?’ he asked. ‘Are you at home?’

  ‘Yes, of course, to both.’

  ‘Good. In that case, I need you to do a couple of things. Call Trish,’ their children had a full-time carer; their sons had reached an age at which they refused to allow her to be called a nanny, ‘and have her take the kids to your place. As soon as you’ve done that, get hold of my grown-up daughter. I’m guessing she hasn’t heard about this yet, or she’d have called me, but Alex being Alex, she’s bound to find out soon. She may be at home; if not, try her mobile . . . do you have the number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fine, if you can’t raise her on either of those, try Andy’s place. Tell her what I’ve told you. I don’t have time to do it myself; the fan’s pretty much clogged up with shit here.’

  ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘That remains
to be seen, but I’ll keep you in touch.’

  ‘When will you be out of there?’

  ‘Same answer.’

  ‘When you are,’ she told him, ‘come here first. It’s important that the kids see you as soon as they can.’

  ‘Yes, sure.’

  ‘What about Aileen?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Bob asked.

  ‘Will she be coming back with you?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, with a sound that might have been a chuckle or a grunt, ‘not even in protective custody. I told you last night, she and I are done.’

  He glanced to his right. The First Minister and McGuire had been joined by a youngish man, in a dark suit. Strained though it was, his face was familiar to Skinner, but he found himself unable to put a name to it. Graham caught his eye, and he realised that they were waiting for him to finish his call. ‘Now, I must go,’ he said.

  ‘Take care,’ Sarah murmured.

  ‘Don’t I always?’

  ‘No.’

  A brief smile flickered on his lips, but it was gone before he returned his phone to his pocket. He rejoined the group, and as he did so he remembered who the newcomer was. They had met at a reception hosted by his wife, during her time as Clive Graham’s predecessor in office.

  ‘Bob,’ the First Minister began, ‘this is . . .’

  ‘I know: Councillor Dominic Hanlon, chair of Strathclyde Police Authority.’ He extended his hand and they shook. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  Hanlon whistled, softly. ‘I could say something very inappropriate right now. It’s an open secret that you and Toni didn’t get on.’

  ‘You’ve just said it, Mr Hanlon,’ Skinner snapped. ‘You’re right; it’s as far from appropriate as you can get. Are you implying I’m glad to see her dead?’

  ‘No, no!’ The man held his hands up, in a defensive gesture, but the chief constable seemed to ignore him.

  ‘Colleagues don’t always agree,’ he went on, ‘any more than politicians. Like you two for example; anywhere else you’d be at each other’s ideological throats.’ He felt his anger grow, make him take the councillor by the elbow. ‘Come here,’ he growled. He pulled him towards the body on the floor, knelt beside it and removed the covering jacket, carefully.

  ‘This is what we’re dealing with here, chum. Look, remember it.’ The back of the head was caked red, and mangled where three bullets had torn into it. The right eye and a section of forehead above it were missing and there was brain tissue on the carpet.

  Hanlon recoiled, with a howl that reminded the chief constable of a small animal in pain, as he replaced the makeshift cover.

  ‘Poor Toni Field and I might have had different policing agendas,’ he said, ‘but we each of us devoted our careers to hunting down the sort of people who would do that sort of thing to another human being. You remember that next time you chair your fucking committee.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the younger man murmured.

  ‘You want to know how I feel?’ Skinner, not ready to let up, challenged. ‘I feel angry, so walk carefully around me, chum.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Hanlon said, patting him on the sleeve as if to mollify him. ‘Surely, the chances are it wasn’t Toni they were after. Everybody outside is saying it’s Aileen that’s been shot . . . our Aileen, we call her in Glasgow. There’s folk in tears out there.

  ‘I thought it was her myself until the First Minister told me otherwise. Only the people in the front row could possibly know what’s really happened and I doubt if any of them do. They all think it’s Aileen because that’s the natural assumption. I think these people made a mistake, and shot the wrong woman.’

  ‘For God’s sake, man!’ Graham barked, beside him. ‘This is Aileen’s husband, don’t you realise that?’

  ‘Yes, of course! Sorry.’ The councillor seemed to collapse into his own confusion.

  Skinner held up a hand. ‘Stop!’ he boomed. ‘Enough. We’ll get to that, and to Dominic’s theory. First things first.’ He turned to McGuire. ‘Mario, did you come through here alone?’

  ‘No, boss,’ the massive DCS answered. ‘Lowell Payne, DCI Payne, our Strathclyde secondee, he’s with me. He’s outside in the foyer; it was sheer chaos when we arrived, with no sign of anybody in command, so I told him to take control out there, calm people down as best he could, and move them out the other exit, so they wouldn’t go past bodies outside.’

  The chief nodded. ‘Well done, mate. My priority was in here when I arrived. With Max Allan not making any sense, all I could do was get hold of a uniformed inspector and tell him to contain the audience within the hall, until we could be sure that there was no further threat outside. Where is everyone?’

  ‘Payne said he would gather them in the foyer and in the smaller theatre. There’s enough back-up lighting for that to be managed safely.’

  ‘Okay, that sounds fine. Now, you shouldn’t really be here at all, but you charged through here like a red-taunted bull as soon as you heard your wife might be in danger. Whatever, your priority will always be her. Get yourself off to the Govan police station, pick her up from there and take her home.’

  ‘What about Aileen?’ McGuire asked.

  ‘She stays there, till someone in authority says otherwise. Find Clyde Houseman and tell him from me that he takes no instructions from anyone below chief officer rank. On your way, now.’

  He turned back to the politicians. ‘Now. You two were working up to say something before Dominic here put his foot in it. What was it?’

  ‘We’ve got a crisis, Bob,’ Graham replied. ‘Strathclyde is in trouble, and that’s putting it mildly. The chief constable is dead, the deputy chief took early retirement a fortnight ago, Max Allan, the senior ACC, has just been taken away in an ambulance with severe chest pains, and the two other ACCs are far too new and inexperienced in post to move into the top job, even on a temporary basis . . . and even without the force facing one of the highest-profile murder investigations it’s ever known, as this will become.’

  Hanlon nodded, vigorously. ‘As you’ve just pointed out to me, Mr Skinner, graphically, this is a major crime, and even if Toni’s killers . . . and the killers of one, maybe two police officers . . . are lying dead in the street outside, the matter isn’t closed.’

  ‘Maybe three, maybe four,’ Skinner murmured.

  The Police Authority chairman blinked. ‘Eh?’

  ‘How did they get the uniforms? We don’t know that. Did they bring them, or did they take them from two other cops we haven’t found yet?’

  ‘My God,’ Hanlon gasped. ‘I hadn’t thought about that.’

  ‘Bob,’ the First Minister intervened. ‘This investigation needs a leader. This whole force needs a leader and it needs him now. We don’t have time for niceties here. I want to appoint you acting chief constable of Strathclyde, pending confirmation by an emergency meeting of Dominic’s authority. That will take place tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Me?’ Skinner gasped. ‘Strathclyde? The force whose very existence I’ve opposed for years? Is there nobody else? What about Andy Martin? He’s head of the Serious Crime and Drug Enforcement Agency. He could do the job.’

  Graham shook his head. ‘He could, I agree, but everybody knows he’s your protégé, not to mention him being your daughter’s partner. He’d be seen as second choice, and I can’t have that. I need the best man available, and that is you. Please, help me. Your deputy in Edinburgh is more than capable; she can stand in there. Please take the job; in the public interest, Bob, even if it does go against your own beliefs.’

  Skinner stared at him. ‘You’ve really boxed me in, man, haven’t you?’

  ‘It’s not something I’d have chosen to do.’

  ‘No, I believe you. That’s the way it is, nonetheless.’ He sighed. ‘Fuck it!’ he shouted, into the darkness of the empty hall.

  ‘Can I take that as a yes?’ the First Minister whispered.

  Two

  ‘And you’ve agreed?’


  ‘What else could I do, Andy? The Police Authority meets tomorrow to confirm it formally, and it’ll be announced on Monday. But it’s for three months, that’s all. I’ve made that clear.’

  There was a silence on Andy Martin’s end of the line, until he broke it with a soft chuckle. ‘Would that be as clear as you’ve made it to anyone who would listen that you would never take the job under any circumstances?’

  ‘Yes, okay, I have said that,’ Skinner conceded. ‘But,’ he protested, ‘who could have predicted these particular circumstances?’

  ‘Nobody,’ his best friend conceded. ‘That’s why the “any” part of it was a mistake. Now let me make a prediction. However hard it was for you to get into the job, it will be harder for you to get out.’

  ‘Nonsense! I said three months and I meant it. They’ll be glad to see me go, Andy. The politicians will hate me here; remember, most of them are followers of my soon to be ex-wife.’

  ‘Your what?’ Martin exclaimed. ‘Come on, Bob. Alex told me you’d had a row over police unification, but I’d no idea it was that serious. You’ll get over it, surely.’

  ‘No, we won’t. Too much was said, too much truth told. This isn’t like when Sarah and I broke up, or you and Karen. We haven’t drifted away from each other like then, we’ve torn the thing apart. Besides . . .’ He stopped in mid-sentence. ‘No, that’s for another time. I have things to do here. First and foremost, I’ve got a very messy crime scene to manage. Second, I’ve got to face the press.’

  ‘Where are you going to do that?’

  ‘I’ve told the press office to use the City Chambers. Hanlon, the Police Authority chair, is going to fix it. I could have done it on the front steps of the concert hall, but I want to move the media, or as many as I can, away from there, so the people who were in the auditorium can leave as easily as we can manage. They’re having to go that way, into Buchanan Street, since there are still three bodies lying in Killermont Street.’