Autographs in the Rain

by Quintin Jardine

and most of them found in derelict buildings, not drowned in their baths.

  No, I need Ruth's help again, that's all.'

  'Let's see if she can, then.' Skinner leaned forward, picked up one of his

  telephones and buzzed twice. Less than half a minute later, the door opened.

  'Christ, Ruthie,' he murmured, 'were you waiting outside?'

  'More or less, sir. Mr Chase was in my office with about a day's worth

  of dictation; I just excused myself and ran.'

  Skinner scowled. 'I must tell ACC Chase that anything he dictates over

  the weekend will have to be typed up by Jack Good. You've got your work

  cut out as it is, looking after the two of us five days a week.'

  'It's part of his game plan, sir. He wants a secretary of his own.'

  'He can have one,' Skinner retorted. 'But Good goes back to traffic.

  That's the deal and I'll tell him, too.' He turned to Mackenzie. 'Sorry,

  David. We're washing linen here. Now, how can Ruth help you?'

  'I want to take this investigation off on another tack, sir. I sat down

  yesterday and I reviewed everything we know about this death. There are

  questions all over the place; the drugs in the old man's system, the missing

  syringe that was used to inject him, the identity of the woman, the video

  camera, what happened to all his possessions and his money . . .

  'Then it came to me that there's another gap in our knowledge - one that

  we can fill. We know very little about the victim himself. We know that his

  only two living relatives were Ruth's mother, his sister-in-law, and Ruth

  herself. We know that he was a member of Dullatur Golf Club for about

  sixty years, till he stopped playing. We know that he was a British Rail

  manager in Glasgow, until his retirement.

  'But that's it; and it's all completely impersonal. It gives me no clue to

  what this man was like ... and I should know that. So, Ruth.' He looked at

  her, directly for the first time. 'I'd be grateful if you would tell me about

  your uncle. What sort of man was he?'

  She stared back at him, as if she was slightly puzzled by his question.

  'What was he like?'

  'Yes. For example, was he your favourite uncle?'

  'Inspector, he was my only uncle: my late father had one brother and no

  sisters, and my mother is an only child.'

  'I see. I knew you were his only niece, but I didn't realise that. It doesn't

  really answer the spirit of my question, though.'

  Ruth caught his shrewd look. 'Would he have been my favourite uncle if

  he had competition, you mean? No, probably not.'

  'Why not?'

  She sucked in her breath. 'I find it hard to say. I went to see him out of

  family duty as much as anything else; the fact that I hadn't seen him for

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  months before his death should tell you something. I may have felt guilty if

  I hadn't phoned him for a while, but I didn't do anything about it.

  'He could be a very remote man. Not cold, just remote. For example, I

  don't recall my father ever telling any funny stories about him. My dad had

  a great sense of humour; he loved people. Yet he never had anything to say

  about Uncle John, even about their childhood, and there was less than two

  years between them in age . . . Dad was the older. He and Aunt Cecily

  didn't visit us very often, and we rarely visited them. When we did meet, it

  was always very formal; I never remember much chat.

  'Later, when I got a bit older, I used to duck out of even those occasional

  visits.' Suddenly she frowned. 'For a while I didn't feel comfortable with

  Uncle John.'

  'Why?' asked Mackenzie, quietly.

  'There was this one time,' she murmured. 'I'd be about thirteen, and my

  mum and dad had a party for my dad's sixty-fifth birthday, and his retirement.

  He was head teacher in a big secondary in Kilmarnock. Uncle John and

  Aunt Cecily were invited; I remember my mum being surprised when they

  came.

  'Well, as I said, I was about thirteen. I was, shall we say, a big girl for my

  age, but I was still short of any sexual awakening. I didn't have a clue about

  any of that stuff; nothing to go on save tweeny chit-chat. Nevertheless, I

  was wearing a very short skirt and a stick-up bra, because I thought they

  were fashionable and my good old mum had indulged me. She's about

  twenty years younger than my dad. He was mid-forties when they met; he

  was married before,' she added in explanation, 'but his first wife left him

  for a bloke in Glasgow.

  'Anyway, there was music at the party. I had a dance with my dad, and

  then my Uncle John asked me to dance with him. It wasn't the same as

  dancing with my dad, I can tell you. Thinking about it now, I remember it

  quite clearly.'

  'Are you saying he touched you?' asked Mackenzie.

  'No,' she said quickly. 'Nowhere he shouldn't, not in the way I think

  you mean, anyway. No, there was a slow tune playing, and he danced fairly

  close; he was leaning over me, then he gave me a hug, and I felt this

  enormous hard thing pressed against my abdomen. It was just for a second

  or two, until the record stopped; I wasn't scared ... I suppose I was taken

  aback, more than anything else.

  'I suppose that even then I must have known something about male

  equipment, but it took a conversation with a school pal to tell me that dear

  Uncle John had had a monster erection for his little niece. Looking back

  now, I have no doubt that he was letting me know it, deliberately.'

  'What did you do?'

  'Nothing. But I knew that I didn't want to dance with him again. Even

  after I found out for sure that he hadn't had a stick of rock shoved down his

  trousers. I didn't say anything to my mum or dad. The terrible thing is that

  a young girl in that position is afraid that if she does tell tales, she'll be

  accused of making them up. But I was very wary of Uncle John for a while

  ,after that; in fact, for about five years, until I was ... how do I say ... not

  sexually experienced, but sexually confident, I probably made a point,

  subconsciously, of never being alone with him.'

  As she looked at the inspector, her eyes seemed to harden. 'There you

  are, Bandit,' she said, 'there's an insight into my uncle the victim. He was

  an old lecher.'

  At first Mackenzie gazed back at her as if he could think of nothing to

  say. 'I wish that was the first time I'd heard a story like that,' he murmured

  at last. 'But I saw the same thing actually happen to a kid once, at a family

  party, just like you. She screamed though, and I nailed the guy who did it

  there and then. I charged him with indecent assault.

  'That was the time I told you about; the time I nicked my own brother.'

  For the second time that afternoon, Bob Skinner's eyebrows rose in

  surprise. 'Have you spoken to Ruth's mother yet?' he asked quickly.

  'No sir,' the Strathclyde detective answered.

  'You should,' said Ruth. 'Maybe he tried it on with her as well.'

  152

  44

  Neil Mcllhenney looked at the three beautiful women who sat in a circle

  facing him. Stevie Steele had gone, taking with him a printout of John

  Steed's enigmatic message.

&nbs
p; 'It's easier for me to give this advice than it will be for you to take it,' he

  said. 'But I don't want you to get this thing out of proportion. This bloke

  has made two extravagant gestures so far; unpleasant stunts they were, but

  stupid too because they were both very risky. For example, Central London

  is patrolled by armed response teams; if one of them had been in the area

  when he fired that shotgun, it could have back-fired on him. Fatally.

  'We've also found a security tape in the Balmoral which may show a

  man flipping a room key behind the reception counter. The suspect's back

  is to the camera but it was still a reckless thing to do.

  'If there is a next time ...' the inspector muttered grimly, 'he's cooked.

  'That said,' he added quickly, 'he's not going to do it here. No one will

  break into this house; I promise you that. You believe me?'

  Glenys Algodon's eyes dropped to her lap; even Louise looked hesitant

  for a moment. 'Of course,' she said, not quite quickly enough.

  'Listen, Lou,' said Neil. 'If it makes you feel safer I will have an armed

  woman officer stationed permanently with you.'

  Thanks, but no, really. I have faith in you; I'm still just a bit shaken by

  what happened the other night, that's all.'

  He smiled at her. T don't blame you; but it's going to be all right. Honest.'

  'Inspector? Can I ask you something?' Lucy Bankier's question

  interrupted their exchange.

  'Fire away,' he said.

  'What about our house in Bearsden? I mean, is it conceivable that this

  man could try something there? Dad's quite frail these days, and I wouldn't

  want to worry him with any of this, but if there's a chance ...'

  'Lucy,' he told her, 'right now, your house in Bearsden is being watched

  by Special Branch officers.

  'As my boss said earlier, this sort of incident is being regarded as a form

  of terrorism these days, and handled appropriately. I'm not SB, but I've

  been given this role for a variety of reasons, the best being that this is how

  Mr Skinner wants it. Otherwise, my colleague Mario McGuire or one of

  his team would be here.'

  He chuckled. Tm better looking than McGuire, anyway.

  'Be sure, Lucy, it would be just as dangerous for anyone to attack your

  house in Glasgow as it would be to try anything here.'

  'That's good to know,' sighed the younger Bankier sister, sincerely.

  'One thing though. Where did you leave your car? I assume that you

  "drove through.'

  'Yes. It's in the street.'

  'That's fine for today. But in future, when you're through here, park it in

  the driveway of the house.'

  Mcllhenney rose from his chair. 'Okay, Louise,' he said. Tm off;

  hopefully you can get on with learning that script with no interruptions.'

  She stood with him and walked him to the door. 'Oh, yes,' he added.

  'There may be one. The Big Man will probably look in on you before he

  goes home.'

  'My other jailer,' she murmured, with a smile.

  'I'm sorry if it feels like that. . .'

  '... but it's for my own good. Yes, sir, I know, but still, I am this man's

  prisoner, effectively.'

  'No you're not,' he assured her. 'You can go where you like, when you

  like, with me.'

  'Okay,' she shot back, still smiling, 'take me to a movie tomorrow night

  . .. any damned movie.'

  He hesitated. 'In the dark? Among people who'd recognise you?'

  'Hey,' she protested. 'I'm not hiding from the world at large, just from

  one man. And he's not going to try anything in a crowd, with you around.

  The worst that'll happen is that you'll have to watch me sign a few

  autographs.' She broke off, picked up what looked like a piece of card

  from the hall table, and handed it to him. 'That reminds me; I promised you

  this.'

  He turned it over; it was a photograph, signed, 'For Neil, Lauren and

  Spencer, with love, Lou.'

  'Hey, thanks!' he exclaimed, almost bashfully. 'Okay, tell you what.' He

  glanced at her enquiringly, 'How's your schedule tomorrow?'

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  'I read in the morning, then I have a production meeting here in the

  afternoon with Warren Judd and Elliott Silver. I'm executive producer on

  this project as well; it's part of the deal.'

  'Well,' he said, suddenly tentative, 'once that's done, would you like to

  have supper with the kids and me; after that, you and I can go on to a movie

  somewhere discreet, you understand.'

  She smiled; it seemed to light up the narrow hall. 'Hey, I'd love it. I

  enjoy nothing more than just behaving like an ordinary human being; until

  you've lived in a goldfish bowl like mine, you can't know how precious

  that is.'

  'Sure I can,' he murmured. She looked at him, but came nowhere close

  to reading his thoughts. 'Sure I can.'

  45

  Dan Pringle's description had been spot on, Andy Martin acknowledged as

  he stepped out of his sports car, after a bumpy journey up the sort of country

  track for which it had decidedly not been designed.

  Despite his discomfort, he was glad that he had come; he was intrigued

  by the superintendent's investigation but had felt remote from it. As was

  the case with Bob Skinner, the ties of his supervisory role chafed him from

  time to time, and occasionally he felt compelled to loosen them . . . albeit

  less frequently than his friend and commander.

  As he started to walk towards the woman, she turned in his direction.

  Mercedes Alvarez would have stood out in any crowd; she was, he guessed,

  in her mid-thirties, and looked as stereotypically Spanish as anyone he had

  ever seen, with jet-black hair and sparkling brown eyes which seemed to

  burn like coals as she glared at her unexpected visitor.

  'Yes?' she demanded aggressively as they approached each other. 'You

  can't read the sign maybe; the one on the gate which says that this place is

  not open to the public?'

  'Yes, I read it, Ms Alvarez,' the detective chief superintendent replied,

  'but I don't qualify as the public. I'm a policeman.' He introduced himself,

  but she was unmollified.

  'Another policeman!' she protested. 'Two of you came to see me

  yesterday; they even asked me to meet them here. Wasn't that enough?'

  'Apparently not. They reported to me that you seemed less than interested

  in what they had to say.'

  'No. That's not so. Of course I am interested in my fish; of course I am

  sorry for what happened to those two other farmers, whoever they are.'

  'I'm glad to hear it. In that case I assume that you'll follow their advice

  and install the security equipment that they recommended.'

  He sensed her move on to the defensive for the first time. Til look into

  it,' she said, dismissively. Til have to see what it costs; maybe I can't

  afford it.'

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  Martin glanced around the big site, listening to the noise of the pumps,

  and the music of the running water which flowed constantly through the

  big tanks. 'You can't afford not to, Ms Alvarez. If you want to be able to

  insure your stock in the future, you're going to have to invest in alarm
s and