Lethal Intent by Quintin Jardine Read online

  'Yes, it's still there.'

  Sarah stood and looked down at him; then, very slowly, she stretched out her arm and poured her Bacardi and Coke over his head.

  'Thank you for that gesture,' he said, running his fingers through his wet hair. 'If I returned it in proportion to our respective sins, it'd probably mean I'd drown you in the bath.'

  She stamped off the terrace and into their bedroom; it was almost dark indoors, and she noticed, for the first time, that the red message indicator on the bedside telephone was flashing on and off. 'If it'll help your self-righteousness, I'll run it for you,' she shouted at him. 'But while I do, you'd better check the phone. We've had a call, and since nobody knows I'm here, it must be for you.'

  He leaped, growling, out of his chair, wiping the drink from his face, then from his hand on to the side of his shirt. He grabbed the receiver and pushed the play-back button.

  'Bob,' said a female voice. 'I need to speak to you, urgently. Call me please, as soon as you get this. I'll be at the flat; the time doesn't matter.' It was Aileen de Marco, and she sounded as angry as he felt. He crossed to the dressing-table, aware that he was being watched, picked up his wallet, and retrieved from it the card that she had given him, with her home number written on the back. He knew that it would be long past midnight in Edinburgh, but he took her at her word and dialled it.

  The Scottish Justice Minister answered on the third ring. 'Yes?' She sounded wide awake.

  'It's me. I just got your message. Where's the fire?'

  'It would be in Tommy Murtagh's jockeys if I had anything to do with it. I'm going to resign, Bob, first thing in the morning; but I wanted to tell you before I did it. I'm sorry to break in on you, but I just had to talk to you, especially since you're at the heart of it'

  'Hey,' he exclaimed, taken aback, 'hold your horses, Aileen. What's this about? What's Murtagh done?'

  'He's appointed himself God. Those five terrorists that you and your people arrested two weeks ago: our esteemed First Minister has decided, himself, without reference to Cabinet colleagues, that they will not be tried in Scotland. Instead they'll be handed over to the Americans, right away.'

  'What? All of them?'

  'All five.'

  'But three of them were minor people.'

  'It doesn't matter. The Americans want to interrogate every terrorist they can get their hands on, just in case they know the slightest thing that might be important or could lead them to the top guys in the network that they haven't caught yet'

  'Murtagh hasn't done this off his own bat, though.'

  'Of course not! He's had his orders from Downing Street.'

  Skinner laughed. 'Even though they're illegal.'

  'It's not funny.'

  'I know. It's pathetic. I take it you've told wee Tommy how you feel.'

  'Loud and clear, but it made no difference.'

  'What about the Lord Advocate? They're in Crown custody: it's his shout'

  'What do you think?'

  'Enough said. But listen to me now. Who will gain if you quit over this? The Scottish Executive? I don't think so. The five people you're talking about? They won't even know about it. This is international arrogance, and while the fact that Murtagh's gone along with it should cost him his job, there's no reason why it should cost you yours.'

  'He's half threatened to fire me for disagreeing with him and demanding a Cabinet discussion. I'm just going to beat him to it, that's all.'

  'Call his bluff. He won't dare: you're too popular. He might like you to quit, but he can't sack you.'

  Aileen paused for a few seconds. 'But, Bob,' she said, 'if I stay in post, it'll look like I support him.'

  'No, it won't, not after I've done a bit of judicious leaking to the press. I can play these boys at their own game, don't worry. Now please listen to me: say nothing to Murtagh tomorrow. Stay in your job. There's nothing you can do that'll alter what's going to happen. None of these people are UK nationals, so they'll go. There may be a small row about it, but it'll soon blow over. Even if it does damage the First Minister in the long run, it won't cost him his head now. What you must not do is allow the wee shit to manoeuvre you out of the Executive. You're his biggest potential threat, and everyone knows that, but only if you're in office, so do us all a favour and bloody stay there.'

  'Okay,' she acknowledged, grudgingly. 'I'll think about it.'

  'No, just do it.'

  'If that's what you really believe is best, I will.'

  'I do, honest.'

  'Right.' She sighed. 'You know, you don't sound surprised by any of this.'

  Skinner chuckled. 'Sorry, Aileen, there's little or nothing you politicians can do to surprise me.'

  'You can't be pleased by it, though.'

  'No, I'm bloody livid, as the Lord Advocate is about to find out.'

  'You're not going to call him, are you?'

  'On the instant'

  'Look, be careful. Don't do anything that'll put you in jeopardy.'

  'I've been doing that for years, so don't worry about me. Now get some sleep.'

  'Okay, I will. I'm off to my bed.' She took a breath. 'How's things, by the way?'

  'If I knew I'd tell you. So long.'

  'Good night.'

  He hung up and turned to find Sarah looking at him. 'That was her, wasn't it?' she said. 'Aileen. And going by the conversation, that would be Aileen de Marco, the Justice Minister, wouldn't it?'

  He nodded.

  'Then we're done. I could tell by the way you talked to her: you used to speak to me like that'

  He took two steps towards her and tried to put his hands on her shoulders, but she twisted away. 'Look,' he murmured, 'you're reading too much into it. I like her. She believes in the same things I do, and she's a member of a rare species, a politician who can make a difference. We bat for the same team, Aileen and me.'

  Sarah snorted. 'Bob Skinner in bed with a politician; that's rich. Of course, she isn't the first, is she? There was that other one a few years ago.'

  'Shut up, please,' he found himself begging.

  'Yes, sir,' she hissed. 'You want to know the truth, Bob? There's only one of your mistresses that I can't stand, the one that I've never fought because I know I'll always lose, and that's your bloody job. You want to leave me for Aileen de Marco, fine. You want to have an affair with her and stay with me, fine. But God help her in the long run, for sooner or later she'll try to put herself above your job, and that'll be the end of her too.'

  'So what do you want me to do?'

  'Quit!' she shouted. 'How many times do I have to say it? That's what I'd like you to do to save our marriage. Resign from the force. You've given it all your adult life; now you owe your family some.'

  He walked away from her and across to the wardrobe, going through his jacket pockets until he had found the palm-sized computer that she had given him for his most recent birthday. He switched it on and scrolled though the phone numbers stored there until he found the one he sought, then walked back to the phone, picked it up again and began to dial.

  This time he had to wait much longer before his call was answered. This time, the voice on the other end sounded sodden with sleep. 'Grassick,' it croaked.

  'Milton,' he barked. 'It's Bob Skinner here, and I'm hugely pissed off.'

  'Do you know what time it is?' the Lord Advocate groaned.

  'I don't give a damn what time it is. I'm a policeman and I'm concerned twenty-four hours a day when I hear of the law being broken. So should you be: you're supposed to be the head of our prosecution system, after all.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'You know bloody fine what I mean. I'm talking about the five terrorists we arrested last month. They've been charged with various counts of murder and attempted murder; you and I both know they're as guilty as sin. Now I hear you're letting Murtagh pack them off to the US, without any trial for those crimes.'

  'Not the US,' Milton Grassick replied, wearily. 'Cuba. And there's no point in try
ing to interfere now: they were handed over to the Americans at midnight, and flown out of Turnhouse on a military jet.'

  'Magic! So they'll be interrogated, without any legal or personal representation, and once that's done, they'll probably be stuck before a secret tribunal, then shot' Skinner drew breath, as if to keep his anger in check. 'The most appalling thing about this,' he went on, 'is that you're a Scottish law officer. You've got legal and constitutional duties and you've ignored them all. These people weren't just in your custody, they were in your care. They had a right to offer a defence against extradition, and they've been denied it.'

  'There are great issues at work here,' Grassick protested.

  'None of them greater than natural justice,' Skinner fired back. 'Is this what you went to the Bar to do, Milton? To subvert the law and ignore every human-rights accord ever signed? I know that when I took my oath of office it said bugger all about that. As my wife's just pointed out to me, I've spent my lifetime upholding a justice system that I believe in. Now I'm expected to sit on the sidelines and watch you and Murtagh piss all over it. No chance. I can't do anything about the First Miniature, but I can do something about you.'

  'Such as?' The Lord Advocate summoned up a degree of belligerence.

  'Such as make a citizen's formal complaint to the Dean of the Faculty of Advocates about your professional conduct. And you know what? Even if it's a token gesture, I think it might just be upheld. It might not mean your resignation, but it will for sure put a big barricade across your cushy road to a judge's robes. Sleep on that, mate.'

  He slammed the phone back into its cradle and turned back to Sarah. 'With guys like him in office, you want me to quit?' he said, quietly. He stripped off his stained shirt and walked back out to the terrace. Settling back in his chair, he picked up his beer, drained it in a single gulp, then took another from the ice bucket and ripped it open.

  She followed him out and sat beside him. 'I'm sorry about the scene,' she murmured, looking out at the quayside below.

  He tossed a little beer towards her, splashing it on her white cotton top. 'There.' He grinned at her, gently. 'We're quits.'

  'But are we really?' she asked.

  He took another drink. 'No, I don't suppose we are. I can have a career and be a good father, Sarah. Most people can. Ask Alexis if she felt deprived as a child.'

  'Very few people are as driven as you, Bob. You're hard to live with.'

  'So hard I drove you into another man's bed?'

  'No, that was different. I didn't do that out of pique.'

  'Maybe you should have waited for him all those years ago: given the guy a chance to get football out of his system.'

  'That would never have happened; Ron couldn't have kept that promise. He was as driven as you are in that respect. Once he'd finished playing it would have been coaching or the media, or whatever, but still the same circus.'

  'Yet you asked him to quit too?'

  'Not in so many words, but I suppose I did.'

  'You know that I won't, not as long as I'm fit to do the job?'

  'Yeah.' She sighed. 'I know.'

  'So don't force me to a choice.'

  'I won't, if it's between me and the job. If it's between me and Aileen de Marco… well, that's another matter.'

  'Let's just say it isn't'

  'In that case I'm the one who has to make the choice.'

  'Whether you love me enough to stay?'

  She looked at him. 'Do you love me enough to ask me?'

  'I'm not going to do that. You have to want me, warts and all, short-tempered, obsessive bastard that I am.'

  'And the kids?'

  'The kids will have the education we've planned, whatever way it goes. Let's agree that much right now.'

  Sarah nodded; she reached out and squeezed his arm.

  'I have to go back,' he told her.

  'I know.'

  'Tomorrow.'

  'Yes.'

  'And you?'

  'If it's okay with you, I'll take another few days out here. I'm calm now. I was a mess when I ran away from Edinburgh; I was on the edge of making an ass of myself, but now I feel better. If nothing else, our shouting match tonight has finally got a lot of stuff out of my system. Now I can think about the future with a clear mind.'

  Bob smiled and ran his fingers through his sticky hair. 'I'm glad about that. You take all the time you need. I'll tell the kids you've got some stuff to sort out over here.'

  'Mark might not believe you.'

  'I can be persuasive, even with him.'

  'I promise you that I'll come back in plenty of time to make sure that they all have a great Christmas. We can talk about everything then. You okay with that?'

  'Deal.' He finished his beer and glanced down at the ice-bucket; it was empty. 'Dinner?' he asked.

  'Yes. Have a shower, and then we'll go out. Let's eat lobster at Alonzo's… and I promise not to throw any over you.'

  Seven

  Detective Chief Inspector Neil McIlhenney made a point of being first to arrive each morning in the Special Branch suite. So he was surprised, when he reached the door of the outer office, to see light shining through the glass panel.

  He turned the handle and stepped inside, expecting to find DC Alice Cowan behind her desk; instead he saw the dark-suited stocky figure of Assistant Chief Constable Willie Haggerty. 'Morning, sir,' he said. 'How did you get in here? This is supposed to be a secure area.'

  'I'm an ACC, for fuck's sake,' the gruff Glaswegian replied. 'I'm supposed to be able to go anywhere in this building.'

  'Not into my room, though,' said McIlhenney, walking across to his private office and holding a key in the air. 'I put my own lock in it when I took over from Mario McGuire, and there's only one other guy has one of these.'

  'Aye,' Haggerty grunted, as he followed him into the modest room, 'and I can guess who that is. Where is he, by the way?'

  'How should I know?'

  'Because you're his best mate in this building.'

  'He doesn't tell me everything, though.'

  'And even if he did, I don't suppose you'd tell me.'

  'Not if he didn't specifically ask me to.'

  The assistant chief glowered at him. 'Maybe you've been in this job too long, Neil. You SB guys can get too comfortable with secrets.'

  'That's the whole point of us SB guys, isn't it?' McIlhenney countered cheerfully. He walked over to a small fridge in the furthest corner of the office and took out a bottle of water. He did not drink tea or coffee, and very little alcohol. 'Want one?' he offered. 'Or a Pepsi?'

  Haggerty shuddered and shook his head. 'Did you know about the terrorists?' he asked. 'The ones you lot lifted last month.'

  'What about them?'

  'They're off to the cages in Cuba.'

  'Eventually, you mean?'

  'No. Now, I mean. They were handed over to the Sherman Tanks last night and flown straight out. The Chief Constable just told me; the First Minister's private secretary only told him after it had happened, and he's not best pleased about that. The Solicitor General will advise the court this morning that all charges against them have been deserted; he'll say that it's pro tern, but it might as well be simpliciter, permanently. We'll never see them again.'

  'Neither will anyone else,' McIlhenney murmured. 'I knew that a couple of them would go sooner or later, but I heard that everybody had agreed they'd be tried here first.'

  'Not everybody, the Americans didn't. The Lord Advocate signed the release papers yesterday.'

  'It gets them out of our hair, I suppose, but I know somebody who will not be at all happy about it.'

  Haggerty glanced at him. 'Naw, he won't. In fact, he'll go ballistic when he finds out.' He took a breath. 'There's other things he's missing out on as well. What do you know about Greg Jay?'

  'Between you and me?'

  'Of course.'

  'I know that he's unpopular with his men, and that the general view is "Don't take your eyes off him." I've never s
erved under him, but I have seen him in action and I didn't like what I saw. He was good in his time, though, and he got where he is, divisional CID commander, on the basis of results. Why are you asking?'

  'Because he's gone.'

  'Gone?'

  'Taken early retirement. Big Bob didn't say anything to you about it, did he?'

  The DCI shook his head. 'Not a word.'

  'Is that so? Big McGurk, his assistant, had heard nothing about it either, and I think Bob would have told him if he'd known, even if he didn't say anything to you.'

  'What happened?'

  Haggerty gave him a shrug and a blank 'don't know' look. 'Nothing. He saw the chief last Monday morning, and told him he wanted to go by the end of the week. He said he didn't want any fuss made: no announcement, retirement piss-up or anything like that. He wanted to leave very quietly.'

  'He probably figured that if they'd passed the hat round for him, it'd have come back empty.'

  'Maybe that's all it was,' the ACC conceded. 'Still,' he mused, 'it intrigues me when a guy does something like that. It usually means he's dodging the bullet, or he's been made a good offer somewhere else.'

  'Do you want me to find out?'

  'Naw, leave it. He's no' worth your time.'

  'As you wish.' McIlhenney smiled. 'You're full of surprises this morning, sir.'

  'Ah, there's lots more than that, though: this'll be news to you as well. We had a return visit from Andy Martin last night'

  Yet again, the big DCI was caught off guard. 'How come?' he asked.

  'A bit of inter-force co-operation. You know Andy has a friend who owns a disco, or club, or whatever?'

  'Spike Thomson? Sure.'

  'Okay, and do you know a guy called Charlie Bell?'

  'Jingle? Yes, I know him. He used to be a runner for Tony Manson, then for Dougie Terry; got scared and left town after Dougie got done. Strictly small change.'

  'Not quite so small now. Bell and a minder called Richard Cable… Do you know him?'

  McIlhenney frowned. 'Richard Cable? Is that his real name?'

  'It was the name on his driving licence and his credit cards.'

  'Not one I've heard, then. Has he got previous?'