Thursday legends - Skinner 10 (19 page)

'Or
as a record,' Maggie suggested, quietly. 'What if he just picked one innocuous
shot from a wider selection? What if this folder is a sort of index?'

'Then
where are the rest? And the negatives, too? But hold on a minute, maybe that's
all he did: pick the best and junk the rest.'

'Maybe,
but
...
Mario, there's something else
about these photographs. They've all got people in them; every one, even the
landscapes and beach scenes. It's as if
...'

Her
husband frowned as he nodded. 'By God, Mags; you're on to something; these are
surveillance photographs. Most of the faces are obscure, but if you knew who
they were
..
He turned the pile upside
down and flicked through the dates. 'Some of these go back to when Alec was
still in the job and they continue right up to the present. What was the man
doing?'

'I'll
bet someone knows,' she fired at him. 'It could be that someone topped him
because of it. How much did they take away with them, d'you think? The rest of
the photos and the negs? His address book? Don't tell me Smith didn't have one
...
The camcorder: were there any tapes,
other than the one we were meant to find?'

'Maybe,'
he said. 'Maybe the murderer cleaned the place out, but
...

'Remember,
Alec Smith was a ten-year SB commander. If he was running a private surveillance
operation, for whatever purpose, he'd have kept detailed files and he'd have
kept them secure. But there were no secure cabinets in Shell Cottage, at least
none that we found.

'That
means that either we missed something in that house, or Alec Smith had a second
site, where he kept those records.'

Maggie's
eyes flashed with excitement. 'Tomorrow morning, Inspector, you're going back
to Forth Street, and you're going to tear that place apart. While you're doing
that, I'm going to have people identifying the tenants of every small office in
East Lothian
...'
She stopped. 'Ahh,
but you've got Morrison and Scotland to deal with
...'

'No.
You're right, we have to follow this up now; I'll have someone handle those
two, very discreetly. Mags, we've got to share this, now.'

'Tell
the Boss, you mean?'

'No,
he's away at a conference. You have to tell your boss. Let's go and see Andy
Martin, now, the pair of us.' He glanced at his watch. 'A good part of that
Chianti's still in our glasses out there; we can drive. Let's get along to his
place now.'

'Okay,
but phone him. Make sure he's in.'

Mario
nodded. He dialled the Head of CID's home number, but a machine answered. He
dialled his mobile, but it was not receiving. He dialled Karen Neville who told
him, curtly, that she had no idea where the DCS was. Finally he left a message
on his pager, saying, 'Your place, urgent. On our way, M&M.'

23

Something
made Andy switch off his cellphone as he rang the Lewis doorbell. He was still
uncertain of how he was going to play it; home game or away game, gentle
quizzing or balls-out interrogation.

He
had hoped that Rhian would come to the door herself. Neither Juliet's car nor
the elderly Fiesta which the girls shared were in the driveway. But it was
Margot who answered the summons of the bell.

'Oh,
hello,' said the girl. 'Rhian isn't in.' There was something in her tone and as
he tried to fathom it, he realised that he had never had a conversation of more
than two words on either side with his lover's younger sister.

'Will
she be gone long?'

'She
shouldn't be. I'll tell her you came for her.'

'Don't
put it that way, Margot. It makes her sound like a commodity. Just ask her if
she'd come next door when she gets back. There's something I want to talk to
her about.'

'Will
I tell her to bring a toothbrush?' There was no doubt this time about the
coldness, or about the sneer in her voice. He took a look at her, properly, for
the first time. She was an inch or so taller that her older sister, and even
from the way she stood, he could tell that she was an athlete. She was not
unattractive, and her beautifully cut dark hair shone with natural highlights,
yet there was something about her, the set of her mouth perhaps, the remoteness
of her eyes, maybe
both, which was instantly
forbidding. Where Rhian's whole demeanour asked a gentle question, Margot's
shouted an answer.

'Look,'
he said. 'I'm sorry we had to pull the plug on your party'

She
shrugged. 'No problem; my guests all went to the pub anyway
...
after I made a hysterical fool of myself
and your doctor put me to bed.' Her stare was unbroken; she was barely more
than a child, almost twenty years his junior, yet there was something
contemptuous about it. His head told him to leave it alone; normally, he would
have listened.

'Have
you got a problem with me?' he demanded.

'Happily,
no,' she replied.

'Do
you resent Rhian and me in some way?'

She
gave a short, cold laugh. 'Why should I? I certainly don't fancy you
...
which makes me unique in this
household.'

He
frowned, checking an angry retort on his lips.

'That
surprises you, does it?' she asked. 'That Mum should find you attractive? She's
only forty-four, you know, and she's pretty damned attractive herself. Spike
thinks so, even if you don't.'

'I
never said that I don't; but you just destroyed your argument. Spike Thomson:
Juliet's involved with him. What makes you think she'd have the slightest
interest in me?'

'She
told me; and she told Rhian. Look, Spike's nice, but he's more of a good
reliable friend than anything else. Stable jockey, that's all; they're not
engaged or anything. My mother took a shine to you from the moment you moved in
next door. But she's not sexually aggressive in the way my tarty sister is. She
doesn't flaunt herself like Rhian.'

'That's
enough, Margot. I don't need to hear this.'

'Yes,
you do,' the girl snapped. 'Not long after Dad
...
left, Mum invited a man to dinner. He was a civil servant
too, single, and quite dishy. Two weeks later she called at his place
unexpectedly and found him and Rhian in bed. When she let slip that she liked
you, I knew what would happen, even if she didn't.'

'You're
making all this up.'

'Am
I? She offered me a bet about you! When Mum told us
...
We were just talking over supper, about men in general, you
know, a "Who do you fancy?" game. Rhian said "Sean
Connery," and Mum said, "The man next door, actually." I could
see the look in my sister's eye as soon as she said it. When Mum went through
to the kitchen, I said to her, "You wouldn't," and she said to me
"Bet?" Just like that.' She glanced along to the end of the road.
'Here she comes. Ask her yourself.'

He
looked at her. For one of the very few times in his life, his mouth ran ahead
of his brain. 'Who did you fancy in the game, kid? Madonna?' At once, he wished
he had bitten his tongue, but it was too late: he knew that he had hit the
mark. For the first time, Margot looked like a hurt child as she flinched and
slammed the door.

'What
was all that about?' Rhian asked as she climbed out of the Fiesta. 'What's that
brat been saying to you?'

'Nothing.
Come on in next door, there's something I have to ask you.'

She
flashed her eyes at him. 'The answer's "yes",' she joked.

'It
had better not be.' The smile left her face as she saw his; she followed him
inside and upstairs. As he stepped into the living room he saw his TAM flashing
to indicate a waiting message. His pager was showing a light too, as it lay on
the sideboard beside a copy of the
Evening
News.

He
picked up the newspaper and showed it to Rhian. 'See that? It's a story about
our investigation into the murder of the man in the Water of Leith. My Press
Officer gave the media a statement when we issued our photo fit. It was very
carefully drafted and cleared with Superintendent Pringle, who's in charge of
the investigation. We have to be very careful what we say to the press, for all
sorts of reasons, but most of all for fear of prejudicing a future trial.

'Now
listen to this bit.
Senior
officers investigating the case admitted privately that they are pessimistic
over their chances of ever identifying the mystery man, far less finding his
killers.

'No
senior officer has ever admitted any such fucking thing to a journo, privately
or otherwise. But I seem to remember saying something like that to you the
other night, in bed. Now let me read you this:
The victim
's
face was battered to a pulp, he had multiple fractures and several toes and
fingers had been cut off.

'The
only people who would know that were those who saw the body: police,
paramedics, and those who were at the post-mortem examination, like you.' She
made to turn, as if to walk across towards the double doors to the balcony.
'No,' he said, firmly but not shouting. 'Don't turn your back on me. Look me in
the eye.' She did as she was told and he fixed his gaze on her.

'Now
I want you to tell me straight out, and no lies
...
I'm an experienced detective; only a real pro could hope to
get away with lying to me. Are you the source of that information?'

She
said nothing. 'Come on, Rhian, out with it. Did you feed our pillow-talk, and
the things you saw at the p.m., to the bloody press? And don't think you can
hide behind the notion that journalists always protect their sources; not from
me, they don't. Now out with it.'

She
looked as young and vulnerable as had her sister, a few minutes earlier, as she
nodded. He knew that he was giving the Lewis girls a hard night. He felt many
things, sorrow and sympathy among them, but betrayal overcame them all; he
pressed on.

'Who
was your contact? The guy whose by-line's on the story?'

'Yes,'
she whispered.

'Fucking
marvellous; his brother-in-law's a detective sergeant and Pringle's already
given him the third degree. What's your relationship with this Paul Blacklock?'

'He's
an ex.'

'Ex?'

'Yes.
It's over, Andy, really.'

'Really,
So when did you see him to give him this information?'

'Yesterday
afternoon.'

'Where?'

'At
his flat.'

'His
flat? But he's married to Jack McGurk's sister.'

'Yes,
but he has a place in Cockburn Street. He uses it when he's on really early
shifts.'

'And
what took you to his flat
...
or did
you just go there to give him that information.'

'I
went there to break it off with him - for good.'

'And
how did you break it off with him? Vertically or horizontally?' She answered
him, by biting her lip, unconsciously.

'Jesus,'
he whispered, 'you gave him one for the road.'

He
drew her eyes back to his. 'Why the hell did you tell him all that stuff?' he
demanded.

'I
don't know. I just started talking about you, and I told him about what
happened on Saturday, and how you handled it and what you'd said about the man,
and what I'd seen at the post-mortem
...

'Andy,'
she insisted, 'I never thought for a second that he'd use it.'

'Why
not? He's used you, hasn't he? Now did you tell the bastard anything else under
his gentle interrogation?' 'No, nothing.'

'Nothing
I may have said about the Alec Smith case, for example?'

'No,
really, no.'

'That's
some consolation.' He moved towards her and took her arm. 'Come on, you'd
better go next door.'

She
looked at him. 'Andy, I'm sorry. I was stupid. I promise I won't
...'

He
looked at her, and saw that her eyes were glistening. He thought of Friday
night and of himself with Karen, and he almost melted. Perhaps he could have
changed the course of his life, right there, by leaving one question unasked.
But his character, as well as his training, forbade that. He knew that secrets
make rotten foundations.