afternoon came to the surface. The Crown’s proof was strong, but like all rape trials, the issue hinged on the credibility of the woman in the witness box, and on the jury being left in no doubt that she had been violated.
That woman today was a lousy witness, thoughtRachel. It was natural enough, but if she was scared under the kindly eye of the old judge, and under the protection of the Advocate Depute, how would she react when Rachel went on the offensive in cross-examination?
Suppose, just suppose, that she won a Not Guilty, or even just a Not Proven, the third option in Scotland’s unique trinity of verdicts. The animal McCann would be out on the street, to rape again undoubtedly, and in all probability, to kill.
It was a dilemma which all advocates know they may have to face. It was worst for women counsel in rape trials. But even as the tears for her lost Mike trickled down her face, Rachel had no doubt. She would go all out tomorrow. Justice demanded it. That was what the job was about.
As the bath water cooled, and as the ice melted in her gin-and-tonic, another worry, forgotten earlier gnawed its way through to the surface of Rachel’s thoughts. It centred around that stony, impassive Japanese figure sat on the back row of the public benches.
‘What the hell was he doing there?’ Alone in her bathroom, she asked the question aloud, as if Mike was still there to answer.
14
The night’s stake-out in the Royal Mile produced nothing, or almost nothing. At 4.15 a.m. an armed detective constable came within two seconds of opening fire on a black cross-bred Alsatian Labrador which had ignored three commands to stand still in a dark corner of Gladstone’s Land.
At 5.45 a.m. a uniformed policeman, the giant found by Martin to test the cutting edge of the weapon in the Mortimer killing, snapped a powerful armlock on a dark-suited man in Campbell’s Close, dislocating the man’s elbow. Detective Sergeant Brian Mackie, a firearms specialist called in for the night patrol, was taken for treatment to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary’s casualty department.
As he switched off his radio after standing his men down for the night, Skinner muttered to Martin, ‘Keystone bloody coppers, that’s us!’
They were wearier than their men. They had been on the move for more than twenty-four hours, having broken off only for a quick meal.
‘You know, Andy,’ said Skinner, trapping a butterfly prawn with his chopsticks, ‘the police who investigated the original Ripper murders claimed afterwards that they sensed when he had stopped. They said that the evil went out of the air in Whitechapel. I’ve always thought that was a load of fanciful shite. I’ve never accepted the Ripper mystique. He was just another bad bastard who didn’t get caught... Or maybe he did!’
Martin’s eyebrows rose over tired eyes. ‘Oh yes, who do you think did it then?’
Skinner smiled. ‘The novelist in me has always reckoned that it was the Duke of Clarence, and that the whole thing was hushed up. The Home Office was very careless with a hell of a lot of files, mind.
‘But like everyone else who hasn’t seen those files, I haven’t a clue. I’ll tell you what I wish, though. I wish I had ten per cent of all the money that’s been made by clever people writing books and making films about old Jack. If he’d been nicked, tried and topped, and had turned out to be just another run-of-the mill sadist with a taste for human kidneys, then a whole industry would never have been born. But going back to what I said earlier. I’ve got a funny feeling that we won’t see this fella back here.’
Martin looked at him in surprise. ‘What, are you saying that “the evil has gone from the air”?’
He shook his head grimly. ‘No, it doesn’t smell like that. This guy’s evil, okay. But not the black cloak, horns and tail type. At the moment we’re the ones with tails. The bugger’s got us chasing them and somewhere, he’s loving it and laughing at us.’
Martin did not bother to ask Skinner about the basis of his belief. He knew that his style was to drum information, logic and careful analysis into all of his troops. Then every so often, if they were stuck in a rut and going nowhere on an enquiry, he would project himself somehow into the mind of the villains, follow a hunch and break the deadlock.
‘So what about the stake-out, boss? Do we give it a couple of nights and scale it down?’
Suddenly Skinner was vehement. ‘No. We’ve got a public duty, Andy. We keep them up, full strength, armed men and all, and we maintain them at that level for at least a week, or until I’m proved wrong and we nab this bastard. But not you, Andy, not you. I’ve got something else in mind for you. I’ll tell you tomorrow.’
And after their night on the streets, as they sat in the High Street Office nursing huge mugs of hot tea, Skinner kept his word.
‘You know Alec Smith? He’s handing in his papers. Retiring after the New Year. He’s landed a job with one of the big private security firms as their head bummer in Scotland. A fancy salary and a Jag, to top up his pension. I want you to take his place as Head of Special Branch.
‘Mind you, this isn’t an order. You’ve got to be willing. It means a rigorous vetting by outside people, and maybe even a few questions you won’t like, but you’ll understand why they’re necessary. If the process seems like an invasion of privacy, maybe the promotion will make up for that.’
Skinner paused and looked Martin in the eye. ‘Well, do you want the job?’
Contrary to popular myth, there is no centrally controlled organisation called Special Branch, with tentacles all over the nation, run from a false-front office by a man called X or Y or even M. But within each police force there are certain detective officers whose duties are not connected with routine police work, or in the normal course of events with the investigation of crime. Special Branch officers are responsible on their own territory for the physical security of royal and political VIPs adding manpower and local knowledge to the permanent protection staff.
Special Branch officers also maintain a discreet surveillance over terrorist suspects, potential agitators, crackpot revolutionaries and general troublemakers. Their criminal investigative functions extend to offences against the State, or involving the security of the Nation.
In these and in some other circumstances, they will link with that genuinely secret apparatus of State known euphemistically as the Security Service. However on a routine basis, Special Branch officers report to their Chief Constable and Head of CID.
Special Branch activities in the Edinburgh area were under the command of Chief Inspector Alec Smith, a man of renowned judgement and unflappability. Martin was well aware that if he succeeded the veteran he would become the youngest officer ever to hold that private post.
He voiced this thought to Skinner. ‘Do you think I’m ready for it?’
‘Of course I bloody do, or I wouldn’t be offering it to you. Look, Andy, you’ve got it in you to be Chief Constable of this or of some other force. On the way to that you’re going to succeed me as Head of CID some day.
‘You take this number, Andy. You’re ready for it, it’s bloody interesting and it’ll do you the world of good in career terms.’
‘I’ll miss working with you, Bob.’ The decision is made, thought Skinner.
‘Don’t worry. You’ll still be working with me. What you, even you, don’t know, is the amount of contact I have with Alec Smith. He reports to me and so will you.’
‘Doesn’t he report to the Chief, too?’
‘In theory yes, in practice not too much. There are some things that the gaffer doesn’t need to know about, unless and until they’re likely to go critical. For instance, if he knew all there was to know about some of the characters on the Police Committee, he’d never be able to look them in the eye.’
With that, Skinner looked Martin squarely in the eye. ‘Right, Andy, so the answer’s yes, is it?’
‘Of course it is, boss, and thank you very much. When do the snoopers start on me?’
‘They started-on you two days ago, as soon as the Chief had approved the appointment. It seems that your bank manager has done as he was told and kept his mouth shut. As of tomorrow you start a hand-over with Alec Smith. The Royal Visit that’s coming up should give you a good start.’
