I want you to have a look at it for me. I just need a bit of first aid. Meet me in my office in about forty minutes. I’ve got a very important date, and I want to be properly patched up for it. Oh, and bring along a pair of slacks for me, there’s a girl.’
He hopped and limped through to the bathroom and took a pack of cotton wool, a roll of tape, and a pair of scissors from the cabinet. With the scissors he cut through the right leg of his trousers, exposing the area around the bullet-hole. The entry wound was small and neat. But the area where the bullet had exited was shredded. Each was crusted with dried blood, and the mess at the back of his thigh still leaked a little. He packed each hole with cotton wool, securing it roughly with tape.
He eased his way back to the living room, and through to the kitchen. The floor was a mess of shattered crockery, from the collapse of the life-saving shelf. He smiled through the pain. ‘Thank God I’m not a DIY freak.’
Leaning on any available support, he hauled himself back into the living room. He picked up his Browning and returned it to its holster. He thought of taking Maitland’s Walther, but left it lying on the floor. Instead he picked up the video cartridge and replaced it in the pocket from which he had taken it a lifetime earlier. He turned off the gas fire and started towards the door — before remembering the tape-deck. The cassette had run out. He removed it, slipped it into an inside pocket of his jacket, and left the house in darkness.
There were no lights in any of the surrounding houses. The double glazing provided an efficient sound- insulator, and no one had heard the shots.
He eased himself behind the wheel of the Sierra, and found that he could work the pedals without too much pain, and without having to put weight on the wound.
He had not gone far when he was hit by a sudden, desperate need to speak to Alex. Luckily, the car had a phone.
Alex sounded wide-awake when she came on line, her voice echoing on the car speaker.
‘Hi, Pops. Why the hell are you calling at this time of night? I’m just in. Jenny and I were up at the Rusty Pelican.’
‘You haven’t heard any news then?’
‘No. Why?’ Alarm sounded in her voice.
‘Don’t get them in a twist. There’s been an incident tonight, and some people have been shot. But I’m fine, and so’s Andy.’
She was unconvinced. ‘You don’t sound fine.’
‘Well I am. Now listen, are you coming through tomorrow?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well don’t go to Gullane. We won’t be there. Come to Stockbridge. Okay?’
‘Okay, Pops.’ She began to ask what the big mystery was, anyway, but thought better of it. ‘Now, if you promise me that you’re really fine, I’ll get some sleep.’
‘Promise. Love you. Night.’
As he ended the call, he thought, suddenly, that he had been within half a second of never hearing that voice, or Sarah‘s, ever again. He felt hysteria lurking within him. To keep it at bay, he smiled savagely in the dark and fixed his thoughts on Hughie Fulton.
100
The drive, normally thirty minutes, took fifty. Skinner drove at a steady pace, keeping the pain in his leg to a minimum.
The wound was still leaking blood when he reached Headquarters Mackie’s overcoat lay in the back of the Sierra. He threw it on, and walked, as evenly as he could manage, into the lift.
Sarah was waiting for him in his inner office, seated in the big swivel chair behind the desk. She jumped up when he hirpled into the room.
‘Oh my God, darling. What’s happened? You’re grey!’
He threw the overcoat on to a chair, and she saw his leg. Her hands flew to her mouth. A scream started, but she choked it off.
‘Bob! That’s a gunshot. Who did it? Are you hurt anywhere else?’
Skinner gave her what was meant to be a reassuring smile. To Sarah it resembled the clenched-teeth expression of someone trying very hard to hold himself together.
‘Don’t worry, love, it’s a flesh wound. I’ve had a talk with the bloke, and he won’t do it again. Let’s use the Chief’s bathroom.’
She helped him along the corridor to Proud’s suite. Skinner opened the door with a key from his collection, and motioned her in ahead of him.
In the white-tiled bathroom, she cut off the bloody trousers. Gently, she removed his makeshift dressing. Then, using surgical spirits which burned with a cold fire, she cleaned the wounds, front and back, and washed the leg.
‘Bob, you have to go to hospital.’
‘I know, but not just yet. I have to see this man.’
She took out a syringe and injected anti-tetanus serum straight into his thigh. Then she placed a powdered lint packing over the raw wound, and bandaged the leg from knee to crotch. As she worked, he talked to her continuously to keep his mind off the screaming-pitch pain.
‘Tell me, Doctor, did anything strike you about those two head wounds you examined tonight?’
‘Yes. I meant to ask you about that. They were caused by different weapons. The younger man was killed by a light-calibre bullet. But Al-Saddi’s brains were blown out, literally. He was hit by something heavy-calibre and soft-nosed: the sort of bullet that would make a hole like the one you have in your leg, for example. If that had hit bone ...’ She stopped suddenly and looked at him, her eyes widening.
‘Clever lady. You should be careful. That thoroughness could land you in trouble some day. When you write your report, I want you to forget all that detail.’
‘Bob, what are you into?’
‘The biggest, nastiest mess of my life, my darling. But it’s almost over now.’
He saw no need ever to tell her of the danger in which she herself had stood hardly an hour before. She looked into his face and decided to press him no further.
When she had finished dressing his leg, she helped him into the sharply pressed grey slacks which she had brought from the apartment. He kissed her, and as he held her close, he whispered in her ear, ‘I’m so glad I found you. If anything should ever happen to you, I’d be finished.’
Sarah saw the trauma in his eyes. She knew that when he was ready, he would tell her the story.
‘Go, my darling,’ she said, ‘and, as always, do what you have to do. Whatever it is.’ Her eyebrow raised in a familiar movement. ‘And as soo as you’ve done it, have someone drive you straight to hospital. Call me the minute you get there. Doctor’s orders.
‘Oh, by the way, Andy called just as I was on my way out. McGuire was still in surgery, but he’s going to be fine. Andy’s staying there with Sergeant Rose, until he comes round. What’s Maggie Rose doing there anyway?’
Skinner smiled. ‘Let’s just say she’s off duty.’
Sarah kissed him again, and ran off downstairs.
101
In his office, Skinner took a bottle of brandy and a glass from his cabinet and poured himself a stiff measure. He made to put the bottle back, then changed his mind.
He took off his jacket, draped it over the back of his swivel chair, and sat down, carefully, behind his desk. The Browning was still in his shoulder holster.
He was halfway through his second brandy when Fulton’s bulk swept into the room, full of bluster.
