down and influence them.
On other investigations he had felt sometimes that all was not as it seemed, and that somewhere in the pattern of events there was an obvious link which he was missing. In the past, he had worried away tenaciously at the scenario; he had adjusted the living jigsaw until the last piece was in place.
But this was different. This time he had set an investigation under way without any clear idea of the direction in which it was heading. And this time, there were the nightmares.
For the first time in his life, professional and personal, he knew that he was not in control.
Bob Skinner ran on through the sodium-lit darkness. It was 3.10 a.m., and he was afraid.
They took him completely by surprise, as they jumped from the doorway to confront him.
They were big fellows, three of them, heavily built, and he knew at once that they were not about to ask him for a light. He broke his stride and tried to dodge around them, but they spread out to block his path.
His mind had been so preoccupied with his troubles that he had lost track of where he was heading. He looked around him and saw that he was in Dalry Road, a main thoroughfare, but one where no traffic ran other than the occasional police car at that time in the morning.
He was breathing heavily. The three men circled around him, forcing him to take a defensive position with his back to a shop window. Skinner was afraid no longer. These were flesh and blood things. He felt an old familiar sensation creep over him, a coldness inside, an anticipation of danger. Something else invaded him too, or rather someone, another personality, one who was looking forward to what was about to happen, who knew what power he possessed, and who would take pleasure in using it.
He scanned the trio, trying to make out faces, but they were all dressed in what could have been a gang uniform — tracksuits with heavy hooded tops. 'You guys really don't want to do this,' he said. For a start, I'm a Police Officer. For another thing, there aren't enough of you. Away home to your mothers before your tea gets cold.' There was a wicked gleam in his eye.
If all three had charged at once, even he would have stood no chance, but as two came forward, one of the men, the thug on his left, hesitated.
Skinner sent the first attacker spinning backwards in less than a second disabled by a short, brutal right- handed chop across the Adam's apple. Almost simultaneously, the man in the middle, the biggest of the three, was folded in half by a lightning-fast kick to the groin. Before he could hit the ground, Skinner grabbed him and using his momentum, swung him round and slammed him headfirst through the plate-glass window behind him.
As the shop alarm began to ring out, the third man, who had plucked up enough courage to move in to attack, froze in mid-stride. The policeman seized him by the shirt, pulled towards him and head-butted him as hard as he could on the bridge of the nose.
Skinner was still holding the man, smiling savagely as blood erupted from his smashed nose, when he felt the thump on his back. He threw down his attacker and turned in surprise, to face a tall, slightly built girl, as she lunged at him for a second time with a long-bladed knife. He had no time to wonder from where she had come. Instinctively he side-stepped, and grabbed her wrist, twisting it sharply upwards, and hearing a crack. She screamed and dropped the weapon. Still holding her, Skinner bent to pick it up with his left hand.
All of a sudden he felt the pain. It began just below his right shoulder blade and swept through him. He gasped in a breath and it erupted into agony. His eyes swam, and he slumped to his knees, loosening his grip on the girl. As he fell forward, face down on the wet pavement, he heard her footsteps as she race off down Dalry Road.
Above him, the shop's alarm bell continued to ring out shrilly, but to Bob Skinner, the sound grew fainter and more distant. He clung on to it for as long as he could, but eventually it faded altogether as a darkness swept over him, one in which there were no dreams.
FORTY-FOUR
The doorbell rang, but Sarah was halfway downstairs, pulling her robe around her. It was just after 4.30 a.m., and she had been lying awake, waiting anxiously for Bob to return, when she had heard the car pull up outside.
She threw the door open. Andy and Alex stood on the threshold, unkempt and speedily dressed.
`What is it?' she snapped urgently. Andy stepped into the hall and put his hands on her trembling shoulders.
It's Bob,' he said. 'He's in the Royal.
Sarah gasped and looked at Alex, noticing, for the first time, that she had been crying.
'A patrol car found him in Dairy Road. It was answering a call-out to investigate a shop alarm that had been reported ringing. The officers recognised him and had the presence of mind to get a message to me. They said that it looked as if he was attacked when he was out running. He's been stabbed.'
Sarah's hands flew to her face. 'Oh my God! How bad is it?'
`They don't know. I called the hospital. They told me that he was alive, but unconscious, when the ambulance got there. They rushed him straight into surgery. Apparently he has a single Wound in the back, penetrating the chest cavity.'
Do you know who did it?' she gasped.
Martin nodded. 'I think so. The patrol car stopped a girl in Dalry Road, running away from the scene. She had a broken wrist. There were three blokes at the scene, all of them hospital cases. The ambulance crew had to give one of them an emergency tracheotomy.
The Big Man went down fighting and no mistake.'
Upstairs, Jazz began to cry.
‘I’ll see to the baby,' said Alex `Sarah, you get dressed and Andy'll take you to the Royal.'
She nodded, and headed for the stairs.
`That's right,' said Martin, a meaningful look in his eye. And when we get there, I'm going to talk to those three guys, and the girl. I have friends in that hospital — and none of those characters will be having anything but the minimum treatment until they've told me the whole story!'
FORTY-FIVE
Edinburgh Royal Infirmary has seen many advances in medicine. Unfortunately the same philosophy of constant improvement has not driven hospital building in Scotland's capital, where some medical staff still work in accommodation which has served six generations and more.
The room to which Sarah was shown to await Bob's emergence from theatre was in the heart of the oldest part of the Infirmary. It was a small lounge serving the doctors attached to the main surgical wards.
She sat there, white-faced, sipping hot sweet tea from a white mug. Alan Royston was at her side, but the Police Media Relations Manager kept a sympathetic silence, knowing instinctively to leave her to her thoughts.
Eventually, Sarah felt sorry for him, felt she should break the silence. After all, he was a member of the Skinner team, and would be suffering himself during the helpless time of waiting. However, well-meaning though she was, what she said brought him little reassurance.
It's at times like this, Alan,' she said, 'that it's awful being a doctor. There are no mysteries for me. I know what's happening in theatre right now, and I know what the worst case is.
The Senior House Officer who received him in Accident and Emergency showed me where the wound is. Depending on the angle of entry it could have punctured a lung, or it could have penetrated the heart.'
Royston paled. 'His heart? But surely, that couldn't have happened or he'd be… The words faded on his lips.
`Dead already? Not necessarily; a healthy heart is a powerful organ. But Andy said that the police got there within two minutes of the stabbing and he was unconscious by then.
That isn't a good sign. Against that, there was a heartbeat when he was brought in. Erratic but still strong,
