the SHO said.'
`How long should he be in surgery?'
She glanced at her watch. 'He's been in theatre for going on three hours now, but there's nothing unusual in that. I expect they'll be a while yet.' She squeezed his hand. 'You have no idea how strong Bob is. He'll be fine.'
Royston looked at her, and was perceptive enough to realise, as perhaps she did not fully, that she was talking to herself, rather than to him. He admired her strength, and her control. For himself, he was held together by the simple fact that he could not imagine Skinner not surviving.
The door opened. Sarah looked up, with a tiny involuntary jump, as Andy Martin came into the room.
`Nothing yet?' he asked.
She shook her head. 'What have you been doing?'
`Getting to the bottom of what happened.' He looked at her with a strange, grim smile. 'I called Maggie Rose in, and Mario came with her. We talked to the coppers who found him. They said it was like a charnel-house down there. What a state those three guys are in! The bloke with the swollen Adam's apple and the tube in his throat got off lightest.
One of them has a suspected fractured skull from going through a shop window, and as well as that he's unlikely to father a child again. The third one has a smashed nose and cheekbone.'
'What happened?' Sarah asked.
The guy needing the new nose told us all about it. The three of them are druggies. They were buying gear, and they were a bit light on readies. When Bob came along, they decided to mug him.'
Sarah let out an impromptu, incongruous laugh; its tone was slightly hysterical, Alan Royston thought.
'What? Only three of them?' she said.
According to the guy, that's what Bob said to them too. They should have believed him.'
`What about the girl? What was she doing there?'
`She was the dealer, believe it or not. I know her — Fay Knight, her name is. Big Neil and I nicked her earlier on this year. She didn't have any stuff on her, and our witnesses were frightened off by her minders, so the case collapsed. We've got her now, though. It was a typical street operation. She was taking the money, and handing out chitties to the buyers.
The man holding the drugs was in a stairway across the street; he doled them out when the buyers gave him the note from the girl saying how much. He seems to have legged it at the first sign of bother.'
`That's a complicated buying process, isn't it?'
`Maybe, but it builds in added security for the suppliers who control the network. It means that no street dealer ever handles both drugs and money.'
Sarah raised her eyebrows. 'Yeah, it's careful, okay. So why are you so sure you'll be able to convict the girl for dealing this time?'
Martin looked at her, his smile gone. 'Because those three guys downstairs will all give evidence against her. It was the girl who stabbed Bob. She was back in the doorway and he didn't see her until it was too late. The man with no nose said that she tried to stab him again. He got the knife off her, and broke her wrist in the process, but then he collapsed.
The girl took off down the street, but ran right into our people in the patrol car. They arrested her. I've charged all four of them with attempted murder, but I expect the Three Stooges to give evidence against Fay and to plead guilty to a reduced charge of assault themselves. That's the deal the Fiscal will do.'
Sarah stood up, and leaned against him, pressing her face against his chest. 'Attempted murder,' she whispered. 'Pray God it stays that way.' He felt her tremble, and held her tight.
Andy?' even muffled against him, her voice was suddenly cold, and harder than he had ever heard. D'you think they'd let me set that bitch's broken wrist? I'd love to make a really bad job of it!'
FORTY-SIX
When Brian Mackie and Mario McGuire arrived at Mr Kong's, on the fringe of colourful Chinatown, Cyril Kercheval was waiting outside.
`Wouldn't you know it,' he said, as soon as the introductions were over. 'This place is closed today. But no worry, I've booked us a table next door.' The two Scots looked askance at his choice, a narrow establishment whose customers were jammed together around a range of tables of varying sizes. The place seemed more like a greasy chopsticks cafe than a restaurant.
`Don't let appearances fool you,' said Kercheval. 'It has a huge menu, and the food's all terrific.'
`Fine,' said Mackie, 'but is it secure?'
The MI5 man roared with laughter at the question. This fellow is archetypal, thought the DCI. Around fifty, with a significant beer-gut, he wore a trenchcoat over a crumpled suit, and a stained MCC tie.
`Could hardly be more secure, dear boy. The Yuppies only come here at night.
Lunchtimes, it's full of Chinese, and for most of them English is very much a second language. This is one of the most discreet meeting places in London, but to make you happier, I've booked a table away in the far corner.'
As he opened the door and held it for the two policemen, the sound boomed out to meet them, a sing-song blend of unrecognisable speech. They eased their way to their table through a central aisle which was barely wide enough to allow them to pass. They hung their overcoats on pegs on a side wall and took their seats. Three thick menus awaited them, one at each place.
As they sat down, Kercheval's mood and manner changed. `Listen, chaps, I was appalled to hear about our friend Skinner. What's the latest on his condition?'
McGuire looked across at him, grim-faced. 'Touch and go,' he said. 'My wife's his PA, so I went to the hospital with her. He was in surgery for four hours while they stabilised him, and repaired the damage. He was stabbed through the base of the right lung. The surgeon said that wouldn't have been life-threatening on its own, but the knife nicked an artery as well. There was massive bleeding in the chest cavity: they had to give him six pints of blood, apparently. He was in Intensive Care when I left the Royal, sedated and hooked up to a ventilator. They say that it'll be dodgy for the next forty-eight hours.'
Kercheval shook his head sadly. The telly said it was a random assault. Is that true?'
`More or less. The boss likes to run when he has thinking to do. Last night he just ran into the wrong place.'
‘Tch! Terrible. We're used to that sort of thing in London, but I didn't think Edinburgh was like that.'
It isn't, as a rule. Nor will it get that way. The attack was drug-related; we'll make the best we can of it. We've got the people who attacked Mr Skinner, but there was another guy who ran off. He was the dealer. We're after him, and his supplier. I'm willing to bet that Andy Martin — he's the boss's Deputy — will have their heads on poles in Princes Street before the day's out.'
`Let's hope so,' said Kercheval. 'I haven't had too many dealings with Bob Skinner through MI5, but I do know that he's very highly regarded by the people at the top.' He paused as a waiter made his way to their table. 'Want me to order?' he asked. The Scots nodded. 'Fine.
One chicken oyster sauce, one beef black bean, one duck yellow bean, one prawn chow mein, plenty of boiled rice and two large bottles of sparkling mineral, thank you very much.' The waiter's fingers flashed over his pad. He bowed and withdrew, dancing expertly through the tight-packed tables.
`The people at the top, you said.' Brian Mackie leaned across the table, looking quickly around him for prying eyes, but spotting none. 'Who are they, exactly?'
Kercheval beamed at him indulgently. 'My dear chap, we live in the age of openness.
You're Special Branch, you should know that we're all in the phone book now, more or less.'
The DCI shook his head. He paused as the waiter uncapped a litre bottle of Ashbourne sparkling mineral and poured three glasses. 'No, Cyril,' he said as the young man left, 'I meant higher up the tree than that. In Special Branch, I report to Bob Skinner, period. To whom does your Director General report?'
The MI5 officer took a sip from his glass. 'Interesting question. I suppose it depends upon the issue. In
