Skinner nodded. ‘Of course, and we’ll get to that, but let’s have a chat first. It’s Polly, isn’t it?’
To his surprise, she hesitated, ‘Well, sir, that’s what they call me at the station, and it appears on my record. It’s a nickname I picked up at school, and it’s followed me ever since. Actually, I was christened Pamela. That’s what my parents call me and that’s what I prefer . . . if I’m given the choice, that is.’
He grinned. There was something about her style which set him at ease, at the same time as he was trying to unbend her. There was nothing pretentious about her. Her expression was open and honest, and her voice was clear, with no trace of a Sunday accent. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘I understand, although I’m the opposite, myself. Anyone calls me Robert, other than my nearest and dearest, my hackles start to rise. Pamela it shall be.’
He looked at her, appraisingly, for a few seconds. ‘Do you remember, Pamela, that outrageously loaded question that I asked you at your Promotion Board?’
She smiled, for the first time since she entered the room. ‘Oh yes, sir. I worried for ages afterwards in case you thought that my answer was just trite interview bullshit.’
Involuntarily, as if she had drawn it from him, Skinner smiled back. ‘And was it?’
She shook her head vigorously, serious again. ‘Oh no. I asked myself the same question over and over again, before I left my marketing job . . . incidentally sir, it was a top-of-the-range Sierra, not a Cavalier. If I hadn’t believed my answer then, I’d be a director of the consultancy now; driving a Scorpio, probably.’
‘And earning more than me, no doubt,’ he said. ‘You’ve had six months in CID since we met last, six months with the duties of rank as well as its privileges, such as they are. Is your view still the same?’
Her head cocked to the side as she thought about his question. ‘Basically yes, sir. I think it’s a bit less simplistic now, less idealistic. I’m coming to understand that helping people live better lives can sometimes mean locking them up for thirty years. But I think that my reasons for being in the job are still positive.’
‘You’ve come to it,’ he hesitated, ‘. . . forgive me . . . later than most. Can I ask you, has that limited your career ambitions?’
‘I don’t know that I have defined career ambitions, as such, sir. I’ve never thought in those terms.’
‘Well, think about them now, Pamela. Take your time, while I pour us some coffee. Sugar?’ She shook her head as he stood up.
A minute later he resumed his seat, placing a white cup and saucer before her. ‘Well?’
‘Okay. My career ambition, sir? I would like to be promoted to the limit of my competence, not one grade above it.’
‘Like too many people you have observed in the police force?’ he asked, with a grin.
‘No, sir,’ she said, quickly, but not too quickly. ‘Not too many in the force, but quite a few in other places. When eventually I retire, I would like to think that I have made a positive contribution all through my career, and not got in the way at the latter end.’
‘Fair enough. Now can I ask you, indelicately, about your private ambitions. You’re divorced. Why?’
‘David was involved with someone else. I left him and moved to Edinburgh.’
‘Are you in a relationship at the moment?’
‘No, I’m not. I’ve had enough of those for a while, I think.’ Suddenly the brown eyes narrowed again. ‘Sir, is this about me and Alan Royston? If it is, I admit that we had a relationship for a time. It didn’t work out, but it didn’t even occur to me that it might have been improper, or against regulations. It began after I moved into the press office; it wasn’t the reason for my being transferred to it.’
Skinner was taken completely by surprise. ‘Pamela, I didn’t even know about your relationship with Alan Royston, nor do I care. The force press officer is a civilian, and you are both single people. What you do or did outside the office is none of my damn business. Listen, the only time I care a stuff about my officers’ sex lives is if there is a chance of them affecting performance on the job . . . and don’t misunderstand my meaning!’
He paused. ‘Look, I’d better get to the point here.
‘You know DCI Rose? She was with me when I saw you yesterday at Haddington.’ Pamela Masters nodded briefly, intrigue replacing the concern in her eyes.
‘Well, before her promotion, Mags held one of the most important jobs in this force. She was my personal assistant.’ He pointed to the piles of paper which still rose from his desk. ‘As you can see, I am badly in need of a replacement.
‘I’m looking for someone who is mature, responsible, intelligent; someone who is capable of broadening my outlook on most issues and of contributing original thought when asked; someone who does not draw back from using initiative and where necessary from taking decisions; most of all, someone with whom I can get on, and who can put up with me and my occasionally short fuse.
‘This isn’t a competitive interview situation. There are no rules about how I fill this one. The job’s yours if you want it.’ He smiled, as he saw her mouth drop open in surprise.
‘There’s no promotion involved,’ he said. ‘Recently the post has been filled by a DI, but that doesn’t mean a thing. What I will say is that if you spend time in my outer office, even a short time, and make a go of it, you will be seen as being on a fast track.’
He stood up, and Pamela Masters followed his lead. ‘Take twenty-four hours to think about it. Talk to Maggie Rose, if you like. She’ll tell you about my dark side, as far as she’s seen it. If you turn me down, no-one will ever know and it won’t affect your prospects in any way; but I’d like to think that you’ll be with me first thing on Monday morning.’
He began to escort her towards the door, but she stopped. ‘I’ve thought it over, sir. I appreciate your permission to speak to DCI Rose, but I always like to trust my own instincts.
‘Can I ask you two questions?’
‘Sure.’
‘What time do I report on Monday, and should I be in uniform or plain clothes?’
10
Skinner thought that he could catch traces of Pamela Masters’ perfume hanging in the air a good ten minutes after his office door had closed behind her.
After she had left he had buzzed Ruth and had told her to make arrangements for her transfer from Haddington CID to his staff. Next he had dictated memoranda for typing next day to Andy Martin, and to Dave Donaldson, as line commander, to advise them of his decision.
He had just finished his memo to Donaldson, and had turned his attention back to his paperwork when he was interrupted by Ruth, on the intercom. ‘Sorry, sir, but you asked me to call you whenever the Chief got back.’
Sir James Proud had barely settled behind his desk when Skinner rapped on his door and slipped into the room. ‘Yes Bob,’ he said, as ingenuously as he could, ‘what can I do for you?’
The DCC frowned down at him. ‘You can continue our conversation of this morning. I’m your second in command, yet you let slip that you had discussed my trip to America with someone before deciding to send me. If it was my other boss, the Secretary of State, that’s understandable. If it was another Chief Constable, say Jock Govan, fair enough. Now if it was Jim Elder or Andy Martin, while I could live with that, I’d feel like chinning them for not mentioning it to me afterwards.’ He paused.
‘No, no, Bob,’ said the Chief hurriedly. ‘Don’t say anything to Jim or Andy!’
Skinner looked at him, curiously. ‘What’s going on here? Why are you on the defensive about this?’
Proud Jimmy fidgeted behind his desk. ‘D’you remember? ’ said his grim-faced Deputy. ‘I said “If you want me to go on this thing, you’ll have to order me.” And you said “So be it.” Now it seems that you had set it up with someone else.
‘I want to know who that was. No, I
The Chief swung round, in his swivel chair, shaking his silver head as he gazed out of the window across the force playing field.
‘Oh dear,’ he muttered. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
