19
‘I’ve never known your lot to do that before, Bob: to have Alan Royston call us in for a briefing, give us a prepared statement then refuse to take questions.’
John Hunter spoke quietly, almost into his pint, as he and Skinner faced each other across their corner table, even though they were out of anyone’s earshot. Most of the other customers in the Stockbridge pub chose to drink at the bar.
The policeman smiled at the elderly journalist. ‘That’s because I’ve never faced a situation like this before, old friend. I believe in telling it all and telling it straight when I’ve got something to say. But if we had declared open house on questions, there would have been no knowing what the press would have made of it. We were dealing with the Sunday papers there, not with the daily people.’
Hunter shrugged, picking up the sheet of paper which lay on the table and waving it at Skinner. ‘Fine, but even the statement’s crap. Two murders it says, one in Bonnyrigg, the other in Saughton Prison, but no fucking names. Just the usual shite about next of kin being informed.
‘Did you know Royston was going to do this?’
‘I told him to play it that way.
‘Look, John, why do you think I asked you to come for a pint with me? I mean, I like your company, but on a Saturday I should be at home playing with my kids.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s gone two-thirty. The best part of the day’s blown.’
He paused. ‘If we had given the full story in there, all hell would have broken loose. As it is, it won’t take the hacks long to find out who the Bonnyrigg victim is. They’ll guess the rest from there. I want to put you in the picture, so that I know it’ll be written properly.’
The journalist smiled. ‘Now that, I like. You’ll piss off all the editors, though. They’ll have to pay me for the copy.’
‘They’ll be glad to, believe me.’
Skinner finished his Belhaven Best and went up to the bar for two more pints. Returning, he placed one before Hunter, and saw that the man had taken out his notebook and pen. ‘There aren’t many left like you, Auld Yin, are there?’
‘Naw. All these boys and girls with their wee tape recorders. The truth is I envy them their new gadgets. They’re a fucking sight easier than shorthand, but that’s the only way I know.’ He took a bite out of his pint, licking the foamy head from his grey moustache, then looked across at the policeman.
‘So. What have you got for me?’
‘Before we start,’ said the DCC, ‘I don’t want to be quoted. This is non-attributable; senior police sources and all that.’
Hunter nodded.
‘Right. Victim number one: Miss Hannah Bennett, age thirty-three, spinster, of 17 Garston Avenue, Bonnyrigg. Attacked last night in her home between ten and midnight, and killed with a knife in her back garden.’
‘Sex attack?’
‘I haven’t got the PM report yet, but not unless he put her slacks and knickers back on afterwards.
‘Victim number two: Nathan Bennett, age thirty-seven, currently of Saughton Prison, but normally of 17 Garston Avenue, Bonnyrigg. Shot dead just after nine this morning in the prison exercise yard.’
The old journalist’s mouth dropped open. ‘Bennett? The guy in the bank robbery trial, where Archergait . . .’
‘That’s right.’
‘Coincidence?’
‘We’ve got no evidence that it isn’t, but be serious: of course the murders are linked. Andy Martin and I found the woman when we went to interview her this morning. You see, Bennett was pleading Not Guilty on instructions. We knew that he was in fear of his life from the ring-leader of this gang.
‘We had reason to believe that Hannah was under threat, and that she may have known the man behind the robberies. So we were going to offer her a deal: total protection, and a lighter sentence for Nathan in return for the man’s name.
‘He beat us to it.’
Hunter’s eyes were bright with excitement now. ‘And he arranged to have Bennett killed in prison?’
Skinner shook his head. ‘No. That would have put more people in the chain of knowledge, and exposed him in other directions. He shot him himself, with a sniper’s rifle, from the roof of a multi-storey block overlooking the yard.’
‘You certain of that?’
‘Stone-cold certain. Andy and I found footprints in the dirt on the roof. It’s closed off to the residents, but there’s a stairway up to it. The lock had been picked, and the door was open. There was a metal pole lying there that we reckon he could have used to wedge it shut, just in case. On top of that, we’ve recovered the bullet.’
‘Aye, but how can you say for sure that it was the killer up there?’
He paused and took a sip of Belhaven. ‘From the angle of the wound, there’s nowhere else he could have been.’ He grinned, fleetingly. ‘Anyway, one of the footprints matches one that our scene-of-crime team found in Hannah’s garden.’
Hunter whistled. ‘Jesus.’
The two men looked at each other across the table. ‘Now do you understand why I’m anxious that all this should be reported properly?’
‘You mean that it should be reported the way you want it?’
Skinner grinned. ‘That’s the same thing, isn’t it? Look, John, after what happened in Gala on Thursday, we’re especially vulnerable on this one. So are the public at large: they’re vulnerable to scare stories and to panic.
‘Off the record, the truth is that Nathan and Hannah Bennett were our only leads to these robbers. Now they’re both out of the way, this guy will be feeling really pleased with himself. I want to get a message to him that we’re on to him, that he’s given us something new to go on.
‘He has, too.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘He’s brought me into contact with him. He’s let me stand where he’s stood, and he’s let me see how he thinks. He’s cocky, this fellow, as well as ruthless, and I’ve never come across a cocky criminal who’s been smiling at the end of the day.
‘I want to knock him off balance if I can. That’s why I’d like you to circulate a story saying that the police are closing in on the killer of the Bennetts, that he’s left a number of important leads at both sites which will help us identify him.
‘This guy, whoever he is, he’s absolutely sure of himself. I want to undermine that certainty. I want him to know who he’s dealing with, and I want him to be afraid of me.’
Hunter looked doubtful. ‘I appreciate that, Bob, but I’m an ethical journalist. I never have filed a report that I knew to be untrue, and I never will.’
‘I’m not asking you to lie, man. Those footprints are important. We’re trying to identify the shoe, in the hope that the list of stockists won’t be too big, and that the manufacturer might be able to help us. Some of Arthur Dorward’s team are still going over Bonnyrigg picking up every hair, every piece of fabric, and the rest of them are climbing all over the roof of that high-rise.
‘Hannah Bennett’s neighbours were either watching telly, on holiday or in the pub, so there’s not much joy from them, but we’re hopeful that someone in the tower block will have seen the guy while he made his way to his firing position.’
Skinner looked at his friend again. ‘So, are you up for it?’
‘Aye, Bob, I’ll write it that way. But can I say for certain that it’s the same killer, and that it ties in with the bank robberies?’
‘You can say that, John.You know that I can’t, officially, in case I’m accused of prejudicing a future trial, but press speculation is another matter. I trust you to handle it right, and to protect me as your source.’
The old man finished his beer, draining most of the glass in a single swallow. ‘Right then,’ he said, pushing
