glance. 'Come on, Mario. Just because you don't believe in it, it doesn't mean to say it can't happen. You go and see your old neighbour Davie Soutar. Maybe there's more than one oddbod in his family.'
Twenty-six
‘How 's Alison Higgins shaping up, Bob?' The Chief leaned back in his chair as Skinner finished his account of progress in the White investigation.
The ACC glanced at his watch; five minutes remained before the ever punctual Brian Mackie would arrive with Joe Doherty. The ACC knew that Proud Jimmy was not given to asking idle questions, and so he thought carefully before he answered. 'She's far from the finished article, but overall I'd say she's doing all right. I like people to exercise authority when they're given it. She's still a bit hesitant in that respect, but I'm working on that.
`She gets on well with her junior officers, although she took a wee pop at Maggie at our briefing this morning.'
`Brave woman!' said the Chief.
`Maybe, but she learned from it. She had to apologise to her in front of the troops. I'll bet you she never puts herself in that position again. She's a quick learner, and she's capable of going higher.'
`You mean she could become a chief officer?'
`Yes, I'd say she has that potential. Whether she fulfils it, well, that's up to her. I'd say, though, that once she's gathered enough experience of high-level CID work, she'll be happiest, and most effective as a commander, in uniform.'
`Like me, you mean,' said Sir James with a twinkle in his eye. Suddenly he scratched his chin, as if something had popped back into his mind. 'Talking about area commanders, Charlie Radcliffe called me this morning. He's making a fine recovery from his operation, and he expects to be fit to return in two months at the latest.
`So that means… that I'm getting back my best detective officer,' said Skinner, emphatically.
The Chief looked at him in pleased surprise. 'I was going to say that we'd have to find something for Charlie in this building.'
'No, thank you very much. Charlie's a great field commander; Andy Martin's a great detective. We both know where each of them belongs.'
`So you and Andy are on speaking terms again! Well, thank Christ for that. How about Alex?
Has she been in touch?'
Skinner shook his head. 'No, only with Sarah. I think Andy and I'll have to conduct separate peace negotiations with our Alexis. Ach, if I had just gone straight home that morning!'
Proud Jimmy touched his sleeve. 'Water under the bridge, son. You two eedjits have taken the first step. The next ones'll happen by themselves, believe me.'
Skinner's reply was cut off by the buzz of the intercom on the Chief's desk. He pressed a button. 'Yes, Gerry.'
DCI Mackie and Mr Doherty are here, sir,' said the Chief's new civilian secretary.
`Bang on time. Send them in, and bring in the coffee, please.'
A few seconds later, the door opened, Brian Mackie holding it ajar and ushering Joe Doherty into the room. The Chief Constable, all silver braid in his full uniform, advanced on him, hand outstretched. 'Joe! Good to see you. The lads were right, I'd have been huffed if you'd been here and not said hello.'
The four settled themselves into low leather chairs around the coffee table as the secretary set down a tray laden with cups, biscuits and two steaming cafetieres, with plungers depressed.
'Thanks, Gerry,' said the Chief. 'We'll pour, once these settle.' The young man nodded and left the room.
Proud turned back to Doherty. 'So, Joe, you're 'helping us with our enquiries', are you?' he asked, with a smile.
`So it seems, Sir James. I find an excuse to escape from London, and here I am stuck behind another desk!
`Still it's in a good cause. My colleagues across the water are very excited even by the outside chance that we might be able to pin something on Morton, suppose if it is on your turf.'
`They really think he's a bad 'un, do they?'
The sallow-faced American nodded. 'They're certain of it, Chief. They've just never been able to get close enough to hang anything on him.'
Skinner leaned across the table as Brian Mackie poured the coffee. 'Do your people think they'll be able to help us any further?'
`Sure they will. We have a whole section on Morton's organisation. I've got guys researching it right now. One thing they told me right away. SSC doesn't run a branch office in Europe or anywhere else. Morton likes to keep everyone close. But they do go to every major golf event where their men are playing, and there were three or four in the field at last week's European tournament.'
`Do you expect a report today?'
`Shit, yes, Bob! I've fixed a meeting with the new Special Branch in Glasgow for 4 p.m. this afternoon. By that time I expect to have wrapped this thing up and taken the Chief to lunch, and you too Brian
… if you're allowed to eat at the same table as your boss!'
Sir James smiled. 'I think we could allow a dispensation, Joe, but I'll have to decline, I'm afraid. I'm lunching with the Chair of the Joint Police Board today, and since she's a new girl, I don't know her well enough to be sure that a short-notice cancellation wouldn't upset her.
Don't let that hold you and Brian back though.'
One thing might,' said Skinner. 'I've got another task for you, Brian, apart from checking out any SSC names that Joe can give us. I want you to call South Africa and ask them how they're doing in their investigation into M'tebe's father's abduction. Give them a nudge as well. Tell them that young M'tebe was made an offer by Greenfields, Bill Masur's group, but that he turned them down. He's going to sign instead with Darren Atkinson's company.'
He glanced at Proud. 'Darren told me that yesterday, Chief. He seems to think that Masur is OK about it, but maybe he's being naive. From what I saw of the way he handled Morton, Masur isn't a guy to be put off easily. And if he's connected in the way Joe says, he may think he can persuade young M'tebe to think again about signing with Darren.'
He stood up. 'So you throw that pebble of knowledge in the South Africans' pond, Brian.
Then enjoy your lunch. You might introduce Joe to the Waterside in Haddington, especially if the FBI's paying. As for me, I'm off to uphold the honour of this constabulary on the golf course.'
Twenty-seven
Skinner pulled his car to a halt and looked out across the wide expanse towards the unladen supertanker, its stern pointing towards him. He had turned the corner at the very moment when the tide in Aberlady Bay had reached full ebb.
The sand flats stretched away for more than a mile. From road level, the distant, calm sea showed only as a sun-speckled silver ribbon, tied across the bay's mouth, and the tanker, riding high as it waited for its summons to take on cargo from the oil terminal, looked for all the world as if it was grounded.
In a county of quiet spectacle, it was one of Skinner's favourite sights. Always, when he encountered it, driving from the narrow village which had given its name to the bay, he stopped for a time to look and reflect. He remembered the first time that the mirage had ever caught his eye, the vanished sea with the ship cruising across the shimmering sand.
Seventeen years before, summoned to the scene of a road accident, a fatal road accident, he had seen it and had stopped, to gather his thoughts and perhaps to wish away what he knew was waiting for him a little further on.
