Gormenghast of a school across the road. “Boys Only” when he was there and now he’s fixing the rules to get more women into Parliament, just because they’re women. That should be a fucking gender-free zone, man. Every MP should be there on the basis of ability; no elector’s choice should be restricted to people who sit down to pee. It’s un-fucking-democratic, Andy, and it’s the mark of the man.’
I realised that I had raised my voice, and was drawing glances from other tables; I stopped. ‘Christ,’ I continued, a little embarrassed and a lot more quietly, ‘listen to me. You’d think I was a misogynist, yet I’m anything but. We need more women in the police force, we need them in the higher ranks and yes, we need them in politics too, but only as long as they get there the right way and not through some artificial process. Our service has been male-dominated from the start. Its thinking is far too narrow, and if I ever got to command rank, I would do everything I could to change that, but that would not include putting “Women applicants only” signs over promotion boards.’
‘You lost your wife, didn’t you?’ he said.
Taken aback, I stared at him. ‘Yes, I did. A while back.’
‘Is that how you and she talked over the dinner table?’
A smile, so broad that I felt my cheeks bunch, spread across my face. ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Exactly like that. We used to go at it hammer and tongs, especially when Myra’d had a couple of drinks and her tongue was really loosened… not that she ever held back much.’
He nodded. ‘That’s the kind of relationship I want,’ he declared. ‘Full frontal, nothing left unsaid. That’s why… your word… bideyins don’t work for me. I want a relationship that challenges me every minute of the day. Clearly you’ve had one, and you’ll never settle for anything else again.’
But I did, for a while. And so did Andy. We’ve got there in the end, both of us, but if we’d recorded that conversation and played the tape to ourselves every day, maybe we wouldn’t have made the mistakes that we did along the way. But, if we hadn’t, then four lovely kids wouldn’t have been born, so… what the hell?
That morning, though, our discussion showed me something very clearly. It told me why, as much as we liked each other, Alison had been right to set limits to our relationship, to draw a boundary line over which neither of us would step. We didn’t fire each other up in that way, and we both knew it.
As for Mia, she was history to me, even then. There was something about her reaction that I knew I wasn’t going to get over. Sure, I had scared her; there was no doubt about that. But she’d known where I’d been the night before, and she’d even known that it connected to her, and yet there had been no shred of sympathy in her, or any attempt to understand why I had reacted in that extreme but completely involuntary way. I didn’t want to reach out to her again, not after the way she’d behaved, and if she’d phoned me at that moment, I wouldn’t have taken her call.
Martin said something to me, but I hadn’t been listening. ‘Sorry, Andy, what?
‘I asked if we were going to see Manson again this morning, boss.’
‘I am,’ I replied. ‘You’re not. Nothing personal, but I may have to lean on him, and it would be more comfortable if it was just the two of us.’ His eyes narrowed a little. I smiled. ‘Hell, Andy, I’m not going to thump him. There needs to be some straight talking, that’s all, and for that it has to be just him and me. Sometimes you have to play by their rules to make any progress.’ I finished my lukewarm tea. ‘Come on. We have to bring the troops up to speed.’
By the time we got back to the office, the rest of the squad, such as it was, had arrived. I knew it wasn’t enough for the continuing job I’d been given, a mixture of ongoing intelligence work, active investigations and pure fire-fighting, of the kind we were involved in at that time, and staffing was an issue I’d have to address. Fred was due for a promotion to DCI, and a move. I’d meant what I’d said to Martin about broadening our thinking. Maybe Alison and I could work together after all. Then there was young PC Rose, the officer I’d met in St Leonards. She’d impressed me, for no reason that would have been clear to anyone else. I’ve always prided myself on being able to spot potential in an instant, by the way someone speaks, looks and acts at first encounter.
But that had to wait; for that time I had what I had. I sat on a corner of Fred’s desk and gathered them around me, him, Jeff Adam and McGuire, with Martin standing alongside me. ‘Okay guys,’ I began. ‘Andy and I had a very active evening down in Newcastle. We’ve got some bad news for you and then we’ve got some worse news.’
I gave them a detailed rundown of the scene that we had encountered at the Seagull Hotel, and of the bleak prospects of identifying the killer of Milburn and Shackleton from trace evidence left behind him. Then I told them of our call on Winston Church, and of what we had found there.
‘The man didn’t mess about,’ I said. ‘It may be that he signed his name in forensics in the old guy’s kitchen, but he was efficient and thorough in the hotel and I don’t expect anything else from him there.’
Leggat and Adam sat silent, frowning; it was young McGuire who spoke. ‘Surely there was a big difference in the nature of the attacks, boss? One lethal wound each in the hotel, but the guy Church seems to have been killed in a frenzy.’
‘Point taken, Mario,’ I told him. ‘But the difference can be explained. From what we saw, neither Shackleton… who died first. .. nor Milburn had any clue they were in danger until it was too late. Shackleton even opened the door for him. At Church’s house, it was nothing like that. He broke in, the old man heard him, paused his porno movie and went to investigate. The intruder had neither the time for subtlety, nor the need; he just attacked. Church tried to defend himself,’ I held up my right hand to demonstrate, then mimicked the attack, ‘but had two fingers severed and his face bisected. Then he was…’ I paused, back in the middle of my nightmare, ‘… he was just ripped open, and died of shock, or blood loss, or whatever the autopsy tells us.’
Leggat winced. ‘So the investigation’s stalled?’
‘As of this moment, it is. We have to hope now that the victims have left something behind that links them to the guy who paid them to do the job. Fred, I didn’t raise any of this last night, because the situation was developing, and because I didn’t want anyone thinking I was telling them how to do their job, but now I’d like you to get on to DI Ciaran McFaul in Newcastle and ask him if he can get us access to the phone records of the three dead men, and also to the call logs of their mobile phones. I’m assuming that they had them; it seems to be de rigueur these days for hoodlums to use pay-as-you-go mobiles, in the belief that they’re untraceable.’
I didn’t say anything to them about my potential dropped clanger with Tony Manson. It wasn’t for sharing at that time. ‘Do that,’ I continued, ‘and ask him to send us copies of the post-mortem reports for our case files.’
‘Do they belong there, boss?’ Adam asked.
‘Of course they do,’ I retorted, just a wee bit sharply. Poor Jeff didn’t have a lot of luck around me. ‘Whatever the Tyneside boys may think, this is our inquiry. We started off looking for the people who killed Marlon Watson, and we found Milburn and Shackleton, and through them Church. As of yesterday we were looking to thumbscrew out of them the identity of the man who set them on him. He was our ultimate target. Now the three Geordies have been silenced. Who else did it? He did. The hired hands have been taken out of the game, but the employer remains, the man we’ve always been after. So you see, Jeff, nothing has changed. It’s a continuous investigation, so Northumbria CID and ourselves are looking for the same man.’
Fortunately, DS Adam wasn’t as smart as Andy Martin. It didn’t occur to him to ask why it had taken almost a week for them to be taken out of the game.
I headed for the door. ‘I’m off out,’ I told Leggat. ‘Call to make.’ I smiled as I left them, feeling vaguely like a German spy. I’d just recalled a great line from a marvellous old war movie, Ice Cold in Alex, something along the lines of, ‘When a man takes a walk in the desert with a spade, never ask him where he’s going.’ You should see it sometime, if you haven’t.
I drove out to Barnton, enjoying the roominess of the Discovery, in contrast to Martin’s space capsule. I switched on the radio, hoping to catch a news bulletin. Airburst FM’s morning presenter was in full cry, his voice a frantic, kiddie contrast to Mia’s mellow, much more adult tones. I gave him the bum’s rush and switched to Radio Forth, which represented my Edinburgh, not that of another generation. I was still bitter over the way the morning had begun. I found myself hoping that Mia would phone, so that I could release my verbal safety catch and let her have both barrels. Hell hath few furies like a man who’s just been left standing in a woman’s bedroom with his clothes bunched in his hands, doing his best to leave with dignity.
I knew the routine at Manson’s place second time round; I showed myself to the camera and, after a few seconds, the fancy gates swung wide. But I wasn’t prepared for the changing of the guard. I hadn’t reached the door when it was opened, not by either of the boys I’d seen before, but by Lennie Plenderleith.
‘Morning, Mr Skinner,’ he greeted me, as quiet and polite as ever. In those days, I used to wonder
