Nonetheless, she looked through it, avoiding the photographic section, and passed it to Stevie Steele. 'Death was the result of a broken neck,' she said. 'The boy received a severe blow to the left side of the jaw, which was also shattered. Professor Hutchinson says that it was consistent with the type of injury that could be sustained as the result of a fall from a moderate height.'
'Were there any other injuries noted?' Steele asked her.
'There were superficial scratches on both his hands, with dirt and fine gravel in them; the same was found on his clothing. They could have been caused by him throwing his hands out as he fell, or by him scrambling up the banking.'
The inspector dropped the report, unread. 'It backs up the accident supposition, then?'
'All the way. There's nothing in it that takes us in any direction other than accidental death. The old profs conclusion is that that's what it was. My view is that we have to accept he's right, and report to the Fiscal accordingly. Have we found any witnesses who can help us top and tail it?'
'None of his pals can help,' he replied. 'We're agreed that they all seemed genuinely shocked when they were told George was dead, and they all describe their last sight of him in the same way. We've found a bus-driver who remembers seeing him standing at the stop in Lothian Road, but his wasn't the route George wanted so he drove on. He said that the boy was alone, and that none of his passengers got off at that stop.'
'So there are no sightings?'
'No, but there is one thing that might be significant. The gates to the castle rock are closed at nightfall, to keep kids out.' Steele pointed out of the window of the mobile office. 'The big one, the vehicle access over there, is padlocked and it's smooth; it'd be easier to climb the rock than that. Yet when the park attendant turned up to open it yesterday morning, the chain was hanging loose. Young Haddock and I found the guy who was supposed to have locked it on Sunday: he wouldn't admit that he didn't, but he couldn't swear that he did. He was very defensive.'
'I'm not surprised. If he was negligent, left the gate unsecured and a boy got in and fell to his death… It's all bloody questions, Stevie,' Chambers complained. 'No bloody answers.'
'And we've interviewed everyone we can. Mary, if this wasn't a copper's son, what would we have done right now? We'd have reported the circumstances to the Procurator Fiscal's office, giving them the pathologist's report and letting them close the book on it.'
'Actually, we'd probably have left the whole thing to the uniformed branch,' she pointed out. 'So are we agreed, then? We should wrap it up and pass the buck to the PF?'
'Almost.' Steele hesitated. 'But not quite: there's one more thing I'd like to do, for George and Jen's sake, to give them as much closure as we can. I think we should go back to basics, and make a press appeal for witnesses. I know it's quiet at that time on a Sunday, but other people than that driver must have seen George. There's the passengers on his bus for a start, and on other buses. The shops were open earlier: some of their staff might still have been on their way home. Why don't we ask them for help in tracing wee George's final moments?'
The detective superintendent sighed. 'I'll go along with it, only because I want to go the extra mile for a colleague, just like you do. I'll get Royston to lay on another press conference. You do this one on your own, though: I look bloody awful on camera.'
Steele hesitated. 'I can think of someone better than me,' he said. 'Why don't we ask George if he'll do it?'
'And his wife?'
'It only takes George to make the appeal. It would be an ordeal for Jen and there's no need to put her through it.'
Chambers shot him a grim half-smile. 'But give her the chance, Stevie,' she said, softly. 'Let her make that decision: she may feel she owes it to her son.'
Seventeen
He liked the feel of the leather against his head as he leaned back; he liked the ease with which the chair swung round, giving him a clear view down the U-shaped roadway in front of the police headquarters building in Fettes Avenue. In one of their arguments, Sarah had told him that his office was the centre of his universe. He had denied it angrily: he believed that ultimately his life was about his children. Yet he had to admit that when he was not around them, the room in which he sat was where he was most happy.
Aileen had dropped him at the foot of Orchard Brae; they had agreed that they would keep in touch by cell- phone, and that they would try to meet again in Glasgow, soon.
On the drive through, she had told him more of Tommy Murtagh's plans: his strategy of direct control went further than the police, although they were his number-one target. Education was in his sights also, with social quotas being imposed on Scottish universities and top-up fees charged to students applying from independent schools. Most serious of all to Skinner was his intention to change the make-up of the judicial appointments board, by giving it a seventy per cent majority of lay members, and by vetting lists of candidates before interviews. 'There's a word for this,' he had grumbled. 'It's called dictatorship.'
Tommy's crafty: he puts it another way,' Aileen had told him. 'He calls it empowering the people by giving them control over the institutions and symbols of authority.'
'I know. One man, one vote, and all that; as long as he's the man and he's got the vote.'
He had repeated his promise, though, to keep his head down, and not to seek confrontation with the First Minister. 'I'm glad,' she had said, as they parted. 'I think what you need most of all right now is some quiet in your life.'
'Quiet?' he mused, as he gazed out of the window. 'That'll be the day.'
Blinking himself back to the present, he picked up the telephone and called his home number. Trish, the nanny, answered circumspectly, as she always did when neither he nor Sarah was at home. When she realised that it was him, the ever-cheerful girl sounded more pleased than he had ever heard her.
'I'll be back as soon as I can,' he told her. 'Kids okay?'
'They're fine,' she said, in her gentle Caribbean accent, 'but they've been missing you. The video calls to the computer were great, but they're not the same.' She paused. 'Do you know when Sarah will be home?' she asked. He read the unspoken 'if.
'She'll be back well before Christmas; that's all I know for sure,' he replied, candidly. 'See you later… by six, I hope.'
He hung up and dialled his daughter's direct business number. 'Good afternoon. Alexis Skinner, can I help you?'
As he heard her voice, a great wave of relief swept through him, and he realised for the first time how tough the last two weeks had been and how emotionally tired he really was. 'You already have, baby,' he said.
'Pops! You're back,' she gushed. 'And not before time. 'I've done my best to be a surrogate mum, and so has Trish, but those kids need you. Have you and Sarah patched things up?'
'Good question, Alexis; I'm not sure that we know how. Come out to Gullane tonight and I'll tell you about it'
'Okay, will do. Got to go now: I'm due in conference with Mitch Laidlaw.'
'Don't keep the boss waiting, then.'
He dialled a third number; Neil McIlhenney answered. 'Hi,' said Skinner. 'You in on this three o'clock shindig?'
'Yup.'
'Good. I want you to set up another meeting, somewhere nice and quiet, and well off patch. Three people present: you, me and Andy Martin, nobody else in the loop. Soon as you can.'
As he hung up, he smiled at a vision of his friend's puzzled expression.
He reached out and buzzed for Jack McGurk, his executive assistant. The towering detective sergeant appeared in his office within seconds. 'Welcome back, boss,' he said, as he laid the in-tray on his desk. Skinner was impressed by the fact that it was relatively small. McGurk was learning to filter out the most important business for his attention and delegate the rest.
