'When did he say al this?'
'Once we got back taste his place.'
'Did he say anything in the pub?'
'No' much.'
'How did you meet him?'
Joanne grinned. 'He came over taste me and started chattin' me up.
He thinks he's God's gift, even though he wis at the end o' the queue when the looks were handed out. I let him go on for a bit, then Ah told him that Ah took neither Bul shit nor Barclaycard, and spelled things out for him.'
Martin looked at her. 'I thought you only worked the saunas, Jo.'
She laughed, a short, hard laugh. 'Aye, but Saturday's ma night off? What d'ye think ah do in ma spare time, ori-fuckm' -garni?'
The Chief Superintendent grunted. 'Nothing you do would surprise me. Miss Virtue. Did Salmon do or say anything in the pub?'
'Just before we left, he went off taste make a phone call, but that's all.'
'D'you know how many cal s he made?' asked McGuire.
'Just the one. I could see him from where Ah was standing.'
Martin nodded and leaned back. 'Okay, Jo. Nearly finished.
There's just one other thing. When Mario banged the door, what happened?'
The woman frowned again, ransacking her memory. 'Well he jumped off me, for a start, and switched off the radio. Then he grabbed his notebook: it's one of those Filofax things. He took something 64 from it, real quick like. After that he picked up what was left of the coke and dived intae the bog.'
'And that's al?'
'Everything,' she said. 'Honest.'
The Chief Superintendent leaned back from the table. 'Aye, Jo, I know you are. Okay, you can go. We'l let you know if we want a formal statement.' He pressed a buzzer on the wal. 'Meanwhile, the WPC outside will see you out. D'you want a lift back to Leith?'
She drew him a frosty look. TheI Going hame in a polis car! That'l be the day.' She stood up picked up her red plastic handbag, smoothed her dress, and strode from the room.
'Well,' muttered Martin, as the door closed behind her. 'That was interesting.' He looked round at McGuire. 'You sure there was no scrap of paper floating in the bog when Neil looked at it?'
'Ask him, sir, but you know big Mcllhenney. He wouldn't have missed it if there had been.'
'Mmm. That's what I thought. So Mr Salmon was even more interested in flushing that page from his notebook down the toilet than he was in disposing of his cocaine. Why d'you think it was so important, Mario, eh?'
'Maybe it was the name of his source, sir.'
'That, or a phone number. It's too damn bad. That piece of evidence will be out at sea by now! We'll just have to see if we can frighten it out of him.'
19
'No! I won't tell you who my source is. The first rule of reputable journalism is to protect the integrity of your informants.'
'Salmon,' said Andy Martin, shaking his head in disbelief. 'You could barely spell 'reputable'.
'Okay,' he went on, 'let's try another tack. Last night you cal ed Mr Skinner. Agreed?'
The man shook his head, dark stubble showing on his chin. 'No.
I agree nothing.'
'Have it your way, chum,' retorted Martin. 'We know you did.'
Noel Salmon scowled. 'What's the point of all this anyway? I've been here for nearly four hours already, waiting for you lot. I want to go home.'
'The point…' said the Head of CID, pausing and looking hard across the table, '… the point is that Mr Skinner's number, like all his telephone numbers, like mine, like Inspector McGuire's, is ex-directory. We don't like the thought of people – especially people like you – having open access to them, and we want to know who gave DCC Skinner's to you.'
He glanced at the tape recorder, at the side of the table, its red record light shining in the dim interview room. 'Now, I ask you, formal y. How did you come by Mr Skinner's unlisted number, at his Gul ane address?'
Salmon looked up at him from behind furrowed brows. 'I can't remember.'
'Oh, come on. You have the Deputy Chief Constable's ex-directory number in your possession and you can't remember how you got it!
Who gave it to you!'
'I can't remember.'
'We don't believe you, Mr Salmon.'
'Tough!'
'That could be,' said Martin, quietly. 'Let's get this straight. You recal very clearly who gave you that number, but you don't intend to tell us. That's the truth of it, isn't it?'
'Have it your way.'
'We will. Did you pay someone to give it to you?'
'No.'
The DCS paused. 'Think careful y about that answer. If we find out later that you did, it'l go hard for you.'
Salmon paled slightly, wringing his hands together. 'Look, I didn't pay anyone for the number, okay. It was given to me.'
'By the same person who gave you the information on Mr Skinner on which your story in the Spotlight is based?'
The little reporter opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.
'Mr Salmon refuses to answer,' said Martin in an aside to the tape.
He glanced at McGuire. 'But let's make the assumption that the sources are one and the same. I ask you again, who was your informant?'
Salmon stared down at the table. 'Nothing to say. Can I go now?'
'No, sir, you may not. In case you've forgotten, you're being held on suspicion of being in possession of a Class A drug.'
'Aw come on,' the man whined, 'a wee bit of coke!' Almost as soon as the words left his mouth he turned and stared at the tape.
Martin smiled. 'That's right, Noel.' He nodded. 'A wee bit of cocaine… but enough to land you in front of the Sheriff. How do you think your many friends in the media will handle your court appearance? D'you think they won't report it because you're one of their number? I don't think so.'
The detective paused for a second. 'And what about your new employers at the Spotlight?' he continued. 'I've been reading some back numbers. Know what your magazine's official policy is? That al drug traffickers should be executed, and that al users should get five years. Do you think you'l be working for them after you're convicted for possession? Do you think you'l be working for anyone?
'All I have to do is file a report to the Fiscal, and professionally you're a goner.'
He paused again. 'Of course, if you were to tell me who gave you Bob Skinner's ex-directory number, maybe I'd think twice about it.'
For the first time, a trace of desperation showed in Noel Salmon's expression. He chewed his lip for a second or two, weighing up his options. Finally he sighed. 'I don't know who my source is,' he said.
It was almost a moan.
'Sure you don't,' said Martin, easily.
