'It's the truth,' the man protested. 'I had a letter, a few weeks back.
It was anonymous. Al it said was that if I kept an eye on Skinner, I'd find that he was straying from the straight and narrow. I thought it was crap at first, but just for fun – and because I hate the big bastard
– 1 fol owed him. It didn't take me long to find out about the Masters bird.
'She was staying at his place in Gul ane most nights. When they weren't there, they were at hers. I kept an eye on them, looking for some juicy pictures to back up the story. Eventual y I got them. Juicy was hardly the word – him in the buff, and her bent over him like she was sucking his cock.'
Suddenly Martin was grim-faced. 'This anonymous tipster. Ever had anything from him before?'
Salmon shook his head. 'Not that I know of
'What did you do with the letter?'
'I binned it, long ago.'
'So what was the piece of paper you were so keen to get rid of when I thumped on your door?' asked McGuire.
The man's eyebrows narrowed for a second. 'Ah, the tart told you that, did she?' he said. 'That had nothing to do with Skinner.'
'So what was it?'
Salmon shook his head. 'Nothing to say.' A gleam came into his eye, developing quickly into a smile. 'Did the tart tell you it was her coke?'
Martin laughed; short, sharp and hard. 'No, she did not. She said it was yours, as we both know it was.'
The little man spread his palms wide. 'And I say that it was hers; that she brought it into my flat and offered me some before we had it off. I refused, of course.'
The Head ofCID sighed. 'And you'l say that when Mario thumped your door you panicked and flushed it down the bog.'
Salmon nodded. 'That's right. So charge me. I'l plead not guilty; she'll tell her story and I'll tell mine. Is a jury going to convict me on the word of a prostitute?'
The reporter was recovering his confidence rapidly – and, as Martin knew, with justification. His scenario had a loud ring of credibility about it.
'So,' said the dishevelled little man. 'Can I go now?'
'Oh no,' replied the blond detective. 'Not so easily. Besides, there's a tape I want you to hear.'
'What sort of tape?'
'In a minute. Let's go back to Mr Skinner's phone number. Was that included in your anonymous note?'
'I'm not saying any more about that.'
'We'll see.' Martin reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a smal tape player. He pressed the 'play' button. A few seconds later, Salmon heard his own voice, echoing from the speaker with a metal ic tone. The two policemen gazed at him, as he sat back in his chair, surprised and slightly shocked.
'But think on this: I haven't finished with you yet – not by a long way.' As the recorded conversation ended with a click, McGuire reached across and switched off the tape.
'How did…' Salmon began.
'Work it out for yourself,' said Martin. 'Did it never occur to you that it was a bit dangerous to call a senior police officer on an unlisted number and to make threats.'
'What d'you mean, threats?'
'What else would you cal that last comment of yours?' The policeman paused. 'But wait. There's more. A few minutes after you phoned him, Mr Skinner received another call on his unlisted number.
If you'd been at our press briefing this morning, instead of being banged up in here, you'd know about it already.' He switched on the tape once more.
' have the child. He is alive, but at my disposition. You wil hear from me again.'
Salmon sat bolt upright in his seat at the sound of the smooth, controlled voice. His eyes widened. 'Was that…?'
'The man who murdered Leona McGrath, and kidnapped her son?
We have to believe that it is. Which throws up a pretty big coincidence.
Two men, in possession of a very confidential telephone number, using it within minutes of each other.'
Martin leaned forward, his forearms on the table. Suddenly, although his expression was as affable as ever, there was an air of menace about him.
'Now, Salmon,' he said, in a clear, formal voice, 'do you know that man? Did you give him Mr Skinner's number or did he give it to you?'
The dishevelled reporter gulped, fear showing in his eyes. 'I've no idea who he is,' he protested. 'No, I didn't give him Skinner's number!
No, I didn't get it from him!'
'How did you get it, then? No more bul shit, friend. You are in very dangerous waters, and way out of your depth.'
Noel Salmon slumped back in his seat. 'It was in the second message,' he whispered.
'What second message?'
'I got it last week. It was anonymous, like the other one.'
Andy Martin fixed his green eyes on the man. 'So how do you know that it didn't come from the man we've just heard on that tape?' he asked, in an even tone.
His quarry looked down at the scratched tabletop. 'I don't,' he muttered helplessly.
'No, you don't, do you? Not if you're telling the truth, you don't.
For if we believed that you were lying to us, in any way, we'd have to look at the possibility that you were this man's accomplice.'
'Wait a minute…'
'So prove yourself to us. Let us see the second letter.'
'I can't,' said Salmon, plaintively. 'That was what I flushed down the toilet.'
The detective whistled. 'I see. You are in deep shit, aren't you?'
'Appropriate, in the circumstances,' said McGuire, beside him.
'Help yourself, then,' offered Martin. 'Tell us what was in the letter.'
Salmon turned his face away from them, towards the wal of the windowless interview room, his fingers twisting, intertwined, in an unconscious show of indecision.
'Come on, Noel,' said the Head ofCID.
Salmon turned back to face them, nodding slightly as if he had reached a decision. He looked up in the silence which filled the room and opened his mouth as if to speak.
There was a knock on the brown-painted door. The handle turned.
The door swung open, revealing the bulky frame ofNeil Mcl henney.
A tall, dark-haired man stood behind him.
'What the hell is it?' snapped Andy Martin, in a rare display of annoyance.
'I'm sorry, sir,' said the Sergeant, 'but I had no choice.' He nodded over his shoulder, towards the man who followed him into the room.
'This is Mr Alee Linden. He's a solicitor, retained by the Spotlight to represent Salmon. He demanded that I bring him in here.'
The Chief Superintendent sighed heavily in his exasperation, and nodded, standing up as he did so and reaching out to switch off the tape recorder. 'You're right, Neil, you didn't have a choice. Thank you. Interview suspended.'
He turned to the lawyer, as Mcllhenney withdrew. 'I don't think we've met, Mr Linden.'
The man shook his head. 'No. I'm senior partner of Herd and Phillips, in Glasgow.' Martin recognised the name of the biggest criminal law firm in Scotland. 'I was instructed by Mr Salmon's employers immediately after they heard of his arrest on a radio news bulletin. They are naturally concerned that he is being persecuted because of the story in today's issue of their magazine. So am I.
'I understand from your Sergeant,' said Linden, brusquely, 'that you are questioning my client over his
