'Uncle Bob,' he shrilled. 'Mr Gilbert says I've to tell you some things.
I've to tell you that Tanya's here. She's too frightened to speak, and she cries all the time, but she's here.
'The next thing I've to say is that Mr Gilbert wants a mil ion pounds each forTanya and me, from the Guv'mint. He says it's to be paid into the bank that you know, the one in…' The child paused as the noise of a low- flying aircraft threatened to drown out his voice:
'… in Gernzie.' He said the name awkwardly and with difficulty, as if he had needed coaching.
'It's to be paid in at exactly ten o'clock on Friday morning.' There was a pause: in the background Skinner could hear a murmur, and the sound of a second child crying. Mark went on. 'Mr Gilbert says I've to tell you that it's money he's owed by the Guv'mint, and that if you ask, you'll find out why. He says that if it isn't paid, you know what'l happen.'
'That is right, Mr Skinner.'The cold, flat voice broke in, suddenly and unexpectedly. 'You know, exactly. And afterwards, there wil be more.'
The detective stared at the tape as it went dead. Then he rewound it and searched through it, replaying the same section over and over again, putting a face to a voice, and making certain also that the thing which even he had believed unthinkable must after al be true.
75
Skinner burst into the CID office like an avenging angel, sweeping past Pam with a nod and a wave, and beckoning Sammy Pye to fol ow.
'It's here, Andy,' he said to the surprised Martin, waving a cassette.
'The contact I've been expecting since Saturday. This has got to go to London too. Sammy, it's your turn for the Shuttle. I'll give you the address and contact name.
'Now both of you, listen to this.' He walked across to Martin's player and put the tape into the slot. Big Ben, fol owed by Mark McGrath's shrill young voice, filled the office.
'Did you hear?' he asked, when it was finished. 'The bank that I know. The one in Guernsey. I'd thought that it couldn't be possible, Andy, but it's true. The kidnapper and the courier are one and the same man. It has to be. None of that stuff has been in the public domain in any way.'
The Head of CID nodded as Skinner wrote Caroline Farmer's name and the Ml 5 office address on a pad on his desk. 'Has to be, but how about the rest of it?'
'Later, Andy, later.' He handed the note and the original of the tape to Pye. 'Get yourself a travel warrant and get going now, Sam.
Tell the lady I want a ful analysis as usual – with a voice analysis to confirm that the man at the end is the same as in the telephone cal to my house.
'Come on, shift!'
As the young constable bolted from the room, Skinner turned back to the Chief Superintendent. 'There's something else, Andy.' He picked up the telephone and cal ed Ruth McConnell. 'Ruthie,' he barked, without pleasantries. 'Find big Mcl henney, and get him down here.'
Martin looked at him, as he replaced the phone. There was a new edge to his friend, beyond the underlying confidence which Mitch Laidlaw had described to Alex, and which he had observed himself.
This was cold, hard and lethal, and he had seen it before.
'Mr Gilbert's made a mistake,' said Skinner. 'You heard the plane on that tape? It was a jet, a military aircraft, flying very low and flat out from the noise, and the duration. Yet it was after ten in the evening; gathering dusk if not dead of night.
'There are very few places in Scotland where aircraft are allowed to fly at that height, and that late. Every one of those flights is logged and recorded in detail.' He paused, and smiled. 'When I saw Everard Bal iol on Sunday, he went on at some length about low-flying jets over his castle. He told me that the RAF agreed to move the route ten miles to the north. Even so, part of that training run probably still goes over his land.'
Martin started. 'You don't think Bal iol…'
Skinner laughed. 'Everard needs a mil ion pounds about three and a half thousand times less than you and I. That's how many of them he's got already. Besides, he's a man who thinks that all rapists and paedophiles should be castrated.'
He turned as Detective Sergeant Mcllhenney came into the room.
'I owe you and McGuire a big drink, Neil,' he said, 'but it'll have to wait. For now, I want you to get up to RAF Leuchars. Have them plot the route of every plane they had in the air on Monday night, and show you on the map where each one was at exactly fifty seconds past ten.
'Then, I want you to bring that map back here.'
'Very good, boss.'
As the Sergeant headed for the door, Skinner fol owed, beckoning to Martin. 'Now it's our turn, Andy, yours and mine. Let's leave my lovely Pamela in charge of CID, while you and I go for another consultation with Christabel Innes Dawson, QC.
'She'l enjoy meeting you again, and this time, you might too.'
76
The old advocate looked at Martin. 'You have done well for yourself, young man,' she said. 'I'm wil ing to bet too that you've never again been as bad in the witness box as you were that day.'
'I hope not. Miss Dawson. You taught me a lesson. It's a long time ago, though. You have a remarkable memory.'
'Not at all, Chief Superintendent. Counsel rarely score such a comprehensive victory over police witnesses. When we do, it sticks in the mind.'
Skinner laughed. 'You didn't get your client off, though, did you?
Or had that detail slipped your mind?'
She frowned at him. 'No, it had not,' she snapped. 'You may well find yourself hoping that history does not repeat itself
'I do indeed. Miss Dawson. But let's wait and see whether we actual y get to court, shal we?' He went on. 'We're not here to talk to you about my case though. I want to search your memory of the trial in which you crucified poor Andy here.
'You see, although I was the chief police witness in that one, I didn't lead the investigation. Andy and I were drafted into help the burglary unit because of the sensitive nature of the enquiry, and because the Superintendent who ran it, Mr O'Riordan, was on the list for a back operation when it happened. He did the lead work. Al I really did was give evidence.'
The old lady nodded. 'I seem to recal that. I tried to chal enge you, but John was forced to concede that you were a competent witness.'
'Your client,' asked Skinner. 'What do you remember of him?
Didn't he have a German surname?'
'You are correct,' said Miss Dawson. 'His name was Heuer. That's H. E. U. E. R. His father was German, and his mother Scottish, but he took his mother's nationality. Even served in the British Army for a short while. Strange that he should have turned into a burglar.'
'Yes. He was caught breaking into the Polish Consul General's residence in Edinburgh, not far from our headquarters building. He didn't really have much of a defence, did he?'
'No,' the ancient silk agreed. 'But he insisted on pleading Not Guilty. He seemed to think that the charges would be dropped.
Eventual y, when he agreed to make a statement, he gave the oddest evidence on his own behalf. He tried
