79
Noel Salmon was easy to find. There was no answer to the doorbell of his seedy flat, when Skinner rang it, but a single phone cal to John Hunter established that the Spotlights former ace reporter could be found on most mornings in a pub cal ed the Eastern, not far away.
Skinner knew it well. It was the type of place where knives were regarded as fashion accessories.
The journalist had his back to the door as Skinner opened it. The two men's eyes met in the mirror behind the bar, but before Salmon had time to react, far less to run, the policeman reached across, seized his col ar from behind and hauled him out into the street, into the summer rain. 'Your place, or mine?' he hissed. 'Yours I think, this time. More discreet and I don't mind making a mess there.'
He hustled his helpless captive along the wet pavement as fast as he could, away from the Eastern, as the first curious morning drunks lurched out to see what was happening. Together they turned a corner, and found themselves almost at the stairway to Salmon's building.
The policeman was barely breathing hard when they reached the fourth-floor doorway, yet the little man's chest was heaving. 'Open it,' Skinner snarled. Salmon tried to obey, but he could only fumble for his key and poke it ineffectively at the lock, with a shaking hand.
Impatiently, the detective tore it from his grasp, opened the door, and threw him roughly inside, sending him tumbling and fal ing along the floor of the hallway.
The quarry scrambled to his feet, completely terrified now. 'You
… you… you…' he wailed. To Skinner's disgust, his former tormentor wet himself.
'Through there,' he ordered. 'The living room, if that's what you call it.' Salmon obeyed and collapsed, helpless, into a chair.
'There are no lawyers about now, Noel,' snarled the policeman.
'Not a soul in fact, just you and me, and this place being where it is, no-one wil remember having seen us on our way up here.'
He crossed to the sash-cord window and pulled it up, tugging hard and opening a gap of around two feet. 'Know what defenestration means, cockroach?' he asked.
Salmon gaped at him, speechless.
'It means jumping or being thrown out of the fucking window.
And that is just about where I am with you. You've given me grief, son, and now you're going to find out just how stupid you've been.
'I'm not going to thump you around or anything. It's as simple as this: you either give me the name of the person who tipped you off about Pam and me, and who gave you the info on this bribe setup, or out you go. Splat. You'l be back on the front page again, only as a headline, not a byline.
'A drunken suicide, it'll be. There won't even be a Fatal Accident Inquiry.'
Skinner seized the reporter by the collar once more, jerked him upright and hauled him, whimpering, over to the wide-open window.
'I know it was one of two people. I think I know which, and I'm certain you do too. For your sake, I hope I'm right.
'So what's it to be?' he asked, and Noel Salmon found himself with no reason to doubt the sincerity of his question. 'Are you talking or flying?'
80
Skinner was in his dressing gown as he opened the door of the Fairyhouse Avenue bungalow. For once in his life, Sergeant Mcl henney looked nonplussed.
The DCC laughed. 'Relax, Neil, it's all right. I'm alone. I just felt the need of a shower and a change of clothes, that's all. Go into the kitchen and make us a couple of coffees. The milk in the fridge should be okay. I'l be with you by the time you're done.'
He was as good as his word. Mcl henney turned from the counter and handed him a steaming mug as he walked into the room, dressed in a black teeshirt and light cotton trousers.
'Did you get caught in the rain, boss?'
'No. Not for long, anyway. The company I was in made me feel unclean, that's al. I've seen the last of the wee bastard though. He decided to take a flight.'
The Sergeant looked at him curiously. 'Mr Salmon's going to make a fresh start in London. I persuaded him that Edinburgh was too small a place for his talents to blossom.'
'He'll be able to walk on to the plane, will he?'
'Walk! I reckon he'l run up the steps. So, Neil, how did you get on at Leuchars?'
His assistant beamed his satisfaction. 'Score one for us,' he answered. 'You were right. Or if you weren't, those planes were Russian. The CO up there was a bit coy at first, until I explained to him that if he didn't co- operate, you'd arrange for the Secretary of State to shit on him from a great height.
'From what he said, he had good reason to be coy. They've been running secret tests out of Leuchars at night, on a new radar system, using it to try to keep track of American Stealth fighters. You know, those Star Wars-looking things. It was one of them you heard on the wee boy's tape.'
'And was the course plotted?'
Mcl henney nodded. 'Oh aye, boss. Both by the radar system and by the plane's on-board system.'
He took a map from the pocket of his jacket and spread it on Skinner's kitchen work-surface. 'We timed the noise from the Big Ben chimes on the tape to within a couple of seconds. When the 256 recorder picked it up, it was right here, travelling from east to west.'
He leaned over the map, and pointed to an oval, drawn in blue bal point ink, with an arrow indicating direction. 'This is a detailed Ordnance Survery map, boss. The flight-path at that point went over a valley called King's Gully. It's twelve miles north of your man Balliol's place, on Loch Mhor.
'There's nothing but hills between the two, but the map shows a couple of cottages in King's Gully itself.'
'Yes,' Skinner hissed. 'I think tomorrow morning we'l pay a cal.'
As he spoke, his mobile phone, which he had laid on the counter, began to ring. He picked it up and answered, walking towards the back door and out into the garden. 'Skinner.'
The,' said Adam Arrow, tersely. 'Your man is known to certain people down here. If he's done what you say, then they are very, very angry with him.
'I'm authorised to tell you about him. Also I have a very specific request for you: a request, not an order. If you feel you'd rather not, then I'l come up to handle the matter, but the belief is that it should be dealt with locally if possible, and I've told them that you're more than capable.'
Skinner felt the hair prickle at the back of his neck. 'Is this your request?' he asked. 'Or does it come from someone else?'
'Oh yes,' Arrow replied. 'This doesn't come from me or my boss, or even his boss. It comes from the very top man. From everyone's boss.
'Now, let me tell you about your man.'
Skinner was grim-faced and thinking hard when he walked back into the kitchen.
'I've been thinking, sir,' said Mcllhenney. 'If we're going after this man, shouldn't we let the Northern Force know about it? King's Gul y's on their patch.'
'You're right, Neil,' said the DCC. 'We should. But we're not going to.'
He took the kitchen telephone from its wall bracket and dialled the Head ofCID's direct line. 'Andy,' he said, as soon as the call was answered, 'I want you to meet me at headquarters at six thirty. Don't discuss it with anyone, not even the Chief, but make sure that the sports field is clear. There's an army helicopter coming to pick
