delivery might have been the same man who killed Leona and Catherine Anderson, and kidnapped the kids, at first I dismissed it out of hand.
'But when Peter Gilbert Heuer sent me this morning's tape, that outlandish idea turned out to be the truth. I made sure you were in earshot when I said that, out loud, in Andy's office this afternoon. I wanted to see how you'd react. It didn't take you very long to cal Air UK.
'Because you know, Pamela, that Heuer's involvement in both plots makes al of this a whole different game, one with lives at stake, and maybe yours among them.'
He was standing over her now, as she backed towards the window.
'That thing he let slip, my dear, that he knew of the Guernsey bank, means that you are linked to Peter Gilbert Heuer. It means that you gave him my unlisted number in Gullane, just as you gave it to Salmon. Most of al it means that you are linked to the murder of two women and the kidnapping of their children.'
He gripped her by the arms, just below the armpits, and he lifted her up, clear off her feet, to stare into her eyes, cold, hard and with menace.
'You must tell me now, Pamela,' he said, evenly. 'You have no choices left.' He lowered her to the ground, turned her around, and pushed her firmly towards the living room.
'You will tell me everything, because you are standing on ground more deadly than you know. And most of al…' for the first time, his tone betrayed his hurt, and huge disappointment, 'you wil tell me
… why?'
When she looked up at him, her eyes were almost as cold, as cruel as his. 'Why?' she repeated, in a calm, hard-edged voice which he had never before heard issue from her lips. But it reminded him at once of one that he had heard before, and had thought was silenced for ever.
'To take away your life,' she said. 'That's why. And, to quote you back at yourself, to look at the wreckage afterwards and say, 'Quite fucking right too'.'
82
'Sorry I'm late, Andy,' said Skinner stepping out of his car, parked at the rear of the headquarters building. The time was fifteen minutes to seven, and a green helicopter stood on the sports field, its blades stil and drooping.
'S'okay,' said Martin. 'Our stuff's on the chopper.' They began to walk towards the aircraft. 'Did you do the business you mentioned?'
He nodded. 'I won't be seeing Pamela Masters again.' Martin's head swivelled round in surprise.
'The lady's been a rucking roadblock in my life, pal,' Skinner said, vehemently. 'But not any more.'
'A clean break, I hope?' asked Martin, tentatively.
'Oh yes, as clean as they come.' The younger man looked at him, puzzled again by both his tone and his mood. 'I'l tell you al about it later; for now let's get away in this contraption. Hello, Gerald,' he said, recognising the young lieutenant who stood by the helicopter door, and shaking hands before climbing in.
'Where are we going, sir?' the pilot asked. 'Mr Arrow only told me to report here. He said you'd have further orders.' Martin looked at Skinner in surprise at the mention of Arrow's name.
'That's right.' He produced Mcl henney's map. 'We're going to pay a call on a man named Everard Balliol at a castle on the shore of Loch Mhor. He doesn't know we're coming, though. I always think it best to surprise Everard. He thinks I'm al right, though. Especially since I let him beat me at golf.'
The pilot looked at the map, then at a larger chart spread out on the seat beside him. 'Okay, gentlemen,' he said. 'It looks simple enough. I'll file a flight-plan with Prestwick once we're in the air. I'd guess around an hour and a half, two hours. I should warn you, though there's a restricted area just to the north. That might be a problem, if there's military traffic expected.'
Skinner shook his head. 'I don't think so. Let's go.'
Conversation was difficult because of the noise of the engines, but Skinner managed to brief Martin on the intelligence gleaned by Mcllhenney on his visit to Leuchars. 'If the cottages are on Bal iol's land, as I think they are, he should be able to tell us who 262 the occupants are, and hopeful y some more besides.'
'Yes, let's hope so. Who's meeting us up there? A squad from Northern?'
The DCC shook his head. 'Nobody.'
'Eh?'
'This is down to us, Andy, just you and me.'
They sat in silence for the rest of the flight, looking at the scenery, as they crossed Stirlingshire to Crianlarich, then swung northward, skirting Ben Nevis and Fort William to the west, and following the jagged coastline. Final y, just before eight thirty, the pilot began his descent, until Balliol's castle came into view, a grey speck on the horizon at first, but growing larger and larger as they approached, along the banks of Loch Mhor.
'Set it down near Mr Balliol's own helicopter,' Skinner ordered, looking down and seeing two black-clad figures run out on to the castle terrace.
As the aircraft settled in the grass and as the blades began to slow in their rotation, the DCC saw Balliol himself emerge, from a small door not far from his study. He jumped down from the helicopter, and ran towards him.
'What the hell's this, Bob?' drawled the American, yet with the air of someone who had not been truly surprised for a long time.
Skinner shook his hand and introduced Martin, who had fol owed behind. 'Sorry to drop in unannounced like this, Everard, but this is important and we have to move fast. I need to know, does you estate include a place called King's Gully?'
The billionaire looked at him. 'Sure, and the land for ten miles north of that, five miles east and all the way west to the coast.'
'There are cottages in the Gul y – two according to the map. Who lives there?'
'Christ, Bob, I don't know that. My estate factor deals with all that stuff.'
'Is he here?'
'No, he lives on the far side of the loch. Come on in, guys; I'l call him, and tell him to get round here.'
'Thanks,' said Skinner, 'and ask him also, if he has any plans of the King's Gully cottages, to bring them with him.'
'Yeah, okay.' He led the way into the house, and through to the study. 'Set three more places for supper,' he barked to one of the Koreans. 'No, make that four: I forgot about the pilot.'
'No,' said the DCC. 'He has to stay with the chopper. I'm sure he'd be pleased if you took something out to him, though.'
They were still in the study, but ready to eat when the Estate Factor's Land Rover drew up outside the study window, twenty minutes after Balliol's telephone summons. A tall, grey, 263 weatherbeaten, tweed-clad man jumped down from the driver's seat and strode purposeful y into the house, carrying a briefcase.
'Hi, Don,' called Balliol, as the newcomer appeared in the doorway of the study. 'This is Donald McDonald,' he announced to Skinner and Martin. 'He was here when I bought the place, but if he hadn't been I'd have hired him anyway, for his name alone.'
The billionaire waved his employee towards a seat, as two Koreans fol owed him into the room carrying trays laden with hamburger rol s and jugs of coffee. 'Don, these guys are policemen. They need to know about the cottages up in King's Gully. Like are they occupied, and if so, by whom?'
McDonald gave a thin smile. 'I can answer those questions.' His accent, like his name, was pure Highlands. 'You may have seen two cottages on the map, gentlemen, but one has been derelict for years.'
He turned to Balliol. 'I've been meaning to talk to you, sir, about either demolishing it, or refurbishing it for rental.'
'Later, Don, later.'
'Very good. The cottage which is in habitable condition is rented to a single gentleman. His name is Gilbert Peters.'
