function of the Scottish parliament. She’s in charge, sir. It’s her baby and she gives us our orders.’
‘So who’s looking after Fabrizzi?’ he demanded. ‘The guy might be willing to risk his own life but he still has to be protected.’
‘We’re doing that; the security service.’
‘We, being how many?’
‘I have a detail of three on it.’ Mr Skinner gasped. ‘With respect, sir,’ I said, ‘I’d rather have three of mine than ten of Strathclyde’s.’
‘That reminds me of the apocryphal story about the guy who left his Bentley in your old street, and reckoned it was safe since he’d left his Rottweiler in the back seat. The flaw in his thinking was that the dog couldn’t put out fires. Your guys may be good, but the sniper just needs to have one clear sight of Fabrizzi, and he’s up in flames.’ He paused. ‘All of this puts you in the shit, Clyde, doesn’t it?’
We’d come to it. He was right. I’d been tasked not just with stopping an assassination, but with catching the shooters, and I hadn’t a clue where to begin. Not one.
Skinner smiled. He pushed himself from his chair and stretched himself to his full six feet and a couple, running his fingers through his hair and sending the sand flying from it.
‘In which case,’ he laughed, ‘the two of us are in it together. But don’t you worry, son, because your Uncle Bob has the inkling of an idea.’
No doubt about it, that man moves in mysterious ways.
Lowell Payne
I’d done my homework on McGuire before I ever met him; I had him marked as a rich kid, maybe a black sheep, a lad who didn’t need the money but had joined the police force for a laugh and a fight at the weekend without the risk of being locked up for it, then had found that he was good at it.
It didn’t take me long to realise that I’d taken him too lightly. Yes, he does have a tendency to flippancy, and a light touch when dealing with subordinates, but anyone who marks him down as a soft touch is likely to wake up regretting that mistake. Mario is one of nature’s nice guys, but I could tell that he also has a formidable temper and no visible tolerance level for fools.
He and Bob’s ex seemed to get on very well. I had heard of her, from Alex, and I knew that she was back in town. At first I thought she’d be keeping her distance from the police community, but that would have been pretty much impossible, given her job. From my brief observation of her, I have to say that I like her. She’s sexy, beautiful and stacked, but that has nothing to do with it.
I judge people by their eyes; I believe they tell the story of what’s behind them and hers appealed to me. I read them as intelligent, kind, and warm, those of someone who at that moment was enjoying life very much. I found myself wondering how she and Bob had split up; she seemed like a good match for him. When I met him first, at Jean’s dad’s funeral, he was with a DI from his force; that was quite serious for a while, but I never thought it would last, because their eye signals weren’t quite right.
I realised from watching her at work that Sarah is also very professional, and that McGuire is too. I didn’t step forward to look inside that van, and I stayed well away from what they brought out of it. Maybe that’s why Mario’s a DCS, bound for ACC rank, and I’ll be stuck at chief inspector till I retire.
To be honest, I don’t envy him his position; I’m happy where I am. His house, though, that’s another matter, a bloody great duplex on top of one of the new high-rises that dominate the Leith waterfront, not far from the Scottish Government building. It goes with the car, Paula’s new Lexus.
And Paula? She goes with everything; tall, immaculate hair, archetypically Italian looks, and she has great eyes that go mellow every time she looks at the big guy. She was very pregnant when we met, but she hadn’t given in to looking fat and dumpy, as my Jean did when Myra was on the way. She knew how to dress to manage it, probably with the help of a personal shopper at one of those big Edinburgh stores. She had on a maternity day dress that must have made the till ring like a one-armed bandit scoring the jackpot.
She also knows how to make a sandwich. Even now, I salivate when I think of the plate she brought out for us.
I was halfway through mine when Mario’s phone rang, or rather played some garish Italian-sounding song. I know that ringtones have to be distinctive these days, but there are limits. He took the call, from DI Pye I gathered, then went bug-eyed as he reacted to what he was being told.
‘Guess what?’ he said when he was done. ‘That van along there belongs to Freddy Welsh’s company.’
I was beginning to wonder whether Mr Welsh had been in it when that fucking awful tune sounded again, and I learned that wasn’t the case.
‘DC Montell,’ I heard him say. ‘Tell me why you won’t let me eat my lunch?’
I watched him again as he listened, saw his face change again, the black eyebrows come together until they were almost, but not quite touching. ‘That’s reason enough,’ he murmured. ‘Thanks, Griff.’
He laid the phone on the table and turned to me again. ‘Jock Varley’s been weighed in, just like Cousin Freddy promised. That was him in the van, and, we can assume, his wife. Just as well we didn’t wait for them at their house.’
Bob Skinner
That’s what I thought when Clyde told me about her ‘orders’. I’m a police officer and I’d been given information about a crime, or a potential crime, so I had a duty to investigate it, and to advise my colleagues in Strathclyde of what might be about to go down on their patch. In theory, if push came to shove, I could have the Home bloody Secretary arrested, on the basis of what I knew, for obstructing the police in the execution of their duty.
But that’s not the way the real world works, is it?
‘Catch them,’ she’d said; those were her instructions to the security service, and my protege’s career. . I’d started to think of him as that already. . was riding on the outcome. Indeed it was at serious risk, for her ‘catch them’ was easier said than done, but I could see a line of enquiry, a long shot but one that might pay off.
On the other hand, it might not. If it didn’t, although a sniper shot on Fabrizzi somewhere between his hotel and the venue was the likeliest option, we didn’t know enough to rule out anything. That meant that a hit within the Royal Concert Hall was a possibility, even if it was the most difficult to pull off, given that there was bound to be a police presence of sorts.
However, among all the doubt there was one certainty; I wasn’t having any excitement going down in that hall, not with my wife. . however I felt about her. . and Paula Viareggio sitting in front-row seats. That wasn’t going to happen, regardless of what any bloody woman in Westminster had to say about it.
‘Wait here till I get tidied up,’ I told Clyde. ‘We’re going for a drive.’
I left him in my office while I took a quick shower, shaved and changed into my normal summer weekend gear: slacks, a short-sleeved shirt and a light cotton jacket. That took me fifteen minutes; the call I made to Maggie Steele took five more; three for her to believe I was serious, and another two for her to write down my detailed instructions.
Once I was done I went back downstairs. ‘We’ll take your car, I think,’ I said.
‘Where are we going?’ young Houseman asked.
‘Edinburgh,’ I told him. ‘We’re going to see a man I was planning to talk to anyway. Your visit’s made it a little more urgent, that’s all.’
‘Does he know we’re coming?’
‘No, not yet. I want to keep it a nice surprise for him. But don’t worry, Clyde, he’ll be there.’
I gave the directions, back to the A1. All the time I was thinking. ‘A man like Cohen,’ I began as we were cruising towards Prestonpans, ‘on an operation like this one, how would he arm his people?’
