'Why not?'
`I don't want to do that for now. When someone like Manson gets knocked off — not that gangland killings are ten a penny in Edinburgh, but we've had a few — people get nervous until it's cleared up. The criminal community doesn't like uncertainty. When a power vacuum develops, people react in two ways. Some get scared: often important people in the network who had nothing to do with it, but wonder whether they might be the next target. Others get brave: the wee folk with a grudge, who might have been shat on by the dear departed or his team. Whatever the reason, they begin to tell us things anonymously or right out in the open, things we'd never hear in normal times. Eventually a new top dog emerges and everything goes back to normal, but until that happens we've got the whip hand.
`Since Manson was knocked off, Andy Martin's squad has had tip-offs about three of his dealers from disgruntled punters. They're all locked up now. We might not get convictions against any of them, but at least they're all blown. They're out of business, and the network's damaged.'
`Who'll be top dog after Manson?'
'I don't know, but neither does anyone else yet, and that's to our good. There'll be one eventually, you can be sure, but until he can show himself, the vacuum's still there. If we let it be known that Tony only got killed because he was shagging someone's wife, it'll be filled in a week. The network will close up.'
`But why should it? Without Manson, might it not just fall apart?'
Not a chance, Maggie. The trade is bigger than Manson. It isn't driven by the dealers alone. It's driven first by the exporters, then the importers, then the dealers. Always three key links in the chain. Whether the supply comes from Sicily, Corsica, Eastern Europe, or wherever, there's a natural market for the product in every developed country. If the chain loses a link somewhere, it always finds another.'
He paused and looked across the desk at his assistant. 'So that's the main reason why I don't want to finger big Lennie for Manson's murder right now. With a break in the chain, there's always a chance that the other two players will show themselves, trying to plug the gap. If we can nail them, then we can break the whole thing up.'
The main reason, boss? What's the other?'
`Och, I don't know. There probably isn't one. It's just that — well, you know me: I like all the bits to fit. And there's still a piece of this jigsaw that doesn't quite mesh.'
`What do you mean?'
Skinner hesitated. As he opened his mouth to reply, there was a heavy knock on the door. 'Come!' he shouted.
A second later, Roy Old's head showed round the door. 'I've just had a call from Alison Higgins, sir. Cocozza's story about Manson's visit checked out all the way. He did go to see big Lennie last week. They were watched. They were even videoed. It was all quite cordial. The officers on duty that day said that big Lennie seemed like a dog with two cocks — oh, sorry Maggie.'
`Lucky bitch!' interjected Rose, dead-pan.
Old grinned self-consciously, as he advanced into the room, closing the door behind him. 'That is, he seemed pleased as Punch by a visit from the big boss. Began with a hug and ended with a handshake.
Skinner pushed himself up from his chair. 'Right. Tough that it seems to leave us with nothing to pin on that wee shit Cocozza. We'll have to spring him. Maggie, give Alison Higgins the word, will you, please. While you're doing that, I'll observe the niceties and call Jose Pompo, the Spanish Consul. It'll give you added clout if I fix up your trip through him. And then get the translation job under way. But make sure you're ready for the press conference at nine-thirty.'
That's earlier than usual, isn't it?' said Roy Old.
`Maybe so,' said Skinner, beaming. But the hacks can dance to my tune for a change. I've got a wife and son to collect from the Simpson by ten-thirty, and nothing — not even the assembled Edinburgh media corps in all its glory — will make me late for that!'
Fifteen
‘You fancy your new room, wee man, don't you?'
The baby's eyes were wide open as Bob cradled him in the crook of his arm. They seemed to follow the movement of the brightly coloured — mobile suspended above his cradle, as it swung in a slow circle in response to Sarah's touch. That, and the American-style satin-lined cradle, had been her choice. Bob had picked the nursery- rhyme motif of the wallpaper. A huge stuffed panda, which he had bought in John Lewis that morning, en route for the Simpson, filled a high-backed rocking-chair by the dormer window.
Bob carried his three-day-old son over to the window and showed him the mature back garden, flooded in midday sunshine. 'See that tree down there, Jazz? That nice silver birch with the strong branches. That's where we'll hang your swing in a year or so. The climbing frame can go on the grass just over there, and the sandpit can go up against the garage. You'll be a lucky lad, 'cos there's the same again in your other house out at Gullane, the very swing and frame that your big sister Alex had when she was a nipper. She didn't have a sandpit though. There was hardly any point, was there, with a beach out there.'
Sarah reached up and ruffled her husband's hair. 'You're really looking forward to all this, Pops, ain't you?'
Too right, I am. His first childhood, but my third. What I'm looking forward to is doing all the things right this time that I might have got wrong with Alex. There's not too many guys my age get that chance.'
`From what Alex says, you didn't get too much wrong. Come on, set him down in the cradle. Let him get used to it.'
Gently, Bob laid the bright-eyed child down in his crib. For a second it seemed as if Jazz would cry at the breaking of the contact, but then his eye was caught once more by the blue-painted balsa-wood birds of the mobile, and he stared following their movement. Quietly, mother and father backed away from the cradle, and stood together by the window.
`It's a dream, isn't it, honey?' said Sarah softly.
Bob said nothing. He could only grin, happier than he could express in words.
`What's a dream, too,' she went on, 'is the idea that you'll actually be off work for a few days. How long are you taking?'
`Best part of a week. I've cleared my diary until Tuesday morning. Roy Old's looking after things. It's just you and me and Jazz, apart from tomorrow night. Remember, I told you about it — a meeting of Murrayfield and Cramond Rotary Club. Peter asked me to do it a while back. It's in their programme, so I don't like to back out. Is that okay? They start at half-six, so I should be back around eight-thirty.'
Sarah smiled. 'Well, since you're taking us to Spain in a couple of weeks, I don't really think I can bitch about it. Anyway, Alex is coming through for the night, and Andy said he'd look in later. You'll be back for him, won't you?'
`Mm, sure. Listen, about Spain. You sure it's okay, with Jazz being so young?'
Sarah turned to face him. His arms circled her waist as she placed the flat of her hands on his chest.
`Listen, you can be the fussiest Dad of all time, but trust me on the medical side, just like I leave the detecting to you. I told you already, before we set off I'll take him back to the paediatrician for a 500-mile check-up. If there's the slightest flicker of disapproval on her face, we cancel the ferry and stay home. But worry not, my love. That boy of ours is the thrivingest baby you'll find in a day's march.'
`It won't be too hot?'
`Would it be too hot for a Spanish baby? It's early summer, and so it won't be baking. Believe me, he'll be fine. He'll be in shade all the time. That buggy you bought for him has got everything save air-conditioning, and the house does have that. As for his food, I carry my own supply, remember.' She tapped her chest with a long finger. D-cup these days, boy. Tits like racing Zeppelins!'
Bob laughed and hugged her, gently. 'Right, I'm convinced. He'll be fine. But how about you? Will you be all right by then?'
She smiled slyly as she looked up at him. 'Three days after the birth might be a bit soon, but before long,
