Quintin Jardine - Pray for the Dying

‘As soon as we identified Cohen, the planner, MI5 got involved, with the Home Secretary pulling the strings. There had been intelligence that a hit was planned in the UK, but no details. With Cohen and his team in Scotland, assumptions were made, and we all bought into the piano player as the target. Then the Home Secretary got brave. . God save us all from courageous politicians in fucking bunkers in Whitehall, Clive. . and decided that she wanted her people to catch the rest of the team. She declared that it was a Five operation, and that the police shouldn’t be alerted, in case of crossed wires.’

‘So how did you get involved?’

‘I was in play by that time, having asked them for help in identifying Cohen.’

Graham’s face was creased into a frown that made him unrecognisable as the beaming man on the election posters. ‘But if. .’ he growled.

Skinner nodded. ‘There was someone else involved, the man who supplied the weapons. My MI5 colleague and I got to him,’ he paused and checked his watch, ‘less than ninety minutes ago. We interrogated him and he told us that from a remark by one of the shooters, when they collected the guns last night, the target was definitely female.

‘Obviously that changed everything. At that point. .’ he paused, ‘. . well, frankly, it was fuck the Home Secretary’s orders. We headed straight through here. I tried to stop the event, but in all this mighty police force, Clive, I could not find anyone willing to take responsibility, until it was too late. You know what happened then.’

‘What about the terrorists? Did they escape in all the confusion? Nobody can tell me, or will.’

‘They’re dead. They were making their escape when we arrived. They’d just shot the two cops manning the door.’ He sighed, shuddered for a second, and shook his head. ‘Fortunately my Five sidekick was armed or we’d have been in trouble. We didn’t negotiate. Captain Houseman killed one. I took down the other one as he tried to run off. But don’t be calling these guys terrorists, Clive. They weren’t. No, they were. .’

He broke off as his personal mobile phone. . he carried two. . sounded in his pocket. He took it out and peered at the screen, ready to reject the call if it was Aileen spoiling for a renewed fight, but it was someone else. ‘Excuse me,’ he told the First Minister. ‘I have to take this.’

Graham nodded. ‘Of course.’

He slid the arrow to accept, and put the phone to his ear, moving a few paces away from the group, skirting Toni Field’s body as he did so.

‘Hi, Sarah,’ he murmured.

‘Bob!’ she exclaimed. Skinner’s ex-wife was cool and not given to panic, but the anxiety in her voice was undeniable.

‘Where are you? Are you okay? What’s happened? I’ve just had a call from Mark. He told me he heard a news flash on radio about a shooting in Glasgow, at an event with the First Minister and Aileen. That’s the event that she and Paula were going to this evening, isn’t it? He says someone’s dead and that your name was mentioned. Honey, what is it? Is it Aileen?’

‘Shit,’ he hissed. ‘So soon. They’re not saying that, are they, that it’s Aileen?’

‘I’m not sure what they said but Mark was left wondering if it might be. He’s scared, Bob, and most of all he’s scared for you.’

‘In that case, love, please call him back and calm him down. Yes, I am at the scene, yes, there is a casualty here, and others outside, but none of them are Aileen or anyone else he knows. And it’s certainly not Paula. They’re both safe.’

‘But how about you?’ Her voice was strident.

‘You can hear me, can’t you? I’m okay too. I might not be in the morning, when it all sinks in, but I am fine now, and in control of myself.’ As if to demonstrate, he paused then lowered his voice as he continued. ‘Are you alone?’ he asked. ‘Are you at home?’

‘Yes, of course, to both.’

‘Good. In that case, I need you to do a couple of things. Call Trish,’ their children had a full-time carer; their sons had reached an age at which they refused to allow her to be called a nanny, ‘and have her take the kids to your place. As soon as you’ve done that, get hold of my grown-up daughter. I’m guessing she hasn’t heard about this yet, or she’d have called me, but Alex being Alex, she’s bound to find out soon. She may be at home; if not, try her mobile. . do you have the number?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine, if you can’t raise her on either of those, try Andy’s place. Tell her what I’ve told you. I don’t have time to do it myself; the fan’s pretty much clogged up with shit here.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘That remains to be seen, but I’ll keep you in touch.’

‘When will you be out of there?’

‘Same answer.’

‘When you are,’ she told him, ‘come here first. It’s important that the kids see you as soon as they can.’

‘Yes, sure.’

‘What about Aileen?’

‘What do you mean?’ Bob asked.

‘Will she be coming back with you?’

‘No,’ he replied, with a sound that might have been a chuckle or a grunt, ‘not even in protective custody. I told you last night, she and I are done.’

He glanced to his right. The First Minister and McGuire had been joined by a youngish man, in a dark suit. Strained though it was, his face was familiar to Skinner, but he found himself unable to put a name to it. Graham caught his eye, and he realised that they were waiting for him to finish his call. ‘Now, I must go,’ he said.

‘Take care,’ Sarah murmured.

‘Don’t I always?’

‘No.’

A brief smile flickered on his lips, but it was gone before he returned his phone to his pocket. He rejoined the group, and as he did so he remembered who the newcomer was. They had met at a reception hosted by his wife, during her time as Clive Graham’s predecessor in office.

‘Bob,’ the First Minister began, ‘this is. .’

‘I know: Councillor Dominic Hanlon, chair of Strathclyde Police Authority.’ He extended his hand and they shook. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

Hanlon whistled, softly. ‘I could say something very inappropriate right now. It’s an open secret that you and Toni didn’t get on.’

‘You’ve just said it, Mr Hanlon,’ Skinner snapped. ‘You’re right; it’s as far from appropriate as you can get. Are you implying I’m glad to see her dead?’

‘No, no!’ The man held his hands up, in a defensive gesture, but the chief constable seemed to ignore him.

‘Colleagues don’t always agree,’ he went on, ‘any more than politicians. Like you two for example; anywhere else you’d be at each other’s ideological throats.’ He felt his anger grow, make him take the councillor by the elbow. ‘Come here,’ he growled. He pulled him towards the body on the floor, knelt beside it and removed the covering jacket, carefully.

‘This is what we’re dealing with here, chum. Look, remember it.’ The back of the head was caked red, and mangled where three bullets had torn into it. The right eye and a section of forehead above it were missing and there was brain tissue on the carpet.

Hanlon recoiled, with a howl that reminded the chief constable of a small animal in pain, as he replaced the makeshift cover.

‘Poor Toni Field and I might have had different policing agendas,’ he said, ‘but we each of us devoted our careers to hunting down the sort of people who would do that sort of thing to another human being. You remember that next time you chair your fucking committee.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the younger man murmured.

‘You want to know how I feel?’ Skinner, not ready to let up, challenged. ‘I feel angry, so walk carefully around me, chum.’