Quintin Jardine - Skinner's trail

`Where do you think he is now?'

`I know where he is now. Last week Tony Manson gave Linda four grand. She turned it into traveller's cheques. We've found out that there was a seat booked on a flight from Glasgow to Alicante on Sunday in the name of L. Plenderleith. It looks as if Manson was trying to whisk her out of town before Lennie got out. Seems like he didn't quite make it. Nice windfall for Lennie, though. The traveller's cheques — unsigned we believe — and the plane ticket are gone. Britannia tell us that the ticket was used. They said that there was some confusion when a man turned up, but the surname checked and they assumed it had been a booking error. So there you have it. The whole story. Lennie gets home early, exacts a terrible and bloody revenge on Linda and Manson, and buggers off to Spain with Manson's cash and her ticket.'

`Okay, husband, if that is the obvious pattern of events — and it is glaringly obvious — then tell me why you don't believe it.'

Skinner looked at her, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth. 'Who says I don't?'

`I do. I see the telltale signs of a Skinner niggle. There's something there that doesn't fit.'

The twitch turned into a grin. 'Well, just a couple of wee things. First, why did. Manson leave her in the flat for big Lennie to find; and, second, why did Richard Cocozza, his lawyer, pick him up from Shotts prison on Saturday morning?

Tony can't give us the answers, but Cocozza can, and he sure as hell better. Otherwise I'm going to charge him with being a party to two murders! But before I see him again, my love, let's you and I go back to the Simpson, to say hello to our son.'

Cocozza crouched forward in his seat so suddenly that Skinner thought for an instant that the little fat man's bladder had betrayed him.

`What!' It was more squawk than speech.

`You heard me, Cocozza. You dropped Plenderleith, a violent man, at his wife's door. Why should I, or a jury for that matter, not assume that you knew he was likely to kill her, and Tony Manson, after what they had done to him while he was inside. Why shouldn't I believe that you set them up? Why shouldn't I believe that you were a party to their murders? You're the lawyer here. You know what that means. You're as guilty as big Lennie is, and I'm going to charge you with the girl's murder, at the very least!'

`No, you can't!'

`Like fuck I can't! You're a dead certainty to go down for the girl's murder. Jesus Christ, Manson puts her on the game, then plans to get her out of town — out of Lennie's way. You show up at the prison and pick the big bugger up — a day early. Then you drop him at her front door.'

Cocozza summoned the last of his defiance. 'Who says I did?'

`A very reliable witness. A neighbour. You know the type, Cocozza. Logs every movement in and out of the building. A flash white car was seen dropping a big man in jeans and a cowboy shirt at Linda Plenderleith's close. The witness has picked Lennie out already from mug shots. And the driver was seen clearly too. All we need is to stick you in front of an identity parade. The bit I can't understand is why? Why did you shop the girl? And Manson? He was your meal ticket. You don't have another significant client. Why set him up for the chop?' Skinner's voice was soft, but his eyes were hard as they stared across the old, scratched table-top at Richard Cocozza.

The lawyer sat with bowed head, still crouched forward on his chair, gripping it on either side, with his knees pressed together and his fingers under his thighs. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes.

‘Plenderleith didn't know. He didn't know what Linda had been doing while he was inside!' he wailed plaintively. 'It wasn't like you said. Tony didn't force her into anything. When Lennie went inside, he offered her a job in my office, but she said she'd rather make real money. So he controlled her. He vetted all her punters. No one in the place knew her surname, not even the manager. She wasn't on the payroll, like the other girls are. They're employed, you see, so that no one can be nailed for living on the proceeds or anything like that. The theory is that what they make on their backs is pin-money.'

He looked across at Alison Higgins and nodded his head in a peculiar gesture, as if offering an apology for the crudeness of his phrase.

'Pin-money,' Skinner snorted. But they still kick back enough to the house to cover their pay-packets and a bit more too. Your Tony was a fucking pimp on a big scale!'

`I don't know anything about that,' Cocozza pleaded.

`Aye, sure you don't,' said Skinner with a chuckle. But we won't pursue that. No you're still in the frame, wee man. If Lennie was a poor; unsuspecting cuckold, what was the four grand for? Why was there a plane ticket for Linda? It still stacks up like they had her getaway arranged. Then you found out that he was getting out a day early, picked him up and dropped him off, primed and ready to do the dirty deeds, then vanish with Linda's hard-earned dough.'

Cocozza shook his head, violently from side to side. 'No! No! No! You've still got it wrong! The plane ticket and the money were for Lennie. Tony told me that, as soon as he was released, he was going to send him on a sort of working holiday to Spain. The idea was that Linda would fly over to join him in a week or two, once he was settled in. There was a place out there that Tony was thinking of buying into: a Country Club and timeshare resort. Lennie was to go out there right away and spend a couple of months looking the place over, without anyone knowing who he was. Then, if it seemed all right to him, Tony was going to put his cash in, and Lennie and Linda were going to stay there as his people on the ground.'

Skinner looked at him, grinning gently. 'You're thinking fast, Cocozza, but I've still got you by the balls. I prefer my version, and so will the Crown Office. You've still got some work to do.'

`Look, Tony visited him at Shotts just last week. He went out to see him, to tell him what he wanted. He came back and he said to me, "That's fine about the Spanish thing. I've talked to the big fella and he's up for it." He said that he would sort out his traveller's cheques through Linda's bank account. There was another ten thousand waiting for him in a bank account out there. It was the second part of his pay-off for.

Skinner's grin widened into a smile as Cocozza realised that he was about to implicate himself in the six-year-old Dalkeith assault, and choked off his sentence.

You can check on the visit. They keep records in prisons, don't they? It was only the second time that Tony had been to see him in all that time. I'm sure if there had been any argument they'd have noticed.

`I'll check, Cocozza. Don't you worry. But the prison office will be closed by now, so you'll be our guest at least until it opens in the morning. . and then you'll be theirs if they don't back up your story! Meantime, keep talking. The Spanish bank account. Which bank?'

`It's a convertible peseta account at Banco Central, in Alicante. Lennie signed an authorisation form when Tony went to see him, so that he could go in when he got there and draw cash whenever he liked, without fuss. The bankbook should have been at Linda's place too.' Cocozza had recovered some of his composure, but none of his insolence. There was still a plea in his eye. 'Is that enough for you, Skinner?'

`Enough for now, Cocozza. Enough for us to. check. But if just one wee piece turns out to be crap, you're for the jump. Even if you walk out of here, you're standing on the edge of being struck off by the Law Society. Who knows, maybe you could pick up a job managing a sauna. That's about your strength!'

Lucky lady, Maggie. You're going to get to do something that I've never done: you're going to Spain on the Company. And before you ask, no, you can't take McGuire!'