Quintin Jardine - Skinner's trail

He began to move towards Skinner once more.

`Come on, Lennie, the whole story, then you can try your luck. You're right. My boys aren't backing me up tonight. So tell me, then we'll go at it. When did you hear about Tony?'

`I read about it in Spain. I bought a copy of the Daily Record, and there it was. And I knew. I knew straight away.'

`You knew that when Tony sent Cocozza to tell Ainscow to shut the InterCosta operation down, Ainscow decided to do something completely different.'

Big Lennie nodded. 'That was Tony's one great weakness, you see. He trusted people. Part of it was because he couldn't imagine anyone ever having the balls to cross him, but most of it was just plain gullibility. Tony was a savage guy at times, but he had standards. If Tony' said you had a deal, you could take it to the bank, and if he said you were dead, you could book Warriston Crematorium. The last true man of his word.'

`Do you know how they did it?'

`Oh yes. That was one of the things Cocozza told me when we had our chat — when he didn't have that towel stuffed in his mouth to stop him screaming. Cocozza — Tony's good friend Cocozza — had keys to the house. He let Ainscow in. They fixed the alarm later to make it look like a break-in. They both waited in the bedroom for Tony to get in. The wee shit Cocozza hid in the wardrobe. Tony switched on the light and Ainscow was on him with the knife. He never had a chance.'

Lennie Plenderleith paused, with a smile of satisfaction. `Neither did they. You should have seen Cocozza's face when he saw me. He looked like a spectator at his own funeral. As for Ainscow, he didn't even know who I was. I told him that Dick had sent me, and he followed me up here. He was a strong guy — but nowhere near strong enough to stay alive. Treacherous bastards,' added Lennie quietly. 'No way were they going to do that to him and live.

`I could have been off for good, Mr Skinner. I was free and clear, with a new identity and the income from that trust. The whole world was my bloody oyster, but it would always have tasted sour if I hadn't come back to pay my debt to my friend, and finish with these people.

`So after I did the business in Spain, I went to Liechtenstein with Tony's document, Tony's will, and took possession of his trust, my inheritance. Then, with my new passport and my new, genuine, Liechtenstein licence, I bought a car and made my way home. And now I've done the business here, almost. With you out of the way, I'll be free and clear again. So, Mr Skinner, it's time, as you said, to try our luck — and it's yours that's run out.'

Big Lennie moved forward with a speed and balance which were as unexpected as his voice. Skinner knew that the talking was over, and that he faced a fight for his life. The light was bad, and the path was narrow, with the pool on his left, and foliage on his right. He backed off before the giant's advance, weighing him up as best as he could. Muscles bulged beneath his attacker's black top, and his jeans were tight around massive thighs.

Skinner broke his retreat, and feinted a karate kick, but Lennie reacted lightning-fast, swaying back and ready with a strike of his own. Skinner could tell that the man had no martial-arts training, yet realised that he was as deadly as any black belt, a natural fighter with enormous strength.

He backed off once more, then came in again with a second feint — a kick to the head. Once more Lennie leaned back instinctively, his hands up to catch the blow he thought was coming. But, instead, Skinner's foot changed direction and slammed into the side of his left knee. Lennie grunted, and sagged slightly, but he stayed upright and balanced. Skinner's momentum committed him to his next move: a sweeping chop to the throat with the cutting edge of his right hand. It would have been a finisher, even against such a formidable opponent, but his wrist was caught in mid-air, just short of the target. The big man jerked him up and towards him. Skinner knew what was coming, but he could only begin to pull back as Lennie's broad forehead crunched into the bridge of his nose. He heard a thunderous crack inside his head, and felt the hot blood flowing.

The fingers of a huge right hand clamped around his throat, and his wrist was suddenly released. Instinctively, skill and technique forgotten, he clawed at Lennie's face, digging for the eyes with his thumbs, luck more than judgement guiding him to his target. The big man snarled as pain made him release his death grip to push Skinner away. He shook his head, blinking. Skinner hit him: a straight right-hand punch square on the chin. It was a blow that might have stunned a horse, but it seemed only to renew the giant's strength and determination. He closed again.

`You're tough, all right,' Lennie said softly. 'But it won't be enough.'

Skinner tasted blood in his mouth. And then he tasted something else. An icy coldness flowed through him: a feeling that he had known before, one that he feared; a presence in him that very few had seen. He had wished him gone for ever, but now, when he needed him, his other self was back. He heard himself hiss in the darkness. 'I don't see a gun, Lennie. And without one, you'll be carried out of here, big and all as you are.'

For a second the giant looked at him, and something in his adversary's eyes made him pause. If there had been an escape route, that expression might have persuaded him to take it, but finally the knowledge that there was nowhere else to go made him close in once more.

This time Skinner did not back off. This time he stepped, lightning-fast, inside the outreaching arms. His cupped right hand smashed against the side of the great head. Lennie screamed as his eardrum burst, but the sound was choked off as steel-hard fingers slammed into his diaphragm. He doubled over slightly, head leaning forward, chin stuck out.

Skinner pivoted on his right foot. The heel of his right hand sped upwards toward its target, aimed in the final blow. But in that very second, the sole of his moccasin found a pool of water on the pathway. He slipped off-balance.

Now it was the wounded giant who was fighting for his life. He grabbed the smaller man, and used his brute force and bulk to bear him backwards towards the pool. Skinner gasped as the small of his back hit the concrete, and as the breath was forced from him by Lennie's weight. Then the thick fingers were round his throat once more, and his head and shoulders were forced under the surface. He was helpless. There was a roaring in his ears. His eyes felt as if they were popping from their sockets. Somewhere in the depths of the pool he fancied he saw Ainscow, beckoning to him. And then another vision swam into his drowning mind. Jazz, his son, cradled by Sarah. She was dressed in black.

No! he roared in his mind. And he kicked upwards, with both knees and thighs, upwards with more strength than he had ever dreamed he possessed.

The great bulk of Lennie flew over him, and landed in the pool with a splash which sounded to Skinner, with his head still submerged, like an explosion. Again the fingers had left his throat. He swung himself up and out of the water, choking and gasping for breath. Seconds later, a huge hand slapped on to the concrete beside him, reaching for him. He scrambled to his feet, icy anger still coursing through him. He turned round to see both of Lennie's hands on the poolside, arms straightening as he hauled himself upright, like a great black creature emerging from an ocean.

Skinner stood facing him. He waited until both arms were straight, then kicked him with the outside edge of his right foot, with savage force, just above the right elbow. Then as the great trunk hung there helpless, he kicked him again without finesse, without technique, but as hard as he could, with his right instep, on the base of the jaw below the left ear. Big Lennie's desperate eyes glazed over and the huge arms lost all their strength. He slipped back into the water, unconscious, and disappeared beneath the surface.