Quintin Jardine: Skinner's festival

All of his clothes had been blown off. The right arm and most of the right leg were missing. Forcing himself to look closer at the carnage. Skinner saw them lying a little way apart from the mangled torso. He tensed and stepped closer, keeping himself under control with an effort of will, as he took in the horror of it in stages. The corpse seemed to have been ripped open by shrapnel, for metal, glass and wood splinters were mixed in with the bloody mass. The top of the young man's head had been sliced off, and the bluey-grey brain matter spread out beyond it. Skinner then realised that some of this terrible cocktail had been splashed on the boy's friend next-door.

'Oh, Holy Mother of God.'

The voice came from behind Skinner – followed by the violent sounds of its owner vomiting. Skinner did not speak until the heaving had subsided. Then, still without turning, he said grimly: 'Didn't know you had got religion, Andy.'

There was no reply other than another bout of retching.

'You made it here fast.'

Detective Chief Inspector Andrew Martin, Head of Special Branch, and once Skinner's personal assistant, stepped up to stand alongside him. 'Not as fast as you, boss, but I wasn't that far away either. Sally and I were in John Lewis when I got the shout. She wasn't best pleased. As a matter of fact, she suggested it was a porky pie I had dreamed up to get out of shopping for her fucking curtains. To hell with her; I wish it had been a lie.'

'You should have brought her along to see for herself,' said Skinner. 'Christ, we get to clear up some right messes, but this one…' He shook his head, as his voice tailed away.

'Where were you, boss?'

'Along at the Gallery precinct, with Sarah.'

'You heard the bang?' Martin asked.

Skinner nodded in confirmation.

'What do you think it could have been? It looks as if they were installing beer kegs in here. Could it have been one of the gas cylinders?'

'No way, Andy. It was a bomb. You've been on the courses too.

You know the different sound that explosives make. That was what I heard. Anyway, the beer and the gas bottles are all over there in that other corner.' He pointed a finger off to the left.

'This was no accident. Some bastard did this in deadly earnest.

We'd best be very careful just in case he left us any other wee parcels. In fact, I think that for once we'll be sensible and get the fuck out of here until the Bomb Squad arrives and checks the whole place over. There's nothing we can do for poor Danny there, but we can empty the Waverley Centre, and the Balmoral next door.'

They walked quickly from the tent. Outside, more uniformed officers had arrived and were busy moving the crowds back. An ambulance was pulling out of the Princes Street Gardens gateway, with its blue light whirling. Two others stood by, waiting for passengers. Skinner caught sight of Sarah beside the Scott Monument, tending to Danny's friend, the boy from the tent. As he looked on, she wiped the blood from his forehead with a towel, then helped him, very gently, to take off his frightful shirt. For a moment, the youth held it away from him, at arm's length, then dropped it on the ground, Four fire appliances had arrived. They were lined up on Waverley Bridge, at the spot where, normally, the tour buses took on their passengers. A senior fire officer, recognising Skinner, came across. 'What can we do here?' he asked.

'Nothing in the tent for now, but you could tell your people to evacuate the shopping station, and to close off the Station exit up the Waverley Steps.'

The officer nodded, his bulky helmet giving this gesture added emphasis. 'You've got it.' He turned and walked back towards the fire appliances, barking out orders to his men.

Skinner looked around for the highest-ranking policeman, and soon spotted a superintendent in uniform. He walked over and tapped the man on the shoulder. The officer spun round, impatient at first, until recognition brought him swiftly to attention.

'Afternoon, Archie,' said Skinner. 'Look, I want the Balmoral emptied. See to it, please. Then get on your radio and have someone tell the Transport Police, on my authority, that I want all trains stopped at Haymarket, and held up to the east. Until the bomb boys have cleared the site, I don't want any more people in that station than can be helped. If there's another bang, it could bring down the glass roof – if that one hasn't already!'

The man saluted and moved away to carry out his orders.

Skinner retraced his steps and found Martin.

'Andy, you get down to your office. I want to know the minute someone claims responsibility for this mess. And even if no one does, I want the best analysis that your outfit can give me of the likely runners. I don't recall any recent intelligence in my other job to give me a hint of this, but I'll look again. You check your network for ideas.

'Maybe it's the Arabs getting even for us blowing out their plot P'vesco.anda own. I don't fancy any of Z 8rown some new "ers of our " the last one. th'eTde weTl' but the one I like le erronst outfit. If that's so I o collected our ow" them out.' "• wa1" to nail them quick and clean

Martin had been gone for less than ten minutes when the Army Bomb Squad arrived from their base on the outskirts of the city.

Major Gabriel 'Gammy' Legge, their commander, was well known to Skinner from countless call-outs to bomb hoaxes, and from their work together on security preparations for Royal and VIP visits to the city. The two stood beside the gold chairs, in the first area of the marquee.

'I suppose it was bound to happen one day. Bob,' said the slim soldier. His accent was that of an Ulsterman, but its harsher tones had been smoothed away by years of military service. 'All those false alarms, and then when the real thing comes we don't have a chance to defuse it.'

'You might have that chance yet. Gammy. There's all sorts of stuff lying in there needing to be checked out. There's something else in there, too. Maybe it'll make you and your lads think twice about being heroes. If it doesn't, at the least it'll sure as hell make you careful.'

The smile left the Major's face.

'Look out for yourselves, but. Gammy, I need the place checked out with all safe speed. I need to get the forensics people in, and I have to get the station reopened as soon as possible, before the effect of train hold-ups ripples all the way down to London.'

'Thank you, Robert, I'll take charge now.'

The voice breaking in on their conversation came from the entrance to the marquee. Surprised, and instantly annoyed, Skinner looked up to see the Deputy Chief Constable, in full uniform, bearing down on him.

DCC Edward McGuinness was in temporary command of the force, in the absence on holiday of the recently knighted Chief Constable, Sir James Proud. Skinner was aware that even at the best of times he was not the Deputy's favourite colleague. At the Chief Constable's regular management meetings, he and McGuinness were drawn almost invariably to taking opposite sides in any debate. Now Skinner guessed that to arrive at the disaster scene and find Bob in command, and matters well under control, was more than the other man could bear.

Mastering his irritation at McGuinness's rank-pulling, he mustered a smile.

That's fine, Eddie. I'm glad you're here. Crowd control's for the uniform branch, anyway!'

The DCC reddened.

'I'd better fill you in, since you've only just got here.' Still smiling. Skinner seized him by the elbow and led him towards the entrance through the partition. 'The bang happened through there. Some form of explosive. We don't know for sure what, but from the pattern of destruction it could have been Semtex.'

He ushered McGuinness through into the second area. 'There have been some casualties, almost all of them superficial – apart from poor Danny there.'