Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

Aileen had dropped him at the foot of Orchard Brae; they had agreed that they would keep in touch by cell-phone, and that they would try to meet again in Glasgow, soon.

On the drive through, she had told him more of Tommy Murtagh's plans: his strategy of direct control went further than the police, although they were his number-one target. Education was in his sights also, with social quotas being imposed on Scottish universities and top-up fees charged to students applying from independent schools. Most serious of all to Skinner was his intention to change the make-up of the judicial appointments board, by giving it a seventy per cent majority of lay members, and by vetting lists of candidates before interviews. 'There's a word for this,' he had grumbled. 'It's called dictatorship.'

Tommy's crafty: he puts it another way,' Aileen had told him. 'He calls it empowering the people by giving them control over the institutions and symbols of authority.'

'I know. One man, one vote, and all that; as long as he's the man and he's got the vote.'

He had repeated his promise, though, to keep his head down, and not to seek confrontation with the First Minister. 'I'm glad,' she had said, as they parted. 'I think what you need most of all right now is some quiet in your life.'

'Quiet?' he mused, as he gazed out of the window. 'That'll be the day.'

Blinking himself back to the present, he picked up the telephone and called his home number. Trish, the nanny, answered circumspectly, as she always did when neither he nor Sarah was at home. When she realised that it was him, the ever-cheerful girl sounded more pleased than he had ever heard her.

'I'll be back as soon as I can,' he told her. 'Kids okay?'

'They're fine,' she said, in her gentle Caribbean accent, 'but they've been missing you. The video calls to the computer were great, but they're not the same.' She paused. 'Do you know when Sarah will be home?' she asked. He read the unspoken 'if.

'She'll be back well before Christmas; that's all I know for sure,' he replied, candidly. 'See you later… by six, I hope.'

He hung up and dialled his daughter's direct business number. 'Good afternoon. Alexis Skinner, can I help you?'

As he heard her voice, a great wave of relief swept through him, and he realised for the first time how tough the last two weeks had been and how emotionally tired he really was. 'You already have, baby,' he said.

'Pops! You're back,' she gushed. 'And not before time. 'I've done my best to be a surrogate mum, and so has Trish, but those kids need you. Have you and Sarah patched things up?'

'Good question, Alexis; I'm not sure that we know how. Come out to Gullane tonight and I'll tell you about it'

'Okay, will do. Got to go now: I'm due in conference with Mitch Laidlaw.'

'Don't keep the boss waiting, then.'

He dialled a third number; Neil McIlhenney answered. 'Hi,' said Skinner. 'You in on this three o'clock shindig?'

'Yup.'

'Good. I want you to set up another meeting, somewhere nice and quiet, and well off patch. Three people present: you, me and Andy Martin, nobody else in the loop. Soon as you can.'

As he hung up, he smiled at a vision of his friend's puzzled expression.

He reached out and buzzed for Jack McGurk, his executive assistant. The towering detective sergeant appeared in his office within seconds. 'Welcome back, boss,' he said, as he laid the in-tray on his desk. Skinner was impressed by the fact that it was relatively small. McGurk was learning to filter out the most important business for his attention and delegate the rest.

'What's this three o'clock meeting about, Jack?' the DCC asked. He checked his watch: it was two forty-five.

'I don't know, sir. The chief, ACC Haggerty and DCI McIlhenney are involved in it; people from London, that's all they've said.'

'Ah,' said Skinner. 'Colleagues from another service, I suspect; spooks, to the punters. Where is it?'

'The main conference room.'

'Okay.' He rose from behind the desk. 'Thanks, Jack. Now I must have a word with Sir James.' He followed McGurk from the room and stepped across the corridor. Gerry Crossley, the chief constable's secretary, was at his desk in the anteroom that led to the chief's office. He looked up as Skinner entered, then blinked in surprise.

'Hello, sir,' he exclaimed. 'Good to see you back.'

'Thanks, Gerry, I'm not sorry about it myself.' He nodded towards the door to his right. 'Is he…?'

'Yes. Go on in.'

Skinner opened the door and stepped into the office. He had never coveted it: although it was bigger than his, the view was over the playing-field behind the headquarters building. The silver-haired figure behind the desk was bent over a folder, studying its contents. 'Yes, Gerry,' he murmured.

'Wrong: try again.'

Sir James Proud's eyes widened; a smile followed. 'Bob!' he exclaimed. 'Willie said that we could expect you today, but he wasn't sure when. You must be exhausted, man.'

'I'm fine,' Skinner replied. 'I managed to get my head down for a while.'

'How did things go? Did you and Sarah…?'

'Things are not yet resolved.' He sighed. 'In fact, Jimmy, truth be told, we're in a right pickle, and it's more my fault than hers. I'd like to talk to you about it, when we've more time.'

'Mmm,' the veteran chief constable murmured. 'Forgive me for asking this, but it's been on my mind. Do I sense a dangerous liaison in the air?'

Bob stared at him, pure surprise in his eyes. 'Has someone been talking to you?'

Proud Jimmy shook his head. 'No,' he said, quickly. 'But the new Justice Minister is a very attractive and dynamic woman, and when I saw her in your office a few weeks ago, it occurred to me that it might not have been an official visit.'

'I see. So you haven't had a visit yourself, then?'

'No. Who'd have come to see me?'

'Greg Jay, perhaps.'

'Jay?' Sir James looked baffled. 'What's he got to do with anything? He's not part of the picture any more. Since you've been away, he's taken early retirement and gone.'

Skinner grunted. 'He might have gone, Jimmy, but he hasn't retired. He's the First Minister's new security adviser, so-called.'

'Good God!' The chief slapped his desk lightly; it was as close as he ever came to an angry gesture. 'The duplicitous so-and-so! He never mentioned a word of it to me. He let me believe that he had had enough and wanted to work on his garden and his golf handicap.'

'No, he has other plans for his future. His appointment's a real bugger, too. When he was in the job, Jock Govan was a friend of ours; most certainly Greg will not be, as he's proved already. Murtagh's had him keeping tabs on Aileen and, in the process, on me.'

'And has he found anything…'

'That could damage us? If you mean real harm as opposed to some fleeting and unpleasant publicity, no, and he won't, either, because there's nothing to find. From now on, I'll be watching him even closer than he's watching us. But it's all very murky, Jimmy. Very soon you and I and all the others are going to find that we've got a new boss.'

'Who?'

'The First Minister… directly.'

Sir James gasped. 'But he can't,' he protested.

Skinner frowned at him. 'He doesn't have that word in his vocabulary, Jimmy,' he said. 'And people who don't, they tend to be rather dangerous.'

McIlhenney stared at the phone in his hand as if it was smiling at him. Finally he put it down, retrieved Andy Martin's private office number in Dundee from his index, and called it.

'How goes, big fella?' asked the Tayside deputy chief. 'Why's Special Branch calling me?'

'This isn't Special Branch,' he replied. 'This is DCC Skinner's vicar on Earth. He wants to see you and me together, on the quiet, as soon as you can make it.'