Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

'Winter blues.' Arrow chuckled. 'Anyhow, what can I do for you?'

'Right now? Nothing. Just tell me what you know about Albanians.'

There was a pause, as the soldier considered the question. 'Very little,' he answered, eventually, 'beyond the stereotype: they're virtually lawless, clannish, very big on blood feuds and into illegality in a big way. Why? Are you thinking about employing one?'

'No, we're having a visit from some, I'm told.'

'They'll be moving dope, then,' said Arrow, firmly.

'That's what Five think.'

'And they'll be right.'

'Would it take four of them to do it?' asked Skinner.

His friend laughed. 'They'll be moving a lot of dope.'

Stevie Steele was poring through the papers on his desk when he heard his door open. He glanced up, expecting to see the massive, shirt-sleeved figure of Tarvil Singh filling the frame, but instead he saw a much smaller, slighter form, in uniform.

'Not interrupting, am I?' Maggie Rose asked, as she closed the door behind her.

'No.' He grinned. 'But you're a chief superintendent: you can interrupt me any time you like.'

'Does that never get to you, me outranking you?'

'It will,' he replied, cheerfully, 'when you start wearing your uniform in bed, but until then, no, not a bit. Would it get to you if I was the chief super and you were the DI?'

'No.'

'Well, stop getting sexist on me. What can I do for you, ma'am?'

'I was wondering how the response to George's appeal had gone, that's all.'

The smile left Steele's face. 'Poor,' he told her. 'Piss-poor, in fact. We'd one extremely nasty call saying that he was a copper so who cares, and a few from well-meaning people who couldn't tell us any more than we know already. Otherwise there's been nothing. And since it's in the nature of these things that all the response comes in the immediate aftermath of the telly appearance, I think we have arrived, very quickly, at the dead end we feared.'

'So what are you going to do?'

'First off, recommend to the Fiscal that he release the body for burial; second we're going to submit our report and let him decide whether he wants a formal fatal-accident inquiry.'

'Which he won't.'

Stevie shrugged his shoulders. 'I doubt it very much.'

'Why don't I think you're entirely happy with that?'

He smiled at her once more. 'You know me that well already? Maybe it's just that I knew the boy and know his parents, but my nose is twitching, that's all.'

'You know, you sounded just like Bob Skinner when you said that.'

'I'll take that as a compliment. Speaking of the DCC,' he asked cautiously, 'is he back from his break?'

'Yesterday. Jack McGurk called me this morning, looking for George Regan's home address; he said that his boss wanted to visit him and Jen.'

'And did he come back alone?'

'I'd hardly ask Jack that, would I?' she said. 'However, an observant if not too discreet sergeant under my command did let it slip that he saw him being dropped off near Fettes yesterday by a lady who did not look at all like Sarah.'

'Bloody hell!'

'Just what I said to Sergeant Evesham. That's a piece of information he'll be keeping to himself from now on, as, my darling, shall we.'

'Too right: I don't want to get anywhere near that situation. I've been too close already.'

Maggie grinned at him, eyes flashing with mischief. 'Come on, the boss's wife had a crush on you. Most guys would be secretly flattered by that… especially if she looked like Sarah Skinner.'

'If she wasn't that particular boss's wife, maybe, once upon a time, I would have been. But that was then, and this is now.'

'So what's different?'

'Stop fishing for them.' He chuckled. 'You're the difference and you know it.'

'Sure, but I love to hear you say it.' She paused. 'Will you be free for lunch?'

'God and Mary Chambers willing. Canteen?'

'Hell, no. Pub snack at Ryrie's: there's some stuff I want to tell you away from the office.'

'Can't it wait till we get home tonight?'

'Yes, but I don't see why it should. See you at one.'

Skinner and McIlhenney had crossed the Forth Bridge and were heading along the M90 for Kinross before the silence was broken. The chief inspector had insisted on driving: he knew that his friend must still be tired from his long journey, but there was more to it than that. His recurrent nightmare had left him with an irrational unwillingness to sit in the passenger seat.

They had paid an awkward, painful visit to George and Jen Regan, offering what condolences they could, before leaving and heading almost gratefully out of the city.

The DCC had indeed nodded off almost as soon as the Vectra had turned on to the Queensferry Road, but he woke when they pulled up at the toll booth. As they sped away, McIlhenney muttered his usual imprecation about having to pay for driving on the public road. Skinner grinned: he had heard it all before, and as a long-term property owner in Spain he was used to paying road-toll charges.

'What do you think, then?' he asked, out of the blue, as they passed the exit that led to Deep Sea World, the giant aquarium to which he had promised to take his children on the following Sunday.

'About what?'

'About the bloody Albanians, what else?'

'Honestly? Until I see the original intelligence reports on them, I think the Home Secretary has his knickers in a twist. So four gangsters disappear from their home base and are traced to Britain. The best way to find them is by involving all the agencies with an interest in what they might be doing, not by handing it over to the spooks and having them screw it up by running covert operations with unreliable bampots like Jingle Bell.'

The DCC nodded. 'I agree with you, up to a point. Telling them not to advise or involve anyone else was a mistake, but that's what can happen when politicians start taking operational decisions. When it comes to intelligence reports, if Whitehall hasn't learned by now to treat them with the utmost caution, then it never will.'

'You can say that again, gaffer. Do you think they're telling us everything they know?'

'I think they are. At the very least, they're telling us everything we need to know.'

'What about Green?'

'I don't know about that lad: he was a bit glib about pulling that knife on Andy, and that begs the question nobody's asked him yet.'

McIlhenney's eyebrows rose slightly. 'You mean what would he have done if Andy hadn't been there, when Jingle called him in as back-up?'

'Exactly. Would he have carried on in his Richard Cable mode, and would he have carved up Mackenzie?'

'That's a question that hasn't occurred to the Bandit boy yet. When it does, I hope our Sean has a convincing answer.'

'A good reason why they shouldn't work together in this operation. Make sure it doesn't happen, will you?'

'As far as I can; but what if the ACC throws them together? I'm reporting to you and him, remember.'

'No, you're reporting to me. Willie's role is to talk with the Scottish refugee charities and the other public bodies; yours and Bandit's is to keep an eye on the underworld; and mine is to keep an eye on everything. So you come straight to me. I'm sorry: I should have made that clear.'

'No matter, I know now. What do you think our chances of tracing these guys are?'

Skinner frowned. 'I expect you to trace them, if they're still here. I've got no doubt that you will. The question is, can you do it before they attempt whatever stunt they've come here to pull?'

'Let's hope so.' Suddenly McIlhenney chuckled. 'Hey,' he said. 'A thought occurs. What if those four big rucksacks the Dutch guy described had golf clubs in them? Maybe they're just here on a golf tour.'