Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

She stared at him, across the table. 'You still have the power to surprise me, boss. I thought you had invited me here to tell me very politely that you were going to move either Stevie or me to a different station.'

She gulped. 'I don't know how to tell you this, and I'm very grateful that you would think of me for one moment as Dan's successor, but I have to decline. There's the practical, personal point that Stevie's career is clearly CID, for a while at least. I would feel awkward living with him and commanding him, but also, although you're right, I am new in my present job and I could go somewhere else without creating too big a gap, I feel that I've made a commitment to the post, and I want to see it through to its conclusion.' She stopped for a moment, then continued, nervously, 'There is one other thing: I am not sure that you would want a head of CID who's hardly in the office before she goes off on maternity leave.'

Skinner stared at her across the table, before exploding in a laugh. 'That guy Steele,' he bellowed. 'I should put him on a disciplinary for interfering with executive planning. Oh, Mags, congratulations, that's terrific. Bugger the job, it's secondary. I'm as happy for you, my friend, as you are for yourself.' He rose, walked to the small fridge beside his desk and took out a half-bottle of champagne. 'Sod the iced water. This has to be toasted.'

The van was like any other old Ford Transit, big and chunky, a commercial work-horse. It had seen better days, and its white-paint job was not the one with which it had left the factory. A keen-eyed observer who looked closely enough would have made out the words 'Stuart James Heating Engineer' beneath the new skin, and perhaps another layer below.

It was parked in the yard of a building-supplies company in a small estate just off Newcraighall Road, and it had been there all morning. The warehouse manager had no idea who owned it, and as Monday was always a slack day, he had not been too concerned about the space it took up.

However, as the hours ticked by, and more trade customers appeared, its presence began to annoy him. 'Does anybody have any idea whose that bloody Transit is?' he called out to the stock controller as he passed.

'I thought it was young John's,' the man replied.

'Naw. John's was pale blue, and anyway he got rid of it three months ago.'

'In that case, I've no idea. Is it bothering you?'

'It's takin' up space.'

'In that case call the police and have it towed.'

The manager allowed the van's owner another half-hour's grace, until finally his patience was exhausted. He took his friend's advice and called the Craigmillar police station, the closest at hand. He made a formal complaint that a vehicle appeared to have been abandoned on his premises.

The constables who arrived were rookies; he could tell that at a glance. The pink-cheeked boy could not have been any more than twenty-two or twenty-three and the girl, an Asian, looked even younger. He began to feel his age.

'Are you sure it doesn't belong to one of your employees?' the woman officer asked him.

'We don't have that many, miss. If it did, I'd have found him by now. The thing was here when I got on this morning, it's taking up space in my park that I need for customers, and I want it moved.'

'We should try and trace the owner first, and make sure it hasn't been reported as stolen.'

'Do whatever you have to do. Just make it go away.'

She walked over to her colleague. The manager saw him speak into his radio and heard him read the registration number. 'The sergeant says we should see if the keys are in it,' he called to her. 'If they are we've to drive it back to the station.'

'I'll have a look,' she said.

As she headed for the van, the manager turned and went back to his business. He was completely unprepared for her scream. When it came, he almost jumped out of his Hush Puppies. He ran out of the warehouse.

'There's someone in there,' he heard the girl cry out to her colleague.

'It'll be a dosser,' he called, taking pity on their youth. He walked to the back of the Transit, thinking that he should have done it a few hours earlier, took hold of the handles, twisted it and wrenched the door open.

She had been right: there was a man in there. He had been wrong: it was no dosser. He could tell that from his bulging eyes, his purple face, and from the red tie, knotted tight around his throat.

Mario McGuire was early for his appointment in the deputy chief constable's office. He arrived just after two twenty, but Skinner was free and ready for him. 'How are you feeling?' he asked, as the superintendent entered, and they shook hands.

'Fine, thanks, boss. I've still got a bit of a headache, but nothing that a couple of codeine doesn't put away.'

'When did they let you out?'

'My consultant came in at nine thirty this morning. He started to say something about another night, but I told him he'd have to tie me down or drug me for that to happen, so he let me out, on condition that I take at least three days' sick leave.'

The DCC laughed. 'So what the hell are you doing here?'

'This doesn't count as work. Dr Moores told me to go home and relax. I've been home and now I'm relaxing. I'm looking forward to this.'

'I shouldn't really admit this, but so am I. While we're waiting…' He glanced at his watch as he led McGuire over to the informal seating. 'Jay will be late, I'll bet. I told him two thirty, but he'll keep me hanging about for ten minutes or so, just to make the point that he's an important man. So let's use the time. I had Maggie in for lunch earlier; I wanted to sound her out about becoming head of CID. I didn't offer her the job, you understand; I only asked her if she wanted to be a candidate.'

'Did she turn you down?'

'She did, as a matter of fact. You're not surprised?'

'No. She likes her new job, and she likes her new home life. Plus, she likes being well away from me. If she became head of CID I'd have to report to her.'

'She didn't offer that as a reason, I have to tell you.'

'Maybe not, but it would be in her mind, for sure.'

'Would it have been a problem for you?'

'Not at all, but it might have been awkward round the table for the other divisional commanders, knowing our personal history.'

Skinner scratched his chin. 'I suppose so,' he admitted. 'But it's not going to happen, so that's that. It leaves me with one less candidate, though.'

'Is this where you tell me I'm not on the list, boss? Because, honestly, I don't expect to be.'

'You're either kidding me, Mario, or you're underrating yourself. Of course you're on the list, you and two others. But this is where I tell you there's a condition attached.'

McGuire frowned, then winced as if the gesture had been painful. 'What's that?'

'I want you out of your family business, completely. I can live with your involvement at the moment, just, but if you were in line for a step up, I'd have trouble persuading the chief that it would be appropriate, and make no mistake, he will have to approve the final choice.'

'Boss, I'm only there because my grandfather's will and my mother's retirement put me there.'

'I know that, and I appreciate what you've done by having a lawyer stand between you and hands-on involvement… even if I was slightly embarrassed when you appointed my daughter.'

McGuire's eyebrows rose sharply; he winced again. 'I didn't appoint Alex directly; I appointed her firm because they're the best, and they nominated her.'

'Understood; that's why I let it happen. But listen, Mario, I don't care what your grandfather's will says. This force can't have a head of CID who is a director of a large commercial company; if we did there are people on the joint advisory board who'd be all over us like a rash. The Viareggio businesses would be subjected to more scrutiny than any other in town.'