Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

'Then there's this,' said Skinner, taking a folder from his drawer. 'It contains a statement from a former prostitute named Joanne Virtue, claiming that at an earlier period in your career, when your duties included control of vice in the Leith area, you regularly elicited sexual favours from her, in return for a blind eye being turned. She directed us to three other street women who made similar allegations. Under a strict interpretation, coercing women into sex could be construed as rape.'

'You're accusing me on the word of hoors?' Jay murmured.

'These are sworn statements, man. Why shouldn't a prostitute's word be as good as a priest's?'

'I want a lawyer. You will never prove any of that in court.'

'Don't get ahead of yourself, Greg. If I have to, I will arrest you and hold you in custody, while the experienced officers from another force, with whom you threatened Paula Viareggio, go through your financial affairs. They will look at every penny you've ever spent and link it to every pound you've ever earned. Unless you've buried that money in your garden, and maybe even then, for if we have to we'll dig up every square foot of it, we will prove Gladsmuir's statement beyond any reasonable doubt. If at that point you plead guilty, I won't humiliate your wife by producing the women. If you force me to, I will.'

He stood and walked to his coffee filter in the corner, filled three mugs, added milk and handed McGuire and Jay one each, then took his own back to his desk.

'That's what you're looking at, Greg. I'd reckon it will be worth between five and seven years, given your rank at the time.'

The former superintendent was convinced at last. He sat, broken, as his former colleagues looked at him sternly. 'Is there a way out?' he murmured.

'There might be, for all of us,' Skinner replied. 'I don't give a stuff about you, but I don't want to embarrass this force or the honest men and women who work in it, any more than I have to. My problem is that Mario and I are police officers, and we've got an allegation of corruption before us: we couldn't ignore it even if we wanted to. However, if you make a full statement and admit to receiving payments from Gladsmuir, I won't arrest you, at this stage at any rate. I'll talk to the Crown Office, and we'll see what sort of a plea bargain they'll tolerate. Dig your heels in and I'll bury you. Accept, and once you've made your statement you can walk out that door.'

He locked his eyes on to Jay once more. 'In return for that leniency I want only one thing: a full account of every order you've ever been given by Tommy Murtagh and of everything you've ever done for him.'

As the cornered man nodded, the phone on Skinner's desk rang. Frowning his annoyance he picked it up. 'Sorry, sir,' said Jack McGurk, 'but DCI McIlhenney's here, and he says that he has to speak to you at once.'

A sense of foreboding gripped Skinner, and a fear that he had tried to push aside returned. 'Tell him I'll be there in a minute.' He hung up and turned to McGuire. 'No conversation till I'm back.'

McIlhenney was standing in the corridor outside McGurk's office as the DCC approached, with Amanda Dennis beside him, looking distraught. 'Green?' he asked.

The chief inspector nodded. 'A white Transit van, registered owner Petrit Kastrati, has been found, abandoned, outside a warehouse in Newcraighall. There's a body inside. The officer who reported it says it looks as if he's been strangled. Divisional CID were on their way, but I stopped them. I thought you'd want me to.'

'Good thinking, Neil. Tell them to go to Bassam's restaurant instead, not that there's a cat's chance he'll be there, but clear the place anyway. I want it torn apart. Meanwhile take Mackenzie and go to the warehouse yourself. Confirm the identification, then act as you think fit. I'm in some heavy business here. When or if I can I'll join you.'

'I'll go with them,' Dennis declared.

'You will not, Amanda.' He turned and leaned into McGurk's office. 'Jack, I want you to call Alice Cowan in Special Branch, tell her to come up here and take charge of Mrs Dennis. She is to be held incommunicado, and she is not to be left alone.'

'Bob,' the MI5 officer protested, tears in her eyes, 'this is outrageous.'

'Maybe so, but it's necessary: you of all people should know why. Stay with DS McGurk, then go with DC Cowan. I'll speak to you later.'

He walked back towards his own room, motioning McIlhenney to follow.

'What was that about?' the DCI whispered.

'Coincidences. Samir Bajram wasn't the victim of a gang hit, like the tabloids are inferring. That's far too neat and convenient. We had a lead to him and he was killed to close it off. The same with Sean Green; someone told Bassam what he was. Within the very small group of people who know about this operation, Neil, we've got a leak, and the finger points at Amanda Dennis.'

Willie Haggerty liked to think that he had a bit of cunning about him. He picked up the telephone in his office, trying to stop himself wondering why Bob Skinner had greeted Greg Jay like a bosom buddy, and why he had even let him into the building in the first place, and dialled a Glasgow number from a list on his desk. 'Max,' he said, as his call was picked up, 'how are things in Strathclyde CID?'

'Is that you, Willie?' Detective Chief Superintendent Max Allan replied. 'I thought you'd forgotten about us.' Not so long ago, Haggerty had sat in Allan's chair, as the senior crime-fighter in Glasgow. He had enjoyed the job, and had achieved considerable success in it.

'How could I do that, Maxie, when you're all over the front pages every day?'

'You can talk. What the hell went on up at that ski centre on Saturday? Would I be wrong, or did I read between the lines that it was a policeman's kid the guy tried to snatch?'

'If you did, you shouldn't have been able to, but you're right. It was Neil McIlhenney's son; our head of Special Branch.'

'Good God! Was it political?'

'We don't think so, but it could be connected to his service. Bob Skinner's detached one of our best DIs to run the investigation; I hear he's got someone in his sights already.'

'Glad to hear it; I hope you nail the bastard good. Now, are you going to tell me what you want?'

'I'm on the scrounge, as usual. We've got a couple of openings coming up through here, at sergeant level, and we're always out to strengthen our team. I was wondering if any of your people had itchy feet.'

'There's always some, Willie,' Allan conceded. 'Are we talking CID?'

'Among other things, yes.'

'Specialist?'

'Not necessarily.'

'I'll look into it, see who's applied for transfer lately and let you know.' Haggerty heard Allan chuckle. 'Here, talking about transfers, how's Bandit Mackenzie getting on through there?'

'He's settling in fine, as far as I know. He reports to Bob, not me. You sound as if you might have been glad to get rid of him.'

'Well, I'll say this: we sleep easier in our beds knowing he's with you. He's some boy, the Bandit. He always sailed closer to the wind than any other officer we had. You must remember that, surely, from your time here.'

'I remember his clear-up figures… they were bloody impressive.'

'Maybe so, but there was always that terrible fear that he'd become a statistic himself one day. Here, that reminds me: his old sergeant, Gwen Dell, put her name in for a move last week. I'm not keen to let her go, though. She's a good operator, and a lot less reckless than Mackenzie.'

'That wouldn't be hard. If you do decide to go along with her request let me know and we'll see whether she fits what we've got. Now I'd better let you get back to work and catch those bombers of yours. We can't have the druggies blowing each other up: they could hurt too many innocent people.'