Pray for the Dying

Book 23: BOB SKINNER

by Quintin Jardine

Genres: General Fiction; City Life; Mystery; Hard-Boiled; Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

The killing was an expert hit. Three shots through the head, as the lights dimmed at a celebrity concert in Glasgow. A most public crime, and Edinburgh Chief Constable Bob Skinner is right in the centre of the storm. The crisis finds Skinner, his private life shattered by the shocking end of his marriage, taking a step that he had sworn he never would. Tasked by Scotland's First Minister with the investigation, he finds himself quickly uncovering some very murky deeds...The trail leads to London, where national issues compromise the hunt. Skinner has to rattle the bars of the most formidable cage in the country, and go head to head with its leading power brokers…

Release date: June 6, 2013

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 418

Sample

PreScript

From the Saltire newspaper, Sunday edition:

Strathclyde Chief Constable believed dead in Glasgow Concert Hall Shooting

By June Crampsey

Mystery still surrounds a shooting last night in Glasgow’s Royal Concert Hall in which a woman was killed in a VIP seat at a charity concert, inches away from Scotland’s First Minister, Clive Graham MSP. The identity of the victim has still to be confirmed officially, but it is believed that she was Antonia Field, the recently appointed Chief Constable of the Strathclyde Force, the second largest in the UK after London’s Met.

The killing was carried out by two men, who were themselves shot dead as they tried to escape, after murdering a police officer and critically wounding another.

A security cordon was thrown round the hall immediately after the incident, but reporters could see what appeared to be three bodies outside in Killermont Street, one of them in police uniform. A fourth man, said to be a police officer, was taken away by ambulance, and a spokesman for Glasgow Royal Infirmary confirmed later that he was undergoing emergency surgery for gunshot wounds.

Edinburgh Chief Constable Bob Skinner, husband of Scottish Labour leader Aileen de Marco who was a guest of the First Minister at the fund-raiser, took command at the scene. Briefing media in Glasgow City Chambers, he refused to name the victim, but did say that it was not his wife, nor was it the woman who had accompanied her to the concert, believed to be Edinburgh businesswoman Paula Viareggio, the partner of another senior police officer in the capital, Detective Chief Superintendent Mario McGuire.

Most of the eyewitnesses refused to speak to journalists as they were ushered away from the concert hall. Many seemed to be in shock. However, world-famous Scottish actor Joey Morocco, Master of Ceremonies for the evening, told the Saltire as he left, ‘There was complete confusion in there.

‘The conductor, Sir Leslie Fender, had just raised his baton and the house lights had dimmed when I heard three sounds that I know now were shots, one after the other. Then everything went completely dark, pitch black, and someone started screaming.

‘Before that, though,’ Mr Morocco continued, ‘I was standing in the wings and I was facing the audience. In the second or two before the lights went out, as the shots were fired, I saw movement in the front row. There were three women on the First Minister’s left.

‘Aileen, she’s a friend, by the way, she was sat furthest away from him, then her companion, Paula, and then the lady who’d arrived with Mr Graham. I don’t know her name, but somebody said she’s the chief constable. I saw her jerk in her seat then start to fall forward. That’s when the lights went out.

‘The emergency lighting came on automatically, after a few seconds. It wasn’t much good, but I could make out that the seat next to the First Minister was empty and that there was a shape on the floor.

‘There was panic after that. I heard Mr Graham shouting for help, then I could just make out a policeman rushing forward. I think it was Mr Allan, the assistant chief constable. I tried to use the mike but it was useless with the power being out, so I jumped up on to the conductor’s podium and yelled to everyone to stay in their seats and stay calm until the lighting was restored. But the people in the rows nearest the front, some of them realised what had happened and they started to panic.

‘Mr Graham was brilliant. He stood up, called out to everyone to stay where they were, for their own safety. It was an incredibly brave thing to do,’ Mr Morocco added. ‘He might have been the target himself and the gunman might still have been there, but he put himself right in the line of fire, then he took off his jacket and put it over the woman on the floor. That’s when I knew for sure that she was dead.

‘Thing is,’ he explained, ‘she was wearing a red dress. Normally at a big public event Aileen wears red, her party colours, but last night, for some reason, she didn’t. So I’m wondering if she was the intended target and whether the gunman just made a mistake.’

Addressing journalists in a hastily convened briefing in the Glasgow City Council Chambers, after being asked by the First Minister to take charge of the situation, Mr Skinner refused to comment on Mr Morocco’s speculation.

‘It’s way too early to be making any assumptions,’ he said firmly. ‘We believe we know who the shooters were, but we’re a long way from understanding their motives.’

Asked whether Al Qaeda might be involved, he replied, ‘I’m not ruling that out, but the gunmen were not Muslim and the nationality of a third person involved in the plot makes that highly unlikely. However, I can tell you that this was a well-planned operation carried out by people with special skills.

‘We’ve been able to establish already that the hall was blacked out by an explosion that took out the electricity substation serving the building. It was remotely detonated as soon as the shots had been fired. We’re also sure that the two men gained entrance to the building dressed as police officers, and ditched their disguises before trying to escape.’

He refused to go into detail on how they had been killed, or by whom.

When I spoke to him later, by telephone, he explained that neither of the victims could be identified before their next of kin had been told. He added that the First Minister was under close protection at his home, and that his wife was also being guarded at a secret location.



One

‘I put Paula in harm’s way, Mario,’ Bob Skinner murmured, as he gazed at his colleague, their faces pale in the glare of the freestanding spotlights that had been set up to illuminate the scene. ‘I am desperately sorry.’

Never before had Detective Chief Superintendent McGuire seen his boss looking apprehensive, and yet he was, there could be no mistaking it.

‘How exactly did you do that, sir?’ he replied, stiffly. ‘Your wife invited my wife to chum her to a charity concert. Given that Aileen is a former and possibly future First Minister of our country, most people would regard that as something of an honour.’

‘Someone tried to kill her,’ Skinner hissed. ‘There was intelligence that a hit was being planned. You know that; I knew it. I was asleep at the fucking wheel, or I’d have considered that as a possibility.’

‘Then it was Paula that saved her life, Bob,’ McGuire pointed out, more gently. ‘If she hadn’t told Aileen that she was wearing a red outfit, on account of her being so pregnant it was the only thing that would fit, then Aileen would have worn her usual colour.’

The chief constable frowned. ‘But Paula isn’t wearing red.’

‘No, she found something else. Thank your lucky stars again that she didn’t think to tell Aileen about it. Stop beating yourself up, man. Nobody’s going to blame you for anything, least of all me. Paula’s all right, she’s off the scene, and that’s an end of it.’

Skinner nodded towards the splayed body, a few yards away from where they stood, in front of the auditorium stage of Glasgow’s splendid concert arena. ‘She would blame me, if she could.’ He put a hand to an ear. ‘If I listen hard enough I reckon I’ll hear her. Five minutes, that’s all it would have taken. If we’d got to our informant five minutes earlier . . .’

‘You’d probably have been caught in traffic,’ his colleague countered, ‘and got here no quicker. Okay, if the Strathclyde communications centre hadn’t been on weekend mode, you might have got the word to ACC Allan and prevented the hit . . . but they were and you didn’t.’

‘Speaking of old Max,’ Skinner murmured, ‘how is he? I didn’t have time to talk to him when he met us at the entrance. “She’s dead,” he said. That was all. I assumed it was Aileen. I didn’t wait to hear any more. I just charged inside and left him there.’

‘He’s wasted; complete collapse. When I got there he was sitting on the steps in the foyer with his face in his hands. He had blood on them; it was all over his face, in his hair. He was a mess.’ He paused. ‘The guy you were with, the fellow who took Paula and Aileen away. I only caught a glimpse of him. Who is he?’

‘His name’s Clyde Houseman. Security Service; Glasgow regional office.’

‘He’s sound?’

‘Oh yes.’ Skinner’s eyes flashed. ‘Do you think for a minute I’d entrust our wives’ safety to him if I wasn’t sure of that? I told him to take them to the high security police station in Govan and to keep them there till he heard from me. And before you ask, there’s a doctor on the way there to check Paula out, given that she’s over eight months gone.’

‘But she was fine, as far as you could see?’ McGuire asked, anxiously.

‘Yes, like I said. Obviously, she got a fright at the time . . . not even Paula’s going to have the woman in the seat next to her shot through the head without batting an eyelid . . . but when I got to her she was calm and in control. Far more concerned about Toni Field than about herself.’

‘Did she see . . .’

‘Not much. Even when the emergency lighting came on, it wasn’t far short of pitch dark, and Clive Graham got between her and the body, and made his protection officers rush her and Aileen out of there, into the anteroom where I found them. Aileen screamed bloody murder, of course.’

‘Was she in shock?’

‘Hell no. It wasn’t from fright. She just didn’t want to leave. I’m a cynic where politicians are concerned, and my wife’s no different from any of them, maybe worse than most. She wanted to be seen here alongside Clive Graham, who appears to have been a complete fucking hero. He’ll get the headlines and Aileen was livid that she’ll be seen as a weak wee woman, hiding behind her husband. I wasn’t fucking wearing that, mate. I told Houseman to get them out of there, regardless of what she wanted, and I sent Graham’s people back to do their job.’ He grunted. ‘You know that actor guy, Joey Morocco? Didn’t he turn up on the bloody scene while all this was going on, demanding to know that Aileen was all right!’

‘Morocco? The movie star? What’s his interest in Aileen?’

‘The very question I put to him, but she said they were old friends. News to me, but they were all over each other. I might as well not have been here. He offered to take the girls to his place, but I told him that unless it was bomb-proof like the Govan nick, that wouldn’t be a starter. Then I told him to clear out, with the rest of the civilians.’

‘How long are you going to keep them there?’

The chief constable’s eyebrows rose. ‘Christ, Mario, I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ve been here for twenty-five minutes, that’s all, trying to keep this crime scene secure till the forensic team arrive. Anyway, this isn’t our patch. That’s an operational decision for . . .’

‘Indeed.’

Both police officers turned towards the newcomer. McGuire, irked by the interruption, frowned, but Skinner knew the voice well enough. ‘Clive,’ he murmured in greeting, as the First Minister stepped into the silver light, with his two personal protection officers no more than a yard behind him. He was tartan-clad, waistcoat and trousers, but no jacket. The chief constable guessed that garment was draped over the body of Toni Field.

The woman had been his arch-enemy. She had been a surprise choice as head of the Strathclyde force, a job for which he had declined to apply, in spite of the entreaties of his wife and of the retiring chief. Most Scots assumed, therefore, that she had been appointed by default, but Skinner recognised the quality of her CV, and even more important its breadth, with success in the Met and England’s Serious Crimes Agency added to relevant experience as chief constable of the West Midlands.

She and Skinner had been on a collision course from their first meeting, when it had become clear that Field was in support of the unified Scottish police force advocated by Clive Graham’s government, and that she expected to be appointed to lead it, regardless of his own ambitions.

As it happened, those no more included heading Graham’s proposed force than they had inclined him towards Strathclyde. Skinner was firmly against the idea, on principle. He had shunned the Glasgow job because he felt that a force that covered half of Scotland’s land mass and most of its population was itself too large.

He had always believed that policing had to be as locally responsible as possible, and when he had discovered a few days earlier that his wife, the First Minister’s chief political rival as leader of the Scottish Labour Party, intended to back unification and help rush it through the Holyrood parliament, their marriage had exploded. Aileen had moved back to her flat, ostensibly for a few days, but they knew, both of them, that it was for good.

‘How are you?’ he asked the First Minister. He had no personal issues with him. His position and that of his party had been clear from the start; his wife’s, he was convinced, was based on political expediency, pure and simple.

‘In need of another very stiff drink,’ Graham replied. ‘Yes, I’ve already had one, but I suspect I’m going to get the shakes pretty soon. What happened . . . it hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Please brief me, on everything. I can’t get any sense out of the locals, and my protection boys don’t know any more than I do.’

Both Skinner and McGuire realised that he was making a determined effort not to look at the thing on the floor.

‘Are the ladies safe?’ he continued.

‘Yes,’ Skinner replied.

‘The pregnant one? She’s . . .’

‘My wife,’ McGuire whispered.

The First Minister stared at him.

‘This is DCS McGuire,’ Skinner explained. ‘My head of CID. I had promised my kids some attention today, so Aileen invited Paula to use the other ticket.’ Not a lie, not the whole truth. ‘And yes, thank you. She’s okay. Obviously Mario here will be keeping her in cotton wool from now on, but she’ll be fine, I’m sure.’

‘That’s good to hear. Now, do you believe there’s a continuing threat?’

‘No, I don’t, but we shouldn’t take any chances.’

‘What happened? None of us really knows, Bob. Who was it? Did they get away?’

‘It was a professional hit team. Originally there were three, but one of them, the planner, died a few days ago, unexpectedly, of natural causes. The body was dumped in Edinburgh. The other two didn’t think for a minute we’d identify him, but we did, and as soon as we knew who he was, we knew as well that something was up. We guessed the venue, but we got the target wrong. We thought they were after the pianist, the guy who was supposed to be playing at this thing.’

‘Theo Fabrizzi?’

‘Yes. For all his name, he’s Lebanese, and he’s a hate figure for the Israelis. We didn’t find out any of this until the last minute. When we did, we got him out of here. You were probably told he’d been taken ill, but that was bollocks. The guy’s a fanatic, a martyr with a piano; he wouldn’t back off, so we arrested him and took him away, spitting feathers, but safe.’

‘My God,’ the First Minister exclaimed. ‘Why wasn’t I told this at the time?’

‘We were too busy sorting the situation out,’ Skinner shot back, irritably. ‘Or so we thought. And there was another reason,’ he added. ‘I shouldn’t have to tell you that your devolved powers do not include counter-terrorism. That’s reserved for Westminster.

‘As soon as we identified Cohen, the planner, MI5 got involved, with the Home Secretary pulling the strings. There had been intelligence that a hit was planned in the UK, but no details. With Cohen and his team in Scotland, assumptions were made, and we all bought into the piano player as the target. Then the Home Secretary got brave . . . God save us all from courageous politicians in fucking bunkers in Whitehall, Clive . . . and decided that she wanted her people to catch the rest of the team. She declared that it was a Five operation, and that the police shouldn’t be alerted, in case of crossed wires.’

‘So how did you get involved?’

‘I was in play by that time, having asked them for help in identifying Cohen.’

Graham’s face was creased into a frown that made him unrecognisable as the beaming man on the election posters. ‘But if . . .’ he growled.

Skinner nodded. ‘There was someone else involved, the man who supplied the weapons. My MI5 colleague and I got to him,’ he paused and checked his watch, ‘less than ninety minutes ago. We interrogated him and he told us that from a remark by one of the shooters, when they collected the guns last night, the target was definitely female.

‘Obviously that changed everything. At that point . . .’ he paused, ‘. . . well, frankly, it was fuck the Home Secretary’s orders. We headed straight through here. I tried to stop the event, but in all this mighty police force, Clive, I could not find anyone willing to take responsibility, until it was too late. You know what happened then.’

‘What about the terrorists? Did they escape in all the confusion? Nobody can tell me, or will.’

‘They’re dead. They were making their escape when we arrived. They’d just shot the two cops manning the door.’ He sighed, shuddered for a second, and shook his head. ‘Fortunately my Five sidekick was armed or we’d have been in trouble. We didn’t negotiate. Captain Houseman killed one. I took down the other one as he tried to run off. But don’t be calling these guys terrorists, Clive. They weren’t. No, they were . . .’

He broke off as his personal mobile phone . . . he carried two . . .  sounded in his pocket. He took it out and peered at the screen, ready to reject the call if it was Aileen spoiling for a renewed fight, but it was someone else. ‘Excuse me,’ he told the First Minister. ‘I have to take this.’

Graham nodded. ‘Of course.’

He slid the arrow to accept, and put the phone to his ear, moving a few paces away from the group, skirting Toni Field’s body as he did so.

‘Hi, Sarah,’ he murmured.

‘Bob!’ she exclaimed. Skinner’s ex-wife was cool and not given to panic, but the anxiety in her voice was undeniable.

‘Where are you? Are you okay? What’s happened? I’ve just had a call from Mark. He told me he heard a news flash on radio about a shooting in Glasgow, at an event with the First Minister and Aileen. That’s the event that she and Paula were going to this evening, isn’t it? He says someone’s dead and that your name was mentioned. Honey, what is it? Is it Aileen?’

‘Shit,’ he hissed. ‘So soon. They’re not saying that, are they, that it’s Aileen?’

‘I’m not sure what they said but Mark was left wondering if it might be. He’s scared, Bob, and most of all he’s scared for you.’

‘In that case, love, please call him back and calm him down. Yes, I am at the scene, yes, there is a casualty here, and others outside, but none of them are Aileen or anyone else he knows. And it’s certainly not Paula. They’re both safe.’

‘But how about you?’ Her voice was strident.

‘You can hear me, can’t you? I’m okay too. I might not be in the morning, when it all sinks in, but I am fine now, and in control of myself.’ As if to demonstrate, he paused then lowered his voice as he continued. ‘Are you alone?’ he asked. ‘Are you at home?’

‘Yes, of course, to both.’

‘Good. In that case, I need you to do a couple of things. Call Trish,’ their children had a full-time carer; their sons had reached an age at which they refused to allow her to be called a nanny, ‘and have her take the kids to your place. As soon as you’ve done that, get hold of my grown-up daughter. I’m guessing she hasn’t heard about this yet, or she’d have called me, but Alex being Alex, she’s bound to find out soon. She may be at home; if not, try her mobile . . . do you have the number?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine, if you can’t raise her on either of those, try Andy’s place. Tell her what I’ve told you. I don’t have time to do it myself; the fan’s pretty much clogged up with shit here.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘That remains to be seen, but I’ll keep you in touch.’

‘When will you be out of there?’

‘Same answer.’

‘When you are,’ she told him, ‘come here first. It’s important that the kids see you as soon as they can.’

‘Yes, sure.’

‘What about Aileen?’

‘What do you mean?’ Bob asked.

‘Will she be coming back with you?’

‘No,’ he replied, with a sound that might have been a chuckle or a grunt, ‘not even in protective custody. I told you last night, she and I are done.’

He glanced to his right. The First Minister and McGuire had been joined by a youngish man, in a dark suit. Strained though it was, his face was familiar to Skinner, but he found himself unable to put a name to it. Graham caught his eye, and he realised that they were waiting for him to finish his call. ‘Now, I must go,’ he said.

‘Take care,’ Sarah murmured.

‘Don’t I always?’

‘No.’

A brief smile flickered on his lips, but it was gone before he returned his phone to his pocket. He rejoined the group, and as he did so he remembered who the newcomer was. They had met at a reception hosted by his wife, during her time as Clive Graham’s predecessor in office.

‘Bob,’ the First Minister began, ‘this is . . .’

‘I know: Councillor Dominic Hanlon, chair of Strathclyde Police Authority.’ He extended his hand and they shook. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

Hanlon whistled, softly. ‘I could say something very inappropriate right now. It’s an open secret that you and Toni didn’t get on.’

‘You’ve just said it, Mr Hanlon,’ Skinner snapped. ‘You’re right; it’s as far from appropriate as you can get. Are you implying I’m glad to see her dead?’

‘No, no!’ The man held his hands up, in a defensive gesture, but the chief constable seemed to ignore him.

‘Colleagues don’t always agree,’ he went on, ‘any more than politicians. Like you two for example; anywhere else you’d be at each other’s ideological throats.’ He felt his anger grow, make him take the councillor by the elbow. ‘Come here,’ he growled. He pulled him towards the body on the floor, knelt beside it and removed the covering jacket, carefully.

‘This is what we’re dealing with here, chum. Look, remember it.’ The back of the head was caked red, and mangled where three bullets had torn into it. The right eye and a section of forehead above it were missing and there was brain tissue on the carpet.

Hanlon recoiled, with a howl that reminded the chief constable of a small animal in pain, as he replaced the makeshift cover.

‘Poor Toni Field and I might have had different policing agendas,’ he said, ‘but we each of us devoted our careers to hunting down the sort of people who would do that sort of thing to another human being. You remember that next time you chair your fucking committee.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the younger man murmured.

‘You want to know how I feel?’ Skinner, not ready to let up, challenged. ‘I feel angry, so walk carefully around me, chum.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Hanlon said, patting him on the sleeve as if to mollify him. ‘Surely, the chances are it wasn’t Toni they were after. Everybody outside is saying it’s Aileen that’s been shot . . . our Aileen, we call her in Glasgow. There’s folk in tears out there.

‘I thought it was her myself until the First Minister told me otherwise. Only the people in the front row could possibly know what’s really happened and I doubt if any of them do. They all think it’s Aileen because that’s the natural assumption. I think these people made a mistake, and shot the wrong woman.’

‘For God’s sake, man!’ Graham barked, beside him. ‘This is Aileen’s husband, don’t you realise that?’

‘Yes, of course! Sorry.’ The councillor seemed to collapse into his own confusion.

Skinner held up a hand. ‘Stop!’ he boomed. ‘Enough. We’ll get to that, and to Dominic’s theory. First things first.’ He turned to McGuire. ‘Mario, did you come through here alone?’

‘No, boss,’ the massive DCS answered. ‘Lowell Payne, DCI Payne, our Strathclyde secondee, he’s with me. He’s outside in the foyer; it was sheer chaos when we arrived, with no sign of anybody in command, so I told him to take control out there, calm people down as best he could, and move them out the other exit, so they wouldn’t go past bodies outside.’

The chief nodded. ‘Well done, mate. My priority was in here when I arrived. With Max Allan not making any sense, all I could do was get hold of a uniformed inspector and tell him to contain the audience within the hall, until we could be sure that there was no further threat outside. Where is everyone?’

‘Payne said he would gather them in the foyer and in the smaller theatre. There’s enough back-up lighting for that to be managed safely.’

‘Okay, that sounds fine. Now, you shouldn’t really be here at all, but you charged through here like a red-taunted bull as soon as you heard your wife might be in danger. Whatever, your priority will always be her. Get yourself off to the Govan police station, pick her up from there and take her home.’

‘What about Aileen?’ McGuire asked.

‘She stays there, till someone in authority says otherwise. Find Clyde Houseman and tell him from me that he takes no instructions from anyone below chief officer rank. On your way, now.’

He turned back to the politicians. ‘Now. You two were working up to say something before Dominic here put his foot in it. What was it?’

‘We’ve got a crisis, Bob,’ Graham replied. ‘Strathclyde is in trouble, and that’s putting it mildly. The chief constable is dead, the deputy chief took early retirement a fortnight ago, Max Allan, the senior ACC, has just been taken away in an ambulance with severe chest pains, and the two other ACCs are far too new and inexperienced in post to move into the top job, even on a temporary basis . . . and even without the force facing one of the highest-profile murder investigations it’s ever known, as this will become.’

Hanlon nodded, vigorously. ‘As you’ve just pointed out to me, Mr Skinner, graphically, this is a major crime, and even if Toni’s killers . . . and the killers of one, maybe two police officers . . . are lying dead in the street outside, the matter isn’t closed.’

‘Maybe three, maybe four,’ Skinner murmured.

The Police Authority chairman blinked. ‘Eh?’

‘How did they get the uniforms? We don’t know that. Did they bring them, or did they take them from two other cops we haven’t found yet?’

‘My God,’ Hanlon gasped. ‘I hadn’t thought about that.’

‘Bob,’ the First Minister intervened. ‘This investigation needs a leader. This whole force needs a leader and it needs him now. We don’t have time for niceties here. I want to appoint you acting chief constable of Strathclyde, pending confirmation by an emergency meeting of Dominic’s authority. That will take place tomorrow morning.’

‘Me?’ Skinner gasped. ‘Strathclyde? The force whose very existence I’ve opposed for years? Is there nobody else? What about Andy Martin? He’s head of the Serious Crime and Drug Enforcement Agency. He could do the job.’

Graham shook his head. ‘He could, I agree, but everybody knows he’s your protégé, not to mention him being your daughter’s partner. He’d be seen as second choice, and I can’t have that. I need the best man available, and that is you. Please, help me. Your deputy in Edinburgh is more than capable; she can stand in there. Please take the job; in the public interest, Bob, even if it does go against your own beliefs.’

Skinner stared at him. ‘You’ve really boxed me in, man, haven’t you?’

‘It’s not something I’d have chosen to do.’

‘No, I believe you. That’s the way it is, nonetheless.’ He sighed. ‘Fuck it!’ he shouted, into the darkness of the empty hall.

‘Can I take that as a yes?’ the First Minister whispered.



Two

‘And you’ve agreed?’

‘What else could I do, Andy? The Police Authority meets tomorrow to confirm it formally, and it’ll be announced on Monday. But it’s for three months, that’s all. I’ve made that clear.’

There was a silence on Andy Martin’s end of the line, until he broke it with a soft chuckle. ‘Would that be as clear as you’ve made it to anyone who would listen that you would never take the job under any circumstances?’

‘Yes, okay, I have said that,’ Skinner conceded. ‘But,’ he protested, ‘who could have predicted these particular circumstances?’

‘Nobody,’ his best friend conceded. ‘That’s why the “any” part of it was a mistake. Now let me make a prediction. However hard it was for you to get into the job, it will be harder for you to get out.’

‘Nonsense! I said three months and I meant it. They’ll be glad to see me go, Andy. The politicians will hate me here; remember, most of them are followers of my soon to be ex-wife.’

‘Your what?’ Martin exclaimed. ‘Come on, Bob. Alex told me you’d had a row over police unification, but I’d no idea it was that serious. You’ll get over it, surely.’

‘No,