He paused and frowned. 'Ministers, though, that's another matter.
I don't know this new Secretary of State at al . What's he like?'
Skinner shrugged his shoulders. 'I barely know him either,' he said. 'I've met him twice, to brief him on outstanding matters. On each occasion he just listened, barely said a word.'
'What do we know about him?'
'He's squeaky clean. He's a doctor by profession. He was a GP for five years, till he landed his seat in the wilds of Glasgow.'
'Pro-police or anti, would you say?'
The DCC thought the question over. 'Pro-himself more than anything else. He wants to climb the tree. I reckon he'd step on his own granny to reach a higher branch.'
'Watch him, then,' warned Proud.
He swung round in his chair. 'Bob,' he ventured, suddenly tentative.
'About Pamela. Would it make life easier for you if I gave her a job on my personal staff?'
Skinner looked at him, surprised. 'Yes, Jimmy, it would. But it would make life more difficult for you, so I would be against it.
'The thought's much appreciated,' he said. 'But Andy and I are considering Pam's career options. And soon, I'm going to have to let her in on our thinking.'
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34
'This could be nothing, but there is a chance that it could be a life-or-death situation.' Detective Chief Superintendent Martin looked round the group of officers gathered in Farmer Carr's driveway.
There were twenty of them, al but one of them men, and apart from the Head of CID, Detective Superintendent Mackie, and DCI Rose, they were all in uniform. Most were carrying carbines.
'The caravan's in the middle of open country,' he said. 'The chopper's just done another overflight, and there's still no sign of any car. There's no obvious place close by where one could be hidden either. There's an old barn a mile away, but that's been checked.
'Now there is no hard evidence of a connection with the kidnapper.
However, Mr Carr's description of the man's featureless accent is in line with the tape the boss received. Added to that is the fact that we've checked the number plate on the caravan. It's entirely fictitious.
'Because of all that, I'm not taking any chances.
'The road approach to the van is blocked off already. Now I want a dozen armed men deployed on vantage points around the area, out of sight in the heather, just in case our suspect is in there.
'The best outcome here wil be for the child to be in the caravan, alive and alone. I needn't say what the worst would be, but the most difficult would be if the kidnapper and Mark were both inside.'
He looked around the officers once more. 'So how do we approach the caravan? The thing is bang in the middle of open country. If we try to rush it and they're both inside, chances are we'll be seen before we're halfway there.
'There isn't any way we can sneak up on it safely either. There are windows al around. No,' said Martin, 'I propose that two people, man and woman, should walk right up to it and knock on the door, as if they're hikers asking for directions; water; to use the toilet; anything.'
He looked at Mackie and Rose. 'Brian, Mags, it's down to you, I think. My face has been al over the papers, and the telly, since this started. I can't take the chance that he'll recognise me. You two okay with that?'
Mackie nodded. Rose replied, 'Of course, sir. I've got a better plan than just walking up to the door though.'
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'Fine, so just make it work. Now you'll both be armed. If the man does open the door to you, grab him, down him and put a gun to his head until he's cuffed.'
The Superintendent looked up at Martin. 'What if he opens the door with a gun in his hand?'
'If he does that,' the blond detective replied, 'then both of you stand aside. I'l be covering you myself. If he shows a weapon, then he goes down.' He waited for a few seconds, then nodded to one of the uniformed officers. 'Inspector Brown, get the marksmen in position.
'Chief Inspector, fil me in on your plan of approach. Let's get this operation moving.'
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Skinner picked up the nearest of the three telephones on his desk and punched in an extension number.
'Sergeant Masters,' said the bright voice on the other end.
'Hello, Sergeant. DCC Skinner here. Word from the Board meeting. The motion was not pressed.'
He heard her gasp with surprise. 'That's great. What happened?'
'The Chief read his own version of the Riot Act, and put the fear of God into the enemy. I'l tell you tonight how he did it. So long for now.'
'Bye.'
He had barely hung up, when there was a knock on the door.
'Okay!' he called. It opened and Alan Royston came into the room.
He was holding a mini-cassette.
'I thought you might like to hear this, sir,' he began. 'It's a tape of the Radio Forth news bul etin at the top of the hour. Council or Maley's on it complaining about the Chief bul ying the Chair of the Police Board, as she puts it.'
The DCC grinned. 'From what I hear, she's right about that. Does she say anything about me?'
'She says that in the circumstances she didn't press for a vote, because she knew that the Chief would ignore it anyway. She winds up complaining about his general y threatening behaviour . . . her words again.' The press officer paused. 'And she says she still thinks that you should be censured,' he concluded.
What about Pam?'
'Her name wasn't mentioned.'
'How will the written media report her?' asked Skinner.
'I don't think that it'l be too serious, sir. She isn't saying anything about you that she hasn't said before. As for the Chief, he's like Edinburgh's favourite uncle. No-one can really see him as a bully and a tyrant.'
The DCC laughed. 'Apart from the Police Board, that is. So, Alan, are Pam and I yesterday's news?'
Royston's mood changed in an instant. 'I hope so, sir. But I hear from a source that Salmon's still hell of a pleased with himself. He's giving everyone the impression that there's another exclusive coming 120
out this weekend.' He hesitated. 'I'm sorry, sir, but it's my job to ask you this. You can't think of any other potential skeleton, can you?'
Skinner frowned. 'What, you mean like Pam being pregnant?'
Royston reddened.
'Don't worry, Alan, she's not. Bad-taste joke, sorry No Salmon hasn't been near Sarah ... nor has anyone else from the Spotlight, or I would know about it. So it won't be anything involving her. Apart from my relationship with Pam, I can't think of anything else that Salmon could possibly have on me that would interest his readers.
'But look here, you keep in touch with your sources. Anything you can find out would be welcome.'
'Yes, sir. Equal y, if anything does occur to you . . .'
Skinner glowered at him. 'Alan,' he said, in a grinding tone. 'That little bastard of a journalist is not going to make me into a goldfish.
There are aspects of my life that are going to stay private, even from you.'
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Maggie Rose clung to Brian Mackie with her right arm as tightly as she had ever held her husband. The difference was that she was wearing walking clothes and hopping on her left foot.
Together, they crested the rise above the caravan until they were in ful sight of anyone who happened to be watching from inside. They were approaching from the opposite direction to the farmhouse, an injured rambler and her escort, in search of help.
The tourer was long and white, with a television aerial on top, and it looked virtual y new. Two windows faced them, above the tow-bar and the gas bottle which sat upon it, and on what would have been the off-side on the road. Behind both, curtains were partly drawn.
They looked at the van only occasional y as they approached, but neither could see any signs of occupancy. As they approached, Mackie called out. 'Hello. Anyone there?' He and Rose watched carefully for signs of anyone moving inside, but saw not as much as a tremor.
Soon they reached the door, which was accessed by three portable steps. 'Lean against the van, love,' said the superintendent, loud enough to be heard by anyone who might be inside. 'I'l knock.'
He stood on the middle step and rapped the door firmly with the knuckles of his left hand. His jacket was open, giving him instant access to his pistol in its holster, beneath his left armpit.
The silence from within the caravan was unbroken. He knocked again. Finally, he waved a hand in the air, as a sign to the hidden watchers, reached up and tried the handle of the door. To his surprise and that of Rose, it swung open, outwards, at his touch.
Instinctively, both officers drew their guns. 'I'm going in, Maggie,'
said Mackie, and a moment later launched himself through the doorway, into the living area inside.
The caravan was empty, or so it seemed. There was a toilet cubicle in one corner, and a tall cupboard beside the door. Mackie opened both and looked inside, then checked the sliding doors of the storage areas under the window seats.
'Okay, Maggie,' he cal ed out at last. 'It's empty. Signal Andy, would you please.'
Outside, Rose waved both arms above her head in an al -clear gesture. Twenty-one men, all but one in uniform, stood up awkwardly 122
from their concealment in the heather. Handing his carbine to the man closest to him, Martin bounded down the slope towards her, and together they joined Mackie in the suspect van.
Martin looked round, careful y. 'It's as clean as a whistle, isn't it?
There's not a sign of occupancy.'
Mackie lifted the metal lid which covered the burners of the gas hob. 'This has been cleaned,' he said. 'You can still smell the Flash.'
So have all the other work-surfaces,' said Rose. 'Within the last couple of days, probably. There's barely a sign of dust.' She opened the cubicle door once more and checked inside. 'The chemical toilet's been emptied too, but there's bleach in the pan, so it has been used.'
'Radio communications are hopeless up here,' said Martin, stepping back to the door. 'Inspector,' he called outside. 'Send someone back to the farmhouse. Use Mr Carr's phone to order a team of technicians up here.' He turned back to Mackie and Rose.
'This guy's been very efficient, but let's turn the place over quickly ourselves, just in case he's missed something.'
Each taking one third of the caravan, the three detectives began to search quickly and efficiently, looking inside empty drawers, behind curtains, inside the oven, under the movable squabs of the window seats for any scrap which might lead them eventually to the identity of the man who had brought the vehicle to its isolated parking place.
'Nothing this end,' cal ed Maggie Rose from near the door, after ten minutes.
The neither,' said Mackie, from the kitchen area.
'No,' said Martin. 'Nowt here either that I can see.' As he spoke he made to pick up the squab of the seat beneath the end window, but it was secure. He tugged either end to make sure that it was indeed immovable, and was about to turn away when his eye was caught by a glint, just where the upholstery nestled against the wall. He leaned forward and forced a gap with his right index finger, working away until he freed an object.
'What's this, then?' he muttered to himself. It was in fact a piece of foil, folded over double. As he straightened it a slip of brown waxy paper fell out.
He picked it up and spread out the foil. 'Look at this,' he said to his col eagues. 'Transway. It's the cover off a "rich and creamy"
yoghurt, complete with best-before date, five days hence.' He looked at the paper. 'Haifa Mars bar label. And,' he said, almost triumphantly,
'there's a bar code on it.'
'Where's the nearest Transway supermarket?' asked Mackie.
'Haddington,' said Martin and Rose in unison. The DCS handed over both items to the Superintendent, holding each careful y by the corner. 'I suggest,' he said, 'that you take the wrapper down there, and find out what they can tell you from that bar code.
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'I don't imagine it'l identify the transaction, but it should tel you whether they sold it and when. The technicians can have a look at the yoghurt top. If they can get a print off it, I'l bet you it was left by Mark McGrath.'
Maggie Rose looked at him, astutely. 'D'you think Mark planted those deliberately, hoping that we'd find them eventually?'
'God knows,' said Martin. 'He's a clever and resourceful wee boy, no doubt, but that might be expecting too much of him.'
Rose smiled as she remembered her first encounter with the missing child. 'I only hope,' she said earnestly, 'that we have a chance to ask him.'
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'What's wrong?' Pamela asked from the kitchen doorway. She was leaning against the jamb, wrapped in her short dressing-gown, looking anxiously at Skinner.
He was reading the Scotsman, which he had picked up from the corner newsagent's towards the end of his early-morning run. His teeshirt and shorts were plastered to him, soaked with sweat.
'Hey, Bob,' she called, as he failed to answer her. 'Remember me, the woman you sleep with? I live here. Now, what's wrong?'
He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled apologetically.
'Ach, it's the bloody press again, love. They didn't like being kicked out of the Police Board meeting yesterday, so they're having another indirect pop at me.'
'What are they saying?'
He folded the paper, and threw it down on to the work-surface.
'They've given some space to Aggie Maley's beef about the way the meeting was run, and her criticism of the Topham woman. In the process they've rehashed al that shite from the weekend, and said that my position remains "difficult", as they put it.'
She crossed the kitchen and took his arm, squeezing it. 'Don't let it get to you. It was predictable that they'd carry something. What page was it on?'
'Five.'
'There you are then,' she said, in an encouraging tone. 'Alan was right. The story's running out of steam. We're not Page One news any more.'
He frowned. 'I don't care to be Page Anything news, thanks. Not in this way, at least.'