'Aye, sure,' the DCC replied. 'Mail first though, Gerry, eh? Is it all in
my office, or has Neil got it?'
'Mr Chase told me to leave it where it was, sir. He wants to see you right
away.'
'Tell him to go and fuck himself.'' Skinner stilled the retort on the launch
pad. Instead, eyes narrowing slightly, he said simply, Tell him I'll be in my
room: then get me my mail.'
'Very good, sir.' Crossley was reaching for his telephone even as the big
detective left the office.
He had only just hung up his jacket and settled into his chair, when
there was a knock at the door. Before he could reply, it opened, and
Ted Chase strode into the room, brushing aside the Chief Constable's
secretary, almost knocking to the floor Skinner's pile of mail, which he
was carrying.
Not bothering to suppress his sigh, the DCC stood up and pointed to the
low leather sofas in one corner of the big panelled room. 'Ted,' he snapped,
testily. 'Sit your arse down there.
'Gerry, thanks son. Just put that lot on my desk, then leave us.'
Chase was still standing as Crossley left the room. Skinner looked at
him, frowning as he poured two mugs of coffee.
'Manners matter, you know,' he said. 'Gerry's a civilian employee; you
wouldn't barge past a uniformed officer like that, and you sure as hell don't
do it to him.'
Chase seemed to relax his ramrod stance just a fraction. 'Sorry,' he
conceded. 'It's just that.. . Well, I was expecting you earlier.'
Skinner felt his temper rise in earnest; he made a conscious effort to
control it and almost succeeded. 'Listen,' he hissed icily. 'As far as I know,
I don't report to you ... not yet, at any rate. You want to know where I am,
ask Mcllhenney; he always knows. You want to see me, just ask. Don't
summon me, and don't lurk behind my fucking door. Okay?'
'I won't be intimidated, Bob,' the ACC countered.
The big detective shook his steel-grey head. 'I'm not trying to intimidate
you. I wouldn't; you're a brother officer. I am simply telling you a couple
of things that will make it easier for us to get on. Tact and diplomacy can be
bloody difficult for career coppers like us ... Jimmy has them both in
abundance; that's what makes him so good . . . but we need to show them
some time.'
30
AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN
He smiled, forcing himself to be conciliatory. 'Anyway, what's the
problem, man? I hadn't put you down as a panic merchant.' He handed him
one of the mugs. 'Look, sit down and tell me about it.'
Chase shifted a document to his left hand as he took the coffee.
'What's that?' asked Skinner.
'It's what I have to talk to you about. Believe me, Bob, when you see it,
you'll see that I was being tactful.' He handed the paper over as he settled
himself into one of the low sofas. 'It arrived by special messenger yesterday
afternoon. It was addressed to the Chief and it was stamped as urgent. In
his absence, and in yours, I deemed it proper to open it. Read it.'
The DCC took the document. 'Private and confidential,' he read. 'To
Chief Constable Sir James Proud from Assistant Commissioner Hector
Plumpton.
'Sir, I regret to have to make a formal report to you regarding an incident
which took place in Regent Street just after 11 p.m. last Friday . . .
'Bugger it!' he shouted, throwing the paper on to the coffee table. 'I
know what this is. I had wind of it at the weekend, and I asked Neil to try to
put a stop to it. Obviously, someone in London didn't get the message.'
'Be that as it may . . .'
'Yes?!'
'It's a complaint, Bob. A complaint against a senior officer.'
'Your senior officer.'
'Be that as it may too... I'll even forget your admission that you tried to
have it suppressed.'
Skinner had given up the fight against his temper. 'Suppressed! If I had
known the man would be that stupid
'Well, he has been! Now, what are we going to do about it?'
'We are going to do eff all. You are going to give that piece of shit to
Proud Jimmy, to whom it was addressed in the first place.'
'But he won't be back till tomorrow.'
'Aye? So?'
Chase pushed himself to his feet and walked across to the window. 'Do
I have to spell it out? That report questions your fitness for duty; it
recommends that you be given a psychiatric assessment. In those
circumstances, is it right that you continue in acting command of this force,
even for a single day? What would you do if you were in my place?'
'I'd sit you down and ask you what happened. Then I'd accept your
word.'
Then you'd be in default of your duty. Listen, help me keep this thing
in-house; let me call someone in, right now, to have a talk with you.
O'Malley, for example; he's our top consultant, isn't he? That'll be the end
of it.'
Skinner looked him in the eye, unblinking. 'You try that and it'll be the
end of you, pal. No one, not even Kevin, is rummaging around in my head;
not ever. I'll tell you something, Ted. For all your gauche attempts to take
over my job, I respect you as a sincere man. That's why you haven't made
an enemy of me. Believe me ... and this is not intimidation .. . you don't
want to.'
'Then help me deal with this.'
'Okay.'
The DCC stood, took two steps across to his desk, and picked up the
phone. 'Gerry,' he said, 'I want to speak to the Commissioner of the
Metropolitan Police.' He put the instrument down, then sat in silence in his
swivel chair, waiting. It was over a minute before it rang again.
Skinner picked it up, his expression stony. 'Paddy? Bob here,' he
began.
'Good to speak to you too. Yes, I thought last week was a great success;
well done to your people for setting it up.
'Listen, I've got a problem up here that you can sort for me with one
phone call. Last Friday night, I reported an incident in Regent Street.' He
paused.
'You heard about it? Then did you know that one of your AC's, a guy
called Plumpton, has written to Jimmy making a formal complaint against
me, on the ground of wasting police time?
'Yup, that's right. I've got it on my desk right now.' Watching, Chase
saw him give a tight unconscious smile. 'No? Well, you'd better fucking
believe it. I'll fax it to you if you like.
'It says that there was no evidence to back up my report, and goes on to
suggest that I'm a fucking nut case. Well maybe I am, but someone
discharged a shotgun in my direction, for sure. If I'd caught him, I'd have
asked him if he had fired a blank, but probably not until after I'd killed
him.
'What would I like you to do? I'd like you to send me Assistant
Commissioner Plumpton's head on a plate. Failing that, I'd like an immediate
letter to Jimmy withdrawing that report and a personal letter from the man
apologising for doubting the word of a fellow officer. If his signature's in
32
AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN
blood, I'll accept it with good grace.'
He paused, then smiled, broadly
this time. 'Aye, okay, I'll do without
the blood. But thanks for the rest. I appreciate it. So will Louise. Aye, she
was there; you understand why I got her off the scene right away? Sure, for
the best.
'And mine to Eleanor. So long.'
Skinner's smile disappeared as he replaced the receiver and looked across
at Chase. 'There you are, Ted. I'm off the hook, and so are you. I'll keep
that nonsense and give it to Jimmy himself. Have you spoken to anyone
else about it?'
'No,' the ACC replied. 'Not even Crossley.'
'Fine. That's how it'll stay, then.'
'The reference to someone called Louise. What was that about?'
'My business, if it's all the same to you. The Commissioner knew about
it, because his car dropped me off in Shaftesbury Avenue after the closing
session of the conference.'
'Okay, if you say so. But Bob, what about the incident itself? Aren't you
concerned that someone shot at you . . . even if it was a blank?'
'Sure I'm concerned. But there's nothing I can do about it, not unless
and until the guy comes back for another go. It could have been anything,
Ted. The conference was publicised; the chances are that some clown with
a grudge against authority read about it in the Evening Standard and decided
to stage a stunt, make a point, whatever.'
'Can you remember anything about him?'
The DCC snorted. 'Well seen no one's ever shot at you, mate. When it
happens, all you can see is the fucking gun.'
'No, no one ever has, I'm glad to say. But then I'm not your sort of
policeman.'
'No, you're not, are you? You'll never be like me, nor I like you; which
is just as well for the sake of good order. We need traditionalists in the
force, guys like you and Jimmy, who've at home in a uniform, as well as
door-kickers-in like me and Mcllhenney.'
'And Martin, I suppose,' Chase interjected.
'No, no. Andy's inherently a manager. He's better than I was as Head of
CID. He lets the divisional heads do their job; I was always out there leading
the charge. I still am on occasion; I can't help it.'
Skinner wandered back to the sofas and sat down, picking up his
lukewarm coffee. 'You still after my job, then?' he asked casually.
'Bob,' the ACC protested, 'it's not that. I believe in that paper I wrote.
It's honest, at least give me that.'
'Sure. And you have ambitions; give me that.'
'I can't deny it. What's wrong with that?'
'Not a bloody thing. I have some of those too; I just keep them close.
No, that's not what worries me about you. To be frank, I think you're a
zealot. Zeal and ambition can be a terrifying combination, especially in
senior policemen ... oh, aye, and generals.' He took a sip from his mug.
'Ever heard of Matthew Hopkins?'
'No. Policeman?'
'No.'
'General then?'
'Sort of. Three hundred and fifty years ago he styled himself the Witch
Finder General. He ran a personal crusade in England against witchcraft;
he went from village to village uncovering so-called necromancers. Torture
was forbidden even then, so he tended to use so-called bloodless methods,
sleep deprivation, mainly ... you could say he was ahead of his time ... to
extract confessions from his victims. Up to four hundred innocent people
were hanged because of him, in only a few years.
'Actually, Hopkins did it for money, but it was his zeal that let him get
away with it. He commanded authority.'
'But . . .' Chase spluttered, comically. In spite of himself, Skinner
laughed.
'It's okay, I'm not saying you're another Hopkins. But you seem to me
to have the zealot's belief in The Way Things Should Be. I don't see any
bending in you, no compromise.'
'I don't compromise my beliefs.'
'No, but are you tolerant of those of others? I don't think so.'
'Does that matter, if you're right?'
Skinner threw back his head.' "Extremism in the defence of Liberty is no
vice!"' he quoted. 'Barry Goldwater said that in 1964; happily the electorate
didn't agree with him, and he didn't become President of the United States.
It's not so well remembered that he also said, in the same speech, that
moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue. As a philosophy, that's
even more dangerous to civil liberties.
'Know what his campaign slogan was? In your heart you know he's
right.
'You see, I believe that at heart you're a Goldwater Republican, Ted,
AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN
and I won't have one of them running this force, either as Chief, or Deputy,
not never, not nohow.'
'Can you prevent it?'
'I think so. I have my own constituency, and it's pretty powerful. As
perhaps you've just seen.'
The DCC stood once more. 'Now, with all that clear, maybe you and I
can just accept that we have fundamental differences in our beliefs, and
use the contrast between us if we can to help us work together in the best
interests of this force and the people it serves.'
Sammy Pye watched the door close on the last of the divisional commanders,
then switched on his computer, to begin typing up his meeting note. The
session had gone on for longer than usual, thanks mainly to the extended
brainstorming over the missing fish.
He had just booted up Microsoft Word and opened a customised template
when the phone rang. 'DS Pye,' he announced, still feeling a prickle of
pride at his new rank.
'Sam, thank goodness you're there.'
One of the things he loved about Ruth was her assuredness. Naturally,
she had been upset when he had gone out to the car in Cumbernauld to
break the bad news about her uncle. There had been tears when he had told
her; there had been anger when he had prevented her from going into the
bathroom; there had been self-recrimination when he had told her that the
old man appeared to have been dead for some time. But it all had passed
over, and the self-possessed woman had reasserted herself quickly, staying
calm as the duty doctor and the police had arrived, even as the paramedics
took the body off to the mortuary.
Now, he picked up the tension in her tone at once.
'What's up, love?' he asked.
'It's the police. They're being difficult; they won't let me make
arrangements for Uncle John's funeral.'
'Eh? Why the hell not?'
'That's just it. They won't tell me. I don't like it, Sam. They won't tell
me anything. There's even worse than that, too. I went to Cumbernauld this
morning, to Uncle John's house, to start looking through his papers. There
were police there, and they wouldn't let me in.
'Honestly, the way they're acting, it's as if they suspected me of
something.'
Pye frowned so hard that he felt the muscles bunch in his forehead.
'Where are you right now?'
36
AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN
'I'm in what passes for a Town Centre in Cumbernauld. I'm going to go
up to Dullatur Golf Club to see if I can find any of Uncle John's cronies
there. Maybe they can tell me something about him . .
. when was the last
time they saw him, whether he'd been complaining of feeling unwell; that
sort of stuff.'
'No!' the young detective said sharply. 'Don't do that, please.'
'Why not?'
'Because it wouldn't be helpful. Listen, Ruthie, like I told you on
Saturday, when someone dies alone under any circumstances, technically
the police have to be called, and they have to make a report to the Fiscal.
Quite often that's overlooked; if the local GP is sympathetic and wants
to spare a bereaved wife or husband from any more distress, he'll just
certify death as if he's been there. We know that, and we don't bother
about it.
'But when someone's died and lain undiscovered for a few days, that's a
different matter. The police will be called and they will make a report.
What they're doing now is probably just routine.'
'Then why won't they let me into the house?'
Pye chewed his lip. 'That I don't understand, I admit. Possibly the
local inspector's just an officious bastard. No, probably, he is; chances