Authors: Quintin Jardine
`So what's happening on the moor?'
`We're gathering in the cabin baggage. I've had quite a few calls this morning from businesses, trying to recover papers and the like. There was one bloke from a Japanese electronics firm. he went on for ten minutes about this bloody briefcase and what was in it about how many million dollars it was worth, until eventually I told him that if he'd get his arse down here and help us identify the poor bastard who'd been carrying it, then I'd start to worry about his bloody case.’
`The Air Accident Investigators have started work in earnest, too. They're gathering in all the pieces of wreckage. The woman in charge said they'd take it down South to their HQ
and try to put it all back together as best they can. When something like this happens, they look at the way the aircraft reacts to the stress, to see if there's any way they can build them stronger.'
`That's good,' said Skinner, 'but remind her as tactfully as you can that we have our own investigation under way, and that anything she takes away, we could want back at some stage. Ask her, too, if she'd give us a full report on the location and nature of the explosion, to back up Major Legge's findings. From the sound of things, Jim, you're going to be up there for quite a while. Any problems?'
Elder gave a long, deep sigh. 'Yes. Human nature. The place is crawling with ghouls. The Longformacus Road is still closed off to private traffic, but that hasn't stopped them. It's a grey, misty, miserable day up here, yet they're hiking across the moor in their droves just to see what they can see. My people and the soldiers are turning them back as soon as they arrive, but there are so many that they're interfering with the recovery process. I'm thinking of telling the Press Office to put out a statement from me saying that anyone else who turns up here without a valid reason will be charged with obstructing the police. What d'you think?'
Ì'd do that like a shot. Look, Royston's still here. I'll put Maggie on the line. You tell her exactly what you want to say and she'll make it happen within ten minutes. I've just told the world that we have a murder investigation under way, so we'll have quite a few media people still on the premises.'
He handed the phone across the desk to Maggie Rose. She listened attentively to Elder, making notes on a pad. When he had finished his dictation, she offered the phone back to Skinner, but he shook his head, and she rang off.
Òkay, Mags, go and grab Royston. Once you've done that, well…His voice tailed off, and he slumped back into his chair.
She stared at him, concern showing in her face. This was a Bob Skinner she had never seen before.
`Boss, there's nothing else you can do,' she said gently. `Mr Elder's in charge and coping out there. You've got interviews proceeding in London, and Brian Mackie and Mario off on another line of investigation.'
`Don't tell me how to do my job, lady!' he barked at her suddenly, and in spite of herself, she flinched. 'You just go and do yours!'
`Very good, sir,' she said, in little more than a whisper, and left the room.
Skinner swung round in his swivel seat and stared out of the window at the grey afternoon, raging inwardly against his feeling of being becalmed, and against the indefinable sensation which had gripped him since the previous morning that somehow, he was not completely in control.
A loud stage cough behind him brought him back to the present. He turned to see Sir James Proud standing in front of his desk. As the most junior Constable would have done, he stood to acknowledge his Chief Constable, noticing as he did so that Proud Jimmy had closed his door behind him.
`Bob, son,' said the Chief. 'Are you all right?'
Skinner felt himself flare up again, but checked it. 'Of course I am, Jimmy. What makes you ask that?'
Ìt's bloody obvious what makes me ask it. I was across the corridor with my door shut, yet I still heard you shout at Maggie Rose. When I went to see what was up, the lass brushed past me, nearly in tears. And that's not like Maggie. I've never heard you rip into someone like that, man. You're a hard bugger but bullying junior officers isn't your style.
Come to think of it I thought for a moment, yesterday on the Lammermuirs, that you were going to take a pop at me. Or was I wrong?'
Skinner smiled wryly and looked at the carpet. No Jimmy you weren't. I admit it, I was steaming mad that you had called Sarah out to that thing, and I was ready to tackle you about it. I'm sorry.'
Àhh,' said Sir James knowingly, 'I wondered if that was it. Look, Bob, I'm sorry, but when I got the message yesterday I never had another thought but to call Sarah. She's far and away the best we've got.'
Ì know. You did the right thing.'
Ì still felt guilty about it for most of yesterday. It must have been a dreadful job for her.
How did she react?'
`She had a bad night last night, but I think she cried it out. She seemed okay this morning, anyway.'
`That's good,' said Proud Jimmy kindly. 'But you, my friend, can I worry about you now?
That was a hellish job you had too, especially, from what I hear, out at that second crash-site. I spoke to Legge afterwards. He told me all about it — said it turned his stomach, and he's seen plenty.
`You're not Superman, Bob Skinner. You're as entitled to be affected as anyone else, if only you'll admit it. Go easy on yourself, and on the people around you, eh? Look, it's Saturday afternoon. Get yourself home to your family and try to enjoy what's left of the day.'
Skinner sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. Suddenly he felt horribly tired. 'Aye okay, Jimmy. The girl Gower said that Joe Doherty'll be up on the nine o'clock plane tomorrow.
Until then, I'll do what you say. We're dining out with Andy and Alex tonight, so I'll have to try to be decent company for them. But I’ve something to do before anything else.'
'What's that?'
'I've got to get down on my knees and offer Maggie Rose a heartfelt apology!'
THIRTY-THREE
‘I noticed you were on first-name terms, Captain,' said Donaldson.
Ànd why not?' the little soldier asked. His tone was light, but something in it warned the policeman that Arrow's sense of humour did not extend to his own affairs.
Ì'm in Private Office a lot, so Shana and I see quite a bit of each other. I was on first-name terms with Maurice Noble, too. And I was on first-name terms with all the lads in my SAS squad. So what?'
Donaldson knew nothing of Arrow's military background. `No matter,' he said, and moved quickly on. 'Let's get the next guy in. Joseph Webber, Executive Assistant.'
Àye, that's right,' said Arrow. Ì'm on first-name terms with him, too.'
Joseph Webber was a year short of forty, older than either Maurice Noble or Shana Mirzana. He had been a civil servant for twenty-one years, the last eight of them spent in Private Office. This was far beyond the normal posting even for a junior grade, but the Annual Reports in his Personnel file revealed that he was trapped there by his own faultless efficiency.
His vetting report revealed him as a contradictory character. He was single and lived in a small flat in Pimlico. His life was dominated by his work, and his only hobby seemed to be the consumption of large quantities of beer in the Red Lion pub, around 200 yards from the great grey Whitehall headquarters of the Ministry of Defence.
The effect of the previous evening's consumption was showing around Webber's eyes as he took his place at the table opposite his three interrogators. The black circles stood out in his otherwise pasty face.
`Must have been a hell of a shock,' said Donaldson abruptly.
Webber looked at him blankly.
The accident, I mean.'
`That? Yeah, I suppose so,' said the man, in an accent which reminded Neil Mcllhenney of a market-stall trader in a television soap.
`You don't seem overwhelmed by grief.'
`What do you want me to do? Gnash my teeth? Weep uncontrollably? I'm afraid that's not me. These things happen, that's all I can say.'
Donaldson gazed at him. 'Don't you feel touched by it at all?'
Webber shrugged his shoulders. 'I feel sorry for Maurice. He was a harmless enough geezer. But people come and people go. I've seen enough of them go in my time in here, and he's just one more.'
`Don't you feel sorry for Colin Davey too?'
The civil servant stared unblinking across the table. 'Not a bit. The world's a better place without him. The man was a complete arsehole.'
`What did he do to you?'
`He threatened to have me moved on from here, for a start.'
`But you've been here for eight years, man. Haven't you had enough of it?'
Joseph Webber laughed softly, revealing years of dental neglect 'I told Sir Stewart: the day I move out of here, I go straight through the big front door, out into Whitehall and I don't come back. This place is like a fuckin' beehive, mate. I spent thirteen anonymous years as a mainstream drone and the thought of putting in another twenty of 'em makes my blood run cold. I like Private Office because it's the centre of the hive. I know how it works, I know how to make it run smoothly, and I know how to spot banana skins before someone steps on 'em.'
`So why did Davey want you out?' asked Arrow.
`Because I knew about him, and he knew it, that's why. I know everything.'
`What d'you mean by that?'
`You're Ministry Security, Adam, you find out.' Webber and Arrow stared across the table at each other for several seconds, neither man blinking.
`We'll maybe come back to that later,' said Donaldson, breaking the stalemate. 'If you know everything, Mr Webber, what can you tell us about Maurice Noble?'
The man looked up at the ornate plastered ceiling for a few seconds, then out of the net-draped window at the Saturday afternoon traffic as it moved smoothly along Whitehall.
Finally, the black-ringed eyes swung back across the table. `Maurice was a poor sad little bugger, who was out of his depth in just about every way. Over the last few weeks I watched him come apart.'
`Hold on a minute, Joseph,' said Arrow. 'He was put forward for the job by Sir Stewart.
He's not a guy to make mistakes.'
`He made one this time.' Webber paused. 'Maurice coped okay at first, but Davey's behaviour and his attitude began to get to him after a while. Then outside factors began to have an effect.'
`Such as?' asked Mcllhenney, intrigued.
`Such as he reckoned that someone was 'aving it off with his wife.'
`Did he tell you that?' asked Donaldson quickly.
Webber nodded. 'One night we were working late, as usual. Shang 'ad gone off to meet her mystery bloke . .
The DCI's eyes narrowed. 'Who's he?'
`Like I said, that's a mystery.'
`Now look, Mr Webber, withholding information—'
`Leave it,' said Arrow quietly. Donaldson turned and stared at him.
`Go on Joseph,' said the soldier. 'You were working late, you said.'
`Right. It was gone half-nine when we left, so I headed straight for the Red Lion. I asked Maurice if he wanted to come along and 'e did. I'd never seen him drink before, but Christ,
'e made up for it that night. I was banging the pints away to make up for the two hours or so I'd lost, and 'e kept pace with me. Not on beer, but on large gin and tonics.
Èventually we slowed up, and he began to talk. He told me that the job was getting him down, not because Davey was such a bastard – he said that he could 'andle that all right –
but because it was keeping him away from home for too long. He said that no Secretary of State 'e'd ever heard of worked his staff so 'ard, and he was right.
`He was half-pissed by this time, so he told me that he'd always had trouble keeping Ariadne happy. Now the hours he was working were making it bloody near impossible, and he blamed Davey for it personally.
`He said that he was sure she'd got bored wiv 'im, and that someone else was in there doing the business. I said to him, 'What are you doing sitting 'ere getting pissed with me then? Get on home and fight for her." But he said that he was past all that: He said that he loved her but that she was too much woman for him, and she knew it. Poor little bugger.
He was so sad he put me off my beer, so I slung him into a taxi and headed off home.'
`When did all this happen?' asked Donaldson.
Àbout three weeks ago.
`Didn't you think to suggest that he get medical help?' said Arrow, frowning.
Às a matter of fact I did tell 'im that, but short of twisting his arm up his back I couldn't force him, could I?'
`Didn't you think to talk to me?'
`Yeah. I thought about it, and I decided against it. I reckoned that you might have decided he was a security risk and have him removed from the job. The guy was near enough suicidal as it was, without that. And anyway, where I come from, you don't grass.
Omerta,
the Sicilians call it — the vow of silence. Down the East End we don't need vows; it's in the blood.'
`D'you realise that makes you a security risk, Joseph?' said the soldier.
Webber smiled, widely enough to reveal the full extent of his dental catastrophe. 'Frankly, my dear Adam, I don't give a damn! I made a decision this morning. I hauled my ragged arse out of bed, I stared in the mirror at the wreck of my face, and I said to myself,
"Joseph Webber, you've given the beehive twenty years of your life. It ain't getting any more." So I sat down, and with a shaky 'and, I wrote out my resignation. On the way in here, I posted it. I'm going to get a life, mate, before it's too late.'
Arrow leaned back in his chair and smiled. 'Well, good for you, Joseph. There's hope for you yet.'
`Before you go, Mr Webber,' said Donaldson heavily, 'will you tell us about Thursday evening and about the preparations for the trip to Scotland. Who packed the Red Box?'
'Shana did, as usual. I got the material together . . . there wasn't much, Adam, mostly correspondence, one procurement decision and one Intelligence paper on the Middle East
... and she boxed it.'
Did you see her do that?'
Webber looked at the policeman sharply and shrewdly, but made no comment on his question. Instead he nodded, emphatically.