Autographs in the Rain Page 3

  wave, almost knocking him backwards, physically. He knew, before he

  looked inside, what he would find.

  Uncle John McConnell lay full length, submerged completely in his big

  enamelled bath. He had played his last round of golf, and listened to his

  last radio football commentary.

  Even before stepping into the bathroom Pye had guessed that he had

  been dead for days, and he had feared that he would find him in a state of

  hideous decomposition. Instead, and to his surprise, the old man's body

  was more or less intact, if a strange waxy colour, and if one ignored the

  strips of what looked like skin, floating on the surface. He looked almost

  like a statue, carved out of soap.

  The young sergeant reached across the small bathroom and opened the

  ventilation panel set in the window, then stepped back out into the hall and

  closed the door behind him.

  There was a phone in the hall. He picked it up, but to his surprise, the

  line was dead. Instead, he took out his hand-phone and dialled the main

  switchboard of his Edinburgh k .

  'Give me the Ops Room 'f headrters.

  The line rang only twice beCi't w °ffiCer'' he asked telephonist,

  speakmg,' said a deep, North (tm)£" answered. 'Operations. ACC Chase

  Hello sir; said the y voice How i

  Mr Martin's office. I didn't (tm) T 'This is (tm) Spot check, Sergeant, spot check T " °n a Saturday'

  Your secretary, sir Ruth M n

  Johr.only when we got here,toTdT (tm) to (tm)' her Uncle

  Where's Cumbernauld?' ChaseT,?aP WaS dead'In his bath.'

  'Between Stirling and Glasp

  don't have their Ops number to LIT'" ' " " Strathclyde area, but I

  Okay, Pye, I'll turn them omf

  'To be on the safe side, yes u d° y°U d? CID?'

  Like I said, the old chap seems to hte f d°eSn'1 lo°k suspicious at all.

  '" the water- was alone in tL hou SOrt °f (tm)e and died, have to have police here, as we HasZ" ?"?' S° "nder Scots law I

  m familiar with the law , d°Cton

  address," '" "n,' said Chase, heavily. -Wha.'s "he

  Fifteen Glenlaverock Grove ' F

  'Yes, sir, she is. She doesn- 0°"(tm)" " -x.of-kin,w

  T S ye'' """"S". '. She's out

  Well, you better bloodv tell h

  emergency services descend mobndedr3"11'1""' before the local

  14

  Bob Skinner laughed. The one place I can't be contacted, Neil, as you

  well know, is on Gullane Hill with my clubs over my shoulder. If I took

  my mobile out on the golf course with me, I'd soon run out of playing

  partners.

  'I'm sorry they interrupted your Saturday though. I didn't really expect

  that.'

  'No problem, Boss. My daughter was just about to bully me into doing

  the ironing.'

  'Has she not taken that over yet?'

  'No, she says she's too small to reach the ironing board properly. She

  also says that she doesn't expect to be tall enough till she's about eighteen.

  She's more like her mother every day, I tell you.'

  'You don't have to, mate. I've seen her in action.' He smiled briefly at

  the thought. 'Anyway, what did this boy from the Met have to tell me?'

  Mcllhenney drew a breath. 'Nothing you're going to like.' He outlined

  the content of Crowther's call, omitting nothing. When he finished there

  was silence from the other end of the line.

  Skinner broke it at last. 'The bastard must have fired a blank,' he said,

  firmly. 'There was a gun, Neil, and it was fired. Believe me?'

  'I never doubted you for one second, Boss,' his executive assistant replied.

  'It's just a pity there weren't any witnesses.'

  He heard the Deputy Chief Constable sigh. 'Aye, well, that's not exactly

  the case. The fact is, there was someone with me when it happened.'

  'Why didn't you say so, then?' Mcllhenney blurted out.

  'Discretion, pal. Discretion. Does the name Louise Bankier mean

  anything to you?'

  'Louise Bankier? The actress? The movie star?'

  'The very same. Lou was there; she and I had just had dinner in a

  restaurant in Soho. We were looking for a taxi when the car drove by and

  the guy took his pop at me. For all sorts of reasons, I didn't want her about

  when the Met boys arrived, so I stuck her in a taxi and sent her home as

  soon as I'd called the thing in.'

  'Boss, what the hell. . .'

  Skinner laughed again, softly, at his friend's incredulity,'... was I doing

  up the West End with Louise Bankier? She and I go back a long way ... a

  very long way.

  'She was just starting at Glasgow University when I was in my final

  year; she was seventeen and I was twenty-one. We met at the Fresher's Fair

  when I was signing up new members for the squash club. She joined, and

  fortunately for the world, she also joined the drama club on the same day.

  'She could play squash eff all, but when it came to the acting game . . .

  She wound up wangling a transfer to the Athenaeum - that was what they

  called the drama school in Glasgow - after her first year, and she's never

  looked back from there.

  'I hadn't seen her in twenty-five years. I followed her career, of course,

  and went to all her movies, but I lost touch with her completely. Then last

  Thursday, I got a message at my hotel. There was a piece in the Evening

  Standard about last week's world terrorism conference. She saw it and

  phoned the organisers; they told her where I was stopping.

  'I rang her back. She told me that she had called on impulse, for old times' sake; I said I was pleased to hear from her and we arranged to have

  dinner, last night. End of story.

  'She hasn't changed a bit, you know.' He paused. 'No, that's crap. If

  anything she's even better looking than she was as a kid, and she's developed

  as a person in ways I could never have imagined. But I suppose we all

  have, have we not. Anyway, when all that nonsense happened last night, I

  imagined what the papers would do if they got hold of it. Lou does not need

  that sort of publicity and neither do I, so I got her out of the way.'

  He could almost hear Mcllhenney frown. 'Boss, that's

  'Improper, at the very least. Obstructing the course of justice at the very

  worst. I know that, but I'll live with it. You just get back to that boy Crowther

  and tell him from me to pass the word up his line that if his commander

  doesn't want his gonads fricasseed, he'll pull that bullshit report of his.'

  'I've told him that already. Mind you, he wasn't certain that it could be

  done.'

  Skinner sighed again. Til deal with that if it happens.

  'The thing is, Neil,' he went on, 'Louise is not the only one I need to

  protect from too much press interest.

  16

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  'Apart from the gunshot... sure as hell she doesn't need to know about that... there's nothing that Sarah doesn't know, you understand. She was

  aware that I was meeting Lou all right; I told her as soon as it was arranged.

  But she wouldn't be best pleased either if the wrong sort of stuff appeared

  in the papers.

  'The truth is that if any smart hacks did some digging, even though it'd

  mean going back a quarter of a century, there would still be plenty of people

  around to te
ll them that Louise Bankier and I were more than just squash

  partners.'

  Theodore Chase gazed down the driveway of the police headquarters

  building. Normally, every parking bay would have been occupied, and the

  street outside, even the school playground beyond, would have been

  thronged with vehicles, but on a Sunday afternoon most of the cars he

  could see belonged to shoppers at the nearby supermarket.

  He stood in Ruth McConnell's tiny office, flicking through her in-trays,

  of which she had two; his own, which was empty, awaiting the Monday

  morning mail delivery, and Bob Skinner's, which was piled high with papers

  waiting for the attention of the DCC on his return from the London

  conference.

  Ted Chase enjoyed lurking around empty offices, as he put it to himself.

  There was something about them; they seemed to him to be possessed by

  the auras of the people who occupied them through the week, each with its

  own unique signature. Take Ruth McConnell's small room as an example.

  She used the same fragrance as his wife . . . Rive Gauche, whatever that

  meant; not that his nose would have told him that, for his sense of smell

  had been deadened by growing up close to a brewery. Since coming to

  Edinburgh he had discovered that he could even drive through Seafield

  without the faintest wrinkle of his nose. He picked up the familiar blue eau

  de toilette tube, glanced at it, then put it back on the desk, carefully, on its

  side, in its original position.

  He closed his eyes and he could feel her presence, could see her in his

  mind as clearly as if she was really sat there, long legs under her chair,

  close fitting skirt moulded to her thighs, riding just above the knee, her

  white blouse tucked into the waistband, covering the faintest roll of flesh.

  He let his mind roam further until he could actually feel the residual warmth

  of her body in the room, and sense the strength of her personality, filling its

  every corner.

  In spite of himself he began to imagine her naked, hair tousled, glowing

  after sex; and then there was someone else in his vision. Sammy Pye? No,

  18

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  not the young sergeant, someone bigger, older, stronger, grimmer, frightening

  as his head seemed to turn towards the intruder . .. Bob Skinner.

  Ted Chase opened his eyes wide, and was a shade embarrassed to find

  that he was breathing slightly heavily. He thought of Skinner and Ruth;

  they had worked together for a few years now. She was a woman and a

  half; he had a past that had made the tabloids. He couldn't believe that

  she would settle for a lad like Pye. There had to be something there, for

  sure.

  He was startled when the phone rang on Ruth's desk. For a second he

  thought about letting it go unanswered, but that was against his nature.

  Somehow, it would have made him feel like a sneak. He picked it up, and

  was taken aback to hear Bob Skinner's strong, steady voice. 'Afternoon

  Ted,' he began. His tone was neutral, neither friendly nor hostile. 'Your

  wife told me I'd probably find you in the office.' Chase waited for the

  DCC to ask what the hell he was doing there, as, probably, he would have

  done himself in reversed circumstances. When he did not, he felt almost a

  sense of letdown.

  'I've had a call from Ruthie,' he continued, instead. 'Asking if it would

  be all right for her to have a couple of days off. Her uncle's died, and she

  has to make all the funeral arrangements and stuff.'

  'Yes,' said Chase, abruptly. 'I knew about that. I was in the Ops Room

  yesterday afternoon when Martin's man Pye called in after finding the

  body.'

  He heard a soft chuckle at the other end. 'How the fuck did we manage

  without you, Ted? I really don't know.'

  The ACC felt himself flush. 'I'm still getting the feel of the place, Bob,

  that's all.'

  'You could have fooled me, mate, but let's not get into that. I told her

  that it was okay, and that I'd square it with you.'

  'Yes, of course. In the circumstances, it's okay with me.'

  'That's good. As it happens, the Chief's chairing an ACPOS committee

  meeting in Glasgow tomorrow, so Gerry Crossley'll have some time on his

  hands. We won't be neglected.'

  'Ah, yes.' Chase did not approve of male secretaries, and could never

  keep the distaste out of his tone whenever the efficient young Crossley's

  name came up in conversation.

  'He's a good lad, Ted,' Skinner said quietly. 'As you might find out for

  yourself, one day. See you tomorrow.' There was a click; the line went

  dead, then buzzed as the Cumbrian stared at the receiver, taken off-guard

  by his colleague's throw-away remark.

  It wasn't that he disliked Bob Skinner, Chase told himself, as he replaced

  the receiver; he was an affable enough bloke. It wasn't that he was jealous

  of him; he took enough pride in his own career achievements not to feel

  jealous of anyone. It wasn't that he doubted his ability; he was one of the

  most famous policemen in the country, and the Queen's Police Medal wasn't

  awarded lightly.

  No, he told himself, his concern was based on his distinguished

  colleague's attitude to The Book. There were accepted ways of policing,

  and these had been developed practically over many years. The relationship

  between police and public, in the eyes of Theodore Chase, was one in

  which the uniformed body had to stand aloof to command the respect which

  he saw as essential to efficient operation. Nevertheless, by no means did he

  see himself as being stuck in the past. He approved wholeheartedly of the

  new style of uniform, which was more comfortable, and had been designed

  to meet modern needs. He recognised the value of the Panda car, although

  he stuck to the view that walking the beat still had its place, especially in

  the inner city areas.

  His problem with Bob Skinner was simply that he seemed to see it all

  differently. For example, the man had a little-disguised dislike of wearing

  the uniform ... so little-disguised that it was a standing joke throughout

  headquarters. Chase saw the dark blue tunic as the basic symbol of authority.

  For example, for his Saturday drop-in to the Ops Room, he had worn it. A

  quiet Sunday in the office; well, that was something else.

  Skinner had an overtly sloppy attitude to reporting channels also. It was

  one thing for ACC Operations to pay unannounced visits to his own Ops

  Room to keep everyone on their toes, but quite another for the DCC to

  involve himself in active criminal investigations. There was even a story

  about him taking his baby son on a stake-out of premises in the course of a

  hunt for a murder suspect.

  Then there was his lax attitude to rank. He accepted that it was for the

  Chief Constable to determine whether he and his two assistants should

  be on first-name terms, behind closed doors, as they were. However,

  Skinner's easy familiarity with the men under his command posed in his

  view a clear and present danger to good discipline. He and DI Mcllhenney

  played football in the same five-a-side group every Thursday . . . and sometimes, Chase unde
rstood, his daughter baby-sat the Mcllhenney

  20

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  children to allow them to do it. He and DCS Martin had a fraternal rapport

  ... so much so that Skinner had been best man at the Head of CID's

  wedding. He allowed McGuire, the Special Branch man, virtually open

  access to his office.

  There were only two lines in Chase's controversial paper on the Force's

  command structure to which the DCC had taken outright exception; one

  had been a reference to 'the cult of the personality', as he had put it .. and

  that was at the heart of his problem with Skinner. He would not... did not

  dare... suggest that the big Scot had built his own legend deliberately. No,

  he accepted that he was trapped within it. Yet that was the greatest obstacle

  to his efficiency as a chief police officer.

  The Book of Proper Policing, Ted Chase's imaginary Bible, had been

  written by many people over many years. It had come under attack in a

  variety of ways, from direct assault by terrorism to insidious undermining

  tactics by those people to whom Chase referred most commonly as 'liberals',

  yet as he saw it, the solid dependable man and . . . yes, now, he had to

  concede... woman in uniform still stood, in spite of it all, as the cornerstone

  of society.

  Image and perception were all-important; no personality could be allowed