Skinner's Rules (14 page)

Martin leaned towards him and spoke gently. ‘Bob, this has taken more out of you than you realise. If Sarah was here she’d say you were reacting naturally to extreme stress.’

Skinner looked at him and smiled. ‘Sarah. Yes, I’ll call her. Alex too. She’ll be in Glasgow by now.’

When Mackie returned an hour later, Andy had gone. The newly promoted inspector told Skinner that nothing else had been found, other than the incriminating drawer.

Madame Yobatu had been stunned by her husband’s arrest.

‘Did she say anything when you told her?’ Skinner asked.

‘Nothing at all, boss. I told her that her husband had been arrested, and why. I told her about the weapons - not about the other, of course. She didn’t say a word. Just nodded, and went back to her children. I offered to leave Maggie Rose there, and she agreed.’

‘Okay, Brian, that’s fine. I didn’t really expect anything else. Right, I’ll call Willie Haggerty now, in Strathclyde, and tell him to get his arse through here, pronto. Then you and I will go and take a statement from our man, and wrap this thing up.’

But Skinner’s earlier assessment of Yobatu had been all too accurate.

 

The two detectives entered the drab, windowless interview room and signalled the uniformed guards to leave. Yobatu sat at a table in the middle of the room, his forearms on the surface, his head bowed. A mug of tarry black tea sat untouched before him.

The detectives sat down on two hard chairs opposite the man. Mackie slipped two cassettes into a tape-recorder on the table, and switched it to RECORD.

Skinner faced the microphone and spoke formally. ‘I am Detective Chief Superintendent Robert Skinner, with Detective Inspector Brian Mackie. It is 5.30 p.m. on Sunday, November the twenty-fifth, and we are here to question Mr Toshio Yobatu, a Japanese citizen, in connection with the murders of Mr Michael Mortimer, of a person as yet unknown, of Mrs Mary Rafferty, and of Police Constable Iain MacVicar.

‘Mr Yobatu is also being held in connection with the deaths in Glasgow of Mr Shun Lee, and Miss Rachel Jameson. Later, officers from Stathclyde CID will arrive to question him about these events.’

He repeated, for the tape, the formal caution given to Yobatu earlier in the day. Then he turned towards the figure opposite.

‘Yobatu
san,
you were present today when we found, in your garage, certain items which could be linked to the events I have described. You admitted to me earlier that you were present at the scene of Miss Rachel Jameson’s death, and that you held her and Mr Michael Mortimer responsible for a slur upon your late daughter’s honour.

‘You said also that you held Mr Shun Lee to be guilty of your daughter’s murder, and that you were pleased that he had himself been killed. Do you now wish to make a full statement describing your part in these murders and explaining your reasons?’

Since they had entered the room, Yobatu had not moved a muscle. While Skinner spoke, and for several seconds afterwards, he sat with his head bowed, his gaze fixed on the space within the ‘V’ of his arms on the table.

Then, slowly, he raised his head. His eyes, unblinking, tracked across the table, but rose no higher than Skinner’s chest.

The big detective looked into the man’s face, and winced at what he saw.

The unforgettable fire that earlier had burned so fiercely was gone completely. The eyes were empty, devoid of expression, dead, and pitiful.

Speaking carefully, Skinner invited the man, for a second time, to make a statement.

There was no response. No movement. Not a flicker in those blank and awful eyes.

Skinner spoke again to the recorder. ‘The subject has declined to answer. I am now instructing that he be medically examined. This interview is at an end.’

Mackie switched off the tape. He followed Skinner from the room and sent the two constables back in.

Skinner went back to his office and called Sarah again. ‘Business this time, love. I’d like you to come up and take a look at Yobatu, to examine him physically, and then, if you agree that it’s necessary, to call in a psychiatrist.’

‘What are the symptoms?’

‘He’s withdrawn, gone away deep inside himself. He could be putting it on, but I don’t think so. He looks as if the soul has left his body, if that’s not too melodramatic a description for you.’

‘I’ll be right along.’

She arrived ten minutes later. Before taking her into the interview room, Skinner showed her the photograph of Yobatu, and described in detail their confrontation earlier in the day.

Yobatu did not resist as Sarah carried out a swift but thorough physical examination. Blood pressure, respiration, pulse and reflexes, all were normal, indeed better than average for a man in his forties.

During the examination Sarah asked Yobatu several questions. He responded to none and his expression remained fixed.

When she was finished, Sarah motioned Skinner outside.

‘Physically he’s fine. In some ways he’s a marvel. But you’d better get the head specialists in here now. This man is definitely not open for business. All the time I was working on him he didn’t blink once. He’s in as deep a trance as I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s self-induced, but I doubt it. It’s more likely to be an extreme reaction to the shock of discovery, after what he thought was the perfect revenge. You’ve handled a few psychopaths, you must know how volatile they can be.’

Skinner nodded. ‘Yes, too true. Brian, call Kevin O’Malley at the Royal Edinburgh. Ask him to turn out, and to bring a trusted colleague. We’d better double up on this one.’

‘Very good, boss. There’s one other thing. The tip-off machine’s been at work already. The desk has had calls from the
Scotsman
and the
Record.’

‘Bugger it! I’d hoped to avoid that for a few hours, at least. Some day I’m going to take the time to find out who that tip-off mechanic is and disconnect him, permanently.

‘Deal with it this way. Don’t put out a general statement, but say in answer to calls that a man is helping us with enquiries into recent incidents. Don’t mention Glasgow. They’ll ask if charges are imminent. You can say “no” with a clear conscience. We can’t do that till we know he can understand us.

‘We’d better tell the Fiscal too. Give him a call and get him, or the Depute, up here. And get Maggie Rose to ask Madame Yobatu who the family lawyer is. Chances are it’ll be one of the big firms.

‘Once you’ve got that sorted out, I’ll give the Chief a call. It’s time he was brought up to date.’

When Mackie returned to the outer office fifteen minutes later, Sarah was about to leave. As she closed Skinner’s door behind her, Mackie could have sworn he heard her say: ‘See you later then.’

He paused, then shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m hearing things.’

‘All done, sir,’ he reported to Skinner. ‘The answer’s going to the
Scotsman
and
Record
through channels, and anyone else who comes on will get the same story.

‘The shrinks are on their way. As far as Yobatu’s lawyer’s concerned Maggie says that Madame doesn’t want to involve him, but she’s called the Japanese Ambassador instead.’

Skinner whistled. ‘Has she indeed! We always knew this was a high-toned bastard. Now we know how high-toned. Right, now I can phone the Gaffer.’

Skinner interrupted the Proud family’s evening meal. The Chief Constable’s wife answered the telephone. All coppers were like sons to her, Skinner often thought.

‘Hello, Bob, haven’t seen you in long enough. You must be having a terrible time of it with all these murders and so on. Hold on. I’ll get Jimmy.’

The Chief Constable was still chewing something when he took the telephone. Skinner allowed him time to finish. Might choke when he hears what I’ve got to tell him, he thought.

He explained what had happened over the past few days, told of the raid on Yobatu, and of the arrest.

Relief swept down the telephone line. ‘Well done, Bob. Bloody good work. I’m happy for you, and for me, I don’t mind saying. For a while there I could see the knighthood going out the window!’ The man’s frankness was one of his best qualities.

Skinner laughed with him. ‘I hope you don’t feel I should have told you earlier, but it might have been a wild goose chase. If I brought you in on every bum lead you’d never finish a meal.’

‘That’s fine by me. Where is the man now?’

‘I’ve got him locked up at Fettes, Chief. But there’s a problem. Maybe two.’

He told Proud of Yobatu’s collapse, and of his wife’s subsequent telephone call to the Japanese Ambassador.

‘I see. When are the shrinks due?’

‘Any minute now.’

‘Well let’s see what they say. Do you want me to come in?’

‘No, better not. There’s just a chance that the papers might have this place staked out. If you arrive on a Sunday night, they’ll know it’s something big.’

‘Fair enough. Well look, keep me in touch. Do you think you’ll get a confession tonight?’

‘Not unless someone’s come up with a miracle cure for catatonic withdrawal. This bugger’s not kidding. There is nothing going on in his head ... nothing at all.’

‘What about the press side of it?’

‘I’ll play that by ear. I’m not issuing any further statement till I have something to say. If I feel that I need to have a press conference, I’ll consult you first.’

‘No, just do what you think best. But let me know if you hear from this Ambassador fella.’

‘Okay, boss.’

Skinner had just replaced the receiver when Willie Haggerty arrived, with another detective. The two shook hands, and Haggerty introduced his colleague. ‘This is Detective Sergeant David Bell.’ The other man was much taller than Haggerty, taller even than Skinner.

‘Where’s our man then, Mr Skinner?’ Haggerty was breezy and ebullient, typically Glaswegian.

‘He’s in a room of his own, with two big polismen, but for all he knows he could be on a South Sea island, or back in Japan in a rice-paper house.

‘You see, Willie, our man Yobatu has gone quietly out of his tree.

‘I’m just waiting for two eminent practitioners to arrive, to take a look inside his head. I’ll be bloody surprised if they find anything, though. So I don’t think you should see him right at this moment.’ Skinner’s face split into an untypically mischievous grin. ‘I’ll show you Shun Lee’s nuts, though, if you like!’

The stocky detective grimaced, throwing up his hands in mock horror. ‘Aw yous’re all fuckin’ heart and generosity through here in Edinburgh!’

When the laughter had subsided, Skinner told Haggerty, from the beginning, the story of the Yobatu connection, taking it through to the confrontation in the Balerno conservatory, to the discoveries in the garage, and to the abortive interview.

‘Christ,’ said Haggerty, ‘it all fits, but it’s all so bloody bizarre. He does Shun Lee, then Mortimer, then the girl. But along the way, after Mortimer, he does in three innocent punters here in Edinburgh, one of them a copper, to blind you to the link between those three murders. We think that the Triads did Shun, and that the girl was a jumper. You’re supposed to think that Burke and fuckin’ Hare are back in business.’

‘That’s how it looks, Willie.’

‘Jesus, it would chill you to the fuckin’ marrow, would it no’? And you didnae even know he was at Queen Street till he told you?’

‘No we did not. I don’t know how I kept a straight face when he came out with that one.’

As Haggerty shook his head in wonderment, there was a quick soft knock on the door. Mackie stepped into the room.

‘Two things, sir. ’ Things often came in pairs with Mackie, Skinner had noticed. ‘One, Mr O’Malley and the other nutcracker have arrived. Two, Mr Martin’s on the phone.’

Andy and Joanne, his lady of the past six months, had just settled into their table in the plush, red-upholstered Asian restaurant in Frederick Street, when Andy bleeped.

‘Pardon me?’ said Joanne.

‘Sorry,’ he said, his blond hair emphasising his sudden blush. ‘It’s this new job. I’ve got to carry one of these pager things with me everywhere.’

‘Everywhere?’

‘Everywhere!’ He reached behind his back. Clipped into his belt was a box smaller than a cigarette packet. ‘Can’t be out of touch, you see, in case the balloon goes up, or whatever. Alec Smith is still in post, officially, but the first thing the sod did in our handover was to give me this gizmo here.’ The little box bleeped again. ‘Okay, I’m coming!’

Martin looked at the small screen. His expression grew serious. ‘You’re back at work,’ said Joanne accusingly.

‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to make a phone call. Not from here, but from the car. Will you excuse me for five minutes?’

‘Once more, Andy, just once more!’

‘Thanks. Sorry. Back soon.’ He rushed out of the restaurant and across the street to his car.

The message on his pager told him to call a London 071-number. Martin had a photographic memory for such details and he recognised it as one of a series which Alec Smith had given him during the handover, unlisted numbers connecting to people in and around Whitehall who were not listed in any directory. Some were security-related. This was diplomatic. He switched on the car telephone and dialled the number.

Three minutes later he was back in the restaurant. The elegantly dressed waiter was hovering over Joanne, who was making a show of studying the menu.

‘Give us a minute,’ Andy told the man, who nodded and backed away. ‘Listen, Jo, I have to go back. I’ll take you home for now, and pick you up later.’

He made their excuses to the waiter, pressing two crumpled Royal Bank of Scotland pound notes into the man’s hand.

‘Thank you, sir,’ the waiter said with an understanding smile.

He dropped Joanne in Marchmont Road. ‘About later, Andy. Just forget it!’ She slammed the door and stormed into the dimly lit close of the tall grey tenement.