‘I’m Mr McCullough’s adviser,’ the former politician countered,
‘and the only way to see him is through me.’
‘Our pleasure,’ Skinner growled, then felt Martin pull gently at his sleeve, as if he was tugging at a leash.
‘Go on, Mr Murtagh,’ he said. ‘Say what you have to and we’ll decide whether we’re staying, or whether we’re going to arrest your client.’
‘I don’t see that you could. My advice to Mr McCullough is that we should all be clear that this is a private visit, not an official one, and that he should be sure that it isn’t recorded.’
‘Oh for fu. .’ the chief sighed. ‘If we were going to tape him, we’d be doing it at our place, not his. As for it being official, just get out the road or it will be.’ Murtagh’s nostrils flared. ‘Now!’ he barked.
‘Very well. Follow me. My client’s in the leisure club lounge. There’s no one else there just now.’ He led them through the hall, out of the building by a back door and across the lawn towards a glass annexe, built to enclose a swimming pool. They followed Murtagh inside, then through it, past the pool and into the area beyond, a gym, with exits marked ‘Spa’ and ‘Relaxation Room’. Their escort opened the door of the second, and ushered them through.
As he looked at Cameron McCullough, Bob Skinner had a very strange reaction. For the first time, he felt every one of his fifty years, a birthday he had decreed would pass by with no recognition by anyone other than his wife and older daughter. He knew that the man was eight years older than him, and yet he realised that anyone walking in on them would take him for his junior. He had a full head of silver hair, and skin that although tanned was smooth and shining with health. He wore a black tracksuit, narrow-waisted, broad-shouldered, and he stood with his thumbs tucked into the pockets of the trousers.
‘Welcome to my world,’ he said, in a voice that seemed to have no accent, and certainly no hint of Dundonian. ‘I understand you want to see me.’
Skinner nodded, then pointed at Murtagh. ‘He leaves.’
‘Oh no I don’t,’ the man retorted.
The chief ignored him, looking McCullough in the eye. ‘In that case, we do. I’ve seen you; job done.’
McCullough smiled, showing perfect white teeth. ‘Tommy, excuse us, please.’
‘But Cameron. .’
‘It’s all right. I’ll pull the panic alarm cord if they get rough with me. Go on, now.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll take it as read that you’ve searched them for hidden microphones.’
Murtagh’s face flushed; he left the room, avoiding the police officers’ eyes as he passed them.
‘He tries,’ McCullough chuckled, as the door closed. ‘I’m sorry about all that crap about recordings; I like him to think I take his advice seriously. He’s useful to me. By the way,’ he added, ‘this room isn’t bugged.’
‘He’s got no influence in politics any more,’ Skinner murmured. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course he hasn’t, nationally, but he’s still got some sort of name on Tayside. He knows the councillors, so it’s worth having him on the payroll. I’ve got other political consultants, of course, but they like to stay in the background.’ He picked up a fruit bowl from a table in the centre of the room and offered it. ‘Would you like an apple? Or there’s smoothies in that fridge in the corner if you’d prefer.’
‘We’re fine, thanks. We had lunch in Perth on the way up.’
‘You could have lunched with me, if you’d said.’ The smile again. ‘But maybe not. You know why Tommy was so keen to stay, don’t you? He’s worried you’ll tell me about catching him with my sister.’
‘You knew about that?’
‘Please, Mr Skinner! Surely you know what’s going on in your family?’
‘I don’t have any sisters, my kids are all youngsters, apart from my adult daughter, and she’d kill me if she caught me spying on her.’
‘Your daughter’s a bright girl, I hear. A coming force in Edinburgh legal circles.’
Skinner felt his eyes narrowing, and realised that it was obvious when McCullough raised a hand. As the same time, he sensed Martin stirring beside him.
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen; please, no,’ their host exclaimed. ‘I’m a businessman, and I keep myself abreast of what’s happening in Scotland, and beyond. I like to know who the top talent is, in case I ever need to add to my team of advisers. I promise you I haven’t been checking up on the young lady specifically.’
‘You’d better mean that,’ Martin murmured.
‘Of course I do.’
‘My friend has this fixation,’ said Skinner. ‘He dreams about putting you in jail. He thought he had you too, only you managed to walk away from it.’
‘There were no witnesses to the alleged murder.’ He grinned. ‘There wasn’t even an alleged body. And the police couldn’t produce the alleged drugs that they alleged were mine.’
‘No, they couldn’t, could they. But there were witnesses. They couldn’t be produced because they’d vanished, but they existed. Their bones probably still do, unless you had them fed to pigs too.’
‘Here,’ McCullough protested ‘if you’re going to start that, maybe this should be formal, and maybe I should have Susannah Himes here.’ He relaxed once more. ‘But no, let’s keep this as a quiet chat. I’ll say this, just the once: you’ll never find anything, never, that links me to any enterprise other than those that I own and of which I’m a director.’
It was Skinner’s turn to laugh. ‘Oh Christ, I know that. We never will, and not least because there’s been a disease that’s taken all the witnesses out. Tomas Zaliukas, Ken Green, the Gerulaitis couple. You know what? I think Valdas would have died in that fire anyway, even if Tomas hadn’t pulled his trick of leaving his shares in your offshore company to his nasty wife.’
‘There you go again,’ McCullough sighed.
‘Yes I do,’ the chief retorted, as he lowered himself into a chair, ‘because this is a private meeting like you wanted, and we’re going to talk. I’m going to tell you what we know, and you’re going to listen.’
The man shrugged. ‘OK.’ He took a seat beside the window as Martin walked across to the fridge and chose a soft drink. ‘Shoot.’
‘I’ve been known to, but not today. That’s not something your people are much into either, not recently at any rate. They’ve used other methods. I want to show you some stuff. Andy, have you got that netbook?’
‘Yes, it’s here.’ Martin opened his attaché case and produced a small computer. He hit the space key and it awoke from slumber.
Skinner took it as he rose and crossed to sit beside McCullough. ‘Let me show you some photos, Cameron.’ He clicked a folder and a grotesque image appeared on screen, naked flesh, gore, bone. ‘That’s Tomas Zaliukas on the mortuary slab. . before they started to carve him up, but after he had done what he was compelled to do to save the lives of his wife and children.’ He clicked again and a slide show began. ‘That’s a man called Linas Jankauskas, after your brother-in-law broke his neck.’ Pause. ‘That’s Valdas Gerulaitis, after the fire.’ Pause. ‘That’s his wife.’ Pause. ‘That’s Ken Green, dead in his car, after Henry and Dudley had finished with him. We know they were in the cottage, by the way; we’d have them if they were alive.’ Pause. ‘Only they’re not. This is them as they were found, on Monday night, after Jonas Zaliukas had finished with them.’ Skinner held the photograph and zoomed in on it. As he looked at it, McCullough gave a short gasp, his first reaction. ‘See those things on the ground?’ the chief asked. ‘Jonas played a game before he killed them. This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed at home, and so on. He played it four times, once with each foot, and then he put them away. Did he tell you he was going to do that when he came to see you, Cameron?’
The man’s eyes locked on to Skinner’s. ‘What do you mean, came to see me?’ he snapped, but a second too late. ‘Pure fucking fantasy.’
‘Fantastic but true. Jonas paid you a surprise visit, at home, on Monday. You had no idea he existed, did you, or what he was. You and he had a chat, just like this one, and after that, probably in exchange for him agreeing to stop at the two of them, you set up your brother-in-law, and Dudley. You’re a seriously hard man, I know, but so’s Jonas. And you’re both realists, so you did a deal, the two of you. Why do I say this? Because Goldie told us that Henry took the call that sent him to the barn on his mobile, his shop-bought pay-as-you-go, no contract, anonymous mobile, the same as Dudley had, and the same as you’ve got so that we can never trace certain calls you might not want us to. Your privacy means everything to you, Cameron; you kill to protect it. Henry took your call, he put his phone in his pocket, he took a gun. . he must have sensed something was off, or you slipped him a signal in your instructions. . and he went to his death. How do I know that’s what happened? Because we never found their fucking phones, man, and we know for sure that Henry had his on him. Jonas took them away from the scene, and destroyed them, along with the legally held shotgun he took from his brother’s house and the shears he took from his garden shed. That was part of your agreement, no doubt. But no, Jonas never told you about his plans for their toes, did he, and he didn’t tell you about this.’