'Of the remaining thirteen, nine were domestic crimes, in which the victims… as it happens, they included five wives, one grandfather and three mothers-in-law… were related to the murderer. Al of the perpetrators are now in jail, other than one who refused to appeal his death sentence and was executed three months ago.
'That leaves four, not counting Leo and Susannah. In every one of those cases the victim was murdered at home; two of them were Italians, known to have been involved in organised crime, and two of them were Colombians, a husband and wife, drug dealers who had been ripping off their suppliers.'
'Okay, I agree,' said the Sheriff. 'But how does that tie in with what you said back at the house, about jurisdiction over the investigation?'
Finally, Skinner smiled, the big broad smile of a card-player laying down a winning hand. 'On the journey upstate, and in my waking hours in the hotel, I've been through al of these burglary homicide reports.
They're very detailed; it says a lot for the FBI computer, ask it a specific question and you'l get an answer. It took a while, but eventual y, I found two files which, set together, make interesting reading.
'One homicide took place in a suburb of Las Vegas two weeks ago.
The victim's name was Sander Garrett; he lived alone in a big new luxury development on the outskirts of the city. He was found dead in his kitchen, cause of death a single gunshot wound to the head. His house had a security system, which Garrett normal y set at night, but when the cops arrived they realised that it wasn't activated. There were no signs of forced entry.
' 'The other murder was committed five days later, in Helena, the state capital of Montana. Again the victim was a lone male, Bartholomew Wilkins. He was found dead in the den of his home by his wife, RoseAnne, when she got back from the shopping mall. The autopsy showed that he'd been kil ed by a single blow from a slim, stiletto-type blade, driven into his brain with great force..
'In each case, cash and other items were taken from the scene of the crime, and it was written up as a burglary in which the victim had disturbed his killer.
'Until now, that is.'
The big Scot leaned forward across the desk, his shoulders hunching in the jacket of his dark suit.
'You see, Sheriff, there are three very remarkable coincidences in these two cases, which tie them right to the murders of Leo and Susannah.
Both victims were retired lawyers. Both of them were or had been active and prominent Democrats. Both of them, early in their careers, had spent time in Washington, at the same time as Leo Grace.'
Dekker looked at him across the table, and let out a long slow whistle.
'Fucking-A,' he murmured, with a deep frown creasing his forehead.
Brand and Kosinski sat silent, their slightly stunned expressions offering proof, if any had been needed, that they had not sneaked a look at the documents before handing them over.
Skinner put the files back into his attache case. 'I was asked.. . informal y, I stress… by my friend Joe Doherty, the deputy director of the Bureau, to report to him on what I found at the lake.' He glanced at the two agents. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, gentlemen, but when a crime goes interstate, it becomes your responsibility, yes?'
Brand nodded, firmly. 'That is correct, sir.'
'In that ease,' said the Scot, glancing back at Dekker, 'to come back to what I said earlier, you may not need to worry about a turf battle with the State police. I suspect that the FBI may want to take charge of this one.'
The Buffalo Sheriff's expression was one of pure, unadulterated relief; he looked more than ever like a politician rather than a policeman. 'Do you want to cal your friend. Bob,' he asked, 'or will I?'
22
'Seriously though, Andy, is this job not what you choose to make it?' asked Dan Pringle, with a trademark tug at a corner of his heavy moustache.
The outgoing Head of CID looked across the desk at his successor, as if trying to determine whether he was serious. 'That depends entirely on the level of your ambition, my friend. If your main objective is to maximise your pension and get the hell out of here at the earliest opportunity, you would certainly approach it in that frame of mind.
'If, on the other hand, you do not fancy having your door kicked in every other day by a deputy chief constable waving worsening clear-up figures in your face, you'll approach it with just one single objective, that being to make sure that for as long as you're sat in this chair, every CID division is working at its maximum efficiency.'
'Aye,' said Pringle, a slow grin spreading across his face. 'That was more or less what I supposed. So every time you chewed us out at the Monday morning meeting, it was because Big Bob had given you a doing?'
'Not invariably,' Andy Martin answered. 'Most of the time it was to make sure that he didn't give me a doing. Chief Super or not, you do not want his boot on your neck; so, as of next week, when you're sat in this chair you'l find yourself concentrating very hard on avoiding that possibility.'
Pringle gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. 'By kicking the crap out of the likes of Mario here, you mean?'
'Exactly'
'Give me a break!' McGuire protested, from his seat against the wall.
'I'm not even in the job yet and you're getting at me. Give me a chance to make mistakes before you take me to task for them.'
'Why? Have you got any in mind?' asked Martin.
'One or two; just for openers, I was thinking of head-butting my new boss for pinching the best detective sergeant in the division.'
Pringle looked at him, al innocence. 'Big Jack McGurk, you mean?
Christ, and here was me thinking I was going to get away with that without you noticing.'
'Think again then. You're a fucking asset-stripper… with respect… sir.
'I was going to tell you, Mario, honest. I just haven't had an opportunity until now. I know McGurk's good; that's why I took him to the Borders Division in the first place, and that's why I want him in my office when I move up here. There's more to it than that, though; there's his marriage as well. If I leave him down there, that's done for. They've tried hard, but it's just not working just now.'
'What? Are you a social worker, too?'
A flash of real annoyance showed for a second in the older man's eyes.
'No, but I've been long enough in my rank to have become a decent man manager. We al have to learn that skilh mostly the hard way, like you with that bloody Tommy Gavigan. You could leave big Jack down there and he'd do a good job for you, but if I give him a chance to patch things up with his missus, he'l do a better job for me.
'Anyhow, don't get your Calvin rucking Kleins in a twist, you're getting a first-class substitute. Young Sammy Pye's going down to take his place.'
McGuire looked at Martin. The Chief Superintendent nodded. 'That's the game plan,' he confirmed.
'Sam's been here long enough, and he's every bit as good an operator as McGurk. You can take my word for that.'
'That's fine, Andy, but am I going to find myself with another domestic situation there, like Dan did with Jack?'
'What? With Sammy and Ruthie McConnell, you mean? No, not at all; they're getting married in the autumn, and they're going to live in Gorebridge. They can both travel to work easily enough from there.'
Pringle nodded in confirmation, then glanced at Martin. 'What are you and Karen going to do about that, Andy?' he asked. 'Are you two moving house?'
'No choice,' the DCS answered.
'How's Karen doing?' asked McGuire, blowing them away.
'Great,' Martin replied. 'First-rate, blooming, glowing with health and al that stuff… now that she's well past throwing up every morning, that is. She's decided that we're moving to Perth, rather than Dundee.
We're going to look at houses there at the weekend; we've got to sort it out sharpish, either that or put it off for a bit. She's due in a couple of months.'