Read Thursday legends - Skinner 10 for Free Online

showered, and changed
clothes. The thought of breakfast did not cross his mind for an instant;
instead, when he was ready, he stepped into his garage through the internal
door, opened the up-and-over and backed his red MGF into the street. As he
jumped out to close the garage, the front door of the house next door opened,
and Rhian stepped out, in her running gear; sweatshirt, shorts and trainers.
    'Morning,'
she said, young and bright; making him feel just the opposite. 'Busy night?'
    'God
awful,' he grunted.
    She
looked genuinely concerned for him. 'Oh, poor love. Never mind, tonight will be
better, I promise.'
    From
out of nowhere he was swamped by a pang of guilt. If that phone hadn't rung ... If Alec Smith hadn't been ...
    'About
tonight, Rhian. I've got a major investigation under way. If we get a quick result,
I could be involved in interviews and so on. Say to Juliet that I might not
make it, will you?'
    She
raised herself quickly up on her toes and kissed him, lightly. For an
irrational moment he wondered if she would catch a
scent of Karen lingering on him. 'Let's just hope you do. Okay?'
    She
was infectious; for the first time since midnight, he smiled.
    'If
I can, I will. Promise.' He slid back into the tight cockpit of the sports car,
set his cellphone into the hands-free holder and drove off.
    The
streets of Edinburgh were relatively traffic-free at that time of a Saturday
morning, an hour or more before the first of the shoppers would head for
Princes Street. He waited until he had cleared Milton Link and turned on to the
Al before he dialled up Bob Skinner's number.
    Sarah
picked up the phone on the first ring; in the background he could hear a
baby's cry. 'Morning,' he said, 'I'm sorry it's so early, but I've held off as
long as I could. Hope I didn't wake Seonaid.'
    'No,'
the gentle American voice replied. 'She's hungry, that's all. Here, speak to
Bob while I plug her in.'
    There
was a pause, then Skinner's voice sounded from the car-phone's tiny speaker.
'Andy, what's this I've just heard on the radio about a suspicious death in
North Berwick?'
    'Last
night. I got the call at midnight; I've been to the scene already. I'm on my
way back out now.'
    'Eh?
Can't the Division handle it?'
    'The
Division is handling it, but I have to be seen up front on this one.'
    'What's
so special then?'
    'The
victim: ex-Special Branch. It's Alec Smith.'
    The
DCC's gasp seemed to fill the car. 'You're joking. What does the
"suspicious" mean?'
    'He
was tortured and, or, battered to death. I've seen them after
a month in the water, or burned to a crisp, but this is the worst ever.'
    'I'm
glad you didn't call me out, then. I can live without that.'
    Martin
chuckled, grimly; he knew that Skinner had come to detest bloody crime scenes.
'Don't be so glad. The guys who did it made a movie of the event and left it
behind for us.'
    'Some
Saturday morning viewing, that.'
    'Aye. Dead and Kicking, you might call it. Listen, Bob, we'll need the
best available pathologist for the post-mortem. Professor Hutchison's on
holiday, so ...'
    Skinner
anticipated his friend's question. 'Sarah,' he called across the room, 'Andy's
got a hot one. He's asking if you'll do it.'
    In
the background, he heard her reply. 'For him, okay. I guess he means today.'
'When, Andy?' 'Soonest.'
    'Okay,'
Bob told him. 'Book it for midday. But call in for me on your way past. I'm
coming along there with you. My Saturday foursome's just become a three-ball.'

 
    7
     
    Bob
Skinner shook his head as he stood in front of the house in which Alec Smith
had been butchered. A small group of journalists and photographers stood on the
other side of Forth Street. 'You know, Andy,' he said to his friend, 'I must be
losing my touch. I'm a copper, I should know things. On top of that, I like to
think of myself as part of the East Lothian community.
    'Yet
Alec Smith, an old acquaintance and colleague, lived in the middle of it for ... What? Three years, you say ... and I hadn't a