Skinner's Rules (20 page)

‘Apart from the Chinese business, I don’t recall them ever appearing together professionally. Everyone knew they had the hots for each other, but they kept their private lives well out of the Library, as we all do.’

‘What about instructing solicitors? Could there be a link there?’

‘I don’t see it. They both had largely criminal practices. As you know, that means that most of their work would come from the West of Scotland. I can’t recall any of the Glasgow solicitor mafia having come to a sticky end in the time-scale we’re considering.’

Cowan walked over to a drinks table beside the door. He picked up a decanter and a glass, and looked at Skinner, raising his eyebrows.

‘No thanks, Peter,’ he replied to the unspoken offer. ‘It’s a bit early. Anyway, I’ll need to get home to break the good news to Sarah that I’m going to London first thing tomorrow.’

‘To do with this?’

‘Yes. I’m off for another chat with the Ambassador. There’s one other thing I’d like from the Faculty. Can I have your cooperation in a very discreet check on Mortimer and Jameson? I want to go through their lives with a toothcomb, from university on. For example, I want to find out if they knew each other then.’

‘I can tell you that. They didn’t. Mike was Glasgow, Rachel was Edinburgh. They worked in different cities until they came to the Bar. As a matter of fact I introduced them, and they were definitely meeting for the first time.’

Cowan put the decanter back on the table, unbroached, and turned back to face Skinner.

‘Bob, I’ll give your people every facility. I’ll find somewhere private for them to work. But we’ll need a cover story. Our place is a rumour factory. Who’s going to be in charge of your team?’

‘Andy Martin’s putting a squad together. There’ll be one or two on the premises, but I’ll make sure that they’re not known to any of your people, and if possible — though this will be more difficult — that they don’t look like polis!’

‘You can pretend they’re auditors. No one ever goes near them!’

Cowan chuckled. ‘When do you want to start? Monday OK? I say that because I’ll need to brief my secretary to sort out all of Mike and Rachel’s papers without attracting attention. What about the rest of their things? Personal stuff.’

‘I’ll need to talk to next of kin about that. With a bit of luck it’ll all still be in their flats, or in the hands of executors.’

Cowan looked at him. ‘That’s if they left wills. They were both young, and lawyers are as bad as any professionals at following their own advice!’

Leaving Gullane at 6.05 a.m., and using the Edinburgh by-pass, Skinner arrived at the airport with twenty minutes to spare. He bought a ticket and boarded the half-empty flight. The 757 took off on time, and landed without the almost obligatory wait in the Heathrow stack.

The tube was quieter than usual, free on a Saturday of the hordes of office workers. He read the Weekend section of his
Scotsman,
and passed the journey in relative comfort.

He left the tube at Green Park and walked towards Piccadilly Circus until he found the Embassy, entered, and announced himself. The young Japanese receptionist checked a sheet of crested paper on his desk, and rose from his seat. ‘Please follow me, sir.’

He led Skinner up a flight of stairs and along a thickly-carpeted hallway, at the end of which double doors opened into Shi-Bachi’s outer office. ‘Please be seated,’ the young man invited, indicating a high-backed chair.

The receptionist whispered to a middle-aged man who sat in a red leather chair behind a dark wood desk. The man looked up from his papers and replied in Japanese. The youth withdrew, and the aide turned to Skinner. ‘Good morning, sir. I will see if the Ambassador is free.’

He picked up one of three telephones on his desk, pressed a button, and spoke. In the flow of Japanese, Skinner recognised his own name. The man replaced the phone. ‘The Ambassador will see you at once,’ he said, indicating by his tone that the speed of the audience was something of an honour.

He escorted Skinner through a second set of double doors into a long room. The wall facing the door, was almost completely window, shrouded by heavy blast curtains in white net. The Ambassador’s vast desk was set to the left, away from the windows. A portrait of the Emperor hung behind the swivel chair, with another of his late father above the fireplace opposite.

Shi-Bachi rose and walked towards Skinner, extending his hand in Western-style greeting. ‘Good morning, Assistant Chief Constable. I am glad to see you again.’

Skinner bowed briefly and shook the extended hand. ‘And I to see you, sir.’

They settled into two soft armchairs. The man from the outer office reappeared with a tray, on which were set a silver tea-pot, two china cups, a small jug of milk, and to Skinner’s private amusement, a large plate of chocolate digestive biscuits.

Shi-Bachi pointed to the plate and laughed. ‘Some things are commo to both our cultures!’ The Ambassador’s aide looked puzzled as he poured.

Each sipped his tea in silence for a moment. At last Shi-Bachi spoke. ‘So, Mr Skinner,’ he asked softly, ‘what is it that you wish to tell me about Yobatu san?’

‘I have something to tell and something to ask, Your Excellency. New evidence has been discovered. We now know that the person who killed Mortimer looked inside his document case after the murder. And it appears that Miss Jameson’s business case was stolen at the time of her death.

‘The motive for the killings of the Chinese and the two advocates was a very strong part of the case against Yobatu
san.
What possible reason could he have had, once he had killed, for stealing the papers of his victims? And the second theft, from the platform, after Miss Jameson had been pushed under the train, was incredibly risky.

‘No, Your Excellency, if theft was the real motive for the killings, and it now appears that it may have been, then the circumstantial case against Yobatu
san
is destroyed.’

Shi-Bachi held up his hand. ‘But there was certain, er, physical evidence, was there not?’

‘Which could have been planted for us to find. If that was done by someone who knew, or could guess that we were about to search, it would have been easy to time it so that there was little risk of Yobatu finding the evidence before we did. What better way of concealing a motive for murder and the identity of a killer than by framing an unstable man with a strong reason to kill, and one who, as an added bonus, could not be tried, only removed from the country?’

‘But I would have seen to it that he stood trial.’

‘Remember Allingham and Wilson. They were there to see to it that he did not.’

Shi-Bachi’s small eyes twinkled. ‘You believe that they are involved in this conspiracy, that your government is involved?’

‘No, sir, I don’t say that. The fact is that there was some political force to Allingham’s argument, and Lord Muckhart may well have wanted to have avoided such a high-profile prosecution.’

Shi-Bachi nodded. ‘I can see that. You have told me something that has eased my mind of a burden. What was it that you wished to ask me?’

Skinner sat forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and bunched his hands together. ‘It’s your opinion as Yobatu
san’s
countryman that I need. The man had every chance to deny these crimes before he became ill. Why didn’t he? His silence is my last reason to believe in his guilt.’

Shi-Bachi also perched on the edge of his chair.

‘Mr Skinner, I have to tell you this. I have never believed that Yobatu
san
did these things. To be frank, that was why I was so keen that he should be made available for trial. Your evidence was strong, but I knew the man. He was of a samurai family, yes, and he boasted of it. But it was an empty boast. Yobatu
san
may have looked impressive, but it was all show. He may have had the blood of the samurai, but he was no warrior.

‘He was sent to Scotland by his family to run an off-shoot company because he lacked the nerve to take essential but difficult management decisions at the centre. His business policies were laid down by Japan. His diplomatic status was gained through family influence, as a favour to them, and as a means of giving face to him. But he never actually did anything official. In his behaviour, Yobatu san deserted Japan. He adopted the ways of the West completely, keeping only the posturings of the Samurai to remind him of his heritage.’

Skinner held up a hand. ‘In that case, sir, why did he not deny the murders from the outset? And why did he collapse after being arrested?’

‘Here you can have my educated guess. When you told him what had happened to those people, the posturing samurai took over. His first reaction was to pretend for a while that he had done as his ancestors would have.

‘His collapse? When it dawned on him that someone had done those things for him; that because of his weakness, his revenge had been taken by someone else, then laid at his door along with other bloody deeds. I would guess that his collapse was caused in part by his fear of the consequences for him of these things that he had not done, but also by his shame that he had not done them.’

Shi-Bachi sat back in his chair. He looked tired.

Skinner smiled slightly at him. ‘Your Excellency, we have a psychiatrist in Edinburgh named O’Malley. I think he could learn from you.’

The Ambassador chuckled. ‘I am glad to hear you say that. You see, I too am a psychoanalyst by profession.’

Suddenly something clicked in Skinner’s mind. ‘Sir, earlier you spoke of Yobatu san in the past tense. Was that unintentional?’

Shi-Bachi looked grave again. ‘You are a thorough and perceptive man, When Yobatu
san
went back to Japan, I sent him to my clinic. There, my colleagues worked hard to bring him back into contact with the world. Gradually they began to succeed, although he never spoke. Three days ago, he dressed up in his Western clothes to meet his wife. When she came into his room, she found him hanging by his tie.’

The meeting with Shi-Bachi lasted for just over forty-five minutes. When Skinner emerged from the Embassy into Piccadilly, the morning was still fine. He strolled back towards the Circus, and turned past the restored Eros into Regent Street. As he walked a wave of depression settled on him. The Ambassador had removed any last thought that Yobatu might after all be guilty.

He was back to square one, starting an investigation into a possible murder conspiracy on the basis of evidence which, to others, might have seemed shaky. What if Mortimer had nicked himself shaving, and a drop of blood had fallen into the open case? Did he own black woollen gloves? Could the strands have come from them? What if Jameson’s case had indeed been stolen by a casual thief? The murders had stopped, the affair was closed. Should he leave it that way?

‘The hell I should!’ Skinner exploded aloud, startling a street corner news vendor.

 

He arrived back at Fettes Avenue just after 4.00 p.m. Brian Mackie sat in the outer office, casually dressed, working his way through a pile of papers. The second desk, occupied during the week by a secretary, showed signs of use. Skinner jerked a thumb towards it and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

‘Maggie Rose, sir.’ Mackie answered the unspoken question. ‘She’s helping me with this lot. Statements from Mortimer’s family and closest friends, and from those who saw him in the Library before he was killed. So far there’s nothing. No one can think of anyone with a grudge against him, or can credit that he might have been involved in anything at all dodgy.’

‘Is there a statement by Rachel Jameson there?’

‘First one I studied, boss. There’s nothing in it. Not a hint of anything like a lead. And she must have known him better than anyone.’

Skinner looked hard at Mackie.

‘This won’t be easy, Brian. If there’s something there waiting to be found, we’ll find it, but it’ll take balls-aching hard work. Go over everything, and then go over it again. Glamorous job this, is it not?’

Maggie Rose came into the room, carrying two mugs of coffee. She started in surprise when she saw Skinner. ‘Afternoon sir... and a Happy New Year.’

‘Thanks, Sergeant.’ He smiled at her. ‘Same to you.’

He turned back to Mackie. ‘Andy in?’

Maggie Rose answered. ‘I think he’s in his office, sir. I saw a light under the door when I was out for these.’

Skinner walked the few yards along the corridor to the Special Branch suite. Martin was at his desk, making a telephone call. He waved his free hand in a wind-up motion as he saw Skinner enter, and terminated the call after a few seconds.

‘Hello, boss. London didn’t take long. What happened?’ In detail, Skinner told him. Martin grimaced at the story of Yobatu’s suicide.

‘So he really wasn’t our man.’

‘No Andy, not a chance. The poor bastard was trussed up like a Christmas turkey and set out before us. And we, greedy and gullible coppers that we are, we did the carving.

‘Right, so what are we doing here?’

‘Well, boss, we’ve started on all the available papers - statements that sort of stuff — in the Mortimer job. And the Transport plods are sending us through all their witness statements - such as they are — on Jameson.

‘I’ve also spoken to Rachel’s mother again this morning. We’ve had a bit of luck there. It seems that Mortimer and Rachel were planning to get married next summer. In advance of that, they’d bought a new house together. It’s not built yet, but they’d signed up for mortgage, insurance and all that. When they did that, they each made a will naming the other And each of them specified the same guy as executor; Kenny Duff of Curle, Anthony and Jarvis, in Charlotte Square. I’ve spoken to him.’

‘Good day’s work. What’d he say?’

Martin took a sip of coffee from the big white mug before him.

‘Well for openers, neither Mike’s nor Rachel’s flat has been put on the market yet. Wrong time of year apparently. The new house wasn’t to be ready until next September or October. So both places are lying there virtually as they were at the times of the murders. The only papers that have been disturbed are those to do with insurance, property and that sort of thing. All their personal and business documents will still be there.