‘That will not worry me,’ Rogozin said quietly. ‘I did not know who he really was. And also,’ he added, ‘I did not send him to attack your Mr Skinner. That was all his own idea,’ he laughed, a short unpleasant laugh, ‘and a very bad one, as it can be seen.’ He leaned forward. ‘But if the lawyer woman sees it as a message from me . . . that will not worry me either. I want her to know that Baker must have what is coming to him, what he deserves.’

  Abruptly, he rose to his feet. ‘Now, policemen, I have said enough. You are here with my agreement, and now you don’t have it no more. Go on, leave me.’

  Haddock looked at Pye; he said nothing but his eyes asked a question. Are we going to take this?

  The DCI nodded and stood. ‘We’re leaving, Mr Rogozin, but we may be back. Valentin Afonin had nothing to say when we interviewed him yesterday, but as the man who brought him here, your status is still subject to review by the immigration authorities.’ He looked around the room. ‘Don’t get too comfortable here.’ He turned and led his sergeant from the room.

  The door had barely closed before Haddock exclaimed, ‘What did you think of that, gaffer? The arrogant bastard! We should have lifted him, and worried about justifying it later.’

  Amused by the younger man’s uncharacteristic outrage, Pye shook his head. ‘Nah, Sauce, we’ll let him alone for now. We’ve no way of proving he knew who Grigor Yashin really was, or that he sent him after Bob.’

  ‘Would we get away with leaking to the press that Afonin worked for him?’ the DS pondered.

  ‘Probably, but we’re not going to do that either. I’m more interested in what he said about Baker. His English is a bit confusing at times, but the way I took that, he wants him convicted.’

  Thirty-Two

  ‘Are you sure you should be here?’ Mia McCullough asked. ‘I’ve seen the video; you got pretty banged about.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I,’ Bob Skinner agreed. ‘But at the end it wasn’t me that was trussed up like a chicken, and on the way to Siberia, or wherever the Russians send their lifers these days. I’m fine; I had a night in the Royal then twenty-four hours at home. Sarah gave me the all-clear this morning.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll bet your old man loved seeing me get whacked.’

  ‘You misjudge him,’ she insisted. ‘Cameron has nothing against you, only against those Tayside cops who hounded him for years. He thought that what happened was appalling. I’m sorry he’s not here, by the way. He has a meeting in Dundee.’

  ‘I’m quite happy that he’s not here. Did he recognise the guy who hit me?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘he knew him all right.’

  ‘Is he wondering why he hasn’t been charged?’

  ‘We know that too. Cameron and Dimitri have had words about it.’

  ‘I might want a chat with Rogozin as well,’ Skinner murmured. ‘If it happens, it won’t be filmed, that I promise you.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t. But don’t do anything drastic, Bob, please. Cameron has the man under control. He’s not worth it.’

  ‘If he was trying to intimidate Ignacio, would he be worth it?’

  ‘But he isn’t,’ Mia countered. ‘As for Alex, he knows now that she’s off limits.’

  ‘He’d better.’ He paused and glanced around the large drawing room in which she had received him for their hastily arranged meeting. The McCullough residence was a modern villa on the Black Shield Lodge estate, out of sight of the hotel and guest cottages, but within easy reach of all of them. ‘You’ve finally landed on your feet, gal,’ he observed. ‘Be careful you don’t screw this up.’

  ‘Why should you worry if I did?’ she shot back, archly. ‘You never cared before.’

  ‘I barely had time,’ he countered. ‘Mia, you were in my life for about a week, then you were gone. But even at that, if I hadn’t cared about you . . .’ he paused, considering a twenty-year-old memory, ‘. . . either I’d have locked you up as an accessory to murder, or I’d have left you to your evil cow of a mother.’

  ‘If you’d locked her up instead it would have solved a lot of problems down the road.’

  ‘I’d have loved to, but I’d no excuse,’ he sighed. ‘It worries me, you know, the fact that she’s part of our son’s genetic inheritance.’

  ‘Worries you?’ she exclaimed. ‘It scares the shit out of me. Let’s face it, Bob, Ignacio’s descended from one of Edinburgh’s least likeable families.’ She looked up at him. ‘Honesty time?’

  ‘Always should be.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re his father. If I could live my life again . . . I’d have come back from Spain as soon as I knew I was pregnant, and I’d have told you.’

  ‘I wish you had,’ he murmured.

  ‘What would you have done?’ she asked. ‘You must have asked yourself that question since you found out about him.’ ‘Oh, I have,’ he admitted. ‘Over and over again. I still don’t have all the answers, but this I do know. I’d have loved our boy from the start and I’d have been as proud of him as I was, still am, of his sister. I’d have wanted to bring them up together, and we’d probably have fought about that . . .’

  ‘Unless we’d become a couple.’

  He frowned, opened his mouth to reply then closed it again. ‘I was going to say “In your dreams”,’ he confessed, ‘but I can’t. I wouldn’t have let you go back to your old life, not carrying my child, so yes, you might well have moved in with Alex and me.’ Unexpectedly, he grinned. ‘She wouldn’t have been too happy about sharing our kitchen with another woman, mind you.’

  Mia smiled back at him. ‘I’d have deferred to her, honest.’ She paused and sadness came into her eyes. ‘It wouldn’t have lasted, would it? You and me?’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It wouldn’t, and it would have been my fault when it failed, ’cos it always is. It might even have got nasty, with us fighting over custody. But,’ he said firmly, ‘through it all, there would have been one certainty. I would have kept you safe from your mother and everybody else on your dark side, and none of them would ever have been allowed near Ignacio.’

  ‘Who would probably have been called Robert,’ she pointed out.

  ‘More likely William, after my dad.’

  She shook her head. ‘No way. I’d an uncle called William; he’d never have been called after him.’

  ‘See,’ he chuckled, ‘we’re arguing over him already.’

  ‘But no more,’ she insisted. ‘This is why I wanted to meet with you, to make that clear. We’re talking about him as if he was still a child, but he isn’t. He’ll be released from that place as a fully functioning adult, entitled to live his life however he chooses. He could tell both of us to fuck off, after giving him such an awful start. But he won’t; I know this because he and I have talked about it. He would like to get to know his brothers and sisters, but most of all he’d like to get to know his father. I want that too. He may be descended from brigands on my side, but he comes from a line of law-keepers on yours, and that’s the influence he needs now. Do you have room for him in your life?’

  Skinner reached out and took his former lover’s hand. ‘Mia,’ he murmured, ‘I have room for him in my house, not just my life. Sarah and I have been all over this and she’s more than happy to have him with us.’

  ‘Even with the new baby?’

  ‘It’s a big house, we have a nanny, and Sarah will be taking maternity leave from next month. I’ll find him a college to study for his exams, and he can aim to start university next autumn.’

  ‘Shouldn’t he have a job, under his probation terms?’

  ‘He will, if they say he needs one. I can find him something at the Saltire , or Alex might be able to keep him busy. She has a spare room, by the way. If Gullane ever gets claustrophobic, or too crowded for him, or even too quiet, he can crash out there.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘You’re not such a bad bloke, are you? Maybe I should have hung around, twenty years ago.’

  He looked around the opulent room once again. ‘Maybe,’ he murmured, ‘but long-term it’s worked out okay for you. Now,’ he said, glancing at his watch, ‘I must be going. You’re not the only person I came here to meet.’

  He picked up his car coat from the chair where it lay, and moved towards the door.

  ‘Why do you want to see Baker?’ she asked.

  ‘I want to see everyone involved in the case. I’ve promised to help Alex prepare his defence; that means starting from scratch and interviewing all the witnesses, as if I was still a cop.’

  ‘Does that mean you think he’s innocent? I do.’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m open to the possibility.’

  Outside, the steady rain that had followed him from East Lothian had eased to a faint drizzle. Rather than drive the half mile to the cottage where the Bakers were staying he walked, following Mia’s directions and taking a pathway that cut the distance in half.

  Two cars were parked outside, and a pushchair with a clear waterproof cover stood beside them. Skinner smiled as he saw a small figure sheltered there, crumpled in sleep.

  He was still smiling as the front door was opened, by a woman clad in a jogging suit and slipper socks. She had golden blond hair, matching that of the sleeping child, and she looked to be around Alex’s age, maybe two or three years older.

  ‘Dr Baker?’ he asked, rhetorically.

  ‘Mr Skinner?’ she responded, then put a finger to her lips. ‘Sshh. Don’t want to wake Letty. We should have another half an hour of peace and quiet if we’re lucky.’ She stood aside to let him into the house. ‘I suppose I should really ask you for ID, but you’re pretty well known after that video the other day. Besides, you’re not a policeman any more, so you won’t have any.’

  He smiled as he stepped inside. ‘I still have my warrant card from my last job. Trouble is, it says “Chief Constable, Strathclyde Police” and that force doesn’t exist any longer.’

  Lita Baker led him into a living area at the front of the house. ‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘No thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m on a ration, and I’ve had my one for this morning.’ He looked around. ‘Mr Baker?’

  ‘Chaz is running,’ she told him. ‘He’s going crazy being bottled up here. He won’t be long, I promise.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Skinner assured her. ‘I want to talk to you too, and it suits me that it’s just the two of us.’

  ‘Then fire away,’ she said as they sat, each choosing a white leather chair. ‘I don’t know what I can say that’ll help, but try me.’

  ‘Okay but I have to be blunt. Were you aware of your husband’s friendship with Annette Bordeaux?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t,’ she admitted. ‘Chaz never mentioned it; he never spoke about her in fact.’

  ‘Never? It must have been an unusual situation for him as a manager to have a player with a supermodel for a wife.’

  ‘That was a first, I’ll grant you, but players these days can have pretty exotic partners. Chaz’s teams have had pop singers in England, and a politician’s daughter in France.’ She shot him a quick glance and a faint smile. ‘We also had the son of a judge, but that was kept very quiet.’

  ‘What’s he told you since the murder?’

  ‘He confessed to me that they had a friendship, instigated by her, on account of what she said was her feeling of isolation in Scotland.’

  ‘You sound as if you’re sceptical about that.’

  ‘I am; she has a global schedule. In the last six months she’s had shoots in Shanghai, in Cape Town, and in New York . . . and those are the ones I know of. To me that doesn’t suggest lonely isolation, but what do I know? I’m a doctor, not a psychologist. Maybe she and Paco were having trouble and she didn’t like to admit it.’

  ‘I’ll cut to the chase,’ Skinner said. ‘Now that you do know about it, do you think they were having an affair?’

  Lita Baker threw back her head and laughed, ‘Absolutely not! Chaz wouldn’t know how. He isn’t the best conversationalist generally, and with women . . . forget it. His first chat-up line to me was, “Do you come here often?” We were at a sports injury seminar in the FA headquarters in England. That’s how gauche he is. So the idea of his sweeping a supermodel off her feet, that’s a non-starter.’

  He looked at her and held her gaze, his expression blank. ‘Suppose it was the other way around. Suppose she did the sweeping? Is Chaz an impressionable man?’

  For the first time, there was a hint of hesitancy in her response. ‘No, well, not really. Although . . . the pop singer girlfriend at the English club, she turned his head, I think.’ She smiled. ‘She didn’t turn anything else though.’

  ‘Noted,’ Skinner chuckled. ‘To sum up, you are absolutely convinced of Chaz’s innocence, yes?’

  ‘Totally and completely. He might be a prickly guy on the outside, and he might have had a reputation for a quick temper as a player, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe he’d kill someone, whatever pressure was put on him.’

  ‘Pressure?’ he repeated. ‘What did you mean by that?’

  ‘Oh nothing, nothing at all. I wasn’t . . .’

  She was interrupted by the sound of a door opening at the rear of the cottage. ‘That’ll be him,’ she exclaimed. ‘Chaz!’ she called out. ‘Mr Skinner’s here.’

  ‘Gimme a minute,’ Baker responded, from the kitchen, then burst into a paroxysm of coughing.

  He appeared in less than that time, zipping up a tracksuit jacket as he stepped into the living area. His hair was damp and ruffled and a towel was draped round his neck. ‘Sorry, chum,’ he wheezed. ‘I had to get out of here. Wish I hadn’t now. I’d no idea I was so badly out of shape. Don’t take training any more, see.’

  ‘I’ll leave you guys to it,’ his wife declared. ‘I need to fix Letty’s lunch before she wakes up, demanding attention.’

  ‘Did you two have a good chat?’ Baker enquired, as she went out, retracing his steps.

  ‘It was helpful,’ Skinner replied. ‘Have you two spoken much, about the situation, since it arose?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Baker retorted, ripping open a can of an orange drink and dropping into a chair. ‘Of course we have,’ he sighed. ‘Lita wanted to know what the hell I was doing in Annie’s apartment, and I couldn’t really tell her. I couldn’t tell her because I didn’t bloody know.’

  ‘Mr Baker,’ he continued, ‘I know you’ve been through this with my daughter, but I will ask you this once more. Were you in a sexual relationship with Annette Bordeaux? Look me in the eye when you answer and do not lie to me, because I will know if you do.’

  The football manager, the accused, stared back at him. ‘No,’ he said, quietly. ‘No, sir, I was not.’

  Skinner held his gaze for a few seconds; and then he nodded. ‘Okay,’ he replied. ‘I believe you. Now, did you kill her?’

  ‘I promise you, I did not.’

  ‘I believe that too. The trick will be proving that you didn’t. To do that you’re going to have to continue to be honest with Alex and me, all the way.’

  ‘I will. What else do you need to ask me?’

  ‘Are you or have you ever been a recreational drug user?’

  Baker blinked. ‘You’re fucking joking. I was a footballer but I had to work hard at it; I had no time for any of that shit. Now I’m a manager, but more than that, I’m the father of a two-year-old daughter. I couldn’t possibly put either of those at risk.’ He stopped, then frowned. ‘The blood sample that Alex had me give yesterday: test that and it’ll prove it.’

  ‘That’s why it was taken.’

  ‘How will it help?’

  ‘It might not, Chaz,’ Skinner told him, ‘but to be frank, at the moment it’s all you have in your favour, assuming it doesn’t throw up any nasty surprises.’

  Thirty-Three

  ‘Why should I talk to you?’ Sirena Burbujas said, with a look of disdain in her eyes that Skinner did not like. ‘You are working for the man who killed lovely Annette.’

  ‘No,’ he corrected her, ‘I’m working for my daughter, who has been instructed by Mr Baker to prepare his defence against that accusation.’

  ‘But he did it!’ she squealed, drawing glances from other customers in the Palm Court of the Balmoral Hotel. ‘Everybody knows.’

  ‘Keep your voice down, please,’ he snapped. ‘Everybody knows what, exactly?’

  ‘That he killed her. He went to her apartment while Paco was away and he killed her.’

  ‘Mr Baker denies that, Ms Burbujas. He will plead not guilty and the case will go to trial. When it does the Crown will have to prove its allegations. Until it does he’s an innocent man, and any stories that are being spread around about him are slanderous and prejudicial.’

  ‘I’m not spreading any stories,‘ Burbujas protested. She spoke with a slight transatlantic twang that Skinner knew was an affectation.

  ‘No?’ he retorted. ‘Somebody is. There’s a piece in the Mirror this morning; “The secret life of Annette Bordeaux ”, it’s titled, only it’s not really secret at all. It’s all about her work and her professional relationships, routine stuff slapped together to sell papers. Nobody’s quoted directly but it could only have come from somebody with a detailed knowledge of Annette’s diary. Her husband, maybe, but the police have him holed up in a hotel, well away from the press.’ He paused.

  ‘That’s to say he was until this morning, when reporters and cameramen from the Sun and Sky Television turned up in the driveway as he was being taken for a scan on his injured hamstring. Not many people knew he was there, but you were one of them.’