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it’ll go. It means nothing to me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just another witness, and for all I know you might even be a suspect. My team should all be here within the next few minutes. Do not go anywhere; they will be wanting to interview you.’
    ‘Aw, Jesus!’ Payne laughed, out loud. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ He glanced at Skinner. ‘May I, sir?’
    ‘You’d better,’ the chief conceded. He moved aside, letting the DCI step up to his CID colleague and whisper, urgently and fiercely in her ear, then catching her eye as she looked towards him, nodding gently, in answer to her surprise.
    She walked towards him. ‘They didn’t waste any time filling the chair,’ she said.
    ‘They . . . they being the First Minister and the Police Authority chair . . . felt that they didn’t have a choice. I was asked and I accepted: end of story. It’ll be formalised on Monday, but as of now you take orders from me and anyone else I tell you to.’ He paused. ‘Now, Inspector, tell me. How are your traffic management skills?’
    Lottie Mann held his gaze, unflinching. ‘The traffic will do what I fucking tell it, sir,’ she replied, ‘if it knows what’s good for it. But wouldn’t that be a bit of a waste?’
    Skinner’s eyes softened, then he smiled. ‘Yes, it would,’ he agreed, ‘and one I don’t plan to have happen. I know about you, Lottie. ACC Allan told us all about you, at a chief officers’ dinner a while back.’
    For the first time, her expression grew a little less fierce. ‘What did he say?’ she asked.
    ‘He said you were barking mad, a complete loose cannon, and that you were under orders never to speak to the press or let yourself be filmed for TV. He told us a story about you, ten years ago, when you had just made DC, demanding to box in an interdivisional smoker that some of your male CID colleagues had organised, and knocking out your male opponent inside a minute. But he also said you were the best detective on the force and that he put up with you in spite of it all. I like Max, and I rate him, so I’ll take all of that as a recommendation.’
    Mann nodded. ‘Thank you, sir. Actually it was inside thirty seconds. Can I take your statement now . . . yours and the guy I was told you arrived with?’
    The chief grinned again. ‘Mine, sure, in good time. My colleague, no. His name won’t appear in your report and he won’t be a witness at any inquiry.’
    ‘Spook?’
    ‘Spook. That reminds me.’ He turned to Payne. ‘Lowell, there is bound to be at least one CCTV camera covering the Killermont Street entrance. I want you to locate it, them if there are others, and confiscate all the footage from this afternoon. When we have it, it goes nowhere without my say-so.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    As the DCI left, Skinner led Mann away from the floodlight beam and signalled to Dorward that he and his people could begin their work. He stopped at an auditorium doorway, beneath a green exit sign and an emergency lamp.
    ‘Lottie, this is the scenario,’ he said. ‘On the face of it, a contract hit has taken place here. I can tell you there have been rumours in the intelligence community of a terrorist attempt on a British political figure. So, it’s being suggested there’s a possibility Chief Constable Field was mistaken for the real target: my wife, Aileen de Marco, the Scottish Labour leader. Aileen usually wears red to public functions. This evening she didn’t, but Toni Field did.’
    ‘That suggestion’s bollocks,’ she blurted out. ‘Sir.’
    His eyebrows rose. ‘Why?’
    ‘A couple of reasons. First, and with respect . . .’
    The chief grinned. ‘I didn’t think you had any of that.’
    ‘I do where it’s deserved. I know about you too. And I know about your wife. She’s my constituency MSP, and she’s a big name in Glasgow, even in Scotland. But not beyond. So, killing her, it’s hardly going to strike a major blow for Islam, is it?’
    ‘Go