Skinner's Ghosts Read Online Free PDF Page A

The question came from a reporter in the front row of the audience, representing the city's cable television channel.
    'No,' he told the woman, 'because we have to keep things under control. But you and al the other broadcast media can help us by asking your viewing and listening audiences to search their own premises right away, just in case a very frightened wee boy might be hiding there.'
    'What can you tell us about Mark, Andy?' asked John Hunter, a freelance, and the senior member of the Scottish Capital's media corps.
    'Well for a start, you can all collect his photograph on the way out, although I suspect that most of you wil have him on file from the time of his father's funeral.'
    He paused. 'Mark is six years old, and beyond doubt he's the most remarkable wee boy I have ever met. As you al know, undoubtedly, by a miracle he survived the plane crash in which his father was kil ed. Not only that, he was instrumental in helping us catch the man whose bomb brought the aircraft down.'
    Roger Quick, of Radio Forth, raised a hand. 'Mr Martin, do you suspect any link between the murder of Mrs McGrath, and her husband's death?'
    The Detective Chief Superintendent looked at the reporter for a moment, then shook his blond head. 'No, none at al . We said at the time that we were satisfied that the bomber had acted alone, and that we knew what his motive was. As the man was shot dead at the scene 16

    of his subsequent crime, we have to regard the fact that both of Mark's parents were murdered as no more than a particularly brutal coincidence.'

    'So,' asked Hunter once more. 'Do you see any motive for Mrs McGrath's killing?'
    Martin shrugged his shoulders, rippling the cloth of his navy blue blazer.
    'John,' he said, slowly, speaking clearly for the microphones massed around him, 'I've told you al we know for sure at this moment. I'm not going to speculate on anything else, nor would you expect me to. Motive - if there is one - is anyone's guess. I have to deal with established fact. Our thinking might crystal ise once we trace Mark, but until then we're throwing everything into the search.'
    'D'you think the boy's been kidnapped?' asked the old reporter, bluntly.
    'Possibly, but I don't know,' snapped the detective. 'What I do know is that we are involved in the biggest search this city has ever seen. If it proves fruitless, then that possibility would harden into a probability.' He picked up the notes on the table before him. 'Now, let's get on with it, shall we?'
    As Martin stood up, a hand was raised at the back of the room.
    The policeman's eyes narrowed as he recognised Noel Salmon, a tabloid journalist recently declared persona non grata by Skinner.
    'Chief Superintendent. . .'
    The Head ofCID turned toAlan Royston, the force's civilian media relations manager, who was seated at the table beside him. 'How did he get in here?' he growled, with unaccustomed menace.
    'I had to let him in,' Royston whispered. 'He's been accredited by that sleazy new Sunday, the Spotlight - you know, the rag they sell through supermarkets.'
    'Chief Superintendent,' Salmon cal ed out once more, a shout this time. 'On behalf of the Spotlight, I have a personal question about DCC Skinner. Is it true that his wife has filed for divorce?'
    Every head in the room turned towards the untidy little journalist; then most swivelled back towards Martin, waiting for his reaction.
    The detective's green eyes were like ice as he stared at the reporter.
    'Not to my knowledge,' he said loudly and clearly.
    'Congratulations, Mr Salmon,' he went on. 'You've just been barred from this building yet again. You and your paper.'
    'Do you expect her to?' the man shouted across the room.
    'No,' Martin barked, losing his temper for the second time that day, just as a photographer rose from the seat next to Salmon and snapped off a series of motor-driven shots. 'Now get out of here, before I run you through the door myself!'
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    5
    'Royston did whatT
    Skinner roared his