Skinner sat on the edge of the couch in the curtained living room in Gullane, drawing listlessly on a bottle of Beck's. It was just after ten thirty.
'Sarah gave you a hard time, did she?' asked Pamela. 'Come on, tell me about it. You've been silent as the grave on the subject.' It was true. Skinner had eaten before picking her up from the Leith apartment, principally to allow him to recover from his conversation with his wife.
As they had driven to East Lothian – having decided to ignore any paparazzi who might be on their trail next day – he had told her of his instruction of Mitchell Laidlaw, and of his conversation with the Chief Constable. From the cottage, he had made phone calls to Royston, and toAlex to confirm that both the force and the solicitor's spokeswoman had been bombarded with press enquiries since the Spotlight story had broken.
But he had said nothing at al until then of his telephone cal to Sarah, or other reaction. 'What is it?' asked Pamela once more. 'Has she asked for a divorce?'
He took another swig of his beer. 'She's stopped short of that, but let's say she's reserved her position.'
'Did you ask her if she has someone else?'
Pamela's eagerness irked him. 'Yes. And she has. Platonic so far, but I've driven her into his bed, I'm sure.'
'What makes you think that?'
'Christ, she more or less told me so! Anyway, you've been in her place. How did you react when you found out about David?'
She pouted. 'Just hold on! David was living with me when he had his affairs, so the situation isn't the same. I certainly didn't respond in kind: not for a while, at least. It was almost two years before I fancied anyone else.
'We're dodging an issue though. If you're jealous of Sarah's new man, real or not, I don't like that. In fact you can either get over it, or do without me. Which would you prefer?'
Bob laid the beer on the floor and took her by the hand. 'Calm down, Pammy. It's just that I'm an old Presbyterian at heart. I'l get over it.'
'Take me to bed, then,' she said, teasingly, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
'I might consider it,' he said, managing a weak smile, but feeling a pang of doubt inside. Just in time the ring of the telephone took him off the hook.
'Sod it,' he said, reaching across to pick it up.
'Good evening, Mr Skinner,' said a smug voice, raised slightly over a background of conversation. 'I hope you enjoy your weekend reading. If you switch on the telly at eleven o'clock, I think you'll find that Sky News give you a good show too.'
'Salmon, you little cunt,' the policeman snarled. 'How did you get this number?'
'I have friends. Despite what your lawyer said, I felt I had to give you the chance of coming clean for my readers. Can they expect your resignation within the week?'
'You can expect my hand on your col ar, you slimy wee toad,'
Skinner exploded. 'Plus, we're going to sue you til your fucking eyes pop. You can forget going to see my wife too. She has nothing to say to you, and if you push your luck over there, I have friends in the FBI who'l slam you right inside.'
'Nice one, Bob,' said Salmon, with a disturbingly calm assurance.
'I've got that al noted down, and, it'l read well in next week's Spotlight. You and Pamela have a nice night, now. But think on this: I haven't finished with you yet – not by a long way.'
As the cal ended. Skinner hurled the phone across the room, tearing the flex from its socket and smashing it against the wal. He turned to Pam, who sat shocked and drawn. 'He got my number!' he said, incredulously. 'I'm on the MI5 network, yet he got my ex-directory number. Some shit sold it to him.'
She stood up and held him to her, feeling him tremble with rage.
'Control yourself, love,' she said. 'Every point that nasty little man adds to your blood pressure is a victory for him. Remember the rule.
Don't get mad, get even.'
He shook his head. 'I've never been any good at that. Some guys, like Andy, can count up to ten, and by the time they get there they've cooled down. I've never made it past three.' Nevertheless, his breathing did begin to steady as she drew his face down to hers and kissed him, and as she stroked his hair.
'That's better,' she whispered, with a smile. 'Forget Salmon, and come with me. Come on. I drew the curtains earlier, but we'll keep the light out as well, just to be safe!'
Gradual y his expression softened, until finally he allowed himself to be led through to the bedroom. Slowly she undressed him in the dark, peeling off her own clothes more quickly, and climbing on top of him as he lay on the duvet. He felt her tongue in his mouth, 48 flicking, seeking his; then it moved, as she did. He felt it lick its way along his chest, playing lightly with its curly hairs; felt her lips move on him kissing, puckering, felt himself growing huge as she made her steady way down, until…
The only functional telephone in the cottage seemed to scream at the night a few feet from his ear. 'No!' It was Pam's turn to shout her frustration. 'If that's him again…'
'Then he's a goner,' said Skinner, quite seriously.
He picked up the phone. 'Now listen, you,' he began in a deadly tone.
'Good evening, Mr Skinner.'The voice cut across his: not Salmon, another man; a quiet, even and control ed tone, without accent.
'Who…'
'I have the child. He is alive, but at my disposition. You wil hear from me again.'
For the second time that evening a phone line went dead, leaving Skinner staring ahead into darkness.