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Authors: Quintin Jardine
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security? I know the police don’t believe there’s any continuing threat to you, because I spoke to the DI in charge this morning, but they can’t rule it out completely.’
‘I told you,’ she snapped, ‘I’ve got bodyguards. But so what? If people want to believe there is someone out to get me, let them. Remember Thatcher at Brighton? The same day that bomb went off she was on her feet, on global telly, making her conference speech and saying “Bring it on”. That’s the precedent, Alf. I either follow it or I run away and hide. Now get to work, and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
As Old went off to follow orders, Aileen thought about returning some of the other calls but decided against it. Instead she trotted downstairs. ‘Joey?’ she called as she went.
‘I’m in the kitchen. Telly’s on: you should see this.’
She had had no time to learn the layout of the house when she had arrived late the night before, but she traced his voice to its location. The room looked out on to a large rear garden surrounded by a high wall, topped with spikes. ‘No place for the photographers to hide here,’ she remarked.
‘No. I had the fencing added on when I bought the place. It does the job.’
‘So what’s on the box that I should see?’
He turned from the work surface where he was putting a salad together and nodded towards a wall-mounted set. It was on, and a BT commercial was running. ‘Sky News,’ he replied. ‘They’ve been trailing a Glasgow press conference and somebody’s name was mentioned. In fact . . .’
As he spoke, the programme banner ran, then the programme went straight to what appeared to be a live location: a table, and two men, one of them in uniform.
‘Is that who I think it is?’ Joey asked. ‘I spoke to him last night; didn’t have a clue who he was. No wonder he got frosty when I asked about you.’
She smiled, but without humour or affection. ‘That’s him. I told you earlier what this is about. Observe and be amazed, for it’s one of the biggest U-turns you will ever see in your life. Here, I’ll do the lunch.’
As she took over the salad preparation, Joey Morocco watched the bulletin as Dominic Hanlon introduced himself to a roomful of journalists and camera operators. There was a nervous tremor in the councillor’s voice, a sure tell that the event was well beyond his comfort zone. He began by paying a fulsome tribute to the dead Antonia Field, and then explained the difficult circumstances in which the Strathclyde force had found itself.
‘However,’ he concluded, ‘I am pleased to announce that with the approval of his Police Authority in Edinburgh, Chief Constable Robert Morgan Skinner has agreed to take temporary command of the force for a period of three months, to allow the orderly appointment of a successor to the late Chief Constable Field. Mr Skinner, would you like to say a few words?’ He looked at his companion, happy to hand over.
‘In the circumstances,’ Skinner replied, ‘it’s probably best that we go straight to questions.’
A forest of hands went up, and a clamour of voices arose, but he nodded to a familiar face in the front row, John Fox, the BBC Scotland Home Affairs editor.
‘Bob,’ the reporter began, ‘you weren’t a candidate for this job last time it was vacant. Are you prepared to say why not?’
The chief constable shrugged. ‘I didn’t want it.’
‘Why do you want it now?’
‘I don’t, John. Believe me, I would much rather still be arguing with Toni Field in ACPOS over the principles of policing, as she and I did, long and loud. But Toni’s been taken from us, at a time when Strathclyde could least afford to lose its leader, given the absence of a deputy.
‘When I was asked to take over . . . temporarily; I will keep hammering that word home . . . by Councillor Hanlon’s authority, on the basis that its members believe me to be qualified, as a police officer I felt that I couldn’t refuse. It
‘I told you,’ she snapped, ‘I’ve got bodyguards. But so what? If people want to believe there is someone out to get me, let them. Remember Thatcher at Brighton? The same day that bomb went off she was on her feet, on global telly, making her conference speech and saying “Bring it on”. That’s the precedent, Alf. I either follow it or I run away and hide. Now get to work, and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
As Old went off to follow orders, Aileen thought about returning some of the other calls but decided against it. Instead she trotted downstairs. ‘Joey?’ she called as she went.
‘I’m in the kitchen. Telly’s on: you should see this.’
She had had no time to learn the layout of the house when she had arrived late the night before, but she traced his voice to its location. The room looked out on to a large rear garden surrounded by a high wall, topped with spikes. ‘No place for the photographers to hide here,’ she remarked.
‘No. I had the fencing added on when I bought the place. It does the job.’
‘So what’s on the box that I should see?’
He turned from the work surface where he was putting a salad together and nodded towards a wall-mounted set. It was on, and a BT commercial was running. ‘Sky News,’ he replied. ‘They’ve been trailing a Glasgow press conference and somebody’s name was mentioned. In fact . . .’
As he spoke, the programme banner ran, then the programme went straight to what appeared to be a live location: a table, and two men, one of them in uniform.
‘Is that who I think it is?’ Joey asked. ‘I spoke to him last night; didn’t have a clue who he was. No wonder he got frosty when I asked about you.’
She smiled, but without humour or affection. ‘That’s him. I told you earlier what this is about. Observe and be amazed, for it’s one of the biggest U-turns you will ever see in your life. Here, I’ll do the lunch.’
As she took over the salad preparation, Joey Morocco watched the bulletin as Dominic Hanlon introduced himself to a roomful of journalists and camera operators. There was a nervous tremor in the councillor’s voice, a sure tell that the event was well beyond his comfort zone. He began by paying a fulsome tribute to the dead Antonia Field, and then explained the difficult circumstances in which the Strathclyde force had found itself.
‘However,’ he concluded, ‘I am pleased to announce that with the approval of his Police Authority in Edinburgh, Chief Constable Robert Morgan Skinner has agreed to take temporary command of the force for a period of three months, to allow the orderly appointment of a successor to the late Chief Constable Field. Mr Skinner, would you like to say a few words?’ He looked at his companion, happy to hand over.
‘In the circumstances,’ Skinner replied, ‘it’s probably best that we go straight to questions.’
A forest of hands went up, and a clamour of voices arose, but he nodded to a familiar face in the front row, John Fox, the BBC Scotland Home Affairs editor.
‘Bob,’ the reporter began, ‘you weren’t a candidate for this job last time it was vacant. Are you prepared to say why not?’
The chief constable shrugged. ‘I didn’t want it.’
‘Why do you want it now?’
‘I don’t, John. Believe me, I would much rather still be arguing with Toni Field in ACPOS over the principles of policing, as she and I did, long and loud. But Toni’s been taken from us, at a time when Strathclyde could least afford to lose its leader, given the absence of a deputy.
‘When I was asked to take over . . . temporarily; I will keep hammering that word home . . . by Councillor Hanlon’s authority, on the basis that its members believe me to be qualified, as a police officer I felt that I couldn’t refuse. It
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