‘You’ve got his bearing about you. You’re better-looking though, if I may say so.’
‘I’m not sure that you may,’ I replied, icily. ‘Why do you ask about him?’
‘I like to know who I’m dealing with, that’s all. I may as well tell you, Ms Skinner, your father and I don’t get on. He may have told you that.’
‘No, he hasn’t; he’s never said anything about you, one way or the other. What’s your problem with him?’
‘He was bloody rude to me once, back when he was deputy chief in Edinburgh. A high-security remand prisoner killed himself in his cell at Saughton when I was Governor there, and your father bloody well blamed me for it. He told me to my face that it was my fault.’
The incident came back to me; the man had been a rapist, one whose guilt was so easy to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that he intended to admit it, in the hope that the judge would go easier on him for sparing his victim the ordeal of the courtroom. Dad had been pleased about that, but furious when he learned that the brute been able to spare himself too.
‘As you say, Mr Kemp,’ I murmured, ‘you were the Governor; who else would he blame?’
‘I can’t watch every bloody prisoner all the bloody time,’ he protested, ‘not personally. Someone slipped up on the remand wing; he was disciplined for it.’
‘How?’
‘A formal reprimand.’
‘Wow.’
Kemp bristled, and glanced at his watch. ‘You’re using up your five minutes, Ms Skinner, so get on with it. Let me warn you though: if you’re here to ask me for some sort of favour for your client, you’ll be out of luck. Your old man is history now; he’s on his way out of the force, yesterday’s man. He cuts no ice with me, not any more.’
I smiled; if that was how he saw it . . . ‘How about Chief Constable Andrew Martin?’ I asked. ‘He’s very much today’s man. How does he rate in the ice-cutting department?’
The Governor frowned, less sure of himself. ‘Obviously . . .’ he began.
‘Obviously he’s someone you don’t want to fall out with. Then take note: I’ll be cooking his dinner this evening, and he’ll probably make my breakfast tomorrow.’
Kemp frowned, shifting in his chair.
‘If you really want to make this personal,’ I told him, ‘so be it. I can still play that game, but I don’t want to. I expect no favours from you. I expect you to do your job, that’s all. If what happens to that man in Saughton should happen to my client, after the information I’m about to give you, there will be no shuffling off blame, and there will be no token reprimand.’
The man ran his thick fingers though his straggly grey hair. ‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘We’ve got off on the wrong foot, Ms Skinner. What is it you have to tell me about your client and why do you believe he’s in jeopardy in my institution?’
‘He’s not only my client,’ I said, abruptly. ‘He’s my half-brother.’
Kemp’s mouth hung open for several seconds, before he snapped it shut. ‘He’s what? I’ve got Bob Skinner’s boy in here? Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Exactly that. Ignacio Centelleos is my father’s son, from a brief relationship almost twenty years ago. He knew nothing of him until a few months ago; his existence was only revealed by the investigation of the crime that put him in here.’
‘Now it’s my turn to say, “Wow”!’ Kemp conceded. ‘Who else knows about this?’
‘No more than a dozen people; outside the family, only a handful of police officers, and three scientific officers. Not even Frances Birtles, his counsel, knew who she was representing.’
The Lord Advocate and the trial judge knew also, but I felt no need to share that with Kemp.
Kemp nodded. ‘I can see the risk to the boy if it becomes known in here that he’s Skinner’s son, but if the loop’s so small why should that happen?’
‘There’s a chance that we’ve had a leak, that’s all I can tell you.’
‘What do
‘I’m not sure that you may,’ I replied, icily. ‘Why do you ask about him?’
‘I like to know who I’m dealing with, that’s all. I may as well tell you, Ms Skinner, your father and I don’t get on. He may have told you that.’
‘No, he hasn’t; he’s never said anything about you, one way or the other. What’s your problem with him?’
‘He was bloody rude to me once, back when he was deputy chief in Edinburgh. A high-security remand prisoner killed himself in his cell at Saughton when I was Governor there, and your father bloody well blamed me for it. He told me to my face that it was my fault.’
The incident came back to me; the man had been a rapist, one whose guilt was so easy to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that he intended to admit it, in the hope that the judge would go easier on him for sparing his victim the ordeal of the courtroom. Dad had been pleased about that, but furious when he learned that the brute been able to spare himself too.
‘As you say, Mr Kemp,’ I murmured, ‘you were the Governor; who else would he blame?’
‘I can’t watch every bloody prisoner all the bloody time,’ he protested, ‘not personally. Someone slipped up on the remand wing; he was disciplined for it.’
‘How?’
‘A formal reprimand.’
‘Wow.’
Kemp bristled, and glanced at his watch. ‘You’re using up your five minutes, Ms Skinner, so get on with it. Let me warn you though: if you’re here to ask me for some sort of favour for your client, you’ll be out of luck. Your old man is history now; he’s on his way out of the force, yesterday’s man. He cuts no ice with me, not any more.’
I smiled; if that was how he saw it . . . ‘How about Chief Constable Andrew Martin?’ I asked. ‘He’s very much today’s man. How does he rate in the ice-cutting department?’
The Governor frowned, less sure of himself. ‘Obviously . . .’ he began.
‘Obviously he’s someone you don’t want to fall out with. Then take note: I’ll be cooking his dinner this evening, and he’ll probably make my breakfast tomorrow.’
Kemp frowned, shifting in his chair.
‘If you really want to make this personal,’ I told him, ‘so be it. I can still play that game, but I don’t want to. I expect no favours from you. I expect you to do your job, that’s all. If what happens to that man in Saughton should happen to my client, after the information I’m about to give you, there will be no shuffling off blame, and there will be no token reprimand.’
The man ran his thick fingers though his straggly grey hair. ‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘We’ve got off on the wrong foot, Ms Skinner. What is it you have to tell me about your client and why do you believe he’s in jeopardy in my institution?’
‘He’s not only my client,’ I said, abruptly. ‘He’s my half-brother.’
Kemp’s mouth hung open for several seconds, before he snapped it shut. ‘He’s what? I’ve got Bob Skinner’s boy in here? Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Exactly that. Ignacio Centelleos is my father’s son, from a brief relationship almost twenty years ago. He knew nothing of him until a few months ago; his existence was only revealed by the investigation of the crime that put him in here.’
‘Now it’s my turn to say, “Wow”!’ Kemp conceded. ‘Who else knows about this?’
‘No more than a dozen people; outside the family, only a handful of police officers, and three scientific officers. Not even Frances Birtles, his counsel, knew who she was representing.’
The Lord Advocate and the trial judge knew also, but I felt no need to share that with Kemp.
Kemp nodded. ‘I can see the risk to the boy if it becomes known in here that he’s Skinner’s son, but if the loop’s so small why should that happen?’
‘There’s a chance that we’ve had a leak, that’s all I can tell you.’
‘What do
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