Agreed?'
The man shook his head, dark stubble showing on his chin. 'No.
I agree nothing.'
'Have it your way, chum,' retorted Martin. 'We know you did.'
Noel Salmon scowled. 'What's the point of all this anyway? I've been here for nearly four hours already, waiting for you lot. I want to go home.'
'The point . . .' said the Head of CID, pausing and looking hard across the table, '. . . the point is that Mr Skinner's number, like all his telephone numbers, like mine, like Inspector McGuire's, is ex-directory. We don't like the thought of people - especially people like you - having open access to them, and we want to know who gave DCC Skinner's to you.'
He glanced at the tape recorder, at the side of the table, its red record light shining in the dim interview room. 'Now, I ask you, formal y. How did you come by Mr Skinner's unlisted number, at his Gul ane address?'
Salmon looked up at him from behind furrowed brows. 'I can't remember.'
'Oh, come on.You have the Deputy Chief Constable's ex-directory number in your possession and you can't remember how you got it!
Who gave it to you!'
'I can't remember.'
'We don't believe you, Mr Salmon.'
'Tough!'
'That could be,' said Martin, quietly. 'Let's get this straight. You recal very clearly who gave you that number, but you don't intend to tell us. That's the truth of it, isn't it?'
'Have it your way.'
'We will. Did you pay someone to give it to you?'
'No.'
66
The DCS paused. 'Think careful y about that answer. If we find out later that you did, it'l go hard for you.'
Salmon paled slightly, wringing his hands together. 'Look, I didn't pay anyone for the number, okay. It was given to me.'
'By the same person who gave you the information on Mr Skinner on which your story in the Spotlight is based?'
The little reporter opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.
'Mr Salmon refuses to answer,' said Martin in an aside to the tape.
He glanced at McGuire. 'But let's make the assumption that the sources are one and the same. I ask you again, who was your informant?'
Salmon stared down at the table. 'Nothing to say. Can I go now?'
'No, sir, you may not. In case you've forgotten, you're being held on suspicion of being in possession of a Class A drug.'
'Aw come on,' the man whined, 'a wee bit of coke!' Almost as soon as the words left his mouth he turned and stared at the tape.
Martin smiled. 'That's right, Noel.' He nodded. 'A wee bit of cocaine ... but enough to land you in front of the Sheriff. How do you think your many friends in the media will handle your court appearance? D'you think they won't report it because you're one of their number? I don't think so.'
The detective paused for a second. 'And what about your new employers at the Spotlight?' he continued. 'I've been reading some back numbers. Know what your magazine's official policy is? That al drug traffickers should be executed, and that al users should get five years. Do you think you'l be working for them after you're convicted for possession? Do you think you'l be working for anyone?
'All I have to do is file a report to the Fiscal, and professionally you're a goner.'
He paused again. 'Of course, if you were to tell me who gave you Bob Skinner's ex-directory number, maybe I'd think twice about it.'
For the first time, a trace of desperation showed in Noel Salmon's expression. He chewed his lip for a second or two, weighing up his options. Finally he sighed. 'I don't know who my source is,' he said.
It was almost a moan.
'Sure you don't,' said Martin, easily.
'It's the truth,' the man protested. 'I had a letter, a few weeks back.
It was anonymous. Al it said was that if I kept an eye on Skinner, I'd find that he was straying from the straight and narrow. I thought it was crap at first, but just for fun - and because I hate the big bastard
-1 fol owed him. It didn't take me long to find out about the Masters bird.
'She was staying at his place in Gul ane most nights. When they weren't
The man shook his head, dark stubble showing on his chin. 'No.
I agree nothing.'
'Have it your way, chum,' retorted Martin. 'We know you did.'
Noel Salmon scowled. 'What's the point of all this anyway? I've been here for nearly four hours already, waiting for you lot. I want to go home.'
'The point . . .' said the Head of CID, pausing and looking hard across the table, '. . . the point is that Mr Skinner's number, like all his telephone numbers, like mine, like Inspector McGuire's, is ex-directory. We don't like the thought of people - especially people like you - having open access to them, and we want to know who gave DCC Skinner's to you.'
He glanced at the tape recorder, at the side of the table, its red record light shining in the dim interview room. 'Now, I ask you, formal y. How did you come by Mr Skinner's unlisted number, at his Gul ane address?'
Salmon looked up at him from behind furrowed brows. 'I can't remember.'
'Oh, come on.You have the Deputy Chief Constable's ex-directory number in your possession and you can't remember how you got it!
Who gave it to you!'
'I can't remember.'
'We don't believe you, Mr Salmon.'
'Tough!'
'That could be,' said Martin, quietly. 'Let's get this straight. You recal very clearly who gave you that number, but you don't intend to tell us. That's the truth of it, isn't it?'
'Have it your way.'
'We will. Did you pay someone to give it to you?'
'No.'
66
The DCS paused. 'Think careful y about that answer. If we find out later that you did, it'l go hard for you.'
Salmon paled slightly, wringing his hands together. 'Look, I didn't pay anyone for the number, okay. It was given to me.'
'By the same person who gave you the information on Mr Skinner on which your story in the Spotlight is based?'
The little reporter opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.
'Mr Salmon refuses to answer,' said Martin in an aside to the tape.
He glanced at McGuire. 'But let's make the assumption that the sources are one and the same. I ask you again, who was your informant?'
Salmon stared down at the table. 'Nothing to say. Can I go now?'
'No, sir, you may not. In case you've forgotten, you're being held on suspicion of being in possession of a Class A drug.'
'Aw come on,' the man whined, 'a wee bit of coke!' Almost as soon as the words left his mouth he turned and stared at the tape.
Martin smiled. 'That's right, Noel.' He nodded. 'A wee bit of cocaine ... but enough to land you in front of the Sheriff. How do you think your many friends in the media will handle your court appearance? D'you think they won't report it because you're one of their number? I don't think so.'
The detective paused for a second. 'And what about your new employers at the Spotlight?' he continued. 'I've been reading some back numbers. Know what your magazine's official policy is? That al drug traffickers should be executed, and that al users should get five years. Do you think you'l be working for them after you're convicted for possession? Do you think you'l be working for anyone?
'All I have to do is file a report to the Fiscal, and professionally you're a goner.'
He paused again. 'Of course, if you were to tell me who gave you Bob Skinner's ex-directory number, maybe I'd think twice about it.'
For the first time, a trace of desperation showed in Noel Salmon's expression. He chewed his lip for a second or two, weighing up his options. Finally he sighed. 'I don't know who my source is,' he said.
It was almost a moan.
'Sure you don't,' said Martin, easily.
'It's the truth,' the man protested. 'I had a letter, a few weeks back.
It was anonymous. Al it said was that if I kept an eye on Skinner, I'd find that he was straying from the straight and narrow. I thought it was crap at first, but just for fun - and because I hate the big bastard
-1 fol owed him. It didn't take me long to find out about the Masters bird.
'She was staying at his place in Gul ane most nights. When they weren't
Similar Books
