Skinner’s round

Forty-eight

Andy Martin was waiting as Darren Atkinson's bedraggled quartet made their way off the eighteenth green. He wandered across as Skinner paused, with Susan Kinture, beside the grandstand, totalling up his card.

The rain had eased from torrential to merely heavy. 'How's Bravo?' Skinner asked at once.

`He'll be OK. Doctor Collins, the chap who treated him on the course, phoned from Roodlands Hospital. They've got him stabilised, and they've ruled out any cerebral problems.

They've pumped his stomach, and the contents are on the way to our lab at Howdenhall for analysis, along with that bottle.

`Doctor Collins wouldn't commit himself, but he said that he once treated someone for atropine poisoning. He reckoned that the caddy's symptoms were very similar.'

Atropine?'

`Yes, our old friend. Deadly nightshade extract.'

`Shit!' said Skinner. 'That figures. I spoke to the wee boy who handed out the drinks back on the twelfth tee. He said that a "great, big, tall man" gave them to him, one by one, and said that he could hand them over. Thinking it over, it occurred to me that they don't have people doling out the drinks. There are containers on the fifth, twelfth and fifteenth tees and that's it.

You want a drink, you help yourself.'

`The kid couldn't have been fantasising?'

`No. His dad was right there. He confirmed it. He said that the bloke handed over three bottles one after the other. The first one, he said to give to Norton Wales, but the wee chap made a mistake and gave it to me. The second he said to give to Bravo, and the third he said to give to Darren.'

Martin looked at him, concerned. 'So the thought is that this man was trying to fix Darren but that the bottles got mixed up.'

`That's right. In Darren's golfbag.'

`Could he describe the man?'

Skinner shook his head. 'Not beyond saying that he was at least six feet tall, broad-shouldered and wore glasses. The guy was completely encased in waterproofs. All that the father remembered was that he was standing beside the drinks cooler, and that he was a smoker. He stubbed out a cigarette on the ground before he gave the wee chap the first drink.'

`What about his accent?'

`He couldn't pin it. Nondescript, he said.'

`Sod it,' said Martin, exasperated. 'Not much to go on.'

`No, but let's keep flying kites. I know it's the longest of long shots, but get some people across to the tenth tee, once the crowds have gone, to pick up every fag-end they can find close to that drinks cooler. You never know your luck.'

OK.'

`Who's handling the press on Bravo's condition?' Skinner asked.

`We haven't had any enquiries yet. If we do, they'll go to Royston in the usual way.'

`No. Let's not do that. Have Alan refer everything to the hospital, and tell him to make sure that its press officer says that he was treated for a gastric complaint and that he's progressing.

I don't want to stir up any more media excitement.'

He put a hand on Martin's shoulder. Do one other thing for me, Andy. Have Brian Mackie contact Joe Doherty. Ask him if he can come up with a physical description of Richard Andrews.'

The Superintendent smiled. 'Yes. We know already that he's a smoker. It'd be nice if it turns out that he's six feet tall, broad-shouldered and wears glasses.'

`Wouldn't it just. And you know me, Andy son. If there's one thing I hate in a criminal investigation it's "nice" solutions.'

He paused. 'Look, if anyone wants me, I'll be up at Fettes this afternoon… in the dry! I'll record my score, have a bite of lunch with the team and then I'll be off.'

OK boss. How d'you score after all that?'

`Gross seventy-nine, nett seventy-two. I'm bloody chuffed, given the weather. Darren was phenomenal again. He got it round in sixty-eight.' He nodded up towards the leader board beside the green. 'Look at the rest. Only young M'tebe's under par. Even Cortes is struggling.

Right, see you later.'

He strode off towards the Recorder's tent, where Susan Kinture waited, in her Day-Glo cape and sou'wester, with a sodden Mario McGuire at her side. As he reached them, Atkinson stepped out of the tent. 'Well done, skipper,' said Skinner. 'Good news for you. Brav's going to be all right.'

Thank Christ for that. Now I can concentrate on winning us some money.'

`What're you going to do with the million?'

`Pay bloody tax on it!' said Atkinson, regretfully. 'Never mind me, what are you going to do with the scratch amateur prize? It's a car, you know, and you're well on the way to winning it.'

The policeman laughed. Two rounds is a long time in golf!'

He nodded in McGuire's direction. 'How did you find your our replacement caddy?'

`Fine. He's got the gift. Knows when not to offer advice, which is every time that I don't ask him for it!'

`How d'you feel about having him for another couple of days?'

Atkinson looked at him, grasping his meaning at once. If you think it'd be a good idea, and he's willing, that's fine by me.

A pro caddy would need time to get to know my game anyway.' `How about it, Mario? Are you willing?'

`Haud me back, boss,' said the Sergeant, grinning.

`Fine,' said Atkinson. 'Come on and I'll show you where my clubs live when they're off duty.

See you for lunch, Bob.' The two set off towards the clubhouse, leaving Skinner with Lady Kinture.

He looked at her with a hesitant smile. 'Listen Susan, you're a great caddy…'

`But…' she interrupted.

`Yes. "But", indeed. That thing with Bravo's got me worried. It looks like an attempt to nobble Darren. McGuire isn't a caddy, he's a bodyguard, and Darren knows it. It's only a precaution, and I don't expect any more trouble, but if it did I'd feel happier if you were nowhere near it.

`So. Would you mind?'

She shook her handsome head. She had the gift of making a bright orange rain hat look like a high fashion garment. 'No a bit, my dear. You've been very good, indulging me as you have, letting me be so close to my idol.

'But the gilt has worn off a bit after two days. I've actually been feeling guilty about neglecting old Hector. This is his big week, after all, and he deserves my support. So don't you worry, Bob; I'm more than ready to step aside.'

`Thanks, Susan. I'm really sorry, you know. Detective sergeant McIlhenney isn't going to be nearly as much fun as you!