A Rush of Blood

Forty-five

Detective Inspector Regan’s mind was still at home as he eased his car up the driveway that led to the pro shop and club house at Witches’ Hill, sticking close to the ten miles per hour speed limit. The morning was bright and, if not exactly warm, much less cold than the previous few days had been, and so he was not surprised to see that the car park was almost half full, even as early as ten past nine.

He slid into the first empty bay, then headed for the shop. Three figures waited outside; the tall, slim Fairley, an older man, dressed for golf in tartan slacks, a crested sweater over a polo neck and a flat cap, and another, in a powered wheelchair.

‘Hello, George,’ the second man called out as he approached.

Regan peered at him, and blinked. He had rarely seen Sir James Proud in anything other than uniform. ‘Good morning, Chief,’ he replied.

‘Not the chief any more, son,’ Bob Skinner’s predecessor pointed out.

‘Ah, but it’s a bit like being President in America,’ the DI countered. ‘You keep the title for life.’

‘But not the salary, unfortunately.’

You must be doing all right if you can afford to be a member here. He kept the thought to himself.

‘Have you met the Marquis of Kinture?’ Sir James continued.

‘No, sir,’ said Regan, adding mentally, he doesn’t drink in my local.

The man in the wheelchair extended a hand, and they shook. ‘Inspector,’ he grunted.

They might never have met, but following his transfer to East Lothian, Regan had made a point of reading up on the county’s movers and shakers. He knew Kinture’s story: latest of an ancient and titled family, a top-class golfer before being crippled in an accident, he had channelled his love for the game into the creation of a world-class course on a piece of otherwise useless land on his estate. After a colourful beginning, Witches’ Hill had matured to a level that had led to its being discussed as the venue for a European Tour event.

‘Good to meet you, sir,’ he replied. He was puzzled. Had Fairley asked him to come along for a lecture on rural crime prevention from Proud Jimmy and his mate?

‘We’re getting in the way here,’ the retired chief declared, putting an end to that supposition. ‘We’ll clear off and leave you and Andrew to it.’

‘Is he playing?’ Regan asked as they left, Proud lengthening his stride to keep pace with the wheelchair.

‘The Marquis, obviously not,’ Fairley replied. ‘Sir James is. He and Lady Proud are in a mixed foursomes tie in about half an hour.’

‘I didn’t know he was a golfer.’

‘Between you and me, he isn’t, not yet, but he’s had a couple of lessons and he’s got the makings.’

‘Like his successor?’

‘Not quite. I hear that Mr Skinner’s playing off seven just now; that makes him the biggest bandit in East Lothian.’ Fairley smiled. ‘That reminds me; we had another of your lot out here a few months back,’ he added, ‘playing against us in a winter league game. A lad called Haddock; he gave our club champion a dog licence.’

‘Eh?’

‘Beat him seven and six. I wish he’d join here; he’d walk into our team.’

‘He won’t be doing that on a DC’s pay, Andrew. Now, what’s the problem? Did our people leave a mess behind yesterday?’

The pro shook his head. ‘No. I’d rather that than what’s happened. You’re not going to believe this: I’ve been bloody well done again.’

‘What?’ Regan gasped.

‘No kidding. I got a local firm in yesterday to fix the damage from the previous night’s robbery, and to make the place secure. They did what they could, but all they could manage short-term was a temporary door, with wired glass. As well as that I asked the alarm people to come in and repair the system. That was buggered when the sensors were ripped off the door frame; somehow it shorted out the control box. They couldn’t fit it in yesterday, but they promised me they’d do it today. Fucking brilliant, that. I got in this morning and found the replacement door jemmied open. Yesterday it was golf clubs; today it was all my clothing.’

‘The lot?’

‘Well no, not quite. They left everything that had the Witches’ Hill crest on it, but they’ve still got away with about forty grand’s worth of designer stock, men’s and ladies’. They took my shoes as well: FootJoys, Adidas, all gone.’ Fairley frowned. ‘I’m wondering if it was the builders, George. Or maybe a leak from the alarm company that the place wasn’t covered.’

‘We’ll check them both out, Andrew, I promise you, but I don’t hold out hope of a result from either of those. Alarm companies’ information security is always very tight. As for your builders, if they’re local. . Unless they had a casual on yesterday, someone they don’t know, I can’t see that either. You know what I mean; shite, own doorstep, etc.’ He walked over to the door and examined it; splintered frame, top and bottom, opened expertly with a minimum of force. ‘No, whoever did this had a shopping list, and he was smart enough to leave anything that would be easy to trace. Just like yesterday’s team. In fact,’ pause, ‘I’m going to get our technicians back here to see if they can find and match any tyre tracks. I wouldn’t be surprised if what we’ve got here is a repeat performance.’