Lethal Intent

Fifty

The signs for Hawthorn Moor Golf Club had occasionally caught Andy Martin's eye as he commuted from his home in Perth to his office in Dundee, but he had never followed them until Rod Greatorix directed him into the car park outside the clubhouse. It was an old building that had been adapted and greatly expanded to fit the purpose, clearly chosen for its location. It was dark and so Martin could see nothing of the course, but it was clear that during the day the members' lounge offered a panoramic view.

'Nice,' he muttered to his colleague. 'I take it that outside it's covered in hawthorn bushes.'

'The title doesn't mean a damn thing,' Greatorix told him. 'That's just a marketing name the investors or their PR men dreamed up. It used to be farmland, until the owner moved with the times and put it to other use. It's a limited company; Brindsley's a shareholder, of course. And guess who built this clubhouse? Of course you can.' He pointed to a group of three men seated round a table in the window. 'As expected, that's him holding court over there.'

As he led the way across the spacious room, one of the trio noticed them and muttered something inaudible. The man in the centre turned to look over his shoulder, then stood up. 'Here comes the filth,' he said, in a gruff, cultured accent, with just a trace of Dundonian, as he extended a hand to Greatorix. 'Brother-in-law, how are you? Come and join us.'

'I'm fine, thanks,' said the head of CID, 'and we were planning to.'

'Who's your friend?'

'This is the deputy chief constable, Andy Martin. I didn't realise till lunchtime that you and he hadn't met, so I thought I should do something about it.'

'Giving me my place in the community, you mean?' He and Martin shook hands. 'Hello, good to meet you. I'd heard about you, of course, from Graham Morton. He and I are brother Rotarians.' Without being asked, his two companions moved their chairs round, making room for the newcomers at the table. Groves glanced in their direction. 'These two codgers are Jack, on the left, and Archie. They're golf addicts, I'm afraid; no hope for them.' The two, who looked to be in their late sixties, nodded happy agreement, then turned to their own conversation.

Without being summoned, the bar steward appeared beside them. 'What can I get you, gentlemen?'

'I'll have a pint of orange squash,' Martin replied.

The man turned to Greatorix. 'Large whisky, please. I'll catch a lift back with you, Brindsley.'

'Sure.' Groves turned to Martin: he was a big man, an inch or two over six feet, and looked considerably fitter than his brother-in-law, even though the two had to be around the same age. 'What do you think of Tayside?' he asked.

'I like it very much.'

'Won't stretch you very much, though, given where you've come from.'

'My previous force was bigger, that's true, but in manpower terms as well as area. So the two jobs are pretty well commensurate, in terms of being stretched.'

Groves jerked his thumb towards Greatorix. 'I suppose you're this guy's boss now?'

'My management portfolio includes CID, that's true, but no way would I interfere with Rod. He has twenty years more experience than me, and he's a better detective than I ever was.'

'That's not what I heard,' Groves said grunted, oblivious to the implied slight. 'I was told that you had a formidable reputation, and that you've been in some real scrapes in your time. Even shot a couple of people in the line of duty, isn't that right?'

The question took Martin aback; fortunately the arrival of his drink gave him time to react. 'It's not something I dwell on, and it's certainly not something I talk about.'

'I can see why you wouldn't. Still, you can't blame people for wondering about it. I can't imagine what it must be like to kill another man, or woman, as the case may be.'

'I'm happy for you in that case. It doesn't bear imagining.' Abruptly he changed the subject. 'You've spent all your life in Dundee, Rod tells me.'

'Apart from the year I spent doing my post-graduate qualification. These days you can do an MBA by correspondence; I had to go away for mine. Don't think too harshly of me, though: our city is a very interesting place, as you'll discover if you spend long enough among us.'

'I'm prepared to concede that already. It has to have something; after all, it's given Scotland its current First Minister.'

'Ah, Tommy,' he murmured, pausing. 'Yes,' he continued, 'give him long enough and he'll be regarded as our most famous son.'

'Who's the current holder of the title?'

'Oor Wullie, I believe.'

Martin smiled. 'Yes, it's a unique claim to fame, having a cartoon character as your top citizen. I can't knock it, though. I'm a Glaswegian and ours are all footballers… most of them dead footballers, at that.'

'We have something in common, then: we're both sons of cities that are music-hall jokes.'

'Don't tell too many Weegies that.' He sipped his orange squash, noticing that Groves was drinking what appeared to be cola. 'How long have you and Rod been in-laws?' he asked.

Groves frowned. 'Since God was a boy, it seems. Celia and I were married when I was still at university, and before you ask, our son was born six months later.'

'Is he a member here too?'

'No.' It was as if the question had thrown a switch, turning off the man's amiability. 'Rod,' he said, sharply. 'It's time to go, the snow's bad enough as it is, and from what I can see out there it's getting worse. Just as well I brought the Range Rover.' He pushed himself to his feet, looking down at the policeman. 'Good evening to you. We'll meet again, no doubt.' Turning on his heel, he walked out of the lounge.

The two golf addicts turned towards Martin. 'So, young man,' the one named Archie began, with an impish grin, 'what's your handicap?'