Skinner’s round

Thursday
Thirty-two

For once they were not awakened by the early morning phone call. Jazz had put in an unscheduled appearance and lay with them in their bed, refreshed and chortling between his drowsy parents.

`So, did you enjoy last night, aside from Masur's gloating wee speech?' asked Bob, sipping from a mug of restorative coffee, his naked shoulders cool against the pine headboard.

`Yeah. You know how much I like meeting new people. And it was a minor triumph to get into that black dress again, after having this fella.'

`Tell you something, I enjoyed watching the heads turn when you walked into the room.' She smiled and rubbed a leg against his.

`What did you think of my golf partner?'

`Special. He's got quite an aura about him. There were two guys in that room last night who stood out from the crowd, and I had one of you on either side of me at the dinner table. I'll tell you something. Susan Kinture's got the hots for Darren!'

Bob laughed. 'I am only a dumb copper, my darling, but even I had figured that one out!

D'you think she's really in the market, though?'

Sarah propped herself up on an elbow. The duvet slipped down her side, and Jazz seemed to eye her left breast, hungrily, as it swung closer to his face. 'She probably is. She's a fine healthy woman, is Sue, and it's questionable whether Hector, with his disability, is capable of meeting her needs.

`But leaving her appetites aside, d'you think Darren would be interested… or available? Is he married?'

No. He's a legendary golf bachelor. He told me he's had opportunities, but he's always put golf first. Probably right, too. D'you have any idea of the time these guys spend practising?'

She smiled. 'In that case, you better not let this week make you too keen on golf.'

Jazz looked up in surprise when the telephone rang. `Bugger!' Bob snapped, and picked it up, pulling himself upright. He glanced at the bedside alarm clock. It showed 6.21 a.m. 'Skinner!'

`Sorry, Boss. It's Andy. We've had another death at Witches' Hill.'

Oh, for fu…' He stopped himself short. 'Suspicious?'

`Depends what you read into a bloke being tied to the imitation seventeenth-century ducking stool and dropped into the Truth Loch!'

`Jesus Christ!'

`The club pro found him. He went out at five-thirty to position the flags and cut the holes for today's play. He did the eighteenth first, and was on his way back down the fairway when he saw that the stool was in the water.' He paused. 'You remember how it's usually held clear by a rope.

`He thought that the rope had slipped, and went over to replace it, but when he tried to haul the stool out of the water, it was a ton weight. But the device has a sort of pivoting lever, and he was strong enough to haul it up and swing it on to the bank. As soon as it was clear of the water, even in the grey light before dawn, he saw that there was a stiff in it. He belted back to the clubhouse and phoned Haddington. They called me. I've got men on the way there, I've called Ali Higgins, and I'm en route myself. Now I need a doctor.'

`Could the pro identify the body?'

`Well the light was dodgy and he looked a bit grotesque, but he said that he thought it was Masur, the Australian.'

Oh shit! That's all I need, a bloody gang war!'

He glanced across at Sarah. She was looking at him with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. Even Jazz seemed to be curious as he looked up at him.

OK, you've got your doctor. She'll be there inside fifteen minutes. We're not quite at the stage of taking the baby to crime scenes with us, so I'll be down as soon as Sarah's finished and back here.

`See you later!'