Skinner's Round (18 page)

He paused again. Now we all know that Morton couldn't have murdered White himself. He's accounted for at the time the deed was being done. But that doesn't mean that he knows nothing about it. I've asked Joe Doherty, who's here this morning . . . you can't miss him, Brian, he's the strange wee guy in your office . . . to go back to the Bureau and run a check on all the senior people in his business and on other "known associates". When he comes up with something, you might want to take it further, Alison.' He sat down again on his straight-backed chair.

`Thank you, sir.' Higgins glanced at Mackie. 'Brian, since Mr Doherty's on your network, so to speak, perhaps you could follow up any information he brings us. See if you can establish the whereabouts of all of Morton's close associates. Most important of all, see if there are some whose movements can't be accounted for. But do it quietly. The Morton connection may be a tenuous line of enquiry, but it's the only one we have at the moment, so let's not alert him if we can avoid it.'

Maggie Rose coughed. 'Excuse me, Superintendent, but there is another line of enquiry.'

Higgins looked around, surprised for a second, before her face cleared. Àh yes, the Scotsman letter, and the tape. Mr Skinner said you were looking into them. How have you got on so far?'

Ì've covered a lot of ground, at least,' said Rose, 'and had a few surprises. One interesting thing is that the story on the tape has never been published, other than in fragmented form over a hundred years ago. It wasn't selected for inclusion in the Jubilee Project that the schools were working on, and no other member of the Soutar family knows anything of it.

The great-grandmother who's mentioned on the tape seems to have been, as Mr Wills at the University described it, some sort of keeper of family legends, and she seems, according to Lisa Soutar's brother, Davie, who's one of ours . . .' she glanced at McGuire, who smiled `. . .

to have passed the lot on to the girl.'

Higgins interrupted, with more than a hint of impatience. `Where's the relevance in all that?

Where does it take us?'

Rose bridled, visibly. 'It doesn't take us anywhere yet, because my enquiries can't go any further until I talk to Lisa Soutar, and according to her brother she's married and living in Germany. I went back out to Longniddry last night and spoke to a couple of local historians that Sergeant Soutar mentioned. Neither of them had ever heard the story of the Witch's Curse. I also spoke to a couple of people who were in Lisa's class. They had no recollection of the story.

Ìf you'd like me to sum up the direction in which I'm heading, it's that we have a family in possession of a secret story about a curse on anyone who desecrates the Witches' Hill, that a potential desecrator is killed in exactly the way described in the story, and that public attention has been drawn to the fact by the Scotsman's anonymous letter. As I see it, we have to take an interest in whoever wrote that note.

Ì know it sounds like a load of old cobblers, and that the Morton connection is probably a hell of a lot more likely to show a result, but this is a legitimate line of enquiry and we must .

. .' she slapped the table as she emphasised the word .. see it to its conclusion. If Lisa Soutar's in Germany, and couldn't have written that letter, we have to find out who did, if only to confirm that that person is a harmless nutter and to eliminate them from our enquiries.' She leaned back, her cheeks reddening slightly. Ì'm sorry to be so blunt, ma'am, but that's how I see it.'

Higgins shook her head. 'No, Maggie, you're dead right. If we didn't follow things up just because they sounded a bit daft, half our investigations would never succeed.' She looked round at Skinner. 'What d'you think the next step should be, sir?'

The ACC shrugged his shoulders. 'Don't see we've got much choice. Maggie, you'd better go to Germany to interview the woman. I'll approve the cost. There's something else we should be doing too. Let's make some enquiries locally. Farfetched it might be, but Alison, I want you to ask Andy Martin to set all of his people to asking around, to see whether there might actually be a latter-day coven in East Lothian.' He caught McGuire's sceptical glance. 'Come on, Mario. Just because you don't believe in it, it doesn't mean to say it can't happen. You go and see your old neighbour Davie Soutar. Maybe there's more than one oddbod in his family.'

Twenty-six

‘How 's Alison Higgins shaping up, Bob?' The Chief leaned back in his chair as Skinner finished his account of progress in the White investigation.

The ACC glanced at his watch; five minutes remained before the ever punctual Brian Mackie would arrive with Joe Doherty. The ACC knew that Proud Jimmy was not given to asking idle questions, and so he thought carefully before he answered. 'She's far from the finished article, but overall I'd say she's doing all right. I like people to exercise authority when they're given it. She's still a bit hesitant in that respect, but I'm working on that.

`She gets on well with her junior officers, although she took a wee pop at Maggie at our briefing this morning.'

`Brave woman!' said the Chief.

`Maybe, but she learned from it. She had to apologise to her in front of the troops. I'll bet you she never puts herself in that position again. She's a quick learner, and she's capable of going higher.'

`You mean she could become a chief officer?'

`Yes, I'd say she has that potential. Whether she fulfils it, well, that's up to her. I'd say, though, that once she's gathered enough experience of high-level CID work, she'll be happiest, and most effective as a commander, in uniform.'

`Like me, you mean,' said Sir James with a twinkle in his eye. Suddenly he scratched his chin, as if something had popped back into his mind. 'Talking about area commanders, Charlie Radcliffe called me this morning. He's making a fine recovery from his operation, and he expects to be fit to return in two months at the latest.

`So that means . .

. . that I'm getting back my best detective officer,' said Skinner, emphatically.

The Chief looked at him in pleased surprise. 'I was going to say that we'd have to find something for Charlie in this building.'

'No, thank you very much. Charlie's a great field commander; Andy Martin's a great detective. We both know where each of them belongs.'

`So you and Andy are on speaking terms again! Well, thank Christ for that. How about Alex?

Has she been in touch?'

Skinner shook his head. 'No, only with Sarah. I think Andy and I'll have to conduct separate peace negotiations with our Alexis. Ach, if I had just gone straight home that morning!'

Proud Jimmy touched his sleeve. 'Water under the bridge, son. You two eedjits have taken the first step. The next ones'll happen by themselves, believe me.'

Skinner's reply was cut off by the buzz of the intercom on the Chief's desk. He pressed a button. 'Yes, Gerry.'

DCI Mackie and Mr Doherty are here, sir,' said the Chief's new civilian secretary.

`Bang on time. Send them in, and bring in the coffee, please.'

A few seconds later, the door opened, Brian Mackie holding it ajar and ushering Joe Doherty into the room. The Chief Constable, all silver braid in his full uniform, advanced on him, hand outstretched. 'Joe! Good to see you. The lads were right, I'd have been huffed if you'd been here and not said hello.'

The four settled themselves into low leather chairs around the coffee table as the secretary set down a tray laden with cups, biscuits and two steaming cafetieres, with plungers depressed.

'Thanks, Gerry,' said the Chief. 'We'll pour, once these settle.' The young man nodded and left the room.

Proud turned back to Doherty. 'So, Joe, you're "helping us with our enquiries", are you?' he asked, with a smile.

`So it seems, Sir James. I find an excuse to escape from London, and here I am stuck behind another desk!

`Still it's in a good cause. My colleagues across the water are very excited even by the outside chance that we might be able to pin something on Morton, suppose if it is on your turf.'

`They really think he's a bad 'un, do they?'

The sallow-faced American nodded. 'They're certain of it, Chief. They've just never been able to get close enough to hang anything on him.'

Skinner leaned across the table as Brian Mackie poured the coffee. 'Do your people think they'll be able to help us any further?'

`Sure they will. We have a whole section on Morton's organisation. I've got guys researching it right now. One thing they told me right away. SSC doesn't run a branch office in Europe or anywhere else. Morton likes to keep everyone close. But they do go to every major golf event where their men are playing, and there were three or four in the field at last week's European tournament.'

`Do you expect a report today?'

`Shit, yes, Bob! I've fixed a meeting with the new Special Branch in Glasgow for 4 p.m. this afternoon. By that time I expect to have wrapped this thing up and taken the Chief to lunch, and you too Brian . . . if you're allowed to eat at the same table as your boss!'

Sir James smiled. 'I think we could allow a dispensation, Joe, but I'll have to decline, I'm afraid. I'm lunching with the Chair of the Joint Police Board today, and since she's a new girl, I don't know her well enough to be sure that a short-notice cancellation wouldn't upset her.

Don't let that hold you and Brian back though.'

Òne thing might,' said Skinner. 'I've got another task for you, Brian, apart from checking out any SSC names that Joe can give us. I want you to call South Africa and ask them how they're doing in their investigation into M'tebe's father's abduction. Give them a nudge as well. Tell them that young M'tebe was made an offer by Greenfields, Bill Masur's group, but that he turned them down. He's going to sign instead with Darren Atkinson's company.'

He glanced at Proud. 'Darren told me that yesterday, Chief. He seems to think that Masur is OK about it, but maybe he's being naive. From what I saw of the way he handled Morton, Masur isn't a guy to be put off easily. And if he's connected in the way Joe says, he may think he can persuade young M'tebe to think again about signing with Darren.'

He stood up. 'So you throw that pebble of knowledge in the South Africans' pond, Brian.

Then enjoy your lunch. You might introduce Joe to the Waterside in Haddington, especially if the FBI's paying. As for me, I'm off to uphold the honour of this constabulary on the golf course.'

Twenty-seven

Skinner pulled his car to a halt and looked out across the wide expanse towards the unladen supertanker, its stern pointing towards him. He had turned the corner at the very moment when the tide in Aberlady Bay had reached full ebb.

The sand flats stretched away for more than a mile. From road level, the distant, calm sea showed only as a sun-speckled silver ribbon, tied across the bay's mouth, and the tanker, riding high as it waited for its summons to take on cargo from the oil terminal, looked for all the world as if it was grounded.

In a county of quiet spectacle, it was one of Skinner's favourite sights. Always, when he encountered it, driving from the narrow village which had given its name to the bay, he stopped for a time to look and reflect. He remembered the first time that the mirage had ever caught his eye, the vanished sea with the ship cruising across the shimmering sand.

Seventeen years before, summoned to the scene of a road accident, a fatal road accident, he had seen it and had stopped, to gather his thoughts and perhaps to wish away what he knew was waiting for him a little further on. And the thought had come to him that if this natural phenomenon had been in its full display around an hour earlier, then perhaps Myra would have stopped to look also, and perhaps she would not have been travelling so fast when eventually she had come to Luffness Corner, and perhaps . . .

The thought crept back as it always did. He shook his head to throw aside impossible comparisons. He was still disturbed by the rediscovery of Myra's tape, and by the thoughts which it had stirred from their banishment to the deepest recesses of his mind. If his car had a time switch to take him back those seventeen years, to save Myra's life but to wipe out all else, would he press it?

He squeezed his eyes shut and took his wallet from his jacket. Flipping it open, he opened his eyes at the same time, and looked intently at the photo of Sarah and Jazz behind its Perspex panel. As he did the clenched muscles of his face relaxed into a smile. Replacing the wallet in his pocket, he slipped the car back into gear and drove on, into the present.

He had reached the outskirts of Gullane and the brown brick facility which his golf club had provided for its visitors, when the carphone rang. He pushed the receive button and Joe Doherty's voice filled the car. The background noise indicated that he was on the road also.

`My guys have come good, Bob. They've sent over a full list of the executive Vice-Presidents in SSC. As we thought, they're mostly lawyers, real Ivy-Leaguers in their early thirties.

They're organised within the company on a divisional basis, each one concentrating on a different sport, or global sector. For example, there are three V-Ps looking after golf, each with his own group of clients.

`But there's one of them who doesn't have any special interest. He reports straight to Mike Morton, and from what we've been able to figure out, all the other guys seem to defer to him.

He's older than the rest, about Morton's age, in fact, and he ain't no law school guy. His name is Richard Andrews, at least it is now. If you trace him far enough back, you'll find that when he was given exemption from military service on compassionate grounds, his name was Rocco Andrade. If you look a little further you'll find that his request for exemption was countersigned by old man Morticelli. Dig even deeper and you'll find that young Andrade's mamma's given name was Angela Morticelli, and that she was the old man's sister.'

`Tasty,' said Skinner, turning off Gullane Main Street. `What sort is Mr Andrews?'

`He's a big, mean mother. A few years back, SSC had trouble with one of its fighters, a good champion with more smarts than were good for him. He wasn't happy with his end of the money for an up-coming fight, so he said he wouldn't sign. Andrews went to see him, and the guy signed on the dotted line. By the time the fight took place, SSC had the opponent under contract too. The champ took a swig from his water bottle after the first round, and was kayoed in the second. He never fought again.'