Authors: Quintin Jardine
`Let's have less of the playground stuff, Morton.' The man struggled for a second or two, but the policeman's grip was unbreakable. Frustrated and still enraged, he glared hotly at Masur and hissed something in Italian.
`Not here, he won't,' said Skinner. 'Mr Morton, I don't imagine there's anything in your contract to stop Mr Masur watching the Tiger practise, so I think it's best if you leave. And by that I mean leave the club! Masur, you wait here for a while. Morton, I'll warn you once only.
I don't care who or what you are. Behave yourself properly or I'll have you barred from here.
`Now. On your way!' He released the American from his grip, and pushed him, none too gently, towards the pathway, where a golf buggy was parked. For a second Morton stood his ground, until Skinner caught his eye. Finally, his teeth clenched in anger, he spun on his heel and stalked off. `Masur; said the policeman, 'you wait here till his buggy's well out of sight.'
The Australian shrugged his shoulders and nodded, still smiling. Then Tiger Nakamura motioned to him, and he turned to watch the Japanese as he resumed his interminable practice.
Skinner took the few steps back to his practice bucket, where Darren Atkinson stood waiting.
'What did Morton say to him?' he asked.
`Well my Italian isn't that great, but I think that "Sleep with the fishes" just about covers it!'
Twenty-two
‘Christ, Bob I wish I'd been there! From the sound of things, the mobster in Morton must still be pretty near the surface.'
`No doubt about that, Joseph. I've seen that look only a few times in my life. Right at that moment, Morton would have killed Masur, given the means and the opportunity.'
Doherty scratched his chin. 'It's as well he didn't have either then. The Yakuza would have taken a dim view of that. From what Atkinson told you, I'd guess that they've told Nakamura that he's going to sign with the home-boys.'
Skinner nodded. 'That's a fair guess. Morton may not take it lying down, though. Still, "Star Wars" between him and Masur and their backers isn't my worry, as long as it doesn't happen here. I've got another priority, and what I saw today of Mike Morton when he's crossed makes me even more interested in him in connection with the White murder.'
The two policemen and Sarah were sat round the small table in the conservatory, the remains of a meal before them. It was just after 10 p.m., and Jazz had been settled soundly in his cot for over an hour. They sat for another half-hour until Doherty, who had decided to extend his stay in Scotland to visit Special Branch heads around the country, pleaded tiredness and retired for the night.
`So how did you two Yanks get on while I was out?' Bob asked his wife, in their bedroom, as he watched her undress.
`Great. He's quite a character is Joe. He worked in New York for a while, so we had some common ground. That can be a problem for us. The US is such a big place that when a New Yorker meets a Midwesterner it can be like encountering someone from a whole different country.' She stepped out of her jeans and pants and turned, naked, to face him. He smiled at her, admiring the way in which her exercise regime had helped her recover a flat, if stretch-marked, abdomen so soon after childbirth. She misunderstood his expression and took a heavy breast in each hand. 'Yeah, they're still monsters, ain't they? But get ready to bid them farewell. Another couple of weeks and Jazz is on the bottle. Natural feeding and my new university job just won't mix'
She slipped into bed, nestling beside him, her swollen breasts hot and heavy on his chest. 'So how about you, my love? Apart from breaking up a gang-fight, how did you do this evening?'
He smiled. 'Couldn't have been better. The world's greatest golfer cured my putting problem, and I met up with my titled caddy in the bar afterwards. I suspect that Darren's the real reason she's offered to pull my trolley.'
Às long as that's all she pulls,' said Sarah. She disappeared below the duvet. A few seconds later his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in an involuntary gasp.
Wednesday
Twenty-three
Gullane was easing itself into a wakeful state . . . or as close to that condition as it could manage . . . when Skinner slid his car into its main street, and headed, past the Old Smiddy on the left, for Edinburgh.
He drove slowly past the first tee of Number One course where a clutch of caddies stood waiting, hopefully, for their morning hires. He nodded in their direction. 'They're probably expecting a party of your countrymen, over for the tournament. We don't usually see so many of these fellas around so early on a weekday morning.'
Beside him Doherty shifted in his seat. 'When does the thing begin?'
`The main event begins tomorrow, but this is the official practice day, with the course and the tented village open to the paying public. Darren's taking us out for a round at one-thirty. He thought it would be a good idea to get the team used to the crowds. Can't say I'm looking forward to the chance of making a chump of myself in public!'
Doherty grinned. 'Come on, Bob, surely you've done that ,before!'
'Cheeky bastard! I suppose I have done a few times in the 'Mess box, but doing it on a golf course'll be a first. You know at it's like when you have a raw suspect in for questioning, and he sits there wondering what it's going to be like, so nervous that you'd swear you can hear his arsehole pucker? Well that'll be me, facing my first shot this afternoon.'
Instead of sticking to his normal route along the coast, he took the exit at Luffness corner and up the mile-long straight, then following the road westward until it led past the entrance to Witches' Hill. He eased his foot on the throttle pedal, and glanced over towards the practice ground, where a solitary figure stood in the address position. 'That's the man, Joe,' he said to Doherty as a perfect swing sent a tiny white speck soaring through the air. 'That's Darren.
Look at the time and it'll tell you why he's Number One. No one's perfect, but the more he practises, the closer he gets.'
He picked up speed again and headed towards Longniddry and, beyond, Edinburgh. They drove in silence for a while, watching the thickening traffic heading in the opposite direction, towards Witches' Hill, until Skinner spoke suddenly. Ì'm glad you're sticking around for a while, Joe. I know you want to freshen up your Special Branch contacts in the other forces, but before you do that, could you maybe do me — and Brian Mackie — a favour?'
Doherty blinked and looked across at him. 'Name it, my man and it's yours.'
Skinner eased the car up the rise which led out of Longniddry. Ì'd like to call on the resources of the World's Greatest Law Enforcement thingy once more.
`The more I think about the way Morton reacted to Masur yesterday, the more I fancy him to be involved with the White murder. Now I know that when Michael was killed he was in another room surrounded by witnesses, but if a job's worth doing . . .. it's worth paying someone to do it well!' said Doherty, nodding, and picking up Skinner's favourite saying.
`Right. So what I'd like you to do is ask the Bureau to look again at SSC, but to look past Morton, or Morticelli, and to pull out everything they know about his associates in the company, and anywhere else for that matter. I'm sure that they'll all be law-school guys like Morton, or accountants, but I'd like them all checked out, just to find out whether anyone isn't what he seems. While you're doing that, I'm going to do some digging at the UK end.
Ìs that OK?'
`Sure,' said Doherty. He glanced at his watch. The time was 8.03 a.m. 'I'll take great pleasure in waking the duty team from their beauty sleep. God knows, they've done it to me often enough!'
Twenty-four
Ruth McConnell was already at her desk when Skinner arrived in the Command Suite, having installed Doherty in Brian Mackie's Special Branch office.
She made to stand up but he waved her back into her chair. 'Good morning, sir,' she said brightly. 'How was your golf?'
ÒK,' he grinned, beginning to flick through the morning's post, which lay, opened, in a pile on Ruth's side table. 'By my standards, anyway. But I'm playing for the next five days with a man who reckons he can break sixty . . . and I'm quite sure he can.'
`Better have some coffee to steady your nerves, then. Your filter machine should have brewed by now. I've laid out a plate of biscuits for your visitors.'
He looked up from his mail. 'Visitors.'
`Yes sir, Detective Superintendent Higgins asked if she could see you at nine, and Miss Rose wanted me to keep some of your time free for her.'
`That's fine. I'll see them both, but I don't want to do it in my office. Book a conference room for nine-thirty, and tell Miss Higgins that I want a full meeting. As well as Maggie Rose, she should have Brian Mackie there; oh yes, and McGuire and McIlhenney. I want you there too, to produce a record, and Alan Royston, since we might decide to issue an update report to the media.'
Ruth nodded. 'Very good, sir.'
Òne other thing. Arrange for Joe Doherty, Brian Mackie and I to have coffee with the Chief after the briefing's over. Joe should pay a courtesy call while he's with us.'
He picked up his paperwork. 'Right, you do that, and I'll spend a happy hour with this lot.
Keep everyone at bay until half-nine.'
Twenty-five
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. If I could have your attention.
As Skinner spoke, Alison Higgins took her place alongside him at the head of the small conference table. Ruth McConnell sat a little apart with a shorthand notebook on her lap and a pencil in her right hand. Brian Mackie, Maggie Rose, the two Sergeants and Alan Royston were ranged around the table.
Ì've called this meeting,' the ACC began, 'to summarise progress so far in our investigation of the murder of Michael White. Alison, bring us up to date please.'
Higgins glanced at him briefly, and began. 'The first thing that we have to say is that there are no obvious suspects within White's close circle. The man seems to have been universally popular among his acquaintances, and faithful to his wife ... and she to him, beyond a doubt.
So I think we can discount any thoughts of jealous lover involvement.
Ì'll kick my briefing off with the two reports from the scientific people: the first on the changing room and Jacuzzi area, the second on the starter's hut, where we think that the murderer might have waited. The first location has yielded precious little. Both the changing room and the Jacuzzi cubicle are cleaned regularly, and the steward makes sure that they are spotless. So we lifted relatively few prints. Mario and Neil have been checking those that we did lift. Any other traces, hair, et cetera, we have identified as coming from White himself.
`The starter's hut, on the other hand, was a mess. The technicians lifted a whole raft of fingerprints, and again Mario and Neil have been at work identifying and eliminating their owners. The only other things that were found were dust and grass cuttings, and two cigarette ends. They're being checked out.'
She paused and looked around the table. 'All the interviews which were carried out on Sunday have been transcribed out and analysed. Everyone to whom we've spoken can account for his movements, and everyone has been accounted for by others in the course of their statements.
`So to sum up, as far as witness statements are concerned, the investigation has made zero progress. Mario, Neil, what do you have to report on your follow-up of the fingerprints?'
McGuire glanced at Mcllhenney, and picked up a sheet of paper. 'Believe it or not, ma'am,' he began, 'we've matched the lot. There isn't a single wild print left, either from the murder scene or from the starter's hut. The Jacuzzi area was easy; it had been cleaned on Saturday. The only prints there were those of White himself, Williamson the steward, and Mrs Shaw the cleaner. As you said there were a lot in the starter's hut, but they all traced back to the starter, the professional and his assistants and to painters and builders.
Às far as the fag-ends are concerned, the scientists had a look at them for spit samples for DNA traces, but they found none. The only thing they found was the remnant of a brand name, showing on one of them, so they've sent it back to the manufacturers to see if they can tell us anything about it.'
`Like who bought it, for example?'
McGuire returned the Superintendent's smile. 'Hardly, ma'am, but they might be able to give us a list of local stockists,'
Higgins nodded. 'OK, all of that is good work. It doesn't take us any nearer catching our man, but it takes a lot of people out of the frame.' She turned to Skinner. 'Sir, is there anything you'd like to say at this stage?'
The ACC stood up. 'Thank you, Alison. As you will know, I've been involved in one or two interviews, principally with the Marquis and Lady Kinture, and Mrs White. From these and from my own knowledge of the dead man, I can confirm everything that Superintendent Higgins said about him when she began this briefing. Popular, friendly, and very well respected. A good, sound, family man. Not an enemy in the world . . . or so it seemed.
`But there's one more thing about Michael White. He always got his way. When he had a problem, he never made a fuss, he never made a threat, he just solved it.
Ìt seems that in the lead-tip to this week's golf tournament, he had a problem with Mr Mike Morton of SSC . . . you remember, do you, he was there on Sunday. Mr Morton wanted to change the competitors at the event, and as the organiser he might have been able to do that.
Except that Mr White went to the principal sponsor, and the problem was solved. Now that was the second occasion on which White had crossed Morton. The first was when he and the Marquis refused to let him buy into Witches' Hill.' He paused and looked around the table.
'You all with me so far?' Five heads nodded.
`Right; well this is where it gets interesting. Our friends in the FBI have come up with some family background on Mike Morton. He is the son of a man rumoured to be connected with organised crime. His business face is outwardly respectable, except for the fact that as he was on his way up the ladder, a few people seem to have fallen off. I saw the other side of Morton for myself last night. There's an undercurrent of dispute in the world of international golf management at the moment, and it led to an altercation between Morton and Bill Masur, who was also at Witches' Hill on Sunday. On the basis of that, I'd say that the FBI are right. The guy is capable.'