Once or twice, when I've had to face up to the bad guys, something's come out in me, a side of me that scares me shitless. It's not just what I'm able to do, it's how I feel immediately afterwards, right in here.' He tapped his temple, lightly. 'Sort of satisfied, fulfilled. It's primitive and barely controllable, and if it ever came out in a crisis within the family…
`just for a second I thought that was happening that morning.'
`Balls, Bob. That's balls. I've seen you in action, remember. And I've never once seen you do anything I wouldn't have done myself. As for your reaction, that's the survival syndrome. If you're in a situation where your very life is at stake, and you come through it, your first thought's bound to be one of triumph. Remember that time when we had the gunfight, and big McGuire was shot? When we'd downed the guy, I remember standing over his body, and thinking, "You won't do that again, you bastard!" without a trace of remorse, though I'd just put four bullets into him.
All that, it's part of the job. All of us who do it have that beast inside of us, but what marks us out from the other people is that there's no way we'd ever take it home.'
Bob looked at his friend. 'You know, Andy, we should have had this conversation a long time ago. In all seriousness, next week I'm going to look at our counselling provision for all of our armed response officers. God knows what could be lurking in their heads.
He finished his pint and signalled for two more. 'Anyway, whatever the cause, I offer you a most sincere apology for buggering up your life. And for the record, if you are daft enough to want, still, to develop a relationship with my first-born daughter, then you have my blessing, for as usual, now that I've thought about it, I agree with Sarah. You two are a pretty good match!'
He reached across to pay for their beer and to accept the brim-full glasses from Wilf, the barman. As he passed the first to Andy he was jostled by the man next to him, and had to react quickly to avoid spillage.
`Hey, steady on,' he said to the intruder, turning. 'Oh it's you, Hughie.' He recognised a member of the multitudinous Webb family, and saw immediately that he was in his normal Saturday evening condition.
`H'Io Mister Skinner,' the young man slurred. 'Sorry 'bout that.'
`That's OK son, just go careful, eh.' He took his own pint from Wilf, carefully. 'You're on the greens at Witches' Hill now, aren't you?'
Aye, that's right,' said Hughie, swaying. Ah seen you playin' wi big Darren this week did ah no?'
Bob smiled. 'That's right. Want me to get you his autograph?'
The greenkeeper Webb, lurched slightly. "S a'right. Ah've got it. Got it at the weekend.'
`That was a good trick. Darren was playing in England at the weekend.'
"S funny. Ah wis sure it wis.' He plunged a hand into his pocket and produced a grubby Witches' Hill scorecard, which he thrust proudly towards the two policemen. 'Here it is.'
Bob glanced at the scrawled signature. 'Very good, Hughie, but it must have been Monday.'
Aye. S'pose so. See yis.' He lurched off towards a group of his many brothers and cousins.
Bob resumed his stance against the bar, shaking his head. `see that Hughie, his whole life is about cutting grass and getting so pissed every Saturday night that when he goes to the bog he has to take a pal to remind him where his dick is!
`That's the other side of village life, you know. Sure, it's nice living out here, but what makes it is the fact that you get out of it every day, to go to work, that it's the backdrop to your life not the be all and end all. Being here full time can be a very narrow existence. All right for some, but not for me.'
He took a mouthful of beer, licking his lips and standing silent for a few seconds.
Eventually he turned back to his rediscovered friend. Anyway enough of that. I was pleased to hear about Charlie Radcliffe's recovery. I guess you are too.'
`Too right. The sooner I get out of that blue serge suit the better it'll be.'
Bob nodded. 'That's in hand, don't worry. I want you back in Drugs and Vice as soon as possible. Roy Old's got one and a half eyes on retirement, and the job's too important for that attitude.' He leaned his head closer to Andy, and lowered his voice. 'Between you and me, this is the game plan. You do another year there, and get the drugs and the saunas well sorted out. Roy takes his pension about then, and you become Head of CID. Ali Higgins moves sideways to your job for some specialist experience, and..
Simultaneously, Bob and Andy each felt a long sinewy arm slip around their waists. A head forced its way between theirs, a head topped with fold upon fold of dark, bouncing curls.
`Will you guys please stop talking shop and buy a girl a beer?' said Alex, quietly.
Sunday
Sixty-one
It was the strangest thing. We were in Madrid, yesterday. We had done our set-up for last night's gig. The roadies were still tuning things up, setting the lights and so on, but the rest of us, the band and the backing singers, we were all finished.
`Square Peg are really big in Spain just now, so sightseeing was out of the question. Even on a Friday afternoon we'd have been mobbed. So we went back to the hotel, and sat around in one of the suites watching television. Usually it'd have been MTV. But yesterday, one of the boys wanted to watch the golf, so he switched on Eurosport. I was sat there watching, and all of a sudden there was a shot of the eighteenth green, and there you were, Pops, playing. I couldn't believe it.
And then the shot widened out and in the background, I saw Andy, in a uniform, no less.
`My mouth just dropped open, and I felt my eyes stand out like doorknobs. I started gabbling.
I must have looked weird, because soon everyone was staring at me, standing there pointing at the television. Eventually I was able to say "That's my dad. And that's my man." And then I burst into tears.
All of a sudden it came home to me. What was I doing there? Making myself miserable, cutting myself off from all the people I love. And what had I done to you, Andy, with all those terrible, cruel, stupid, selfish, spoilt-childish things I said. I admitted to myself what I had really known all along, that you had been right all the time, and that it was my insistence on us doing things my way that had caused all the trouble. In that moment, I guess I finished my growing up.
I got up from the couch, dried my tears, and said, "Sorry boys, but after tonight's gig, I have to go home." They were great about it. Gerry the manager paid me all the money I was due, and even bought me a plane ticket. Last night's concert was terrific, as well. We were never better, I was never better.
`But when I woke up this morning, all of a sudden I was scared. I didn't know what to expect when I got back, whether you'd kill the fatted calf, Pops, or just kill me. And as for you, Andy,' she nuzzled her head into his shoulder as they sat together on the living room couch, 'I was terrified that you'd send me packing. I thought about phoning, but I just couldn't dial the number.
`When I got to Gullane, and found that you were here too, I couldn't believe it. I was so scared I almost went back to Glasgow, but Sarah said she'd skin me if I didn't go straight out and track the pair of you down. The rest, as we know, is history.'
The clock on the wall said 12.30 a.m. The three, father, daughter and her lover, had sat in a corner of the Golf Inn bar in a virtual silence which came from absolute relief, until, just after midnight, arm in arm once more, they had wound their way home.
Bob beamed at his daughter as she kissed his friend. 'One thing's for sure, kid. Now you've got your voice back, you sure as hell don't talk any less for being all grown up!' He hugged Sarah to him, the balance of his world restored, then stood up, raising her to her feet with him. 'Come on, wife, I've got a big day tomorrow, and I think these two have got some more talking to do, on their own.'
The door was closing behind them when the telephone rang. Alex picked it up quickly.
'Hello.'
The man on the other end of the line sounded tense and anxious. 'Is that ACC Skinner's house, miss?'
`Yes..
/>
Is Superintendent Martin there by any chance? Only he left this as his contact number. It's Inspector Davis from Haddington.'
`Hold on a sec. Andy, it's for you.'
Martin took the phone from her, frowning. 'Yes,' he barked.
`Hello sir, Inspector Davis at Haddington. Sorry to have to bother you, but there's more trouble at the Witches' Hill Golf Club. The Marquis had to call out the Fire Brigade. When he got back in tonight from his dinner in the Marine he saw a blaze on top of the Witches' Hill itself. One of the trees was on fire.'
`Fair enough, Bert. But you could have waited till morning to tell me that.'
Oh, it's not that, sir. It's what the firemen found when they got there.'
Watching from the doorway, Skinner felt his stomach drop, as he saw Martin's frown deepen.
'Yes. OK. Yes, we'll be there.' He replaced the phone and looked across, ashen-faced, towards the doorway.
`Sarah, can you get your bag and drive us down to the club? First by the blade, then by water.
Now it's by fire!'
Sixty-two
There were no trees on the very crest of the Witches' Hill. Instead there was a small earthen circle, like a monk's tonsure.
The area was lit by arc-lamps, powered by the generators of the fire tenders which were still parked at the foot of the hill. Skinner, Sarah and Martin climbed towards the light, until eventually they picked their way through to the open ground.
The beams of the lamps were concentrated on a single tree, or rather, on the blackened remains of what had once been a tree… and on the blackened remains of something else.
Skinner stepped closer to the still-smoking charcoal, approaching from the side to avoid casting a shadow. When he saw what was there he groaned with revulsion. 'Oh God!' he sighed. 'What an idiot I am!'
The lower half of the body was burned to ashes. It was as if it had been consumed piece by piece, sinking into the brushwood circle which had been piled around the tree, and whose grey traces remained. But the shape of the torso and head were sufficiently intact to show that something human had burned here, burned at the stake, burned as Agnes Tod and her two companions had burned together on the same spot, almost four hundred years before. The clothing was a black mass, sodden from the work of the firefighters, who had done their best, with limited equipment. The arms were pulled behind the body. Skinner looked behind the tree-trunk and saw that the wrists had been secured by steel handcuffs.
The skull was black too. The hair and most of the flesh had burned away, but the residual whites of the eyes still reflected the arc-lamp beams, and the teeth, protruding in a grotesque grin, shone in their light. Something black stuck out between them. Fighting nausea, Skinner bent closer to the remains, and looked more closely. He took hold of the object carefully, and tugged gently. Its colour changed abruptly as the bulk of a scorched white handkerchief emerged from the mouth.
`What sort of sick bastard would do this?' whispered Andy Martin, as he looked down at the scene, struggling to control the heaving of his stomach.
Not sick, Andy,' said Skinner just as softly. 'Cruel, yes; sadistic, too and imaginative with it.
But very determined and working to a plan, with clear objectives, rational and in control of every single action.'
`You know who did this?' said Martin, astonished.
If this poor sod was who I think he was, then yes, I know.'
And who do you think it is?'
Skinner did not reply. Instead, he looked behind him. `Would you tell me what you can, please, Doctor.'
Shuddering in her Barbour jacket, Sarah stepped up. She swung her torch, slowly, around the remains for added light, then crouched down beside the truncated body, looking closely at what had been its face. Skinner and Martin heard her mutter softly to herself; they both knew that it was her way of keeping her mind on the job, and to stop it from dwelling on the human reality of her subject.
Eventually she stood up. 'I can't tell you much. You'll need a dental specialist to give you the definitive version. But this man.. for it was male, the testes are charred, but still there…'
Andy Martin groaned `.. had some very expensive bridgework done, and he had it done in America.'
Was he conscious when the fire was lit, d'you think?' asked Skinner.
`He was certainly standing up, at first, and probably straining against the flames. Do you see the way the tree has burned? The bark and the wood are marginally less consumed up here, where the body would be pressed at first, before it sank to the squatting position in which it finished up.'
They heard rustling footsteps behind them, and a sudden choking. Skinner looked behind him and saw Alison Higgins on the edge of the circle, doubled over and retching as she saw what awaited her.
I wonder how he got up here?' said Skinner, aloud, but almost to himself.
`He must have come up to meet someone,' Martin answered. 'It would be bloody difficult even for two people to carry or drag a body up through the trees, and there's no way you'd get a vehicle up.'
`That's right. So our barbecued pal here has a message from someone saying "Meet me late at night, on top of Witches' Hill." And he goes. So like Masur, this man was killed by someone he knew, or knew of, and had no reason to fear.'
Suddenly Skinner smashed his right fist into his left palm, so violently that Sarah and Martin jumped. 'Oh, you stupid bastard! What have you done?' he snarled.
`What d'you mean, boss?' asked Martin.
I took the watchers off Mike Morton. I gave him twenty-four hours to himself, to turn up Richard Andrews.'
Either that thing there is Andrews… and with him dead there's no case against Morton… or, as I fear very much, this is Morton himself!' He called across the clearing. 'Alison, will you raise Joe Doherty and have dental records for Mike Morton and Richard Andrews faxed over here, right away. Get the technicians to work, fast. I want pictures taken, the mess cleaned up, and the area taped off, all before daybreak. I want no announcement made for now. In fact, if necessary, have a twenty-four-hour news blackout slapped on this affair.
`Sarah, you can go home to Alex and the baby. Andy, you and I are off to Bracklands, to find out whether Mike Morton is safely tucked up in bed, or burnt to a cinder on top of Witches'
Hill!'
`Won't you cancel today's round?' asked Higgins.
`No, goddamnit! If we call time now we may never solve the thing. This whole game has to be played out to a finish, to the eighteenth green on Sunday afternoon.'
I have a feeling that this investigation might even go to a play-off!'
Sixty-three
They guessed that the night bell must have rung in Mr Burton's bedroom, when the little butler appeared in the doorway, a minute or two after Skinner had pushed its button.
He wore an immaculate black silk dressing-gown tied, creaseless, over white pyjamas buttoned up to the neck. Even roused from bed at 1.50 a.m., his hair was neatly parted and combed. 'Yes?' he began, imperiously, then stood stiffly to attention as he recognised the two policemen outside the tall front door of Bracklands.
`Gentlemen? What may I do for you at this hour?' He moved aside, allowing them entrance to the great domed entrance hall.
`We'd be grateful,' said Skinner, 'if you could take us directly to Mr Morton's room.'
Mr Burton nodded. 'Certainly sir, but first shall I awaken the Marquis, or Lady Kinture?'
Skinner shook his head. 'No. I don't want anyone alerted at this stage. We have to check on something, that's all.'
For a few seconds, Mr Burton wrestled with the etiquette of the situation, until eventually, he nodded. 'Very well. If you believe there is no need to awaken them. Please follow me.' He led the way up the marble staircase which led to the upper floor, and towards the corridor to the right. He moved silently on black leather slippers until he reached the door of Morton's room.
He knocked softly, then waited. After perhaps twenty seconds, he knocked again, slightly louder. Still there
was no answer. He put his hand on the doorknob, and looked up at Skinner for approval. 'Go ahead,' said the policeman, quietly. Mr Burton turned the handle, and, without looking into the room, opened the door and stood aside for the two visitors.
The bedroom was empty. The curtains were pulled shut, and a bedside lamp was switched on.
The bedspread was ruffled slightly as if someone had been sitting on it, beside the telephone, but otherwise the bed was undisturbed.
`Come in, please, Mr Burton,' said Skinner to the butler, who still stood in the corridor. The immaculate little man obeyed, closing the door behind him.
`When did you see Mr Morton last?'
Mr Burton put his hand to his chin and knitted his brows. At about two minutes past ten, sir, when he went out.'
`But wasn't he at the Murano dinner in North Berwick with the rest of them?'
`No sir. He informed Lord Kinture earlier in the evening that he had decided not to go.'
`Do you have any idea why?'
`No, sir. I do not believe he gave a reason. However he did have a telephone call, just before seven.'
`Who took the call?'
I did, sir. The caller, a gentleman, asked for Mr Morton by name, but would not give his. He said merely that it was a business call. I put the call through to Mr Morton's room.'
`Can you describe the caller's voice?'
`Not really, sir. It was a bad line, unusual in these days. It was a deep voice, but I could not determine the accent with any degree of certainty.'
`British, American?'
I could not say even that, sir.'
`Fair enough,' said Skinner. 'When Morton went out, what was he wearing?'
Mr Burton thought for a moment. 'A sports jacket, sir, grey slacks
…' The butler paused and his mouth curled with distaste, `… and golf shoes. I remember hearing their sound as he crossed the hall.'
`He didn't say where he was going?'
`No, sir.'
Did you hear him come back in?'
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