`But I am very sad about the terrible thing that happen on Sunday, and that Mr White will not be with us tomorrow. Whoever wins this week, we should all think of him.' He sat down in silence.
`True indeed,' said Masur, across the table. He stood up. `Still, even in sadness life and golf go on, and I have a happier announcement to make. Today, Tiger Nakamura's contract with SSC expired. Tomorrow he signs a contract appointing Greenfields as his global manager, in all of his golf and business dealings. The times they are a-changing, my friends.' He sat down.
There was dead silence across the room. It was broken, almost bizarrely, by the trilling of a mobile telephone. Around the table a dozen hands reached automatically into pockets, but it was Darren Atkinson who produced the intrusive instrument. He switched it off, apologetically.
As the buzz of conversation resumed, Skinner looked across the room towards Morton. His face seemed bright red, and suffused with rage. 'Tell me, Masur,' said the ACC, 'when you went to Charm School, why did you skip the diplomacy classes?'
The Australian followed the direction of the policeman's gaze and laughed. 'Don't waste your sympathy on that guy, Skinner. He's had it coming. Tomorrow will be a great day. It will mean that we've got a million-pound field without a single SSC player in it.' He drained his brandy.
Skinner shook his head in disgust, but his retort was cut off by Sarah's tug on his sleeve. 'Bob, over there. It's our taxi-driver. I'd say he's just in time.'
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!'
Thirty-three
The air still felt damp with the morning dew as Sarah pulled her car into the park in front of the clubhouse, from which she had emerged with her husband less than eight hours before.
The sleek black dress which she had worn to the PGA dinner had been replaced by a waxed cotton jacket, a heavy grey sweatshirt and her oldest, beachcombing denims, tucked into a pair of blue wellington boots, tied at the top. She parked her Frontera Sport alongside a shiny silver Mondeo with new registration plates, and was surprised when Andy Martin climbed out.
`This is a bit conservative for you, isn't it?' she said, pointing to the car. thought you were a sports hatch man.'
Martin shrugged his shoulders. He was in plain clothes, looking relaxed and, in his leather jacket, much more like the man she knew. 'After I smashed up the last one, I thought I should have something more in keeping with my age and status.' He grinned, and his mischievous look was back. 'Don't be fooled, though, Sarah. It might look like a dumpling, but its a twenty-four-valve!'
She made to climb out of the Vauxhall but he motioned her to stay where she was. Tour car's better equipped for where we're going' He climbed into the passenger seat and directed her around the clubhouse, past the eighteenth green and out on to the buggy track, heading towards the lightening sky in the east. Three hundred yards beyond the green they came to a point at which the rope barrier was untied. Sarah, following Martin's sign, turned the Frontera to the left, and headed through the thick rough and out across the fairway. As she crested a slight rise she could see, for the first time, the banks of the Truth Loch.
As she looked down the slope, the long thick pole of the ducking stool stood out on its tall central pillar, angled, stark and black against the smooth waters of the loch. One end was high in the air, and a thick rope dangled from it, the other rested in the thick grass of the bank, with a black shape around it. A little apart from the scene a police Range Rover was parked, its blue lights flashing. The angle at which it stood, side on to the loch, showed how steeply the bank sloped.
She took the Frontera as close as she dared, and stopped, pulling on the handbrake and leaving it in gear. She grabbed her bag from the back seat. Martin followed. He wore brown Panama Jack boots, and his slacks were tucked into thick grey socks.
Two uniformed officers stood guarding the body. One, a middle-aged Sergeant, nodded to Martin; the other, much younger and a Constable, saluted smartly. Sarah recognised him as the officer who had been on duty at the clubhouse entrance on the Sunday before. She smiled at him, and pointed to the object on the ground. 'Were you afraid someone might steal him?' she asked PC Pye. He looked back at her, bemused.