Skinner’s round

`That's all right,' said the golfer. 'I was downright ashamed of him. In fact, I told him that if he didn't shut it he'd be losing a client while he was gaining one.'

Anyway,' the Marquis continued, 'the bus and the Range Rover arrived just then. I didn't want Morton and Masur to be going at it on the bus, so I insisted that Morton travel back to Bracklands with me. We loaded up and we left.'

Skinner nodded, caught with a mouthful of breakfast. 'OK,' he said at last. 'How did everyone else get back, and what happened to Masur? Mr Highfield?'

The PGA man jumped as Skinner addressed him, but gathered himself together quickly. 'It was all quite simple really. The rest of us were climbing aboard the bus, when Masur said that he fancied some fresh air. He said that he'd probably had too many sherbets, and that the walk back to Bracklands across the course would do him good. He set off, and the rest of us got on the bus.'

Immediately?'

Highfield thought for a moment. 'Couple of the chaps went off to the gents, but after that yes.'

`Very good. So we've established how everyone headed back to the house. Now, what did you all do when you got here? Lord Kinture?'

The Marquis waved his coffee cup at a maid. 'Can't speak for everyone of course, but Arthur here, Ewan and Andres had a nightcap with me in my study. The Tiger was with us too, watching some Japanese channel on satellite TV. I suppose that we packed it in around… what was it boys, quarter to one?' Urquhart and Cortes gave brief nods of agreement.

`Right, that's five accounted for. How about the rest of you?'

Sandro Gregory raised a hand. 'Oliver, Paul, the Deacon and me, we all were in the billiard room for a couple of hours. The snooker match of the decade: US versus the Rest of the World. We called it a tie eventually around one-thirty, and split to our rooms.'

Skinner looked down the table. 'Darren?'

Atkinson leaned forward. 'Lady Kinture and I sat for a while in the drawing room. You remember, don't you; we said we'd have a chat about the course after the dinner.' The Marquis looked round sharply. 'I suppose we must have talked until just after midnight.'

OK, that gives us one group in the study, one in the billiard room and you two in the drawing room. After that you all went straight to bed, yes?' An assortment of assenting grunts came from around the table.

And how about you, Mr Morton?' he asked, heavily. 'What did you do when you got back to Bracklands, after your argument with the late Masur?'

Fourteen people stared at the American in silence. Morton fidgeted in his chair. He stuck out his chin aggressively, and glared around the table. 'I went straight to my room, OK? I was still pissed by Masur's little speech at the dinner, and by the Tiger running out on SSC. I didn't want to see either of the bastards, so as soon as the Range Rover got back here, I said goodnight and hit the sack.'

‘Can you confirm that, Lord Kinture?'

Afraid not, Skinner old boy. The car drops me at my ramp at the rear of the house. Sue and I got out there. Morton was still in the back seat last time I saw him, waiting for the chauffeur to drive him round to the front door. It's quite a long walk, y'see.'

`Yes, I see,' said Skinner. He looked at Martin. 'Superintendent, any thoughts?'

The blond policeman straightened up in his chair. His striking green eyes gazed steadily across the table, at the red-faced American. 'With everyone else accounted for, and in company, only one scenario can't be discounted; that Mr Morton, having had two recent run-ins with Masur and having suffered a painful business loss to him, watched the estate bus return, thinking that he would be on board, and that he could renew the earlier confrontation.

When he saw that the man hadn't returned with the rest, he guessed that he would be walking back across the course, and headed out into the night to confront him.'

`Hey, wait a minute!' Morton sat bolt upright in his chair, redder than ever, with the beginnings of panic in his eyes. 'This is a stitch-up!'

Skinner looked at him evenly. 'Relax, Mr Morton. As the Superintendent says, that's only a scenario. You have to face it. You have had violent disputes with Masur, in public. He has damaged your business. Alongside that, the fact is that from the moment you got out of the Range Rover there's no one to vouch for your movements.

`We're not saying positively that's what happened, and if we were it'd be up to us to prove it.

So don't get excited, unless you have something to be excited about.'

He paused and glanced back down the table. 'Lord Kinture, this is a bit awkward. There is something that I should do, to progress our investigation. Now the last thing I want to do is to go to the Sheriff in Haddington and ask him for a warrant to search Bracklands. It would be a great help if you would allow me to look around informally.'

`For my part, Skinner, I have no objection. Only thing is, I do have an obligation to my guests.'

Of course. But I know exactly what I'm looking for, and I'd be happy to have any search witnessed by those whose rooms we go into. I'm sorry about this, but it is necessary, and I really don't want to do it the hard way. Any objections?' There was something in his expression which made the question rhetorical.

`Good. In that case, since you're the man with the whereabouts problem, Mr Morton, we'll start with your room. If you'll come with the Superintendent and me…' He rose from the table, and Andy Martin followed his lead. On impulse, he looked back down the table. 'Susan, just to give Mr Morton added comfort, perhaps you'd like to come along as an independent witness.'

`Yes, if it'll help.' She left her seat, resplendent in the bright sweater and slacks which Skinner guessed were to be the day's caddying uniform and walked round the table to join them. He held the door open for her, then for Morton.

The American's suite was front-facing, directly over the main entrance. 'I have to say, you couldn't have had a better view of the bus when it got back, Mr Morton,' said Skinner, idly.

`Let's keep this simple, shall we, sir? Show us the clothes you I wore last night, please, and all the shoes you have with you.'

The American hesitated, and the look of panic intensified. Skinner nodded towards the room's tall wardrobe, catching his reflection in its central mirror. 'In there, I think. Andy.' Martin stepped up and opened the right-hand door. A dozen hangers RI were occupied by a variety of suits, slacks and jackets. Eventually, Morton walked across, reluctantly, and removed the one bearing the blazer and slacks which the ACC recognised as his dress of a few hours before. 'Susan?'

Lady Kinture took the hanger and held it up. She peered at the clothes, then felt their fabric with her left hand. 'They're damp.' She looked even more closely at the slacks. 'And I think that's mud, just there.'

`Now the shoes, please,' said Skinner.

Morton's panic had been replaced by a look of resignation. He delved into the wardrobe and produced a pair of black leather moccasins, which lie handed again to Susan Kinture. Their uppers were dull and lustreless. She turned them over and saw black mud wedged into the angle between sole and heel.

Skinner hid his surprise. 'This doesn't look too good, Mr Morton. At this point I have to give you a formal caution that you do not have to answer our questions, but that anything you do say will be noted, and could be used against you. Now, on that basis, would you like to tell us now how this happened, or would you rather go to a police office and be interviewed formally?'

The American sat down hard on the bed. 'No, I'll tell you right now. It's dead simple, but like you said, there ain't no witnesses.

I did come straight up here when I got out of the car. And yes, I did look out and see the bus get back, and I saw that Masur wasn't on it. I was still as hot as a stove, and if he had been there, I was ready to go down and take a swing at him, or challenge him to pistols at dawn, anything to wipe that grin off his face.