Skinner's Round Read online

  SKINNER’S ROUND

  By

  Quintin Jardine

  By Quintin Jardine and available from Headline

  Bob Skinner series:

  Skinner's Rules

  Skinner's Festival

  Skinner's Trail

  Skinner's Round

  Skinner's Ordeal

  Skinner's Mission

  Skinner's Ghosts

  Murmuring the judges

  Gallery Whispers

  Thursday Legends

  Autographs in the Rain

  Head Shot

  Fallen Gods

  Stay of Execution

  Lethal Intent

  Dead and Buried

  Death's Door

  Aftershock

  Fatal Last Words

  Oz Blackstone series:

  Blackstone's Pursuits

  A Coffin for Two

  Wearing Purple

  Screen Savers

  On Honeymoon with Death

  Poisoned Cherries

  Unnatural Justice

  Alarm Call

  For the Death of Me

  Primavera Blackstone series:

  Inhuman Remains

  Blood Red

  SUNDAY

  One

  Looks just as if he'd drowned in Lambrusco, doesn't it, sir?' `Remember who this is, Neil. If this bloke went under in anything, it'd be pink champagne.'

  Àye, I suppose so. But what a way to go, eh. There's something . . . what's the word? . . .

  something Romanesque, about it, isn't there?' Detective Sergeant Neil Mcllhenney beamed with a shy pride at the description dredged up from the silted depths of his vocabulary. 'If those boys fell out with the old Emperor they'd just jump into the bath and open an artery.

  But to jump into a Jacuzzi, now that's style.'

  The other man chuckled grimly, in spite of himself. 'Ha! The Emperor Michael! From what I've heard of the man, he'd have had a laugh about that one. He was a bit more modest than that.' He paused, examining the tiled exterior of the raised oval tub.

  Ì dare say he'll have a funeral fit for a Caesar, though, when the time comes. For now he's just a stiff in a bathtub, buggering up our quiet Sunday.' He looked around the tiled walls.

  'Where's the switch for this damn thing, d'you think?'

  `Could this be it, sir?' McIlhenney tugged at a long cord which hung from the ceiling, by the doorway of the cubicle. The gurgling of the Jacuzzi, and the whirr of the extractor fan set into a panel in the frosted window, each came to a halt in the same second.

  The two policemen peered into the big bathtub as the bubbles settled and the bright pink water cleared. Only the body's right knee broke the surface. Despite the steaming warmth its skin was a waxy yellow. The man's head lolled on his left shoulder, exposing fully the great gaping gash in his throat, which smiled up at them like a misplaced mouth.

  D'ye think he is dead then, sir?'

  `Very funny, Sergeant. Were you all that East Lothian CID had to offer when the shout came in? Jesus, I asked for you to be posted down here, too.'

  ` Aye, ' thought Mcllhenney, 'and if I'd known what a miserable arse you were going to turn into, I'd have asked to stay with the whores and the druggies.'

  Aloud, he said: 'Sorry, sir. I'll remember to keep a serious tongue in my head from now on.'

  The other man softened at once. 'No, I'm sorry, Neil. I shouldn't be getting at you. It's just this bloody uniform. It gets itchy in this heat.'

  Mcllhenney grinned back at him. 'Tell me about it; so does this Marks & Spencer double-breaster.

  `Look, sir, since we're not going to give poor Mr White the kiss of life, why don't we step outside till the doc gets here.'

  The man in uniform nodded, and led the way out of the cubicle into the changing room.

  'Which doc did you call?' he asked, as Mcllhenney closed the door behind them. There was an edge to his question.

  `Nobody. I told young Keiran to do it. With it being Sunday, there was just the two of us on duty. That's why I came on my own, that and the fact that the call said it was a suicide.'

  The senior officer grunted. 'Suicide? Not unless he's hidden the blade in a very unusual place

  . . . AFTER he's cut his throat. As far as I could see when the water began to clear, there's no weapon in the tub. There's nothing else in the room either, and the old steward swore he didn't touch anything when he found the body.'

  Ì'd better let my higher-ups know,' said McIlhenney, taking a mobile phone from his pocket.

  He pressed a short-coded number, then the send button, and waited. The call was answered, by a woman, on the third ring. 'Superintendent Higgins? Neil McIlhenney here. Sorry to bother you at home on a Sunday, ma'am, but this is a serious one. We've got a suspicious death out here in East Lothian, in the clubhouse of the new Witches' Hill Golf Club.'

  On the other end of the line, Alison Higgins whistled. 'That sounds like quite a setting. How suspicious is it? Are we talking about murder?'

  `Not much doubt.'

  Àny identification?'

  `Yes. The victim is Michael White; you'll have heard of him, I'm sure. He's one of Edinburgh's big players, a multimillionaire. He made loadsamoney in the rag trade, then after he sold out he made some more backing property deals. He was part of the consortium that developed this place.'

  Ì'm on my way, Sergeant. Remind me, where is Witches' Hill?'

  Ìt's just at the back of Aberlady. Take the road to Drem, then turn left at the roundabout. You can't miss it after that.'

  Ì know where you are. Give me half an hour.'

  McIlhenney pressed the end button and looked across at his companion. 'Should I call the Big Man, sir? I mean this is nearly on his doorstep . . . or on one of them, at least.'

  `You've told your area head of CID. That's your chain of command.'

  `But sir ..

  `You heard me. That's it.'

  Mcllhenney looked across, his appeal against the decision written in his eyes. The other man shook his head and turned away. He was facing the door to the changing room when the soft knock sounded and it opened.

  `Hello Andy. Might have guessed I'd find you here.' She stood framed in the doorway, tall and tanned, with auburn hair, verging on golden. Her fawn trousers were close cut and emphasised the curves of her hips, while her floppy white cotton shirt, even hanging loose, could not mask the heaviness of her breasts. The square medical bag which she clutched in her right hand looked incongruous against the informality of her dress.

  She smiled. A sudden, open smile. Its warmth filled the room and broke the tension.

  McIlhenney, in the background, exhaled loudly. Professor Sarah Grace Skinner laughed aloud. `Hi, Neil. Good to see you too.' She paused, registering the uncertainty in the Sergeant's expression. 'Don't worry, guy. I don't have a problem here.'

  Lending weight to her words she stepped across to Andy Martin and kissed him on the cheek.

  'Missed you,' she said softly as she brushed against him.

  Ì didn't think we'd see you here,' he said. 'I thought you'd be all wrapped up in getting ready for that new job of yours at the University.'

  `No, not completely. I don't start until next month, and even then, I'll still be on the roll of Force Medical Examiners. Today I'm on call, and as luck would have it, we'd decided to spend a week or so in the Gullane cottage, so I was only two or three miles away.'

  Ìs . . . ?'

  She cut off Martin's hesitant question with a shake of her head. 'No. He's back at the cottage, looking after Jazz, and catching up with the DIY. I've finally persuaded him to fix that shaky shelf in the kitchen, before something falls off it and lands on the baby!'

  She paused. 'Aren't you going to ask how he is?'

/>   Ì don't need to,' said Martin. 'I know how he is. He made himself pretty clear, remember, to both of us. I still don't know everything that he said to Alex that morning, but whatever it was, it had its effect. I haven't seen her since, and I'm still inclined to blame Bob.'

  Ìf it's any consolation, we haven't seen her either. We tried to contact her through the people she's with, but there was no response, until I had a call from her around a month ago, from Milan, asking how her halfbrother was doing.'

  `Did she ask about me?'

  `No,' she said, with a shake of her head; 'nor about her father, either.

  `Don't blame Bob entirely, Andy. From what Alex told me, all of you could have handled it better than you did. In your case, Alex expected you to support her, without question.

  Sometimes you have to choose sides, even when it hurts.

  Sometimes you just can't have it both ways.'

  Ànd how about you, Sarah? Whose side are you on?' `D'you need to ask? I'm on his, right or wrong. He may be a stubborn, short-fused old bear, but he's MY bear, even when he's facing ass-backwards! But Andy, it isn't a question of sides any more; it never was, really. We all want the same thing, and that's to have Alex back home.'

  Martin sighed, in exasperation. The Superintendent's badges on his shoulders reflected the ceiling spotlights for an instant, as his broad shoulders sagged. 'Yes, Doc, of course you're right. I made a bollocks of it, as per bloody usual. See me, see women? Will I ever get it right?'

  Sarah grinned at him and punched his chest, lightly, with her left hand. 'Maybe, when you learn to stop thinking everything through, and just do what instinct tells you.'

  He looked at her sharply, with an old hurt in his eyes. 'I did that once, remember?' he said quietly.

  `Yes, so you did. Stupid of me to say that.

  `Look, enough of this. I take it that our customer's through there, where Neil went.'

  Mcllhenney had withdrawn tactfully to the Jacuzzi cubicle almost as soon as Sarah had entered.

  Martin nodded, and led her through the empty changing area, past the navy blazer, white shirt and grey slacks which hung on three separate hangers from a frame in the centre of the room, past the casual sports clothes which lay crumpled on the floor beside a gaudy pair of white and tan leather shoes, and a blue sports bag, gaping open.

  Sarah paused in the doorway. 'He's in the tub,' said Martin, pointing. 'Big wound to the throat.'

  She nodded. 'So where's the blood?'

  `None. Only what's in the bath and the splash down the side.'

  `Got a theory?'

  Martin pointed to his left. 'See that shelf. His car keys, house keys and some loose change are there, but there's no wallet or wristwatch. Looks like murder associated with theft. White comes in here, puts his gear on the shelf beside the towel-rail, gets into the Jacuzzi. Neil checked: it was made ready for him by the steward. This changing suite was Michael White's private facility. The steward told us he didn't like showers. Someone follows him in, does him as he's lying in his bath, and makes off with his watch and wallet. Apparently the watch was a gold and diamond Rolex, and his wallet was always stuffed.'

  `That's your thinking?'

  `What else fits? The shelf's just inside the door, behind the tub. Maybe the guy hoped to sneak in and get out without White hearing him, only it didn't work out that way.'

  `Mmm,' said Sarah, thoughtfully. 'I've met this man, you know. The Whites were at the Prouds' party last Christmas. And Bob knew him reasonably well through the New Club.'

  She walked over to the Jacuzzi and looked down at the late Michael White. She shook her head sadly for a second or two, but then her expression changed, becoming completely professional and dispassionate. She put down her bag, opened it and took out a pair of disposable latex gloves, which she snapped on. 'Just for the record.' She reached into the bath and held the right wrist for a few seconds. 'What's the time, Neil?'

  Two-twenty-seven, Doctor.'

  ÒK, better note that down as the moment when life was declared extinct.'

  She grasped the jaw and raised the head for a closer look at the wound. 'Big knife did that. No weapon found?' She looked up at Mcllhenney, who shook his head.

  Wisps of brown hair floated up as she let White's head sink back down to his shoulder. Idly she stirred the water, from which the crimson blood had begun to separate. 'He must have died very quickly, otherwise there'd be even more blood than that. A single cut, almost to the bone, yet hardly anything splashed outside the bath. What d'you think guys?'

  Martin stepped over beside her. 'He's lying with his back to the door. He hears the thief, but before he can pull himself up the guy takes two steps across and does him.'

  `Yeah, but even at that . . . Come here, Neil. Down on your knees with your back to me.'

  Mcllhenney, puzzled, did as he was told.

  `Now look, to do that, our killer, having stepped across that tiled floor, would have had to grab his man by the chin with his left hand, and pull him round . . .' she took hold of Mcllhenney and pulled his head up and to the left `. . . to expose the neck so that he could make the cut.' The sweeping movement of her right hand left nothing to the imagination. In her grasp Mcllhenney paled.

  She released the big detective. 'What's wrong with that?' she asked him as he stood up.

  He shrugged his shoulders. `Dunno.'

  `What's wrong with it, colleagues, is that if it had happened like that, even if it was so quick that White had no chance even to struggle, when he hit the artery, the blood would have gone halfway up the wall on the right there. Yet there isn't any, apart from that smear over the edge of the tub. There's no knife, so no attempt to make it look like suicide. And there's been a theft. So if it happened the way you say, why would our killer wipe the wall, so carefully as not to leave a trace? And if he did that, why would he leave that one smear?'

  Martin smiled. He knew Sarah Skinner, née Grace, from many crime scenes. He was in awe of her eye for detail. 'So tell us, why?'

  `He didn't. That's not what happened.' She knelt beside the tub and reached into the water once more, with both hands this time. She took hold of White's head firmly, moving her fingers around the skull. The two policemen watched in fascination. Eventually, she nodded and hissed, 'Yes!! Got it!' She looked up at them, still holding the victim's head.

  `There's another injury! Above the hairline, on the right temple. He has a depressed skull fracture.' She let the body go and stood up. 'No one followed him in here. Someone was waiting for him. Behind the door, I'd say. White opens the door right-handed and comes in.

  Even as it's closing, he's putting his gear on the shelf, standing naked and with his back to the man who's waiting.

  `Whack! The attacker beans him with something, on the side of the head. He goes down, and from that blow he's out, believe me. Our guy could have taken the money and run. But he doesn't do that. Instead he hauls White, a dead weight, across and heaves him into the Jacuzzi. Then he outs with a long-bladed knife and cuts his throat, in the tub. When the artery shoots, only the first spurt breaks the surface.'

  `Why should he do that?' asked Martin, but it was more a prompt than a question.

  `So that he wouldn't get blood on him. This guy didn't come in here to steal from White. If he took his watch and wallet it was only to make you dumb coppers assume that was the motive.

  This man, our perpetrator, came in here to kill White, and to walk away quietly afterwards.'

  `Hi Pops.'

  She stood in the doorway. The peach-coloured towel trailed on the hallway floor, hanging loosely from her right hand. Her long dark hair, its natural waves dampened down by the shower, was ruffled from vigorous rubbing. The blue satin bathrobe, tied firmly at the waist, clung tightly to her, its 'AM' monogram featured by the swell of her left breast.

  Bob Skinner stared down at his daughter, in his best friend's hallway, in his best friend's robe. His eyes were wide with astonishment. His mouth began to form words, but no sound ca
me out. He shook his head, as if to clear it.

  Alex frowned suddenly as she noticed the lump on his forehead, and the cut, with its two stitches.

  Òh pops. Your head! Andy told me, but...'

  The sudden narrowing of his eyes cut her off short. 'Never mind my head.' His voice, recovered, was hard and grim. 'Is this what it seems?'

  `What do you mean?'

  `Don't give me that!' he snapped, with a coldness that shocked her. 'You know bloody well what I mean! How long has this been going on? You and Andy. Shacking up!' He slammed the flat of his right hand against the blue-painted front door, sending it flying back on its hinges.

  For the merest instant alarm showed in her face, and then it was gone as she flared back at him. lust what has that got to do with you? What the hell happened to belief in me and trust in my judgement . . . or in Andy's for that matter?'

  `Trust in your judgement! Don't make me laugh. I did that once before. Remember him? And as for Andy, he's a walking disaster when it comes to relationships. I have a fair idea of the number of women that have stood in that doorway — and probably worn that dressing-gown too — and none of them stayed around longer than a couple of months.

  Ìs that what you want to be? Another notch on the headboard?'

  The girl's eyes flared and her jaw thrust out aggressively — in a way, although neither realised it, which mirrored his own. `God damn you, Pops!' she spat. 'You think I'm some sort of bimbo? Some easy lay? Maybe you've got your notches the wrong way round. Maybe Andy was my pushover.

  `You're insulting me as a person if you suggest that I'm a victim here. I chose Andy just as much as he chose me. We . . She stopped short.

  `Fuck it, I am twenty-one years old. I will NOT explain myself to you!' She stepped back and slammed the door in his face.

  Hot rage erupted and engulfed him. He pounded the blue paintwork with his fist. 'Open up, girl!'

  Her shout was muffled by the door. 'Don't "girl" me! I'll talk to you when you're ready to listen. Now piss off to your new family. You've just blown this one.'

  He raised his fist to pound the door again, but a firm hand caught his elbow. 'Bob, easy!' said a soft voice behind him. He shook his arm free and spun round, ignoring the pain in his damaged right foot. Andy Martin stood there on the landing, unshaven, in jeans and teeshirt.