Quintin Jardine - Skinner’s round

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.'

Aye, 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.

I 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 amp; 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.'

I'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.'

Any 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.'

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

It'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.'

I 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.

I 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.'

Is…?'

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?'

I 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.'

If 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.'

And 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.'