Skinner's Round by Quintin Jardine Read Free Book Online

from a wheelchair.' He paused. 'Still, we must cover all the angles. Where's Mr O'Malley right now, d'you know?'
    Ì rather do. Nowhere around here, I'm glad to say. Fella's in the pokey in Australia.'
    Ìn jail!'
    "Fraid so. Wild bugger, O'Malley. Got into a fight in a bar in Sydney two weeks ago and broke a fella's jaw. Wasn't the first time, so the judge gave him sixty days to cool off. So that's your Theory Number Two down the Swanney.'
    Skinner pushed himself from the chair and looked out of the window, across green, fairway and loch. 'And there were no problems between Michael and O'Malley as far as you know?'
    `None at all. Nor, I say again, between Michael and me. Been friends for years, since long before this business.'
    `Right, but do you know of anyone who might have had a down on him?'
    The Marquis looked blankly at Skinner for a few seconds, then shook his head. 'None at all.
    If you knew him you'll know that he wasn't the sort of bloke to go around collecting enemies.'
    Skinner nodded. 'That's what makes this so odd. The man was impeccable. Christ, the New Club'll be in turmoil. A murder victim among the membership!'
    The Marquis grunted in agreement, so loudly that Skinner hardly heard the knock on the door. It opened, slowly. A woman's head appeared, blonde and tanned. The Marquis looked round. 'Susan.'
    Ì'm sorry, are you still busy?'
    The Marquis looked up at the policeman, inviting him to answer. He shook his head. 'No, Lady Kinture, we're done.' The heavy oak door swung open wide, and she stepped into the room; suddenly it seemed smaller. Susan Kinture was tall indeed, at least six feet, with a handsome oval face, crested by a mass of perfectly arranged blonde hair. Skinner guessed her to be in her early forties, perhaps a year or two younger than him. The slimness of her build, allied to her height, made it easy to accept that before her marriage she had been one of Europe's top models, and she carried herself with a confidence which made her even more striking. She was dressed casually, but in style, in a beautifully cut golden trouser suit.
    Probably silk, the policeman thought to himself.
    She stared at him as recognition dawned. 'You're Bob Skinner, aren't you? Yes, of course you are. You have that brilliant American wife. I met her a few months ago at an event for disabled charities. Hector and I have done our bit for them since the accident. We feel we have to give a lead.'
    She paused, and her right hand went to her chin in a gesture of habit. 'I seem to remember she was pregnant. Has she...'
    Skinner smiled. 'Yes, last May. We have a wee boy called Jazz. Getting bigger by the day . . .
    and louder. That's his American half, of course.'
    Lady Kinture smiled. 'Give her my best, then. Sarah, wasn't it?'
    `That's right.'
    `This is terrible news about our friend Michael. I can hardly believe it. He had breakfast with us. What happened?'
    Skinner hesitated. 'I'll let Lord Kinture explain, I think.'
    She frowned at him, questioning. She might have pressed him, but they were interrupted by a loud knock on the window. Skinner looked down and saw the Marquis close to the glass, beckoning and nodding to someone outside. 'It's the PGA chap,' he said. 'I want a word with him.'
    `Yes,' said Skinner. 'So do I, but if you don't mind I'd like to speak to him first.'
    The Marquis frowned. 'Well, I suppose. Tell you what, when you're finished send him up to the house. Susan, let's go home, and I'll tell you all about poor Mickey.' He pushed a lever on the arm of the wheelchair. It hummed into life and swished its passenger towards the open doorway, with Lady Kinture following, like a golden outrider.

    ` Superintendent, if you think I'm going to let a family squabble deprive me of one of my very best officers, you're kidding yourself I will NOT approve your request for transfer to another force, AND I will make it clear to my brother Chief Constables that any one of them who takes you on will be on my shit