Skinner’s round

`Welcome to the team, Mr Ski

The name's Bob.'

The world's top golfer was just over six feet tall, perhaps an inch shorter than Ski

Inevitably, his eyes were wrinkled from peering down a thousand sun-baked fairways. In his mid-thirties, Darren Atkinson looked supremely fit, and supremely confident, a human being at the height of his powers.

He eyed Ski

`Never played one in my life. And I'm seven and climbing, I'm afraid.

Atkinson smiled. ‘Lets see if we can do something about that before Thursday morning. I'm having a team meeting on the practice range at six-thirty this evening. Then we're on the tee tomorrow at one-thirty for a public practice round. Can you make those times?'

‘ I’ll make a point of it. Who are the other guys in the team?'

`There's one of the Murano guys — the son and heir, I think — and Norton Wales, the little singer chap. You'll be the leading amateur in that group. I've played with Norton at Wentworth. He said he was off twenty-two, but he was kidding himself.'

`What's the format?'

'Best-ball medal play. Amateurs get full handicap allowance.'

`With four of us, the rounds could be fairly long.'

Atkinson shook his head. 'Shouldn't be too bad. The high handicappers pick up if they're out of contention on any hole.' He laughed. 'Don't see old Norton having too many putts, unless he's improved a lot since last time.

Ski

'Hah! That's why it's seven and climbing, is it? Well that's what you'll practice most for the next two days.' He looked over his shoulder. 'Must go, I'm on the tee. I'm taking some money off young Mr Urquhart this morning. I'll see you tonight then, Bob. And bring that putter!'

Fourteen

‘Where's today's Scotsman, Maggie?' Ski

It's in Ruth's office, sir.' Without being asked she rose from her seat and left the room to fetch the newspaper.

`That's an odd story about the murder on the front page, sir,' she said, returning to hand the broadsheet across the desk. 'It's unusual for the Scotsman to give credence to an anonymous letter.'

He glanced at the front page. 'Yes, but look how they're reporting it.

" Police were studying a mysterious unsigned letter handed in to the Scotsman office yesterday, to establish whether it might be linked to Sunday's murder of Edinburgh millionaire Michael White, at the luxury Witches' Hill Golf Club, where the world's richest golf event begins on Thursday."

It goes on to say that the phrase may have co

Rose looked at him, puzzled. 'All a bit tenuous, isn't it, sir?'

He gri

The grin widened still further. 'Anyway, it isn't as tenuous as you think!'

The Inspector was intrigued. 'What d'you mean?'

Ski

It's a copy of something that's been lying in my attic for nearly twenty years.' He explained the origins of the cassette, then reached into his briefcase, and took out the original of the Scotsman letter.

I'd like to know more about this story. The child on this tape says that the story was told to her by her great-grandmother. But where did she get it from? Is it commonplace? Is it documented at all? Is it just a local legend, or does it have any historical basis?

`You see, Mags, while it's probable that this letter is just the work of a crank,' he waved the single sheet in the air as he spoke, 'there is just an outside chance that it's a confession of murder.

`So here's your chance to do some real detective work. The Scotsman experts couldn't come up with anything, but they didn't have this tape. Let's see if you can do better. I want you to make an appointment at Edinburgh University to see Henry Wills, the Registrar. He's a good friend of ours, and a historian into the bargain. When he was teaching, his speciality was Scottish History. You play that tape to Henry, and see if it excites him.

And once you've done that, perhaps you'd better check on the present whereabouts of the grown-up Lisa Soutar.'

Fifteen

Suddenly Ski

`Sorry, Constable. I didn't realise you had finished. That's all you have to say to the Board, is it?'

The square-shouldered young man, sitting bolt upright in the chair opposite him, nodded his close-cropped head. Ski

`No?' He looked back at the Constable. 'In that case, thank you for your attendance, PC

Harris. You will be advised in writing of the outcome.'

The young officer rose, replaced his uniform cap, and saluted smartly before turning on his heel and marching from the room.

Ski

He glanced again at the two officers nearest to him, on either side. They were the voting members of the Board. One was a Superintendent, and the other a woman Chief Inspector.

`Have you completed your assessment forms?' he asked.

`Yes sir.' The answers came simultaneously.

`Right, the next applicant is WPC Polly Masters. She was a lateish entrant to the service, after working in marketing for a while. Now aged thirty-four, she's done very well in the written part of the process. I note that she served in Dalkeith for three years, until she was transferred six weeks ago to the Press Office. I have to confess that I haven't met her as yet, but Alan Royston sent me a private note commending her. For all that, her experience is weak without a stint in CID.'

He checked along the table. 'Everyone ready? Right, let's have her in.' He pressed the green button on the panel by his right hand. A few seconds later the door opened, and a small woman entered, immaculate in a Constable's uniform. She sat down on Ski