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Morton's panic had been replaced by a look of resignation.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.
`Your scenario is correct, Superintendent, but only up to a point. I did think about going out and catching the sonofabitch in the dark. But eventually I gave up the idea. I was steamed, though, so I decided to take a walk in the gardens to cool off. I'd been humiliated at that dinner, and I didn't want to see anyone else last night, so I went out down the back stairs.
`That's where my clothes got damp, in the garden, and that's where I must have picked up the mud, although I didn't realise till now that it was there. One of the gardeners must have left a sprinkler on. I didn't see it, so I walked right into it. I just stood there, laughing like a dummy, and thinking, 'What the hell else can go wrong tonight?' Then I found out. The moon went behind a cloud. All of a sudden it was black as the Devil's waistcoat, and I walked right into a flower-bed. That was enough. I gave up, came back into the house, and went to bed.'
He looked up at the two policemen. 'And that is the truth. Happy as I am that that asshole Masur is dead, I swear to God I did not kill him.' Skinner stared at him hard, until the man dropped his gaze.
I'll need a formal statement to that effect, Mr Morton. You're a lawyer, you can draft it yourself and sign it. However, I have to take these clothes, and your shoes, for forensic examination. I'm not going to detain you, for the moment at least, but I should warn you that you'll be under constant police scrutiny, at least until we get the results of the lab tests.
Understand?'
Morton nodded, his face no longer florid, but pale. Skinner picked up the blazer and slacks on their hanger, and Martin took the shoes, carefully.
They made to leave, until Skinner turned in the doorway. `By the way Morton, where's Rocco Andrade?'
The American looked up with a start, and shook, visibly. `Richard! You mean Richard Andrews. He ain't been Rocco since we were kids.
I don't know where Richard is. He told me he was checking out from the tournament early last week, 'cause he had personal business to attend to. I don't know. where he is or what he's doin'.'
Skinner stared at him. 'Come on! He's your right-hand man. You're kidding us!'
Morton shook his head, solemnly. 'No sir, I ain't. No one ever asks Richard where he's going, or what he's doing. No one at all!'
Thirty-seven
‘I know you said I wasn't to, but I've been worrying ever since you called me, Miss Rose. If you've come a' the way to Germany to see me, it must be serious. It's got nothing to do with poor Davie, has it?'
The Inspector smiled and shook her head. 'No, not at all. Sergeant Soutar's fine. I saw him the day before yesterday in fact.'
Lisa Davies, nee Soutar, was as far removed as it was possible to be from the adult that Maggie Rose had imagined. On the flight to Hanover, and on the drive to her overnight hotel, she had formed a mind picture of a fey, folksy lady, bejewelled, in long skirts and open-toed sandals, holding court amid the scent of joss-sticks. The reality was a small, nervous person, with dull sunken eyes, and streaks of grey in her hair which made her look well past her thirtieth birthday, even though she was still a year or so short of that milestone. Her child, who squatted in the middle of the floor playing with a doll, was scrubbed shiny and neatly dressed, but the mother, still in slippers and housecoat at 9.45 a.m., had the air of a woman who long since, had given up caring about herself. As Maggie looked at her, and around the severe, soulless living room, she recalled Davie Soutar's vehement dislike of his brother-in-law and wondered about life with Corporal Davies.
`Sit down, please,' said Lisa. 'I'll make us a cup. D'you take sugar?' Rose shook her head as she sat on the mock-leather couch; her hostess disappeared into the kitchen, directly off the living room, to return a few minutes later carrying a tray, with two steaming white mugs and a plate of cream biscuits. She handed the policewoman a mug, and sat down opposite her.
`So what's it about, then?' she said, trying to be matter-of-fact.
Maggie smiled again. 'You might say it's a voice from the past. I'd like you to listen to this.'
She produced the tape cassette from her handbag, and reached across the back of the couch to an expensive music centre, positioned in the centre of a cheap sideboard. She dropped the tape into one of its two drives and pressed the play button.
As Lisa Davies listened to the recording from her childhood, an incredible thing happened.
She became Lisa Soutar once more A smile of wonder grew on her lips, her dull eyes brightened, and colour came to her pale face. 'Oh my God,' she whispered, as it ended.
Suddenly tears welled up and spilled down her face.
‘D'ye ken, I'd almost forgotten. But not quite, not quite. Oh aye, I remember telling that story in the class, and I remember poor Mrs Skinner. She was a smashin' teacher, and she was married to a great-lookin' young fella. I remember once he came to the school, wi' their wee girl, to collect her. Ma pal and I were just going out the gate. Mrs Skinner waved tae us and he smiled. We just stood there and stared at him!' She laughed, suddenly, a strange wistful sound like small bells tinkling. 'My first love, he was. I used to wonder what happened to him, after she was killed.'
`He survived. He's my boss now. Their wee girl, she's twenty-one.'
Lisa wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'My, but that tape gave me a turn. Can I keep it?'
`Course you can. It's a copy. The boss would want me to leave it with you.'
She smiled once more. 'See the trouble I got into over that!' `What d'you mean?'
`Well I got back from school that day, and I told my nana all about the history project, and how I had told our story. My God, but she went mental. I never saw her like that before. My dad always said she was a witch, and right then I thought she was goin' to turn me into a fly and squash me!
`She said that the story of the curse was ours, the Soutars' alone, and shouldn't be told to strangers, only to family, or to the Queen if she came to ask about it.'
`She said that? What did she mean, d'you think?'
`That's part of the story, but I don't know what it means. The only people allowed to hear the curse are the sovereign and Lord Kinture. I didn't think she meant it when she told me that at first. I was just ten, and I thought, 'What's the point of a story if you canna tell it to everyone?' But she meant it all right. She hit me wi' her stick to prove it! That story's ours and ours alone.'
`Did Mrs Skinner ever tell you why it didn't appear in the book?'
`No, she never did. But I remember ma nana saying she'd have to speak to the Marquis about it. The whole Jubilee Project was his idea. He paid for the books to be printed.'
Rose delved into her handbag once again, and produced a folded A4 photocopy of the Scotsman story. 'Lisa,'
