recovered.
`The third and last of the DeLarge bibles was given by James to the Earl of Kinture. It is recorded that in 1598 it was destroyed in a fire at the Earl's mansion in East Lothian. But the record was wrong. This is it, the last of the three.'
`How do you know?'
`Simple. James signed them. The Gordon Bible was photographed, and we have copies here.
I could fetch them to check, but I don't need to. They're printed on my memory.'
He picked up one of the prints. 'Look here. At the top of the title page.' He held the photograph up for Rose to see. Winture, amicus. Kinture, my friend. Jacobus Rex. James, the King. That's his autograph. He signed each one.
`My dear Inspector. Whoever has this Bible is guarding a national treasure of the highest order. In value terms, I'd say a million.'
Rose looked at him in astonishment. She shook her head. `Mr Knox,' she said. 'You don't know the half of it!'
Fifty
‘So where is it now? Has Lisa got it to a bank yet?'
`Yes, thank the Lord. I just called her again. She took it to the local Deutsche Bank this morning and lodged it safely with them.'
Skinner leaned back in his leather chair and gazed at the ceiling. 'A million-pound relic, kept for four hundred years by a succession of daft or gullible women. Jesus, but the world's a funny place.'
He looked across the desk at Rose. 'You're always thorough, Mags, but this time you've excelled yourself. Do you reckon that's it finished now?'
Oh no, sir. Henry's going back to the GRO tomorrow. He's determined to keep on digging.
We still need to know who Elizabeth Carr was, and whether Matilda Tod has connections with anyone else, and might have passed the same story on to another family.
`Remember the words on the first note, 'So said Agnes.' That identifies the writer as someone who knew the curse, and they didn't hear it from Lisa.'
`That's right,' Skinner mused. The first note.'
He swung himself back to the present. 'OK Inspector. A great day's work. You've unearthed a missing masterpiece, and from the sound of it you've made friend Knox's career in the process. Now, away home to your man.'
`Thank you, sir.' Rose nodded and stood up.
Incidentally,' said the ACC. 'Your man's had a rare day, as well. He wound up caddying for Darren Atkinson. He'll tell you all about it, but he did it so well that Darren wants him tomorrow and Sunday as well.' Maggie looked at him, bewildered. 'I've got a new caddy too: big Mcllhenney. That leaves me short of someone to keep an eye on Mike Morton. D'you fancy a couple of days at the golf?'
I've an appointment with Mario's parish priest tomorrow, sir.' The redheaded Inspector smiled slowly. `So if you'd make that an order, I'd be delighted!'
`So done. See you there at nine. Have a good evening.'
The door had barely closed behind her when the telephone rang. 'Call for you sir,' said Ruth.
'From a Mr Salter, calling from London. He says he's a solicitor and that it's very important.'
OK, let's find out whether it is. Put him through.'
There was a tiny click on the line. `Mr Skinner?' The voice was deep and brusque.
`Yes, what can I do for you?'
`You can listen carefully. My name is Jacob Salter, of Rusk and Dealli Solicitors, of London and Edinburgh. I do not normally become involved with criminal work, but on this occasion I have been retained to represent the interests of Mr Michael Morton, whom I think you know.'
`Mr Morton is known to me, yes.'
I am calling to advise you that there must be no further interviews with my client without my knowledge or presence. I consider that your behaviour yesterday, including your search and your removal of items of clothing, was improper, bordering on the illegal. I demand to know the purpose of the tests which you are carrying out, and to be kept informed of the outcome. I have given your secretary my office and home phone numbers.'
Skinner controlled himself with an effort. 'Mr Salter, some advice; watch your tongue and your tone when you speak to me, and don't ever presume to lecture me on the Criminal Justice Scotland Act or on the rights of the individual. My search yesterday was carried out, informally, with the full approval of the Marquis of Kinture, the owner of the premises, and, for the record, with your client's best interests in mind.
The purpose of our tests is to rule out or confirm the possibility of your client's presence at the scene of the murder of a man with whom he had had two arguments, both heated, one of them physical. He denies being involved, and was quite willing to co-operate with us.
`That's all I have to say, except for this. This evening I will be at a cocktail party to which your client has been invited. If you don't want me to speak to him again other than in your presence, then you'd better get yourself an invite damn quick, or tell him to stay out of my bloody way!
`Frankly, from all that I've seen and learned about him, and from what I've heard from you, it might be better for you if you took the second of those options!' He slammed the phone down in its cradle.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost 6 p.m. Slipping on his blazer, which he had hung over the back of his chair, he stepped out of his office and across to his secretary's small room. Ruthie, if that so-and-so ever calls again, pass him on to Roy Old or Alison Higgins. I want nowt to do with him if it can be avoided.
`Right, I'm off to a party. See you Monday.'
He was halfway to the door at the end of the corridor when Ruth called after him.
`Hold on, sir. There's something else. Mr Mackie wants to speak to you. There's been word from South Africa.'
Skinner groaned. 'OK, flower. I'll look in to see him on my way out. Sounds ominous. Having to break the bad news to young M'tebe will be just what I need to round off my day!'
Fifty-one
The Grand Ballroom of Bracklands lived up to its name. It was dominated by two magnificent glass chandeliers, hung from a gilded ceiling over a shining oak floor.
Skinner and Sarah were greeted formally in the doorway by Lord and Lady Kinture. Standing directly behind them was an elderly lady. She was tall and grey, with severely permed hair, and she wore a long evening dress. Her expression was on the glacial side of frosty.
The Marquis sat stiffly in his wheelchair, in a green tartan dinner jacket. Beside him, Susan was resplendent in a peacock-blue cocktail dress which drew an admiring whistle from Sarah as she shook hands. 'Sue, that's beautiful.'
`Why, thank you. I have this wonderful little designer. I'll give you her name. Not that you need her, that cream colour shows off the tan a treat. And what about your old man. I know we said formal, Bob, but I didn't think you'd take us that seriously.'
She looked at Skinner, their eyes almost level. He stood tall, the light from the chandeliers sparkling off the heavy silver braid of his dress uniform. 'Every so often,' he said, 'I like to remind people, and myself most of all, that I'm a policeman. Besides, I knew Jimmy was coming and he rarely wears anything else.'
`Tonight's the exception, then. He's over there with Lady Proud.' She chuckled softly, like a bell. 'You can't miss him. He's the one in the kilt!'
`That's great. Now I really do feel like a lemon!'
