All through the summer.'
Is it an isolated group? There aren't cells anywhere else, are there?'
`Not in East Lothian, but the two of them moved up here from Derbyshire. The guy confessed that they had a similar operation there.'
Evil bastards. What are you going to charge them with?'
Martin shrugged his shoulders. 'I'm going to leave that to the Fiscal. They haven't admitted to having sex with the kids on other occasions, and we stopped them short of that last night.
Chances are, all we can get them for is indecent exposure. But if we charge them with that, the local Fiscal might feel the need to prosecute the youngsters as well.'
Skinner shook his head. 'No. I'll talk to his boss if that happens. You charge that pair with everything you can think of. Flashing, wearing false-faces out of season, the lot. We can convict on that with your evidence alone, and keep the youngsters out of it. If the whole story comes out Haddington will be crawling with tabloid reporters, and we don't want that.'
I'll have to tell the parents though.’
`Sure, and send a report to the Education Department at once. If the mums and dads can be sure that the man's taught his last class, I doubt if any of them will cause a public row.'
The ACC paused. 'Did you question the Golspies about the Scotsman letter?'
Of course. They denied any knowledge, and I don't think they were lying. They're not interested in witchcraft, just nooky.'
Skinner smiled and stood up from the table. 'Quite a night you've had, Andy. Make sure that you keep the video locked up tight. I don't want any copies turning up in CID offices.'
He looked across to McIlhenney. 'I'll be on the practice ground at twelve, caddy. Until then, well it's Saturday, so I'm off to do some shopping.'
Fifty-five
The exhibition tent was smaller than Skinner recalled from his last visit to an Open Championship, but nonetheless, an impressive number of clothing and equipment manufacturers and dealers had been gathered together by the SSC team who had organised the event.
The policeman wandered from stand to stand, testing the balance and weight of the high-tech clubs on show, continuing his impossible quest to find the ideal putter, and judging the effectiveness of the rainproof garments which make year-round golf possible in Scotland.
Eventually, just after 11.30 a.m., he settled on a pullover-style garment which proclaimed itself `Made in Scotland' and 'Guaranteed Weatherproof.
He had just paid for his purchase and stepped off the manufacturer's stand when he was hailed from the other side of the tent. 'Bob, hello!' He turned to see Henry Wills making his way through the crowd.
`Henry. What are you doing here? I thought that you were detecting this morning in New Register House.'
`Yes, I was. I made an early start, and I was completely successful.' Henry Wills, in a grey three-piece business suit, looked completely out of place among the garish colours which were normal dress in the big tent. 'I was looking for Miss Rose, but since you're here, I'll tell you all about it.'
Skinner put up a hand to stop him. `No, don't do that. I need all my concentration for golf, and anyway, Maggie's been making the running on this. If you've got good news for her it's only right that she hears it first.'
Wills looked only slightly crestfallen. `Can you tell me where she is?'
The ACC glanced at his watch. `Probably well into the back nine by now. She's walking round with the Nakamura team.'
`Back nine? Nakamura? I'm terribly sorry, Bob, but all this is virgin territory to me. I know nothing about golf, I've never been to one of these events in my life before, and the only player I could name is Young Tom Morris, because I saw his grave once in St Andrews Cathedral and read his sad story. You couldn't just tell me a place where I might find Maggie?'
Skinner laughed. `See you city folk! OK Henry, the best thing you can do is to go and sit in the big stand beside the eighteenth green. That's the one to the right, looking from the clubhouse. If you find a place there, then in around an hour she'll be..
`Reginald!' Wills's start and his sudden shout, took Skinner completely by surprise. He turned to follow his friend's gaze, but saw no answering reaction from anyone in the milling crowd.
The only familiar figures were Sandro Gregory and Darren Atkinson, twenty yards away and deep in conversation as they stepped down from the Shark's Fin golf equipment stand, to disappear among the throng.
`Bob, how rude of me to interrupt you,' said Wills. I'm terribly sorry; it's just that for a second I was certain that I saw an old student of mine across there. I must have been wrong though, he didn't react at all. It has been around fifteen years since I taught the chap. But I was so certain; it was just an instinctive thing. That's why I shouted; I couldn't help myself.'
Skinner smiled. 'There can't be too many Reginalds around, my friend. If it had been the right bloke, he would surely have reacted.'
Wills nodded. 'I suppose so. But come to think of it…' he raised a finger in an almost theatrical gesture… I recall now that he hated the name. It would annoy him terribly whenever I used it.'
`So, should you have called 'Reg', or 'Reggie'?'
`No, that wouldn't do either. He went by one of these awful modern pop-star corruptions, but it quite escapes me. I refused to use it, any more than I would have allowed anyone to call me
'Hank', or the like.
Anyway, back to Miss Rose. Be in the stand in around an hour, you say?'
`Yes. Wait for the first match coming in and look among the gallery. You should find her there.'
Wills looked perplexed once more. I'm sorry Bob, but which gallery is this? Is it beside the stand?'
Skinner shook his head. 'Tell you what, Henry. You just stand high up on the grandstand gangway wearing that suit. That way Maggie'll find you!'
Fifty-six
The third-day matches were going out in leader-board order, at half-hour intervals, and so it was 1 p.m. when Darren Atkinson led his team on to the first tee, before a gallery which had swelled into the thousands.
The day was as hot and humid as the morning had threatened, gasping for want of a breeze.
As Skinner looked down the first fairway, he saw wisps of steam rising from the trees on Witches' Hill, and from the patches of thick, rough grass around its base. He was wearing his lightest slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, but already he could feel sweat trickling down his spine.
Atkinson grinned at him. 'Couldn't ask for better conditions than this, Bob. The course will still play two shots longer than on Thursday, but for us pros, there'll be no excuses today.' He glanced across at the nearest scoreboard. Skinner followed his gaze and saw that M'tebe had moved from four under to seven under par after six holes, cutting his captain's lead to five shots. 'Oliver seems to be the main threat. That's what I'd expected. 'Too bad he had that upset over the first couple of days.'
You're not worried, are you?' asked Skinner.
`No. My game's in good nick, and the boy's too far back. Still he should be second. A tasty percentage for DRA Golf 'Management. My dear brother will be pleased with us both.
All I have to do now is to play the golf. Of course the same goes for you, with the amateur prizes to shoot for.'
Skinner marvelled that Atkinson could be so relaxed, after the events of the week, and under the pressure of playing for a million pounds. His thoughts were interrupted by the announcer, who introduced Norton Wales. He
