the American four times, and had spoken to him twice. This was the first time that he had ever seen him smile.
Skinner released the Korean, and patted him on the shoulder. The bodyguard nodded, without any sign of animosity, and went inside.
'Just my rich man's game,' Bal iol grinned.
'Pretty risky game. I might real y have hurt that bloke.'
The billionaire shook his head. 'Not you. I guessed you wouldn't damage the guy too bad for just doing his job.'
He stretched out his hand in a friendly greeting, which Skinner accepted. 'Come on in.' He turned and led the way into a surprisingly small hal way from which a staircase climbed. 'You want the grand tour?' he asked.
'Maybe not this time.'
Bal iol led him through the hal and into a study, behind the stairway. It had a big picture window which looked out across the golf course. Skinner could see two greens, cut and prepared, although only the one on the right had a flag in position.
'So what brings you to see me, Mr Skinner?'
'I'd have thought you'd have worked it out.'
Bal iol looked at him, his expression guarded. 'Should I?'
'Come on, now. You going to tell me that though you own it, you don't actually read Spotlight
'Shit, man,' drawled the Texan. 'Of course I don't read that stuff.
Would you?' He smiled. 'But sometimes they do tell me what's goin' in it.'
He walked over to the window. 'You serious about that golf game?'
'I heard you were building a course, so I stuck my clubs in the car.'
'Go get 'em then. I've only got nine holes in play so far, but they're good ones. Tiger Nakamura advised me on the layout. Come round to the first tee, just outside the window. I'll call out the caddies.'
When Skinner arrived on the tee, Balliol was waiting for him, with a huge bag holding a set of brand new Callaways, and with two more Koreans, dressed in black like the doorman, but with white golf shoes on their feet. The American handed over a map of the course, and a hole-by-hole yardage chart.
'We're playing ten to eighteen,' he said. 'The earth moving took longer on the front nine. You still off seven?'
'Down to five,' Skinner replied. 'But I'm out of practice.'
'You get a shot, then.' Bal iol grinned, hugely. 'The practice is your problem.'
He took out his Great Big Bertha driver and split the first fairway.
Skinner took a few practice swings, then tugged his tee-shot left, into heavy rough.
'Let's play for now,' said the billionaire, as they moved off, their black-clad caddies lugging their bags, 'and talk later. Tell me one thing though. How d'you know about the golf course? Only Tiger and me and a few others know about that.'
'More people must know than you think,' said Skinner, 'if a simple copper like me can find out about it. Have you got planning permission?'
Bal iol laughed. 'Don't need it. You gotta know that. Al I'm doing is landscaping my own back yard!'
They played on, chatting occasionally, but largely in silence.
Skinner had been serious about his lack of practice. Putting rather than the quality of his shots kept him in touch with his host's tidy game, but when he missed from ten feet on the seventeenth, the match was over. The sweetness of revenge shone in the American's eye, while the worm of defeat gnawed at the policeman's stomach.
It was late afternoon when they returned to the castle, where sandwiches and drinks were laid out in a great drawing room with a southward view across the loch.
'Okay Mr Skinner,' said Balliol at last, as he and his guest looked out across the terrace. 'So you're steamed up at me about that Spotlight stuff.'
The policeman shook his head. 'No,' he muttered. 'Not steamed up. That's an understatement.'
The American looked at him. 'This is something you'll never hear me say again, so listen good. I'm sorry.'
Skinner looked at him in surprise, but said nothing.
'A few weeks ago,' Balliol went on, 'the chief editor told me that the British edition had been offered a story about a well-known guy in Britain who was two-timing his American wife and diddling this woman who worked for him.
'The guy who claimed to have the story, Noel Salmon -1 thought it was a gal at first with a name like Noel – said he wanted a job.'
'Why did this come al the way up to you?'
Bal iol smiled. 'Spotlight's kinda like my toy,' he said. 'But I'm tight with my business money, see, and the British edition had been swal owing cash, so I said a while back that all new spending had to be given the nod by me. So I was asked about Salmon, and I said if the story holds up, hire him.
'That was the last I heard til someone sent me a copy, and I saw your beefy ass on the front cover.' Something in the American's tone made Skinner guess that Balliol might be homosexual. He wondered if the FBI had its own suspicions.
'I have to admit I laughed, when I remembered how pissed I'd been with you at Witches Hill. I didn't feel too good about your lady friend being' in those shots, though, especial y the ones where it looks like she could be… you know.'
'I'll pass on your regrets,' grunted the detective, sourly. 'She'l be touched.'
Balliol looked away for a second. 'Yeah. Okay. Anyway,' he continued, quickly, 'at the same time as I'm sent the copy, my chief editor says that Salmon has another story, about you, and an illegal payment, a bribe. Our lawyers say though, no way can we use it without more evidence.
'So the chief editor says let's pass the story on to the authorities, announce that we've done it, and act like the good guys. We still sell magazines, but we don't get sued if the story turns out wrong. So I said to go ahead, and that's the way it played.'
Skinner looked at him. 'You know the real reason I came up here, Balliol? I'm a great believer in looking people in the eye. I've never met a man who can do that and tell me a direct lie at the same time.
'So wil you look me in the eye, right now, and tell me that it wasn't you who set me up with that rigged bank account, then tipped off your own man about the story?'
The billionaire turned to face him, fixed his gaze upon him, eye to eye, and smiled. 'Shit, son,' he laughed. 'If I'd been going to set you up, it'd have been with a mil ion, not a miserable hundred grand.
I'd have set you up so you'd have gone away for life.
'But I didn't, and that is the truth.'
There was a long silence. 'Now,' said Balliol, breaking it finally,
'is that al you came for, or is there something else?'
The big detective nodded. 'Yes, there is. Your creep Salmon says that the information about me came to him from an anonymous source, that he doesn't know who it was tipped him off. We don't believe that, my pal and I. We think that he was about to give it up when your lawyer arrived to get him out of custody.
'I'd like you to order him to come clean now, to tell me who his source is. Because that's the person who set me up with this phoney bribery charge.'
Balliol sighed. 'Wel that's a bastard, ain't it? I'd do that for you, Bob sir, only I can't.'
'Why the hell not?'
'Because Salmon doesn't work for me any more. I told my chief editor to fire him as soon as he had sent his information to your Lord guy.'
'What for?'
Balliol looked at him, genuinely shocked. 'What for? Because he was caught with narcotics in his possession and in the company of a prostitoot. Either one of those things would have got him fired from any one of my companies. Both together! He's lucky I didn't set my Koreans on him.'
'Dammit!' cursed Skinner. 'Now you have to turn out to be a closet moralist! And you the owner of Spotlight
