Murder on the Second Tee (20 page)

Much later that evening, Baggo and Lance Wallace took a dram together and compared notes. In Cupar, the Eglintons had refused to answer questions and were being held before appearing in court on the Monday. After much deliberating and posturing it had been decided to regard the financial criminals as detainees of the Fife Division. They had been taken to Glenrothes where they had declined the services of local solicitors and said nothing in response to Baggo’s questioning. Other officers from the Serious Fraud Office were due to travel north and, with them, Baggo would escort the prisoners to London later on the following day.

‘Belinda Parsley was really upset when she heard Forbes had gone without her,’ Lance said.

‘She will get over it, I bet,’ Baggo said. ‘I think she will come to realise she has had a lucky escape. And she will not be poor.’

‘What about Saddlefell?’

‘He will get his knuckles rapped for not coming clean when he learned what was going on, but with Davidson and Knarston-Smith he prevented Forbes and co from transferring any bearer bonds. They tried while waiting to board in Edinburgh. Your man, di Falco, is smart.’

‘And he knows it. My spies tell me he’s made a big hit with that pretty under-manager at the hotel. What do you think will happen to the bank?’

‘Someone will take it over and make money out of it.’

‘Davidson?’

Baggo shook his head. ‘I think he is fed up and wants out. People like him are called BOBOs – Burnt Out But Opulent.’

It had been a long day. As they got up to go to bed, Lance asked, ‘Did you say anything to Alan? He was, well, a lot better this evening.’

Baggo shrugged. ‘I told him a bit about myself. And I said he should cut you some slack. As you should him. He is a fine fellow and going through a difficult phase.’

* * *

The next day was fine and dry and crisp. As he was not due to travel south till late afternoon, Baggo took the bus into St Andrews. He wanted to buy Jeannie Wallace something good to thank her for her hospitality. The previous evening she had cooked another fine dinner and the way she had fussed over his lacerated cheek had made him feel quite heroic. Before visiting the shops he went for a walk beside the famous Old Course, its fairways silver with frost. Crossing the Swilken Burn into which Hugh Parsley’s putter had been thrown, his hands in his pockets, he felt the money clip he had kept there for the last two days. He drew it out of his pocket and re-read the inscription, SHAFTED BY HP. That would apply to a lot of people, he thought. With a satisfying plop he dropped it into the muddy water flowing towards the bleak North Sea.

* * *

On Tuesday morning Fergus Maxwell brought Flick tea in bed. Though reassured about the baby, she had nevertheless been ordered to take a week off work. The Monday papers had been full of her triumph and the sitting room was made fragrant by a large bunch of flowers from the divisional commander.

Fergus did not bring Flick the Tuesday paper. On an inside page there was an article in which former Detective Inspector Noel Osborne claimed credit for tipping off ‘his protégé’ where she might find a vital clue, ‘Needed my help, she did. So I helped her out of the kindness of my heart.’ The article went on to say that years ago he cleaned up the East End of London and finished with the quote, ‘I like St Andrews. It’s a real pukka place. I might even buy a property here.’

Flick would inevitably hear about this, but Fergus was not about to spoil things for her now. Anyway, Osborne moving to Fife was something that would never happen. He hoped.

This is a work of fiction and if any of my characters bear some resemblance to real people it is coincidental. That includes those characters I have put into the Old Course Hotel, an excellent establishment with good food, an efficient and friendly staff and a superb setting. I hope I might have captured something of its welcoming ambience, but while some details are accurate others are not, and that is deliberate. I thank for their help Sarah Middlemas, Debbie Rose and (although I did not tell him why I wanted to see the club store) my friend from boys’ golf many years ago, the professional, Neil Paton. I also thank Historic Scotland for information over the phone. I am grateful to Matador for their professionalism and understanding. Most of all I thank my wife Annie for her encouragement, criticism and constant support. All errors are of course mine.

Since retiring from a law career which included sitting as a judge in High Court murder trials, Ian Simpson has been writing crime fiction. In 2008 one of his books was shortlisted for the Debut Dagger by the Crime Writers’ Association. He has also written newspaper articles on legal topics. He was brought up in St Andrews and for a time as a youth held a handicap of three.