'No, Bob, no. Those two murders could not have been committed by the same person.'
'Come on, can you say that for sure? The time-frame fits.'
'Maybe it does, but that's all. There are major differences between the two. Look at poor Diddler; let's go with the sex-crime scenario, I accept that it's the likeliest explanation for the nature of the binding. He's tied, has sex, or at least there's enough contact for him to acquire that single strand of hair, then he's battered to death.
'The Smith case was completely different. He was stripped and bound, yes, but that was for torture. There was nothing remotely sexual about it.'
'What about the burning of the genitalia?'
'That's an anti-sexual gesture, a classic'
'This is only theory though.'
'Okay, you want fact, here it is. The blows to Smith's head and the blows which Diddler sustained were certainly not inflicted by the same person. Now that is a hard, under-oath statement. I wouldn't call Smith's wounds superficial, but they were not the cause of death, nor did they contribute.
'Howard Shearer, on the other hand was battered savagely to death, with great force. Different people, Bob, different people. I'm sorry to blow your theory, but look at it from this angle. How many people have played football with your crowd over the years?'
'God knows,' he conceded. 'Dozens of regulars; if you count the guys, and one woman, who have played just once or twice, you could be into the hundreds.'
'And Alec Smith really wasn't there for all that long, was he? Three years or so?'
'True. Okay, I get your drift.'
'Exactly. Two members of your squad of hundreds being killed violently in completely different circumstances is, I grant you, something of a coincidence, but it's not like winning the pools. Whereas, the possibility of their having been killed by the same person does not exist.'
'Right, right, right, I'm beaten. I guess I got over-excited. Give my love to the kids; see you later.'
Skinner replaced the phone and looked across his desk at Neil Mcllhenney. 'Sometimes it's just impossible to argue with my wife,' he said. 'Especially when she's right.' He paused. 'We don't have a sniff of a motive. The Diddler was a wealthy man, he could have been killed for money, or for his Rolex, even; that alone was worth a ton.
'Nonetheless, as soon as we have a positive ID on the body, as we will, I want you to organise a meeting of the Legends, the other seven and us, or as many as are available, in the Golf in North Berwick, six o'clock this evening. I want to tell them all before they read it in the papers. If Grock or Stewart Rees or Andy John are golfing, tell them to cancel it. The poor wee bugger deserves a wake.'
'I'll need to bring the kids,' said Mcllhenney.
'Fine, Sarah will give them their dinner, and they can have a play on the beach with the lads.'
He recalled the night before. 'Here, was Karen okay about you being late?'
'Aye, she was fine,' his exec replied. 'She was a bit strange, I thought, but it was nowt to do with that, I'm sure. Lauren said this morning that she seemed sad, and she has her mother's eye for people's moods.'
'She's a capable woman, is Sergeant Neville; she'll sort it, whatever it is.'
The big Inspector stood and made to leave. 'Oh,' he said, as an afterthought. 'I tried to raise DCS Martin as you asked, but he isn't in yet. I left a message with Sammy for him to call you.'
'Fine,' the DCC acknowledged, just as the telephone furthest from his right hand sang into life… the phone which hardly ever rang. He picked it up, frowning, as the door closed behind Mcllhenney.
'Skinner.'
'Morning, Bob,' said a gruff voice, in a bluff Derbyshire accent. This is Adam. I'm about to get on to a plane at Farnborough and fly up to Scotland. I want you and McGuire to meet me at the General Aviation Terminal at Edinburgh.
'There's something I've got to show you… something fooking messy'