Death's Door bs-17

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Did he say any more than that?’

  ‘Yes, he did. Frankly, I was shitting myself by this time. I asked him point-blank what orders he had given the people at Aeron. He promised me that they had instructions to trace Ballester and report back to him, no more than that. When they did, he would hand everything over to you.’

  ‘Did you believe him?’

  ‘I honestly can’t say. But if Aeron are the sort of people who are prepared to go all the way, my guess is that either the man will disappear and they’ll report failure or that he’ll have some sort of an accident.’

  ‘How did your discussion end?’

  ‘Effectively, Davor fired me. He said that he felt I was becoming too anxious about events to continue to perform on his behalf in the City, and that he needed to make a change. He told me what my severance terms would be and promised me another half-million in an offshore account in two years if I stuck to the confidentiality agreement that he would ask me to sign. I accepted dismissal, since that was in my financial interest, and we agreed that I would leave that afternoon.’ He smiled weakly at the three detectives. ‘I had my fucking jacket on when Inspector Stallings arrived to arrest me.’

  Steele leaned back in his chair. ‘That’s the whole story?’

  ‘The part that concerns me.’

  ‘Okay, Keith.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Interview terminated at twelve fifty-seven.’ He switched off the recorder, removed the disks, pocketed one and handed the other to Hamilton. ‘You can negotiate the terms of your client’s bail now,’ he told the lawyer.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to be bailed,’ Barker murmured.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Stallings told him. ‘We’ll look after you. If Boras does something silly, Scotland may need you as a witness.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Hopefully, we’ll put a lid on it before then,’ said Steele. ‘Our next port of call has to be Aeron Security. It’s time they were told that they ain’t a private police force.’

  Fifty-six

  ‘There’s them and us, you know, Griff,’ said Tarvil Singh. ‘There’s the DI and Ray off swanning in London, and you and me holding the fort here, sifting bloody interviews and chasing up sightings of Padstow all over bloody Scotland.’

  ‘Yes, but on overtime, remember, unlimited on this job.’

  ‘Maybe we should take our time catching him, then.’

  ‘Don’t let the bosses hear you saying that, pal. Anyway, if you weren’t here, what would you be doing this afternoon?’

  ‘Shoving a trolley round Safeway,’ Singh admitted.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Sa . . . Ah, sorry, I forgot you’re new in Scotland. Round Morrison’s, I should have said. The name changed a few years back. The trolleys are still the same, though. What about you, what would you be up to? Battering some poor sod around a rugby field, I suppose.’

  ‘Nah, the season’s over. I’d probably have bumped my trolley into yours.’

  ‘And who are you shopping with these days?’

  ‘My sister,’ Montell replied, ‘so don’t get any funny ideas. By the way, I don’t think London will be a swan for those two. Interviewing somebody else’s prisoner is never easy, especially when two investigations run across each other.’

  ‘You sound like you’ve had experience.’

  ‘I have, back home in the South African Police Service.’

  ‘What did you do there?’

  ‘Detective service; serious crime division, including organised crime.’

  ‘Heavy?’

  ‘Believe it. Wilding would not be so laid-back there, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Ray would be laid-back anywhere. He and the DI flew down together, but they’re on open tickets. I will bet you a nice chicken Balti that he winds up persuading the boss to let him stay over in London till tomorrow.’

  ‘Deal. If you’re right, bring your wife and we’ll make it a foursome.’

  ‘With you and your sister?’

  ‘Maybe.’ As he spoke, the phone rang. ‘Thank Christ,’ he said, ‘I was beginning to think that Padstow had been caught and nobody’d told us.’ He snatched the phone from its cradle. ‘Montell.’

  ‘Griff,’ came a tired voice, ‘it’s Willie at the front desk. I’ve got a guy here wants to talk to the DI or whoever’s in charge in CID in his absence. Do you and the big fella want to toss for it?’

  ‘What does he have for us?’

  ‘He won’t say. He just wants to talk to somebody, and he doesnae look like he’s going to take no for an answer.’

  ‘How would he feel about “fuck off”?’ The South African chuckled. ‘I’m kidding, Willie. What’s his name?’

  ‘David Barnes.’

  ‘Barnes, you say. What’s his connection?’

  ‘Hey,’ Singh called to him. ‘First name David?’ Montell nodded. ‘He’s Zrinka’s brother; that’s the name he took after he set up his own business.’

  ‘In that case he’s responding to an e-mail the DI had me send to him. Willie, show Mr Barnes into a vacant interview room, give him a cup of coffee and tell him we’ll join him in a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Will do, Griff.’

  The detective constable hung up. ‘We see him together, Tarvil, okay?’

  ‘Shouldn’t we get somebody senior in?’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘DCS McGuire? He lives not far from here.’

  ‘And he’s probably on the golf course, or whatever he does at the weekend. Do you ever want to make sergeant? You don’t do it by shirking responsibility. We’ll call McGuire if it becomes necessary, but only then. Look, I’ll see him on my own, if you don’t want to come.’

  ‘No, I’ll chum you. Why go downstairs, though? Why not just bring him upstairs?’

  ‘With photographs of his dead sister and her boyfriend pinned to the whiteboard, and him half-eaten by foxes?’

  ‘True,’ Singh conceded grimly. ‘I’ll put the phones on divert to Willie. Let’s go.’

  The two detectives jogged downstairs to the public entrance. ‘Room two,’ said the desk sergeant. Montell nodded and led the way along a short corridor to a white-painted door; he knocked, and swung it open.

  The man who waited there turned to face them as they entered. He was smaller than either of them, but still stood around six feet. He was casually dressed, in blue denims, jeans and jacket, with a white T-shirt with a garish design on the front, tight-fitting and tapering into a narrow waist. On his head sat a baseball cap embroidered with parrots, and a slogan, ‘Margaritaville’.

  ‘Mr Barnes.’

  He looked back at the South African, his ice-blue eyes made all the more vivid by a deep tan. ‘Yes,’ he replied quietly. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Detective Constables Montell and Singh.’ Griff smiled. ‘Guess which is which. Our senior officers are out of town on the investigation, I’m afraid.’

  ‘The investigation: does that mean that you know who I am?’

  ’Yes, we do. You only call yourself Dražen when you’re with your sister, isn’t that right?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I saw the last e-mail you sent her. I typed the reply, on my boss’s instructions.’

  ‘In that case, I appreciate the way you used the present tense just now, but it was unnecessary. I know that Zrinka is dead, and how.’

  ‘I’m sorry you had to find out through the press.’

  ‘What makes you think I did?’ David Barnes asked him. ‘I flew into Gatwick from JFK early this morning. After I’d picked up my luggage, I switched on my lap-top at a Wi-fi hot spot, to check my e-mails. I found a shedload of messages including a triple urgent one from my secretary.

  ‘I called my mother straight away and she told me what had happened. I couldn’t believe it; I just couldn’t believe it. I jumped in a taxi, and went straight to their place. We spent some time together. Then I read the rest of my mails; I saw yours, and decided that I should come up to Edinburgh straight away.
’

  ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ said Montell. ‘A call would have been enough.’

  ‘No, I wanted to see you; I want to find out about the investigation. My father told me that his man Barker has embarrassed everyone, and got himself into trouble. My father and I have been estranged for some time, but he felt that I could do some good by coming to Edinburgh. He feels that Barker’s stupidity may have compromised him in some way. Is that so?’

  ‘That’s why DI Steele isn’t here,’ Singh told him. ‘He’s in London, putting the thumbscrews on the guy.’

  ‘I shouldn’t say so,’ said Barnes, ‘but I’m glad to hear it. I never liked that man, although in truth I didn’t mind my father employing him. My dad and I are business rivals, as you probably know by now, and I’ve always thought that Barker was more of a hindrance to him than a help.’

  ‘Look,’ Montell said suddenly, ‘this isn’t going to be a formal interview and this is a fucking awful place to be stuck on a nice day. If you’d like, we can go somewhere more pleasant to chat.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that. I’ve never been in a police office before and, no offence, but if this one is typical, I don’t want to be in any others.’

  ‘Come on, then; we’ll go to the Waterfront. Tarvil doesn’t drink, so he can drive us.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ the big Sikh grumbled, but he fished his car keys from his pocket and waved them towards the door.

  Singh had what he sometimes called copper’s luck. There was an empty parking space fifty yards from the Waterfront wine bar, and a spare table in a quiet corner of the conservatory area when they went inside.

  ‘This is much better,’ said David Barnes, as he chose a seat with a view across the waters of Leith Docks, their surroundings much changed by the construction of upmarket new flats. As he hung his jacket over the chair, the detectives caught a glimpse of vivid embroidery on the back.

  ‘Yes,’ Montell agreed. ‘Way back, this place was a waiting room for passengers on the Leith to Aberdeen steamship route.’

  ‘I never knew that,’ Singh exclaimed.

  ‘It’s true, Alex told me.’

  ‘It’ll be gospel, in that case,’ said a voice, from behind him.

  The South African turned, and looked up at Mario McGuire. ‘Boss, I never saw you when we came in.’

  ‘That should go without saying: ignoring me would not be good. I’m at a table just round the corner, with Paula.’ He paused, unsmiling. ‘I thought you guys were on duty.’

  ‘We are, sir, but we felt these surroundings were more appropriate.’

  ‘In the circumstances I agree.’ He leaned across and offered a handshake to Barnes. ‘My condolences for your loss,’ he said.

  ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘The name’s McGuire; I’m the head of CID here. I’ve forgotten more things than these guys know, but they still can’t catch me out. I recognise you from a photograph on our investigation file: it’s very thorough.’ He looked at Montell. ‘Have you ordered yet?’

  ‘Not yet, sir.’

  ‘In that case I’ll send you over a bottle of something. It’ll save you the embarrassment of asking Stevie to sign your expenses. There’s a South African riesling on the list; that okay?’

  ‘Excellent, thanks. And a fresh orange and soda for Tarvil, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Your wish is my command.’ His gaze switched back to Barnes and became serious once more. ‘I don’t want to crowd you, so I’ll leave you with the lads. Once you’ve spoken to them, if there’s anything you’d like to take up with me, I’m not far away.’ He turned and walked away, around the corner and back to his table; in the window opposite, Montell saw Paula Viareggio, reflected.

  ‘He’s very impressive,’ David Barnes murmured. ‘He must have scared the crap out of a few villains in his time.’

  ‘He has,’ Singh told him, ‘not to mention a few police officers, like us two, right now. But if you really want scary, you want to meet his boss. Isn’t that right, Griff?’ Montell’s reply was no more than a grunt. ‘My colleague,’ Singh explained, ‘is walking a tightrope across the chasm of insanity by going out with the deputy chief constable’s daughter.’

  Barnes smiled, as a waiter arrived bearing a tray with two glasses, a bottle in an ice bucket and Singh’s soft drink. ‘I want to thank you lads for this,’ he said, as the wine was poured. ‘I’ve been screaming inside since I spoke to Mum this morning. You’re being a great help to me.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ said Montell. ‘We feel for you. You should realise, David, that people like us, doing what we do, become very familiar with murder victims, even if they’re dead. We’re their advocates. We pursue justice on their behalf, and although we shouldn’t, often we become attached to them. We feel as if we knew Zrinka, and what we’ve learned about her has made us very fond of her. The same’s true of Stacey Gavin, and young Harry Paul.’

  ‘As for Amy,’ Singh added, ‘I really did know her. DI Steele and I went to see her the day before she was killed.’

  ‘In that case, you may know that she and I . . .’

  ‘She told us that you’d met and . . .’ He stopped. ‘She was really fond of you.’

  ‘It’s good to hear that. She was a nice kid.’

  ‘Which makes us all the more determined to catch the man who killed her,’ Montell told him. ‘We have open minds, David; you must appreciate that. At the same time we are determined to find this guy Padstow. He ties all of them together.’

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘We know who he is now.’ He raised an eyebrow at Singh, who nodded. ‘I reckon we can tell you. His real name is Daniel Ballester; he’s a journalist, of questionable reputation.’

  ‘I knew that,’ said Barnes.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes. My sister told me, after they broke up. She said that he told her he was a lecturer in politics, doing some postgraduate study in Edinburgh. She believed it, and so did I when I met him, the first time I came up to visit her. I was just a little wary of him, given that he had popped up out of the blue and was living with Zrinka, our family being very wealthy and all, but his act was really good, and so was his cover story. I bought it too.’

  ‘How did Zrinka discover the truth about him?’

  ‘He slipped up: he left his passport on the table, she mistook it for hers and opened it.’

  Singh leaned forwards. ‘Amy told us that they went to Amsterdam together. He couldn’t have flown as Padstow.’

  ‘He didn’t want to go. He kept making excuses, pleading poverty, but Zrinka was dead set on seeing the galleries there. He gave in eventually, but said that he’d handle all the arrangements, which he did, through a travel agent. He got away with it all the way through the trip, and for a little while after they got back. He was glib, and for maybe the only time in her life, she was gullible. Christ,’ Barnes muttered, ‘I can talk. He fooled me.’

  ‘After Zrinka saw the passport, what did she do? Come to you?’

  ‘She didn’t need to. She just entered the name into a search engine; she built a whole file on the guy, pictures, everything.’

  ‘And confronted him?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. She felt hurt by him, she felt betrayed, but she didn’t want a big scene. She simply told him that she didn’t love him, and that their relationship had run its course. She didn’t tell him that she knew who he was. She didn’t tell anyone except me, and eventually Stacey Gavin, when she discovered that Ballester had moved on to her.’

  ‘That explains a lot. It ties in exactly with what your mother told DCS McGuire and DI Steele.’

  ‘No doubt, but Mum never met the guy.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘He never even knew about the relationship. Our father is old-fashioned. He may have cut and run from Yugoslavia when he saw what was going to happen there, but he retains the strict Orthodox values with which he was raised, and they definitely do not allow for his daughter living with a
man to whom she is not married. No, my father never knew about it, or he would have put his foot down.’

  ‘Could it be, David,’ Montell asked gently, ‘that your father did know but chose to do nothing to avoid provoking a split with his daughter? As you’ve told us, you and he are estranged. Is it possible he couldn’t face being at odds with both his children, so he turned a blind eye?’

  ‘Not in the slightest, I promise you. Davor Boras sees everything.’

  Fifty-seven

  ‘Mags, love, I’m really sorry that this should happen, today of all bloody days, but the situation down here has developed in a way I didn’t anticipate. I’m waiting for some intelligence reports and then if I can find him there may be a man we need to call on. If I can, I’ll catch the last shuttle.’

  ‘Do you want me to pick you and Ray up?’

  ‘Hell, no, I’ll take a taxi. If I do make it I’ll be on my own. That smooth bastard Wilding’s made alternative arrangements, and as far as I can see they’re looking better by the minute. I promise, I’ll do my best to get home.’

  ‘Fine, just let me know; I’ll be in. As it happens I’m expecting a visitor in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Bob Skinner. He called and asked me if he could visit to follow up something we spoke about yesterday. I’ll tell you what I can when you get back.’

  ‘What you can? What does that mean?’

  ‘You know the DCC, he also moves in mysterious ways. Love you.’

  ‘Me too. So long.’

  Steele flipped his Motorola shut to end the call, then opened it again and dialled his office, only to be surprised when the desk sergeant answered the call. ‘Where are my troops?’ he asked.

  ‘On enquiries, you might say, sir. They’d a visitor, a guy called Barnes, and they went out with him.’

  The inspector smiled. ‘Any excuse,’ he said, although he understood why the two constables would want to take Zrinka’s brother out of the depressing drabness of the office. He found the South African’s cellphone number in his directory and called it. ‘Are you still with Boras?’ he asked.