‘Almost three years ago now,’ said the prisoner, ‘not all that long after I went to work for Boras, I became aware that someone was asking questions about us, about the business, about Boras himself, about me and what I had been recruited to do for him. Word filtered back to me, from employees, from suppliers and from former associates of mine.
‘I had no idea who the man was, but I knew that he was hostile, as such people almost invariably are. I made that assumption because no approaches were ever made to me, to any of my subordinates in the press office or in the consultancies that we use. At that point in time, I didn’t want to go to Boras, as I knew him well enough by that time to understand that you didn’t bring him suspicions, you brought him facts. So I began to seek the man actively, and to build up a dossier on what he was up to. I intended to trace him myself, but I never did. He was too good, too thorough. Finally, I decided that he was probably an industrial spy, hired by one of our smaller European rivals or, more likely, by an American outfit. That I had to take to the boss.’
‘How did he react, when you didn’t bring him hard facts?’
‘To my surprise, he was fine. He thanked me and he told me to leave it with him. A week later, he called me into his office. I should tell you that he never discusses anything sensitive outside his room at Continental; he has the place swept every day for listening devices. He showed me a folder and said, “That’s our man.” It contained photographs and a complete biography of a man called Daniel Ballester. He was a journalist, that sort of spy.’
‘Where did the information come from?’
‘He told me he’d hired a private security firm: its name was Aeron, according to the heading on the report I saw.’
‘Did he say whether he had acted on it?’
‘I asked him if he wanted me to do that, but he told me that the Aeron people had been instructed to talk to him, tell him that we knew who he was and to stop being bloody silly. That alarmed me a little; I asked if they would do anything physical, but Boras just laughed, a rarity for him, and said that he wasn’t worth it.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘Yes, I did. As it happened, Ballester was all over the press himself just a little later, after coming spectacularly unstuck by doing a piece on Diana, on the basis of bogus evidence that he fell for.’
‘Then three years on, you find out he had moved on from that setback to get onside with Zrinka.’
Barker nodded. ‘As soon as I saw the image you released, I knew who he was.’
‘When did you see it?’
‘In The Times, yesterday morning.’
‘What did you do?’
‘The obvious. I took the newspaper straight into Boras’s office, but he’d already seen it. I said to him, “You know who this is, don’t you?” and he nodded. I said that Aeron obviously hadn’t been persuasive enough. He replied, “Maybe they’ll be more efficient this time.” I warned him not to cross the police, but he told me not to worry. Then he took out the folder he’d shown me three years ago and shredded it before my eyes.’
‘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,’ Sing
h 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.’
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