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 Drazen 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?’
