Skinner grinned. ‘Did nobody tell you I’m a mind-reader? Out with it.’
Hesitantly, she risked a quick look at him. ‘Well, sir, it’s what you said about Mr Boras, that the length of your stay depends on how you get on with him. I thought that this was a courtesy call, to advise him of the conclusion of your investigation into his daughter’s murder.’
‘You forgot about us thanking him for giving a million to the PDT.’
‘Yes, and that.’
‘It’s all true, all of it. However, my big friend here and I have a couple of questions to ask him. The way that he answers them may determine how courteous we are.’
‘I see.’ Nervousness replaced hesitancy in Becky Stallings’s voice.
‘What did you think of our boy Stevie?’ the DCC asked her suddenly.
‘In our very brief acquaintance,’ she replied, ‘I thought he was a very nice guy. I also saw that he was a brilliant police officer. The way he handled Keith Barker was as good as anything I’ve ever seen.’
‘Yeah. Stevie was all that. He’d have gone all the way in the force; I’m in no doubt about that.’
‘How’s his wife bearing up?’
‘She’s also an exceptional police officer, and an exceptional person. She’s dealing with it.’
‘Would she mind me going to the funeral?’
‘Becky, I think she’ll insist on it. In fact, while you’re with us, I imagine she’d like to meet you.’
‘I’d be . . .’ She paused.
‘I know, it’ll be awkward, but it’ll be good for both of you.’
‘In that case, I’d be happy to visit her; maybe with Ray.’
‘Of course.’
‘How is he?’
‘DS Wilding is like the rest of us, bereaved but continuing to function professionally. Don’t worry about him. He’s a good lad; he’s one of mine, but don’t ever tell him I said that. It would go to his head.’
‘One of yours?’
‘Mario knows what I mean. Don’t you, mate?’ He glanced over his shoulder, then back at Stallings. ‘I cherish every police officer, every man and woman who carries a warrant card, plain-clothes or uniform. But some I cherish even more than others, because I see a bit of me in them.’
He smiled grimly. ‘Be in no doubt, Becky, I wasn’t out of the room when they were handing out egos. I was at the front of the queue and I got first pick.’
He paused. ‘Every so often, though, something happens that reminds me that I’m not infallible. A few years back, one of mine went very bad. More recently, I put another in a situation that I thought he could handle. He couldn’t, and maybe he’ll never be the same again. I’m going to look after him, mind you. I’m going to keep him on the force and I’m going to help him get back his self-esteem.’ He glanced backwards again. ‘That’s a decision I’ve made since Saturday night, Mario.’
‘Bandit?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are you going to do it? That report didn’t make good reading.’
‘I’m going to keep him close. He’ll replace McGurk, but with a bigger job, as executive officer not just to me but to everybody in the Command Corridor. Sorry, Becky,’ he exclaimed. ‘Digression.’
‘And Stevie was one of yours as well?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes. Top of the class.’ Skinner sat in silence for a while, staring ahead through the windscreen as the motorway bore into the city, and as world-famous landmarks came into view. They were heading through Holborn before he spoke again.
‘We think Boras killed Stevie, Becky.’
‘What?’ The shout escaped before she had a chance to choke it off, but she managed to keep the car under control.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry to startle you. I said that we believe that Boras may have been responsible for Stevie’s murder. We do not buy Ballester as a suicide. All the evidence points to him having shot Zrinka and the others, but we reckon that when Boras learned this, and discovered where he was hiding out, he either went up there and killed him or, more likely, he ordered it done.’
‘You mean that you’re going to interrogate him as a murder suspect?’
‘No. I’m telling you that we’re going to play it by ear, but advising you that the conversation might take an interesting turn.’
Keeping her eyes on the road, she smiled. ‘That sounds like fun. Mind you, sir, the Home Office will not like it when they find out.’
‘Does that bother you?’
‘Not one small piece.’
‘That’s the lady.’
The office of Continental IT was in a green square, near the junction of London Wall and Aldersgate Street. As she had been directed, Stallings drove into a basement car park, where she chose a vacant ‘visitor’ space.
‘Sir,’ she said, as they stepped out of the vehicle, ‘you should be aware that Boras is very security-conscious. Barker said that he has his office checked for bugs every day, and that he does all his important business in there.’
‘I know. We listened to his interrogation by Stevie before we left. Don’t worry: I’m going to assume that he has bugs of his own installed and that he tapes everything that’s said in there.’
‘Won’t that make it risky, if you plan to accuse him?’
‘Maybe, but I’ll play it by ear . . . almost.’ He took a palm-sized black box from his pocket and showed it to her. ‘Before we left, I got this from my technical people. It detects transmitters and hidden cameras. It’s a clever wee bugger . . .’ he chuckled ‘. . . or de-bugger, I should say. The warning is set to “vibrate” so it can be used as discreetly as the things it’s picking up.’
He concealed it and they headed towards the garage exit door, past a shirtsleeved man, in his late twenties, who was busy removing splattered insects from the windscreen of a new silver Rolls-Royce Phantom. A uniform cap lay on the roof. ‘Nice motor,’ said McGuire, casually. ‘The boss’s?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the chauffeur replied, in an accent that was not from anywhere in London. ‘I don’t care what anyone says, this is still the finest car in the world, and it deserves to be kept immaculate.’
‘He’s not kidding,’ the chief superintendent murmured, as they stepped through the door and found themselves facing an elevator.
Skinner pressed the button to summon it. ‘Why don’t you work on Paula to buy one?’ He suggested. ‘I’m sure that the shareholders of Viareggio PLC wouldn’t mind the chief executive having a vehicle worthy of her status.’
‘Sure, and the customers of the Viareggio delis would be really impressed too, to see one of those doing the rounds of our shops. Besides, she loves her Mini.’
The lift took them up to the foyer. The three officers stepped out, and Stallings walked over to the reception desk to announce their arrival. A middle-aged woman sat behind it. ‘Ah, yes,’ she replied, in cut-glass tones. ‘Mr Boras is ready for you. If you go up to the top floor, I’ll let him know you’re on the way.’
They did as they had been instructed. As the lift doors closed on them, and Stallings pushed the button, Skinner said to the head of CID, ‘When we get up there, you make the running.’
The building had fifteen floors; when they emerged on the top level, they found that its partitions and outer walls were made entirely of glass. Davor Boras was waiting for them, a cool smile on his face, his stocky frame encased in a powder-blue suit that shone like silk. ‘Mr McGuire,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m pleased to see you again, especially since you bring such, er, satisfactory news of your investigation ... although,’ he added at once, ‘I was devastated to hear of the death of your colleague.’
‘We appreciate that, sir. Please let me introduce Deputy Chief Constable Bob Skinner, and Detective Inspector Becky Stallings, who’s our liaison officer with the Met.’
‘My pleasure,’ he replied, as they shook hands. ‘Come with me; let’s go into my hospitality suite. My office is far too formal.’ Skinner was taken by surprise, but he nodded; he was last in line as they followed Boras into a big square room, set on a corner of the building so that two of its sides offered a spectacular view across the rooftops to the Tower of London and the bridge beyond. As Boras closed the door, the DCC activated the box in his trouser
