McGuire took the chauffeur’s statement from his pocket, and waved it in the air. ‘The other David Barnes doesn’t agree with you.’
‘Come, come, Chief Superintendent,’ the millionaire laughed, ‘would you care to explain how that was obtained? Even now, Mr Barnes is recovering his courage.’
Skinner ignored him and turned to Davies. ‘I want this place searched under your warrant; look for passports. I bet you’ll find two: a guy like this, he’ll have had a third identity ready, in case of emergencies. Or . . . What’s the range of an Embraer jet? Transatlantic, you said, Mario? He’s gone west, hasn’t he, Davor? And when he lands he’ll be welcomed in Virginia.’
From the depths of the chair, Boras winked at him.
Skinner turned on his heel and walked out of the room, through the apartment until he found the master bedroom. He went into Drazen’s en-suite bathroom and started to open drawers. In the third, he found a Philishave electric razor. He flicked it open, and saw that the chamber below the blades was full of beard residue. Very carefully, he closed it again, and returned to the huge, curved living room.
Boras was still in the chair, watching the proceedings with evident amusement. He turned as the DCC re- entered and held up the shaver.
‘Is this your son’s?’
‘Of course. A gift from me, in fact; top of the range, best in the world. He has another in his travel kit.’
‘I’ll borrow it for a while. Mr Davies, have it bagged it for me, please. That’s okay with you, Davor, isn’t it?’
Boras’s smile, and his eyes, narrowed just a little, but he nodded, and replied, ‘Of course.’
Skinner and McGuire stayed silent until they were clear of the building, and half-way across Chelsea Bridge. Finally, the chief superintendent exploded: ‘The shaver: Drazen’s DNA?’ he exclaimed.
‘Chock full of it, and his father’s witness to the fact.’
‘Yes! We’ve got the sod.’
‘If the lab does the business.’
‘Too bad about that confession, though.’
‘Yeah,’ Skinner grunted. ‘I suspect that Boras noticed that Barnes was absent and, in the circumstances, put the screw on him when he got back. “Courage,” he said; money can buy that too. Anyway, that statement was useless in court: the eedjit was too scared to notice that he’d never been formally cautioned.’
The head of CID stopped in his tracks. ‘Earlier on,’ he asked, ‘did I see you log Barnes’s phone number into your mobile, before you shredded Adrian’s note?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Skinner, cheerfully, ‘and his address too. Wicked, eh?’
‘Can I borrow it?’
‘Sure.’ He took the cell phone from his pocket and handed it over.
McGuire opened it, found the number, and pressed the green button. ‘Is that Mrs Barnes?’ Skinner heard him say, as they resumed their walk across the bridge. ‘This is a friend, one of yours, not your husband’s: there’s some stuff about him that you should know.’
Eighty
‘Nice place you have here, Les,’ said Skinner, as he looked round his opposite number’s office. ‘There are times when I don’t like being stuck in the city centre. I hope you don’t lose this under the force amalgamation.’
‘It’ll see me out,’ Cairns assured him. ‘Is that why you’re here, sizing up this office in case they make you head of the new regional force?’
‘Nothing could be further from my mind,’ the Scot assured him sincerely. ‘No, I’m here to apologise for the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done in my life.’
The Geordie’s heavy eyebrows came together. ‘Thumping Ballester, you mean? On reflection, I should have done that myself. It isn’t against any law I know of to belt a dead man.’
‘Thanks, but that’s not what I meant.’ He opened his briefcase, took out a thick folder and pushed it across Cairns’s desk. ‘I want to give you this, and to say sorry for having kept you in the dark all the way through its compilation.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s the documentation of a very private investigation into the murder of Daniel Ballester and Stevie Steele.’
‘Ballester? Murder?’ Cairns exclaimed.
‘I’m afraid so. And it was on your patch, which made it your business. But it started in Scotland, which made it mine. That’s my excuse, anyway. Read that, and you’ll find that you have overwhelming grounds for seeking a warrant for the arrest of a man called Drazen Boras, and his extradition from America, where he’s believed to be hiding.
‘Play it right, Les, and your knighthood could be in there. I want you to give it to the Crown Prosecution Service. They may come under pressure from upstairs not to take it further. If they do, I’d like you to let them know that I have another copy that I will not hesitate to leak to the newspaper for which Ballester used to work, and to a few others as well.’
‘This is unshakeable?’
‘Cast-iron,’ said Skinner. ‘I got the clincher this morning: the DNA of Drazen Boras, legally obtained, with his father Davor’s consent, given before a DAC in the Met, matches a sample of skin taken by my guy, DI Dorward, from the letterbox at Hathaway House.’
‘And you did all this without reference to me?’
‘I’m afraid so. Apart from that call you made for me on Tuesday, that is; it was part of the investigation, although I chose not to burden you with it at the time. I’m sorry, mate; I had to use some heavy contacts. If I’d done it by the book ...’
‘. . . I might have made a balls-up of it.’
‘Les, I’m not saying that for a second.’
Cairns laughed. ‘No, but I am. Man, you’re playing by the book now, when it really matters, and you’ve saved me a shedload of grief. My biggest problem now will be to explain to the coroner how Ballester’s suicide is suddenly a murder, but I can deal with that. Bob, I’m happy to steal your glory any day of the week . . . and your bloody knighthood, if it comes to that.’
‘You can have my seat in the Lords as well, if you want.’
‘Red’s not my colour.’ Cairns turned serious once again. ‘Look,’ he asked, ‘for me, presenting a solid case is enough, but what are my chances of landing this Drazen bloke?’
‘In truth, somewhere between slim and non-existent,’ Skinner told him. ‘Especially if I find him first.’
Eighty-one
Although he was in the second rank of mourners at Stevie Steele’s funeral, stiff in his uniform, with Aileen and Alex, both in black, on either side of him, and Sir James and Lady Proud beyond his daughter, Skinner stayed in the background during the reception at the Braid Hills Hotel. He felt that that time belonged to families, and so, after no more than fifteen minutes, he left, dropping the First Minister at Holyrood, and heading for Fettes to sign off, before resuming his sabbatical.
But when he was finished, and when he knew that she would be there, he headed home, by way of Gordon Terrace. When he rang the bell, the door was opened by a red-haired woman; she had been by Maggie’s side at the crematorium, and again at the reception. ‘You’re Bet,’ he said.
‘And you’re Bob,’ she replied. ‘I guess Margaret’s told each of us about the other. Come on in; she’s been half expecting you.’ She led him into the ‘playroom’ where Maggie was waiting, then left them alone.
‘Hi,’ he said quietly. ‘How’re you doing?’
‘I’m fine; I suppose that’s because the worst part’s over.’
‘It’s not. All other things aside, the worst part begins after the funeral, when there’s no more we can do for
