Ballester had been a campaigning journalist, out to make a name for himself. He had been digging ruthlessly into the Boras empire, even cultivating Zrinka as a route to its secrets. Dražen and his father, Davor, had every reason to eliminate him. But that would mean, kinner reasoned as he ran … that Dražen had killed his own sister. ‘In that family,’ he said aloud, to the morning breeze, ‘who knows?’
He sprinted on, legs pumping hard as he climbed a grass-topped sand-hill, his stride lengthening as he plunged down the other side on to the curving beach, which stretched eastward for more than half a mile. It was isolated and deserted, as he had expected: the tide was less than full, and so he ran below the high-water mark for a better footing.
He was half-way along when his mobile rang in the pocket of his shorts and his hands-free headset buzzed in his ear. He reached up and pressed the receive button, slowing as he did so. ‘Yes,’ he said, breathing heavily.
‘Jesus, Bob, have I interrupted something?’ Amanda Dennis exclaimed.
‘Nothing involving anyone else,’ he replied, ‘or otherwise embarrassing. I’m on the beach, trying to put myself in a decent mood for the rest of the day. Are you in Thames House already?’
‘The state never sleeps, my boy. But the truth is, I don’t like the London rush-hour. There’s been a development; one of Adrian’s feelers has had a response. Continental IT, Davor Boras’s company, has made a booking for two nights, Tuesday and Wednesday, in the Hôtel de Paris, Monaco.’
‘Very interesting.’
‘There’s an “and” that will make it even more so. They’ve booked not just one suite, but two, one of them with two bedrooms. No names provided, but you might surmise from it that Davor and his wife no longer sleep together and will be using the larger, and I’m sure you being you will make a wildly optimistic guess about the occupancy of the other.’
‘Amanda,’ said Skinner, ‘you’re a treasure beyond price.’
‘You’d better believe it.’
‘You know what? I’ve got some time on my hands this week, and my partner’s gone back to running the nation. I think I might just fly south for a couple of days.’
Seventy-four
Lisanne was ready for work, ready to face the day, and whatever it held, and so was Jack McGurk. She took hold of his lapels, pulled him downwards to her and kissed him. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered.
‘What for?’
‘For being there for me when my life got turned on its head,’ she replied. ‘And especially for letting me stay here last night. I know he turned out to be a scumbag, but I was married to him, and I cared for him. He didn’t deserve to die, and certainly not like that.’
‘Nobody does, love.’
‘Whoever killed him does,’ she said bitterly. ‘Well, thanks anyway.’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s a funny thing. . ill wind, I suppose. . but a part of me will always be grateful to Theo. If it wasn’t for him, I’d never have met you.’
Lisanne smiled. ‘It’s not such a big city, and you are a very large and visible guy. Maybe we’d have met anyway.’
‘Around the singles bars? Through the Scotsman dating service? I don’t know if I’d have gone down either of those routes.’
‘Me neither: I’d be too scared.’
‘Once bitten?’
She poked him in the chest. ‘Depends who’s biting me. No, I’m a very cautious person by nature.’
‘I suppose I am too.’
‘So why did we hit it off the way we did?’
‘Possibly because we’ve both been through similar marriage experiences.’ He grinned. ‘Or maybe the first time we met we had a shared inclination to rip each other’s clothes off.’
‘Could be.’ She looked in the mirror, and adjusted the cravat that was part of her bank uniform. ‘So where do we go from here, Jack? Is it “That was very nice. I’ll see you around,” or. .’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘No. Until last night when I heard about Theo, that was the nicest weekend I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t want it to stop.’
‘Me neither. Do you want to come back here tonight?’
‘It’s tempting, but I don’t think so. The longer I stay away from my place, the weirder it’ll be when I go back there. See you later in the week, though?’
‘How about Wednesday?’
‘That’ll do. Come to mine, about six, or whenever you can.’
‘Six should be fine, as long as the inquiry doesn’t go pear-shaped.’ He paused. ‘Which reminds me. There’s something I need to ask you about Theo. His police personnel file still has you down as next of kin, but you’re not any more.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘That would be his mother, Minnie. She went back to the West Indies. She lives in Bridgetown, in Barbados.’
‘Right. We’ll need to contact her.’
‘I’ve got an address for her, back at the flat. Her maiden name was Walcott, if that’s any help.’
‘The High Commission should be able to find her with that information. I’ll call you tonight for the address, if I have to.’ He slapped his forehead theatrically. ‘What am I saying? I’ll call you tonight anyway.’
‘You’d better, my man. I’m not a girl to be fucked and chucked, you know.’ The smile left her lips as quickly as it had appeared. ‘Jack, this man the radio said was assisting with your enquiries: that was Inspector Varley, was it?’
‘I guess so. Did you ever meet him?’
‘Once, at a station do with Theo: he seemed like a nice guy.’
‘They say he is, those who work with him. But I’ve known a few nice guys who are doing long prison sentences now.’
‘I hope it isn’t him. Theo messed his life up enough. I really don’t want it to be him who killed him.’
‘You and an entire police force, my dear,’ said McGurk, sincerely.
Seventy-five
‘ If I hadn’t been a police officer, would you have released me last night?’ asked Inspector Varley.
‘No, Jock,’ said Detective Chief Superintendent Mario McGuire, solemnly. ‘It wouldn’t have made a blind bit of difference. The search of your house, your car and your office didn’t yield any results, but you don’t have to be a cop to know not to take a murder weapon home. Given twenty-four hours, you’d expect most people to do a pretty good job of destroying incriminating clothing too. I’d still have waited for the post-mortem report, and for the completion of testing of foreign DNA traces found on Weekes’s body. As a matter of fact, those tests are still under way.’
‘So I’m stuck here, a. . a …’ He stopped, lost for words.
‘A victim of your own lack of caution might be a good way to put it,’ Neil McIlhenney suggested. ‘But you’re not stuck here any longer, Inspector. We’re releasing you.’
‘What’s made you see the light?’
‘Professor Hutchinson, the pathologist who did the autopsy. He’s completed his report, and we’ve just finished reading it. Old Joe doesn’t prevaricate: when he gives you an opinion, it’s one that he’s prepared to defend in the witness box, under any level of hostile questioning. He says for sure that most of the wounds on the body could only have been inflicted by a left-handed man, including the one that ripped his neck open and put an end to him. I’ve just spoken to the doctor at the Western General who treated you when you broke your finger. He told me that it’ll be another week or so before you can as much as pick your nose with your left paw. So you’re no longer a suspect. You’re free to go: we’ll get a car to take you home.’
Varley leaned back and let out a huge sigh.
‘Jock,’ said McGuire, ‘I hope you understand that the two of us are as relieved by this outcome as you are. Also, I’ll admit that while we might have gone on about you being reckless when you went bombing after Weekes, neither one of us would have done any different in the same circumstances. Truth is, I wouldn’t have been as restrained as you, and I say that from experience. When I was married, a toe-rag cut my wife when she went to arrest him, slashed her arm. Nuff said. No hard feelings, I hope.’