Skinner’s mobile sounded. He fished it out of his pocket. ‘Yes, Rosalie,’ he answered. ‘Yes, thanks. We’ve just found that out for ourselves. Can you get down here?. . Good. . Yes, bring back-up, but be very discreet.’
As he repocketed the phone, he saw that his companion had left him and walked round to Reception, where he was in conversation with the clerk. ‘Yes,’ the DCC heard her say as he approached. ‘That is the name: Ignacio Riesgo. He’s in room five two four.’
‘Who’s the woman?’
‘Her name is Chandler Lockett.’
McGuire laughed. ‘He and Richards must really be buddies. Ifan’s lent him his girlfriend for the occasion.’
‘What do you think?’ Skinner asked. ‘The inspecteur’s on her way; do we wait?’
‘She’s got a gun, we don’t.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’ He turned to the duty manager behind the desk. ‘Has his case been taken up yet?’
‘No.’
‘Then hold it for a minute and get me a porter’s jacket.’
The man looked at him doubtfully. ‘I don’t know about that, sir.’
‘It’s either that or armed police go up to get him. Will the boss fancy that?’
The manager reached a decision. ‘Maybe I can find a jacket to fit you,’ he said, then stepped through a door to his right. He came back within a few seconds, holding a brown tunic. ‘This is the biggest I have.’
‘That’ll do.’ Skinner took it from him and slipped it on; it was a tight fit, but he managed to fasten the buttons. ‘Gimme the cases,’ he ordered. The manager pointed at a trolley beside him, laden with two suitcases and a vanity bag. He nodded and pushed it towards the lift.
‘Fifth floor?’ McGuire asked.
‘Yup.’
He pressed the button. ‘I don’t know about you,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent most of my career listening to you complain whenever you have to be in uniform, and now look at you. Nice gear, but it’s not your colour.’
The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. The floor layout was the same as theirs, one below: Skinner pushed the trolley along a corridor to the right of the small lobby area. The door was the fourth along. He stopped outside it, allowing McGuire to pass beyond him, then rapped on it twice, not too hard, not wanting to sound like a cop.
‘Who is it?’ a male voice called.
‘Baggage.’
The door opened and he found himself face to face with a man he had never met. ‘Come in,’ said Ignacio Riesgo.
As Skinner pushed the trolley through the narrow opening that led into the suite, he passed the bathroom door. It was ajar and he caught a glimpse of the woman inside, in her underwear.
‘Just dump them on the bed for now,’ he was ordered.
‘Si,’ he said, and unloaded the vanity case, then the suitcase below it. The man was watching him. ‘Como es tu culo?’ Skinner asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ he replied.
The DCC grinned, and nodded at a point behind him. He turned to see the bulk of Mario McGuire facing him.
The head of CID did not possess the hand speed of a Floyd Patterson, but when he threw a punch, there was something inevitable about it, a certainty that it would land. The blow hit its target flush on the chin. It lifted him off his feet and flung him backwards. He would have hit the floor, had not Skinner caught him, twisted him round and flung him face down on the bed for McGuire to seize his wrists and secure them with plastic cuffs.
‘What the. .’ A small female scream came from behind them, as Chandler Lockett stepped out of the en-suite, naked.
‘I’d get back in there if I were you,’ Skinner told her. ‘We’re the police, and your man’s in the process of being nicked for murder.’ He looked down at the captive. ‘Isn’t that right, Dražen?’
‘My name is Ignacio Riesgo,’ he hissed.
‘Panamanian?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case you need to brush up on your native language. I just asked you how your arsehole was, and you didn’t bat an eyelid.’
Ninety-two
‘I meant it, you know, what I said to Colledge. Usually I get a real buzz from a clear-up, but not this time.’
‘I know what you mean, Jack,’ Stallings told her sergeant, ‘but we don’t get to pick and chose our perps. Sometimes we have to lock up people we’d rather not.’
‘His father seemed to think he’s got a chance of an acquittal.’
‘That’s not what his eyes were saying. He knows how it’ll go. Tell me, why did you recommend that he engage Frankie Birtles to defend his son?’
‘Two reasons,’ said McGurk. ‘She’s pretty damn good, and also, when it comes to consider a tariff on the life sentence, the judge will read something into the fact that although Weekes was her client, she was prepared to speak for the lad who killed him.’
‘They won’t plead it down to manslaughter?’
The big sergeant grinned. ‘In Scotland that’s culpable homicide, boss: and not even in England would this be a plea bargain. The boy has to be charged with murder. It was all premeditated. He tried to make it look as if he’d never been within five hundred miles of the crime scene. On top of that he stabbed him twenty-seven friggin’ times. Best he can hope for is no minimum sentence. That’ll leave it up to the Parole Board; if they’re sympathetic, he might just be out while he’s still in his twenties.’
‘He wasn’t wrong, you know. Weekes was a truly evil bastard. God, maybe he did kill Sugar after all.’
‘Maybe he did. Probably he didn’t. Possibly we’ll never know one way or another.’
‘Are you going to see Lisanne tonight, to tell her what’s happened?’
‘I’m going to see her anyway. Theo’s well in her past now, and this investigation is in ours too, more or less. She and I can look forward now, and see what’s there for us, see if what you suggested to young Davis turns out to be true.’
Ninety-three
The honorary consul was more flustered than any human being Skinner had ever seen. ‘Are you sure?’ he demanded frantically. ‘Are you sure? Because if you’re wrong, if you’ve had an innocent foreign national arrested, you’ll have caused an international incident.’
The DCC laughed. ‘That’s pitching it a bit high, chum. But don’t you worry, we’re not wrong. Miss Lockett knows exactly who Señor Riesgo really is, and she’s telling it all to Inspecteur Gramercy, even as we speak. We don’t even have to wait for the DNA match. Dražen’s done and he knows it. You can tell Our Man in Marseille to get the wheels turning. I want my Northumbrian colleagues to be able to take this guy out of here tomorrow.’
‘But, assuming I accept what you’re saying, what about his father? He’ll make a God Almighty fuss.’
‘He won’t say a fucking word. If he does, he and his wife are admitting that they knew who the new director of their son’s company really was, and that, even for parents, puts them in big bother. Even if the courts didn’t do anything to them, the City would ostracise them. So on you go, Mr Major, do your job and get the wheels turning. Tomorrow, remember; he goes back tomorrow.’
As Her Majesty’s representative left, Rosalie Gramercy came into the room in police headquarters. ‘Chandler is co-operating,’ she told them. ‘She told me that she was Dražen’s girl all along, and that being seen with his friend was just a front. Do you want me to charge her?’
‘Hell, no!’ Skinner laughed. ‘She’s told you what we wanted to hear. You can give her free chips in the casino, as far as I’m concerned. We would like to see him, though. We’ve got something we’d like to put to him in private.’
‘No problem. I’ll take you to him.’
Dražen Boras was being held in a secure room on the top floor of the building. The Scots had seen many hotel suites that were less well appointed, but they knew that he would be on round-the-clock watch, and saw that the basic principle of removing anything that might be used for self-harm was being observed.