‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’ the sergeant barked, startling him and securing his renewed attention. ‘We’ll do it,’ he repeated, ‘but while we’re hauling a bad-tempered judge off the golf course, we’ll hold you in custody and we’ll fill this place with uniforms to make fucking sure. . pardon my Scottish, Becky. . that no information is destroyed or leaves this building. We might not be able to touch Boras, but we can fucking well touch you. If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.’
‘Give me time to think about it,’ the man muttered.
‘You’ve got three seconds,’ Steele told him. ‘One, two, three. Right, Becky, who’s the nastiest judge you know?’
‘Okay!’ Lemmon shouted angrily. ‘I’ll co-operate.’
‘Then talk.’
‘I don’t know anything about this.’
Steele glared down at the man; he stiffened, and seemed to become an inch or so taller, and, suddenly, menacing. ‘Now listen, chum. .’
‘I don’t, honestly, not the detail. Mr Spicer always deals with Mr Boras personally. All I know is that he was contacted by him yesterday and after that he was very busy. Then, in the evening, he called him back. Today, just before midday, he had another call from Boras. When it was finished, he and Ivor, his personal assistant, left in a hurry.’
‘Did he say where he was going?’
‘No. All he said was that they’d be gone for the rest of the day.’
‘Is he contactable?’
‘Yes, if his phone’s switched on.’
‘Then call him,’ Steele ordered.
The three officers watched as he took out a mobile and selected a number. ‘Mike,’ they heard him say, ‘it’s Walker. Something alarming has happened. The police are here, asking questions about Mr Boras.’
‘Let me speak to him,’ the Scot demanded. Tamely, Lemmon handed him the phone.
‘Mr Spicer,’ he began, ‘my name’s Steele; I’m a detective inspector from Edinburgh. I’ve just interviewed a well-placed informant, who has given me chapter and verse on your dealings with Davor Boras in respect of a man named Daniel Ballester, a suspect in an investigation on which I’m engaged. I require you to tell me where you are, where you’re headed, and what your instructions are.’
‘I’m not obliged to do any of that,’ said a terse voice, slightly distorted by the connection. Steele listened for background noise, but heard nothing he could identify.
‘I think you’ll find that you are. This is a homicide investigation, and I believe you have information I need. You either answer me or your colleague will give me the number of your vehicle, and within five minutes every police force in Britain will be on the lookout for you. Please don’t make the mistake of thinking, for a single moment, that I’m not serious about this.’
‘No,’ said Spicer. ‘I can tell that you are.’
‘Good. Now pull over so we can talk.’
‘I don’t have to; my colleague and I have just arrived at our destination.’
‘And where is that?’
‘We’re in Northumberland, in a village called Wooler. We’ve discovered a possible location for Ballester. Last year his grandmother died, and left him her house; we’re just outside it. He’s been living here on and off, or somebody has; the telephone is still in his grandmother’s name, E. Maybole, and it’s been used recently.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Don’t ask, please.’
‘Okay, I’ll allow you that much. What’s the address?’
‘Hathaway House, Gallow Law.’
‘And you reported this to Boras?’
‘Yes. Yesterday evening.’
‘What instructions did he give you when he called you today?’
‘He told me to get up here and apprehend the man, if he’s here.’
‘Apprehend?’
‘Yes. He said that he wanted to hand him over to you personally.’
‘He instructed you to kidnap this man?’ Steele exclaimed.
‘To make a citizen’s arrest.’
‘There’s a fine line between the two, but we’ll discuss that later. Where are you right now?
‘We’re overlooking Hathaway House.’
‘What can you see?’
‘Not much. There’s no sign of movement. However, there is smoke coming out of one of the chimneys.’
‘Describe the place, please.’
‘It’s more of a cottage than a house, built in a dip in the land. You can barely see it from the road. There’s a car in the driveway, a blue Suzuki saloon. I’ve used a contact to check the number. It’s registered to Ballester’s grandmother, but I reckon it’s been used recently because it’s splattered with mud. What do you want us to do?’
‘Nothing. Keep the house under observation until police officers arrive. If Ballester leaves before, then do not let him see you, and do not confront him, repeat do not confront him: assume he is armed. If you have an opportunity, do your best to trail him, but from a distance, and call in his position and direction of travel to Northumbria police as soon as you can. Got that?’
‘Yes, I understand.’
Steele handed the phone back to Lemmon, and turned to Stallings. ‘Becky, could your air support unit get me up there?’
‘I’m sure they could, but it’ll take a formal request from further up the line than us.’
Steele took out his own mobile and called Mario McGuire. ‘I need your muscle, sir,’ he told the head of CID, as he answered. Quickly he explained the situation.
‘Okay,’ the chief superintendent responded. ‘I’ll get you airborne. I’ll also alert Northumbria and get an armed-response team on station; you take command on arrival and run the operation. It’s your bus, Stevie, you drive it. While all that’s happening I’ll advise the fiscal that we might be on the edge of something. Who are you with down there?’
‘DI Becky Stallings, Charing Cross station.’
‘I’ll ask air support to liaise with her. I’ll tell them to get you up in the air as quickly as they can.’
‘Thanks.’ He ended the call and nodded to Stallings and Wilding. ‘Mario will make it work. We need to get somewhere that a chopper can land to pick us up.’
All at once, the sergeant’s face fell. ‘Stevie,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ve been in a helicopter before. The noise, the smell of the engine. . I can’t find the words to tell you how sick I was.’
The inspector looked at him, and took a decision. ‘Okay.’ He chuckled. ‘You can stay here as planned, and come up tomorrow. I’ll have more than enough back-up in Wooler. I’ll call you to let you know how it goes.’
‘Thanks, pal.’ Wilding sighed.
Stallings reached out and punched him lightly on the arm. ‘Hey, Ray,’ she said, ‘if that’s how you react to choppers, how would you feel about the view from the London Eye?’
Fifty-eight
Why do I feel happy? Maggie Steele asked herself. She sat in what she and Stevie called their ‘playroom’. I’ve been diagnosed with a cancer. I’m carrying a child and I may not live to see her first birthday, I’ve given up a job I’ve loved for nearly twenty years, yet I’ve never felt so fulfilled in my life.
She was still pondering the mystery when the doorbell chimed. She checked her watch. It showed six on the dot; the big man was always punctual.
He was standing on the top step when she opened the door, dressed in a dark suit, immaculately pressed, worn over a pale blue shirt and tie that looked newly unwrapped. He was carrying a black leather document case. ‘Very smart,’ she said. ‘Is this normal for a Saturday evening?’
Bob Skinner grinned. ‘No way: Aileen’s holding a formal dinner for business leaders and wives in the First Minister’s residence this evening, and she’s asked me to chum her.’
‘That’s a nice way of putting it,’ she said, as she ushered him inside. ‘Is that how it’s going to be from now on? Will we be seeing the two of you together at official functions?’