Aftershock

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.

As they looked at him, they were surprised by his serenity. He still wore his gaudy shirt, but within it, his demeanour seemed to have changed. ‘How did you find me?’ he asked.

‘Dedicated research,’ Skinner told him. ‘You don’t speak Spanish, so where did your name come from?’

‘One of my DEA handlers in the States came up with it.’

The DCC was rarely surprised, but his eyebrows rose. ‘DEA? Where do they come into it? I was told that you and your father had CIA connections.’

‘We do, but recently I have been helping in other ways. There’s a drug route through the Balkans. My business has made me well placed to track it, and that’s what I’ve been doing.’

‘Don’t trust your friends,’ Skinner told him. ‘Especially when they’re spooks. The name, Dražen.’ He explained what it meant. ‘Somebody was having a laugh.’

‘If I ever see him again,’ Boras murmured, ‘that laugh will be cut short, along with his throat.’

‘You never will, chum. Even as we speak, every record of you is being wiped from their files. Your old man will find he’s no longer useful either. He should watch his back from now on: a man like him has more enemies than brain cells. He may find himself on the list for a polonium sandwich.’

‘My father will be all right, sir.’

’But not you, Dražen,’ said McGuire. ‘You’re going down for life for what you did.’

‘I’m admitting nothing, friend.’

‘I didn’t expect you to,’ Skinner told him. ‘But you know what we have on you and you know where it will lead. However, that’s all for discussion back in Britain. We’re on foreign soil here; none of this conversation is on the record. That I promise you.’

Boras looked him in the eye for several seconds. ‘I think I believe you,’ he said. ‘In that case, I am truly sorry for what happened to your officer. You know what was meant to happen and that was not it.’

‘I know. Your dad’s two operatives were meant to be caught in that trap. You couldn’t be sure you’d bought their silence for ever, could you? Listen up, Dražen,’ he continued, ‘I know that you’ll admit to nothing on the record. To do so would incriminate your father, and for all that you’ve been supposed business rivals, you won’t do that. So here, and nowhere else, I want to ask you one question. Why did you kill Daniel Ballester?’

Boras’s eyes widened; he stared at Skinner in astonishment. ‘Because he murdered my kid sister,’ he exclaimed. ‘You know that.’

‘He was a nasty muck-raking journalist out to make trouble for your dad and you,’ said McGuire. ‘That could have been your motive.’

‘He was a pipsqueak. We’d already taken care of him professionally. In revenge he killed my sister and her friends, including poor little Amy Noone. I liked little Amy. I tell you. . off the record. . I’ve never killed anyone, apart from him. I didn’t imagine I’d enjoy it, but I did. It was good to watch him strangle and shit himself as he died.’

‘So that was your only motive?’ Skinner repeated.

‘Absolutely.’

‘In that case, I’m even more sorry for you. Ballester didn’t shoot Zrinka, or anyone else. You killed the wrong man. And you know what? You’re the second guy today who’s discovered he’s made that mistake.’