Death's Door

Sixty-eight

‘You realise, boss,’ said McGuire as he and Skinner strode along the air bridge at Heathrow, ‘that we have no legal right to be here. We’re investigating two homicides; everybody but us thinks that one was a suicide, and that the other is a closed case. But neither of them took place within our area. By the book, we should be reporting what we believe to Les Cairns and letting his CID take it from here.’

The DCC smiled. ‘It’s not too often I say this, Mario, but bugger the book. Les Cairns and his people have got access to the same information as us, and they yet don’t see anything in it to contradict their assumptions. We’ve found Ballester and you and I are happy to sign off on him as the guy who killed the three girls and Harry Paul, on the basis of motive, weapon and everything else.

‘They’ve got him dead as a suicide, killing Stevie Steele in a last, bitter, random act of violence, and they haven’t looked beyond that. They’ll have read Arthur’s report, and they’ve either missed or ignored the significance of the eyelets.

‘I’m not bloody prepared to trust this investigation to them. Now I’ll admit, privately, that Arthur was a wee bit naughty bringing those skin fragments back to Scotland and leaving that out of his findings, but what the hell? One of them was his own!’

He looked at his colleague. ‘Are you nervous about this? Because if you are, we’ll collect DI Stallings and take the first plane back home.’

McGuire snorted. ‘Did I say I was nervous? I’m sure Les Cairns will welcome our assistance at the end of the day.’

‘That’s the spirit. But if you want justification, what are we doing? Officially, we’re going to see a bereaved father, a man who has just announced the donation of a million sterling to the Police Dependants’ Trust, to advise him that the man who killed his daughter is dead himself. That’s common courtesy, man, and to prove it, when we get back to Scotland, we’ll pay similar visits to the parents of Stacey Gavin, Amy Noone and Harry Paul.’

‘You really do think that Boras killed Stevie, don’t you?’

‘Or had him killed. I’m absolutely certain of it, not that I believe he was trying to. The trap was set for someone else, but I’m a way off knowing why.’ As he finished, they reached the end of the arrivals corridor, to see a tall, attractive, dark-haired woman, walking purposefully towards them, against the flow of disembarked passengers.

‘Now I know why Ray stayed over,’ McGuire murmured. ‘But I’m wondering what the hell she saw in him.’

‘When you can answer that,’ said Skinner, ‘you can chuck the police and start the dating website to end them all. DI Stallings?’ he asked, as she came within hailing distance.

‘Yes, sir. Deputy Chief Constable Skinner?’

‘That’s right, and this is DCS McGuire, my head of CID. You’ll be reporting to him during your brief secondment to us. Do we have transport?’

‘Nearby: I’m in the short stay.’

Stallings led the way out of Terminal One and into the car park. She showed her warrant card at the exit booth and the barrier was raised.

‘Where are we headed?’ said Skinner, in the front passenger seat.

‘We’re going to the Continental IT office, in central London. I checked with them to confirm that Mr Boras would be there all afternoon, and made an appointment for both of you to visit him.’

‘All three of us: you’re coming too. You’re playing on my team for the present.’

‘When are we going back north?’ she asked. ‘If it’s today, I’ll need to make time to go home and pack.’

‘That’ll be okay. If we go back tonight, you can fly north tomorrow morning. But we’re flexible; it depends on how we get on with Boras. As you saw when we met, we’ve both brought overnight bags, just in case.’

‘Ahh.’ Stallings fell silent as she drove out of the airport and picked up the M4.

The DCC glanced at her. ‘Something on your mind, Inspector?’ he said quietly.

‘No, sir.’

Skinner grinned. ‘Did nobody tell you I’m a mind-reader? Out with it.’

Hesitantly, she risked a quick look at him. ‘Well, sir, it’s what you said about Mr Boras, that the length of your stay depends on how you get on with him. I thought that this was a courtesy call, to advise him of the conclusion of your investigation into his daughter’s murder.’

‘You forgot about us thanking him for giving a million to the PDT.’

‘Yes, and that.’

‘It’s all true, all of it. However, my big friend here and I have a couple of questions to ask him. The way that he answers them may determine how courteous we are.’

‘I see.’ Nervousness replaced hesitancy in Becky Stallings’s voice.

‘What did you think of our boy Stevie?’ the DCC asked her suddenly.

‘In our very brief acquaintance,’ she replied, ‘I thought he was a very nice guy. I also saw that he was a brilliant police officer. The way he handled Keith Barker was as good as anything I’ve ever seen.’

‘Yeah. Stevie was all that. He’d have gone all the way in the force; I’m in no doubt about that.’

‘How’s his wife bearing up?’

‘She’s also an exceptional police officer, and an exceptional person. She’s dealing with it.’

‘Would she mind me going to the funeral?’

‘Becky, I think she’ll insist on it. In fact, while you’re with us, I imagine she’d like to meet you.’

‘I’d be. .’ She paused.

‘I know, it’ll be awkward, but it’ll be good for both of you.’

‘In that case, I’d be happy to visit her; maybe with Ray.’

‘Of course.’

‘How is he?’

‘DS Wilding is like the rest of us, bereaved but continuing to function professionally. Don’t worry about him. He’s a good lad; he’s one of mine, but don’t ever tell him I said that. It would go to his head.’

‘One of yours?’

‘Mario knows what I mean. Don’t you, mate?’ He glanced over his shoulder, then back at Stallings. ‘I cherish every police officer, every man and woman who carries a warrant card, plain-clothes or uniform. But some I cherish even more than others, because I see a bit of me in them.’

He smiled grimly. ‘Be in no doubt, Becky, I wasn’t out of the room when they were handing out egos. I was at the front of the queue and I got first pick.’

He paused. ‘Every so often, though, something happens that reminds me that I’m not infallible. A few years back, one of mine went very bad. More recently, I put another in a situation that I thought he could handle. He couldn’t, and maybe he’ll never be the same again. I’m going to look after him, mind you. I’m going to keep him on the force and I’m going to help him get back his self-esteem.’ He glanced backwards again. ‘That’s a decision I’ve made since Saturday night, Mario.’

‘Bandit?’

‘Yes.’

‘How are you going to do it? That report didn’t make good reading.’

‘I’m going to keep him close. He’ll replace McGurk, but with a bigger job, as executive officer not just to me but to everybody in the Command Corridor. Sorry, Becky,’ he exclaimed. ‘Digression.’

‘And Stevie was one of yours as well?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes. Top of the class.’ Skinner sat in silence for a while, staring ahead through the windscreen as the motorway bore into the city, and as world-famous landmarks came into view. They were heading through Holborn before he spoke again.

‘We think Boras killed Stevie, Becky.’

‘What?’ The shout escaped before she had a chance to choke it off, but she managed to keep the car under control.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry to startle you. I said that we believe that Boras may have been responsible for Stevie’s murder. We do not buy Ballester as a suicide. All the evidence points to him having shot Zrinka and the others, but we reckon that when Boras learned this, and discovered where he was hiding out, he either went up there and killed him or, more likely, he ordered it done.’

‘You mean that you’re going to interrogate him as a murder suspect?’

‘No. I’m telling you that we’re going to play it by ear, but advising you that the conversation might take an interesting turn.’

Keeping her eyes on the road, she smiled. ‘That sounds like fun. Mind you, sir, the Home Office will not like it when they find out.’

‘Does that bother you?’

‘Not one small piece.’

‘That’s the lady.’

The office of Continental IT was in a green square, near the junction of London Wall and Aldersgate Street. As she had been directed, Stallings drove into a basement car park, where she chose a vacant ‘visitor’ space.

‘Sir,’ she said, as they stepped out of the vehicle, ‘you should be aware that Boras is very security-conscious. Barker said that he has his office checked for bugs every day, and that he does all his important business in there.’

‘I know. We listened to his interrogation by Stevie before we left. Don’t worry: I’m going to assume that he has bugs of his own installed and that he tapes everything that’s said in there.’

‘Won’t that make it risky, if you plan to accuse him?’

‘Maybe, but I’ll play it by ear. . almost.’ He took a palm-sized black box from his pocket and showed it to her. ‘Before we left, I got this from my technical people. It detects transmitters and hidden cameras. It’s a clever wee bugger. .’ he chuckled ‘. . or de-bugger, I should say. The warning is set to “vibrate” so it can be used as discreetly as the things it’s picking up.’

He concealed it and they headed towards the garage exit door, past a shirtsleeved man, in his late twenties, who was busy removing splattered insects from the windscreen of a new silver Rolls-Royce Phantom. A uniform cap lay on the roof. ‘Nice motor,’ said McGuire, casually. ‘The boss’s?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the chauffeur replied, in an accent that was not from anywhere in London. ‘I don’t care what anyone says, this is still the finest car in the world, and it deserves to be kept immaculate.’

‘He’s not kidding,’ the chief superintendent murmured, as they stepped through the door and found themselves facing an elevator.

Skinner pressed the button to summon it. ‘Why don’t you work on Paula to buy one?’ He suggested. ‘I’m sure that the shareholders of Viareggio PLC wouldn’t mind the chief executive having a vehicle worthy of her status.’

‘Sure, and the customers of the Viareggio delis would be really impressed too, to see one of those doing the rounds of our shops. Besides, she loves her Mini.’

The lift took them up to the foyer. The three officers stepped out, and Stallings walked over to the reception desk to announce their arrival. A middle-aged woman sat behind it. ‘Ah, yes,’ she replied, in cut-glass tones. ‘Mr Boras is ready for you. If you go up to the top floor, I’ll let him know you’re on the way.’

They did as they had been instructed. As the lift doors closed on them, and Stallings pushed the button, Skinner said to the head of CID, ‘When we get up there, you make the running.’

The building had fifteen floors; when they emerged on the top level, they found that its partitions and outer walls were made entirely of glass. Davor Boras was waiting for them, a cool smile on his face, his stocky frame encased in a powder-blue suit that shone like silk. ‘Mr McGuire,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m pleased to see you again, especially since you bring such, er, satisfactory news of your investigation … although,’ he added at once, ‘I was devastated to hear of the death of your colleague.’

‘We appreciate that, sir. Please let me introduce Deputy Chief Constable Bob Skinner, and Detective Inspector Becky Stallings, who’s our liaison officer with the Met.’

‘My pleasure,’ he replied, as they shook hands. ‘Come with me; let’s go into my hospitality suite. My office is far too formal.’ Skinner was taken by surprise, but he nodded; he was last in line as they followed Boras into a big square room, set on a corner of the building so that two of its sides offered a spectacular view across the rooftops to the Tower of London and the bridge beyond. As Boras closed the door, the DCC activated the box in his trouser pocket, and almost immediately felt it vibrate strongly against his thigh.

Their host looked towards a drinks table, with a laden ice-bucket sitting on it, and a small fridge beside it. A waiter stood ready. ‘Ms Stallings, gentlemen: may I offer you a drink?’ He laughed lightly, ‘Or don’t you do that on duty?’

‘Only when it’s formal,’ McGuire told him. ‘The inspector’s driving, so hers will have to be soft, but if that’s a bottle of Sancerre open in the bucket, the DCC and I will be very happy to join you.’

They stood in silence while the waiter poured the drinks, a Pepsi Max and three glasses, and handed them round. ‘Thank you, Neville,’ said Boras. ‘I’ll call you when we need refills.’ As the man left he showed his guests to a seating area, where leather armchairs were arranged to take maximum advantage of the view. As she settled down, it occurred to Stallings that it would make a very fine ceiling, if the building was just a little higher.

‘Well.’ The businessman fixed his gimlet eyes on McGuire, and gave another thin smile. ‘I’d have done it anyway, you know,’ he murmured, his voice barely carrying to the inspector who was placed furthest from him.

‘What’s that?’ the chief superintendent asked.

‘Make the donation to the Dependants’ Trust. You anticipated my announcement, although some have said that you forced my hand.’

McGuire beamed at him. ‘There will always be mean-spirited people like that, sir. Just as, happily, there will always be generous people like you. I was asked a straight question, and I gave a straight answer. You’re right, I anticipated your announcement, but I never had any doubt that in the circumstances you’d make your gift, if not to that charity then to another worthy recipient.’

‘Of course, I am aware of that, really. Samo vas zavitlavam, to use my native tongue. I was only swinging with you; pulling your chain, as we say in English. It is over, then?’

‘I believe that we can say that the investigation into your daughter’s murder is over. Our Crown Office, the Scottish prosecution service, is about to announce that, with Ballester’s death, we are no longer looking for anyone else in connection with the four homicides.’

‘Then I thank you, and I congratulate you. Again, though, I must express my sorrow at the needless death of your colleague, Inspector Steele. I was shocked by it, shocked; he was such a fine, dedicated officer.’

Skinner gazed at the man, looking for the faintest sign of insincerity in his eyes. Over the years he had stared down many guilty men, and he had been able to read their secrets as easily as if they had confessed them, as eventually virtually all of them had. Boras’s expression told him nothing, nothing at all. He had a strange feeling that what the man was saying was literally true. ‘Thank you for that,’ he said, addressing him for the first time. ‘I’ll convey it to Stevie’s widow.’

‘Thank you, sir. If there is anything I can do for her, anything at all, you or she simply has to ask.’

‘That is also kind of you, but in my force, officers’ widows want for nothing.’

‘I’m sure. Will there be a court proceeding of any sort, Mr Skinner? A public inquiry into Zrinka’s death, and the others?’

‘There’s no statutory provision for it in Scotland,’ the DCC told him. ‘Formal hearings into fatal accidents and sudden deaths are only mandatory when a person is killed at work, or dies when in custody. Murder investigations result in prosecution when they’re concluded, but in this case, the Crown has nobody to prosecute. There is no suspect, other than Ballester, and he’s dead. He had motive, opportunity, everything, and we found the murder weapon in his house. We also found personal possessions that he had taken from three of the four victims. He did it.’

‘There is no chance that he could have been framed by someone else?’

‘If you don’t mind my saying so, that’s a strange question, coming from you.’

‘I need certainty, sir, that my daughter’s killer is dead.’

‘Then you have it for, I promise you, that evidence simply couldn’t have been planted. Nobody knew where Ballester was, other than your guys, and neither of them could possibly have killed Zrinka, Stacey, Amy or Harry. Okay, you knew too, but you didn’t murder your daughter, Mr Boras, you loved her.’ The businessman’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, but Skinner held up a hand.

‘The irony is that although Ballester was murdered himself, he was our man all right, not a serial killer as my officers suspected at first, but a rejected lover with a grudge, and into the bargain, a previous conviction for violence against a woman.’

Boras glared at the DCC as he finished, and their eyes seemed to lock in unblinking conflict. ‘My guys knew, you say. I knew?’

‘Your former employee,’ said Skinner, ‘Mr Barker, has been talking, in the wake of his arrest for bribing a civil servant, using money which he says came from you. He says that three years ago you commissioned a firm called Aeron to make enquiries about a journalist who had been making unwelcome enquiries into your company. They identified him as Daniel Ballester, in a report that Barker claims to have seen in your possession. He alleges that you instructed Aeron to discourage Ballester from making further trouble. However, shortly afterwards he was professionally disgraced, after being tricked into doing a silly story about Princess Diana’s death.

‘When Dominic Padstow’s name was mentioned that was news to you, Barker says, and you instructed him to trace him through the Passport Office.’ Skinner’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘My guess is that you didn’t suspect at that stage that Padstow was Ballester; I reckon you simply wanted to get to him first. But when our clever detective constable came up with his portrait, you certainly knew who he was even before we identified him, because you set Aeron on to finding him. They were good; we’d have found him eventually, but they did it first and again you were one step ahead. This we know from Aeron, rather than Barker.’ He paused. ‘At this stage,’ he asked, ‘would you care to comment on anything I’ve said so far?’

Boras continued to look back at him, his little dark eyes impassive. He sipped his Sancerre. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Please carry on, unless your story is over.’

‘Oh, it isn’t,’ Skinner exclaimed, ‘because we found Aeron ourselves at that point. DI Steele and DI Stallings went to their office on Saturday afternoon. After some persuasion, they were put in touch by telephone with the company’s chief executive, Mr Michael Spicer. He had just arrived at Hathaway House, with his associate Mr Ivor Brown, having gone there, on your instructions, to locate and apprehend Daniel Ballester.

‘At least, that’s what they said your orders were, but even if they were a little more extreme it wouldn’t have mattered, because when they got there, the man was dead. And if Stevie Steele had phoned them ten minutes later, they’d have been dead too. They’d have gone into that house and they’d have walked into the grenade trap.’

‘Indeed?’ The voice was as cold as the ice in the bucket.

‘Oh, yes. You had Ballester killed, Mr Boras. You had him executed. I don’t suggest for a moment that you did it yourself: I’m sure that any investigation would show very quickly that you were at home with your wife all day on Saturday, continuing to make arrangements for your daughter’s funeral.

‘No, you had him killed,’ the DCC repeated, ‘and Spicer and Brown were meant to die too. They were your only contacts with Aeron; they were the only people who could prove that you had prior knowledge of Daniel Ballester, and that you identified him as your daughter’s killer before the police did.’

‘And what about Barker?’ Boras asked. ‘If your fanciful theory is correct, why is he still alive?’

‘Hey,’ Skinner retorted, ‘it’s never a good idea to offer a defence before you’ve been accused, and as we keep on saying, this is an informal visit. But since you ask, Barker’s nothing. He has no evidence that you ever knew Ballester. The Met have got him by the balls for bribing a public official and he’s singing like George Michael to try to get out of it. They’ve also got him for tax evasion, thanks to a slush fund, under the rather frivolous name of Jack Frost, set up with money that will never in a million years be traceable back to you.

‘So you’re not worried about him at all. Mind you, that may not prevent him having a fatal accident in the near future: time will tell.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘You’re not worried about Spicer and Brown either. My colleagues in Northumbria had no grounds to hold them on Saturday, so they sent them on their way. In hindsight, that’s a pity, for. . and this will surprise DI Stallings, who doesn’t know about it. . when I pulled a couple of strings this morning and had Special Branch officers sent to their place to hold them for questioning, they discovered that they were gone. Not just the two of them either, the whole Aeron operation, vanished as if it had never existed.’

He tilted his glass in a gesture that could only have been a salute. ‘My congratulations, Mr Boras: you’ve done what you told a whole roomful of people last Thursday that you would do. You’ve had your revenge on your daughter’s murderer. And nobody will ever lay a finger on you for it.’

Finally, Boras broke eye contact with Skinner, as he bowed his head to him, briefly. ‘Remarkable, quite remarkable,’ he exclaimed. ‘Your picture is as clear as any my Zrinka ever painted, and just as imaginative. And, of course, you could not resist coming here to set it out for me. I am flattered, sir.’

Skinner let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl. ‘You know, that’s the first silly thing you’ve said. I’m not flattering you, man. I’m not even addressing you. All along I’ve been talking to whoever is monitoring this meeting, to whoever is looking and listening in.

‘I’m not sure who it is, but it’s not the Sun, that’s for sure. You have your office swept every day; that’s secure, so why bring us in here, unless you actively want somebody to hear what’s being said.’ He took the small box from his pocket and held it up as he twisted half-way round in his seat to gaze at the back wall, at a point above the drinks table.

When he turned back to face Boras he saw a teeth-baring grimace on the man’s face. Instantly, it vanished, but the look that replaced it was thunderous.

‘You may think,’ Skinner told him, ‘that what I’ve just done was a bit risky. But it wasn’t. It doesn’t matter who’s watching us, I’m too high-profile to vanish off the face of the earth, and so is Mario. On top of that,’ he added, with a smile, ‘we’re both extremely dangerous. I came into this building with a purpose, and I still have it. So what I’m saying to the boys and girls in our audience is this.

‘I know that your man Boras is fireproof, but I want the man who killed Stevie, and I’m going to have him. The best thing you can all do is give him to me. The second best is stay out of my way while I find him.’ He pushed himself violently to his feet. ‘Come on, you two. We’re finished here.’ He drained his glass and looked down at the blue-suited figure, into his furious eyes. ‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘but I’ve tasted better.’