Death's Door

Eighty

‘Nice place you have here, Les,’ said Skinner, as he looked round his opposite number’s office. ‘There are times when I don’t like being stuck in the city centre. I hope you don’t lose this under the force amalgamation.’

‘It’ll see me out,’ Cairns assured him. ‘Is that why you’re here, sizing up this office in case they make you head of the new regional force?’

‘Nothing could be further from my mind,’ the Scot assured him sincerely. ‘No, I’m here to apologise for the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done in my life.’

The Geordie’s heavy eyebrows came together. ‘Thumping Ballester, you mean? On reflection, I should have done that myself. It isn’t against any law I know of to belt a dead man.’

‘Thanks, but that’s not what I meant.’ He opened his briefcase, took out a thick folder and pushed it across Cairns’s desk. ‘I want to give you this, and to say sorry for having kept you in the dark all the way through its compilation.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s the documentation of a very private investigation into the murder of Daniel Ballester and Stevie Steele.’

‘Ballester? Murder?’ Cairns exclaimed.

‘I’m afraid so. And it was on your patch, which made it your business. But it started in Scotland, which made it mine. That’s my excuse, anyway. Read that, and you’ll find that you have overwhelming grounds for seeking a warrant for the arrest of a man called Dražen Boras, and his extradition from America, where he’s believed to be hiding.

‘Play it right, Les, and your knighthood could be in there. I want you to give it to the Crown Prosecution Service. They may come under pressure from upstairs not to take it further. If they do, I’d like you to let them know that I have another copy that I will not hesitate to leak to the newspaper for which Ballester used to work, and to a few others as well.’

‘This is unshakeable?’

‘Cast-iron,’ said Skinner. ‘I got the clincher this morning: the DNA of Dražen Boras, legally obtained, with his father Davor’s consent, given before a DAC in the Met, matches a sample of skin taken by my guy, DI Dorward, from the letterbox at Hathaway House.’

‘And you did all this without reference to me?’

‘I’m afraid so. Apart from that call you made for me on Tuesday, that is; it was part of the investigation, although I chose not to burden you with it at the time. I’m sorry, mate; I had to use some heavy contacts. If I’d done it by the book …’

‘. . I might have made a balls-up of it.’

‘Les, I’m not saying that for a second.’

Cairns laughed. ‘No, but I am. Man, you’re playing by the book now, when it really matters, and you’ve saved me a shedload of grief. My biggest problem now will be to explain to the coroner how Ballester’s suicide is suddenly a murder, but I can deal with that. Bob, I’m happy to steal your glory any day of the week. . and your bloody knighthood, if it comes to that.’

‘You can have my seat in the Lords as well, if you want.’

‘Red’s not my colour.’ Cairns turned serious once again. ‘Look,’ he asked, ‘for me, presenting a solid case is enough, but what are my chances of landing this Dražen bloke?’

‘In truth, somewhere between slim and non-existent,’ Skinner told him. ‘Especially if I find him first.’