Fatal Last Words

Seventy

‘This is not how I imagined I’d be spending my first day as chief constable,’ said Bob Skinner to Neil McIlhenney as he swung off the A1(M), heading for Darlington. They had made good time from Edinburgh: it was still well short of midday.

‘I don’t imagine it was,’ his friend replied. ‘Your time’s even more valuable now. Then there are the perks of the job; you could have had a driver take us down here, and take you to and from the office, for that matter.’

‘I don’t plan to use that privilege unless it’s official and there might be alcohol involved; an ACPOS dinner, for example. Aileen gets picked up from home by her government car. If I had one as well, how long would it be before the tabloids caught on? I’m probably not flavour of the month with them, after our pal Laidlaw crapped all over their big picture special yesterday.’

‘Yeah,’ McIlhenney chuckled, as they joined a line of traffic on a single-carriageway road. ‘Too bad Mitch retired from our Thursday night football in North Berwick. I miss his silky skills.’

‘He’d probably sue you for describing him that way.’ Skinner sighed. ‘Maybe I should quit too; that would be a good picture for the sports page. I can see the headline: “Superintendent kicks fuck out of Chief Constable”. Yes, maybe enough’s enough.’

‘Away you go. You need it; we both do. It lets us mix with guys outside the job on a regular basis. Taking me along there was the second biggest favour you’ve ever done me.’

‘I needn’t ask what the biggest was.’

‘No. Introducing me to Louise tops the lot.’ McIlhenney hesitated. ‘She has told me about you two, you know, that you went out with each other at university. You never mentioned it.’

‘Of course not. It was for her to do that.’

‘Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you’d stayed together?’

‘It wouldn’t have worked. We were too career-minded, both of us. If we had, though, I suppose you and I might have wound up with pistols at dawn.’

‘Like you and Andy?’

Skinner winced. ‘No. That’s different. That won’t be a duel; if it comes to a fight, it’ll be my rules.’

‘You mean if he applies for the deputy’s job?’

‘I mean if he applies for any fucking job in Scotland; as from October, that’ll be the First Minister’s stepdaughter in those photographs. Aileen hasn’t seen them, nor will she, but she’s nearly as angry as me. But let’s not dwell on that.’

‘October?’

‘Yes. A quiet do; registry office wedding, just us and witnesses, then a blessing by Jim Gainer, with guests, then a reception in the Parliament building. . for which we will be paying the standard fee, incidentally. Keep it to yourself, but look out for the invite.’ As he spoke, a sweet female voice from his satellite navigation system told him to turn right in three hundred yards. He obeyed and found himself heading north once more, for a mile or so, until a structure that could only have been a prison came into view. ‘HMP Brankholme,’ he said. ‘Looks pretty secure; it would take a battalion to break in here, so getting out would be something of a challenge.’

‘If you have the money. .’

‘Nah. The staff here are meant to be incorruptible, and bribery’s the only way you could do it.’

‘I bet Ainsley Glover or Henry Mount could have dreamed up a plan.’

‘Maybe, but I doubt if Dražen Boras is a reader of either of them. They’re too parochial; he moves internationally, just like his old man Davor does.’ He frowned. ‘Now there is a guy I really do not like.’

‘Are you saying you like Dražen?’

‘I like some people I’ve put away,’ said Skinner. ‘Lenny Plenderleith for one. Dražen? No, I never could, because he killed my friend and he has to pay the full price for that. But in terms of evil, of ruthlessness, I reckon the father’s a league above the son. From our conversation this morning I’m coming to believe that Dražen genuinely regrets that Stevie died. But from my meetings with his dad, I don’t believe that he gives a fuck.’ The navigation system interrupted again, advising him that he had reached his destination. ‘You can form your own view of junior in a few minutes.’

Entry to the prison was complicated. Their warrant cards were checked. . Skinner’s still showed him as deputy chief constable. . and Skinner’s car was checked, engine compartment, boot and beneath, before they passed the second gate, where a second layer of security awaited. Eventually they were greeted by a tall woman in a dark suit, with close-cropped brown hair, and a manner, as she introduced herself, which indicated that she had no problem functioning in a predominantly male work environment. ‘Ngaio Arnott, Deputy Governor. I processed Boras’s call to you.’

‘Did he have trouble persuading you that he was serious?’ asked Skinner.

‘Yes, especially since you’re possibly going to be a witness in his trial. If it had been anyone other than you, I’d have refused on those grounds, but he assured me that he has essential information unrelated to his own case, so I decided on public interest grounds to let you decide whether to speak to him or not. You’re here, so I guess I made the right decision.’

‘He could still be taking the piss, but if he is I’ll look like a mug, not you.’ The chief looked at her. ‘What sort of a prisoner is he?’

‘Exemplary. He’s courteous, he does what he’s asked rather than what he’s told. . and that makes a huge difference in a place like this, as I’m sure you’ll know.’

‘Does he mix with other prisoners?’

‘He’s not isolated, as such, but he keeps himself to himself. As a remand prisoner, he’s not required to work, so he exercises a lot, in his cell and in the gym, when it’s available to him. He reads the business press every day, and his library withdrawals show an interest in foreign affairs.’

‘Is he resented by other prisoners?’ McIlhenney asked her.

‘Do you mean has anyone ever had a go at him? No. He’s not a man to invite that sort of attention. As you’re about to find out for yourself; he should be in the interview room by now.’

Arnott led the way through a series of corridors, until she stopped outside a plain grey door, and peered through a spyhole. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, ‘he’s here.’ She opened the door, and ushered the police officers inside, announcing them both by name and rank.

Dražen Boras sat at a table, facing them; it was fixed to the floor and he was shackled to it, handcuffs through a bolt in the surface. He smiled as they entered. Skinner gazed at him, appraising him. He wore a skin-tight black Nike vest, and the evidence of his gym work was clear to see in well-defined musculature. He was clean-shaven, and somehow, even in prison, he had managed to maintain a tan. ‘Welcome, gentlemen,’ he greeted them. ‘I’d rise, but they won’t let me.’

The chief constable looked at the deputy governor. ‘I think we can lose those,’ he suggested. ‘We’ll be fine. Dražen knows I’d just love him to have a go at me.’

Boras nodded. ‘True, and I have no thought of it.’

Arnott nodded to a guard, who stepped forward and unfastened his cuffs.

‘Is this room bugged?’ he asked. ‘I don’t see anything, but you may be more subtle than I give you credit for.’

‘There’s nothing here,’ the woman promised. ‘This room is kept for lawyers and clients; we couldn’t use anything we taped so there would be no point doing it.’

‘I can see that. You can leave us.’ He pointed to the guard. ‘He can go too.’

‘No,’ said Skinner firmly. ‘He stays; he can stand as far away as this room allows, but he stays. I want him as insurance against you banging your head off the wall then accusing us of helping you do it.’

The prisoner chuckled. ‘I can see that too. OK, I agree.’ As Arnott left the room, the warder went to its furthest corner and the two police officers took seats at the table.

‘Right,’ Skinner began briskly. ‘We didn’t come here for the drive, Dražen.’ He took three photo prints from his pocket and laid them on the desk. ‘So tell us, who is he?’

‘First, what’s in it for me?’

‘I told you, we’re not here to do a deal with you.’

‘That’s what you said, but you’ve got here in under three hours. It seems that you need the information I have. I’m right, am I not, Mr Skinner? Maybe I’m right too in that you have a personal interest in this case. The Daily Mail report said that you live in the village where a man was killed, for which this guy is on the run.’

‘Yes and no. I live there, but the man isn’t necessarily on the run because he did the killing. In fact I don’t believe that he did. Dražen, you have no cards in your hand. You know this man? OK, from where? Was he a business acquaintance? I doubt that, not going by the way he lived. Were you at school together, or university? Possible, but if you were we could have checked that without driving down here, you know that. So that leaves your other activity. Let’s summarise that. Your father was a Bosnian immigrant to Britain who made it big here. When his country was torn apart and NATO got involved, he volunteered his services to the intelligence community, placing agents in the Balkans as employees of his business. Eventually, so did you, when you set up in business for yourself. Don’t ask me why, but I’m certain I reckon you know this man from those days. If you choose not to give me his name, I can ask your father, or your former associates in America.’

Boras’s eyes darkened. ‘You can ask my father if you can find him. A few days after my arrest, he disappeared. He hasn’t been seen or heard from since, not even by my mother.’

‘Because he was afraid you’d incriminate him in Stevie’s murder?’ asked McIlhenney.

‘Not for a second. Because there are forces still at work in our region who would kill him if they could, for the things that he and I did against them, just as they’d kill me if they could get to me. As for the other people your boss mentions, you’d get nothing out of them. They have too many others still at risk to give one up. Plus, I think you’ll find that they’ve disowned me. I’m probably as much at risk from them as from my enemies in Serbia.’

Skinner frowned. ‘You know,’ he murmured, ‘I believe everything you’ve just said. But you’re going to give us that name, with no promises or inducements; I believe that too. I’m Scottish, Dražen. My writ doesn’t run down here, and you’re well aware of that. No, you’re going to talk to us, because your conscience is going to make you, because you owe, not us, necessarily, but a widow and a baby up in Edinburgh. This morning you said something about sending a gift to wee Stephanie. You can’t. This is all you can do; all that it’s in your power to offer in atonement. . without, of course, admitting your sin. So, let’s have it.’

Boras leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. He looked towards the guard in the corner. ‘He has to go now,’ he said.

Skinner nodded. ‘If that’s what you want.’ He turned to the man. ‘Leave us, please.’

As the door closed, Boras laid both hands on the table. ‘I believe you’re a fair man,’ he told the chief constable. ‘If this helps the Crown not to press for a heavy minimum sentence if I’m convicted, so be it, but I don’t expect you to try to fix that.’

‘I won’t. I can’t. Go on.’

‘About four years ago, the people you referred to, in America, asked my father and I for help. They had an agent they wanted to place in Bosnia-Herzegovina, and were looking for a way in. The man had a specific task: he was to go into Serbia to look for witnesses to an act of genocide ordered and presided over personally by a notorious general, a beast, a piece of shit named Bogdan Tadic. He was confident that he’d killed them all, but there was intelligence that a very few had slipped the net and that they were in hiding, near Uzice, in fear for their lives. The operative was briefed to find them, and keep them safe. With them in safe hands, Tadic could be arrested and sent for trial at the International Tribunal at the Hague. My father and I were happy to help with that, but he had placed three people through his office in Sarajevo within the previous year. His business, Continental IT, was big, but yet another appointment might have attracted attention. So we decided that I would handle it through my company, Fishheads. We were supposed to be deadly business rivals, he and I, so my building up a presence there seemed quite natural.’ He stopped and looked Skinner in the eye. ‘You don’t give my father enough credit, you know. He’s a genuine Bosnian patriot, and through him so am I.’

‘I’ve never doubted that,’ the chief constable told him. ‘However, I also give you both credit for being murderers, and not for patriotic motives.’

‘Be that as it may,’ Boras retorted. ‘Ah, let’s not get into a debate. I met the agent in Washington,’ he continued. ‘His name was Lazar Erceg, born in Tuzla to a British mother and to a Yugoslav, a professor of modern Balkan history. He was perfect for the job, and I could pass him off as an employee, no trouble, given his upbringing. When he was eleven the father managed to arrange a move to Cambridge, and young Lazar completed his education there. Then Yugoslavia exploded, Milosevic came to power and things were bad for anyone who wasn’t a Serb and for some who were. Professor Erceg went home, to help found Bosnia as an independent nation, became a member of the first government, and was promptly killed, shot by a sniper. They never caught the assassin, but nobody needed a picture to be drawn. Young Lazar was in the British Territorial Army. He wanted to go home to fight, but his mother said, “No way!” and he obeyed her. He stayed in Cambridge and became an academic like his father, within the same area, supplementing his income by writing scripts for the BBC World Service. By this time he sounded as English as I do, so he was never asked to broadcast, but he came to the attention of the Foreign Office, and eventually of other people as well.’

‘He was recruited then?’

‘He was never recruited. He volunteered, for any job, as he put it, that needed doing and for which he might be suitable. Then he waited; while the war ended, while the Kosovo insurgency happened, he waited. Not in Cambridge, though, not all the time; he went back home whenever he could. He visited the family he still had there, and he came to know the country his father had died to found. While he was there, he heard of Tadic, and what he did. It isn’t one of the most notorious atrocities, because the dead were numbered in dozens, not in thousands, but that didn’t matter to them, how many were piled into the mass grave. It was an ethnic Bosnian enclave, in Serbia; people in a couple of small villages, minding their own business when Tadic warned them to get out of the country. They ignored him. He didn’t give them a second chance. It was brutal, horribly brutal.’

‘Wasn’t he arrested as soon as the war was over?’ asked McIlhenney.

‘In Serbia, with Milosevic in power? No chance. Besides, no witnesses. That’s what Lazar Erceg was sent in to put right. And I was happy to help.’

‘You sent him in?’

‘I appointed him Balkans regional sales development manager of Fishheads Ltd. I gave him an office, and a supply of business cards. The name on them was Hugo Playfair,’ he pushed the photographs back towards Skinner and McIlhenney, ‘and that gentlemen is him.’

‘You’re sure?’ McIlhenney murmured. ‘You’re not just feeding us a line here?’

‘There is no doubt about it,’ said Boras, smiling. ‘Come on, Detective Superintendent, you think I don’t know my own employees?’

‘What happened to him between then and now?’ Skinner asked.

‘Search me. I never saw him again, and they didn’t give me operational feedback. All I know is that Tadic was eventually arrested, and put on trial before the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia, to give it its full title. He was convicted. . must be at least two years ago. . and sentenced to life imprisonment, as in, not to be released until dead.’ Suddenly he winced. ‘If he wasn’t a genocidal bastard I might feel some sympathy for him, in my situation.’

‘So why should Playfair show up in Scotland, going round the country with a band of travelling people?’

‘I take it that question was rhetorical, Chief Constable,’ the prisoner exclaimed. ‘For I haven’t a fucking clue.’ He paused. ‘However, there is one person I can think of who might give you some more background.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘One of Tadic’s trial judges. From your own city, I believe: Lord Elmore.’