Fatal Last Words

Seventy-two

‘What did you think of him, then?’

McIlhenney glanced momentarily to his left from behind the wheel; he had volunteered to drive back to Edinburgh, and Skinner had accepted. ‘I think he’s a remarkable man; if he hadn’t been influenced by his corrupt and wicked father. .’

‘He’s a murderer, Neil. He didn’t plan to kill Stevie. . that’s not in doubt. . but he had killed already and the trap he laid was set for somebody else.’

‘Granted,’ the superintendent acknowledged, ‘but he’s locked up now, the evidence against him is strong, and that’s that. What I was going to say is that he gave me the impression of an inner strength that I haven’t encountered too often before. There’s a calmness about him that’s almost monastic.’

‘He’s no monk.’

‘He might as well be, in that place. I can understand why nobody’s had a go at him; he looks bloody dangerous. There’s an aura about him that will let him come to terms with his sentence. How long will he get, do you reckon?’

‘That’ll depend. His defence counsel will probably argue that Stevie was collateral damage, an innocent victim of a trap laid for villains. If the judge buys that, I could see a tariff of as little as fifteen years. But if he takes the hard line, then recent precedent says it could be as much as thirty-five years. Do you see him meditating his way through that?’

‘Maybe. Look at the Birdman of Alcatraz.’

Skinner laughed. ‘You’ve been watching your wife’s favourite movies again. There’s no comparison. Stroud, the real Birdman, was a murderous bastard who caused chaos in American prisons. My guess is that Dražen’s so calm because he’s been told by his very expensive legal team that they’ll be able to cast reasonable doubt on the forensic evidence that we expect to convict him. But they’re all Londoners, and they’ve never seen Arthur Dorward in the witness box. You wait till he’s convicted; see then if he still has that aura about him.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘you misunderstood my original question. What I meant was, what did you think of what he had to say? Did you believe him, or was he spinning us a yarn, knowing that we’ll probably never be able to check it out?’

‘Yes, I believe him. I accept the idea that his willingness to help us is penance in some way for Stevie’s death. He knows Playfair, and he gave us his real name. It shouldn’t be hard to check, starting in Cambridge, so he knows we’d see through a lie very quickly.’

‘True. So what does it tell us about the man? What was he doing travelling around Scotland with a Bulgarian under his wing?’

‘You and I can only speculate about that,’ McIlhenney pointed out. ‘Our best hope is that Lord Elmore can tell us more. . or tell me more, at any rate.’

‘You reckon I’ll leave that to you, do you, that I’ll be too busy in my new office? I don’t think so. It’s great being Supreme Leader; you get to cherry-pick. I’m going to sit in on that meeting, for two reasons. One, I’ve a personal interest in catching the killer of a man who was my companion only three nights ago.’

‘Granted. What’s the other?’

‘I have a funny feeling that I can see the way this thing is headed.’

‘Achh!’ the superintendent snorted. ‘You and your intuition. It’s a bloody sight more than I have.’

His boss beamed. ‘I guess that’s why I’m chief constable,’ he said mildly.

They drove on, circling Newcastle to the west, Skinner bemoaning the fact that the city’s notorious Brown Ale had passed into foreign ownership. ‘Not that I drink the stuff,’ he admitted, just as the ringtone of his mobile sounded through the car’s Bluetooth system. ‘Yes,’ he replied, his voice activating the call.

‘Bob? Piers Frame here; your secretary told me you were travelling. Can you speak? Are you alone?’

‘Not alone, but we can talk. My companion’s a senior officer and in on the investigation.’

‘OK, I’m happy with that. I don’t need you to identify him. Let’s leave the snoopers at GCHQ, who listen to my every word, I’m sure, something to puzzle over. I have some information for you, about the name Coben.’

‘Have you by God? I wasn’t hopeful, I admit.’

‘What I have to say won’t change that. He’s dead.’

‘Then he’s not the man I want, unless he’s been culled very recently.’

‘No, this happened a few years back. There is very little known about him, but Frankie Coben was a Serbian national, from a wealthy family with a part-Hungarian, part-American background. He seems to have been very much a background figure, though. The current Serbian government can’t tell us anything about him; all the records of him have been expunged. By whom? Nobody’s sure. He was a nasty piece of work; the anecdotal evidence. . and that’s all there is. . says that he was a state security fixer, torturer, and killer. He was also very bright; he was said to have been educated at the University of Belgrade, a student of literature.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘He was reported killed about seven years ago, during an assassination attempt that was blamed on the Americans. There was nothing intact in the building after the explosion, only body parts, but later, Coben’s papers and ID card were found among the wreckage.’

‘But nothing else, no physical confirmation. . like his head, for example?’

‘No, that was all.’

‘I see.’ Skinner glanced across at McIlhenney; his eyes were on the road ahead, but he had eased his speed and was listening intently. ‘Can you get me a mugshot of this guy?’ he asked.

‘There aren’t any. They went with his records.’

‘Was he the target of the hit?’

‘No, no. Coben was always a low-profile figure, never more than a background whisper; he didn’t attract that level of notoriety. They were after a bigger fish, and the best evidence that it was indeed an American effort is that they ballsed it up. The man they were after was Coben’s boss, who was then in hiding under protection, but he was elsewhere at the time. . in a brothel, they reckoned after the event.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Tadic, General Bogdan Tadic.’