Fatal Last Words

Eighty-two

It was raining, the weather that did least for the grey sandstone from which Ann Street was built. Lord Elmore stared out of his window, on a scene that matched his mood. The news that Mirko Andelič was dead had hit him hard.

He stared at his computer, at the notes for his memoirs, and wondered, very seriously, whether it was worth carrying on, or whether it should be abandoned. He was still considering the question when he saw the new chief constable walk up his drive, and heard his wife greet him at the door.

‘Bob,’ he said, gloomily, ‘what brings you back to see me? Are you going to tell me I’ve won the lottery? Don’t waste your time; not even that would do the job.’

‘Claus,’ Skinner asked, as he sat, ‘what’s second best?’

‘To what?’

‘To throwing away the key to Tadic’s cell?’

‘I don’t know. Hearing that he’s had a fatal heart attack?’

‘I don’t want anything to do with that, but how about catching Coben, how would that do?’

‘It would be consolation, I’ll grant you.’

‘Then help me. I need access to the Tadic trial papers. Can you fix that?’

‘I’m a trial judge, of course I can. What do you need?’

‘I’m told that the only things that identify Coben are in there. I need them, sent or faxed to me.’

‘Right,’ said Lord Elmore, his mood transformed. ‘Let me have a number and I’ll give the instruction. How soon do you need them?’

Skinner grinned. ‘For this evening, at the latest. I’m having a dinner party.’

The judge looked mystified, but made no comment. ‘You’ll have what you want,’ he promised.

‘Thanks.’ The chief constable handed him a card. ‘My secure fax number is on there.’

He was still smiling as he walked back to his car, and as he reached for his mobile. He dialled as he slid behind the wheel.

‘Leith CID,’ a voice answered.

‘Sauce? Chief Constable here. I need you to get hold of your Serbian translator. I have further need of her services.’