Quintin Jardine - Fatal Last Words

‘Nicolić?’

Lord Elmore stared at Skinner. ‘Yes, that’s it. How did you know that?’

‘The names you’ve just mentioned were all on a list compiled by Ainsley Glover.’

‘Jesus, how did he get those?’

‘No idea, but why does it surprise you that he did?’

‘Because the trial was held in camera, at the request of the American government. They didn’t want attention to focus on their attempt to assassinate Tadic. Besides Frankie Coben, there were many civilian casualties; their action could be construed as a war crime itself.’ He hesitated, thinking. ‘So what the hell was Glover up to?’

‘Glover and Mount. We know they were working on a joint project, perhaps with a third party. It looks now as if they were planning a book on Tadic.’

‘And his secret trial?’

‘I suppose so. It’s pretty clear they were looking for the witnesses.’

‘But where would they get the lead, their names?’

‘Henry Mount was a retired diplomat. Could he have had access?’

‘Oh my. If he had the right contacts in the Foreign Office, indeed he could.’

‘That’s it. They were looking for witnesses, they tripped over Coben and were taken out.’

‘So what’s Coben’s purpose?’

‘I’d been wondering the same thing, Claus, but now it’s obvious, from what you’ve just told us: Coben is looking for the witnesses too, before the retrial can begin.’

‘In that case, Bob, Superintendent, please run the sod to ground!’

‘We will, I promise you.’

‘Is there any other way I can help?’

‘There is one thing,’ McIlhenney responded, ‘something that’s been puzzling my people. Does the term “the cleaner” mean anything to you in this context?’

Lord Elmore thought for second, then his eyes flashed. ‘Not “the cleaner”. No, someone’s misunderstood. It should be “the cleanser”, as in ethnic. The Serbian word is čistač , and that’s how it translates best. It was Tadic’s nickname in Yugoslavia.’

Aileen de Marco looked at the pile of green folders that still sat in her in-tray, letters drafted for her signature by the Scottish civil service. Parliament had a lengthy summer recess, but the requirements of government were continuous. She was considering the text of a reply to a letter from a Conservative MSP, from Dumfries, seeking special compensation for a constituent, a mounted policeman who had been kicked by his horse, when her phone rang.

‘I’ve finally been able to place your call,’ Lena McElhone, her private secretary, advised her. ‘He’s just got back to his office. I like his new secretary,’ she said. ‘He sounds like a nice guy.’

‘He is,’ the First Minister told her. ‘And to save you asking, he’s straight and he’s single. Maybe the two of you should meet to compare notes about your bosses.’ She smiled as she waited for the call to be connected.

‘What have you been saying to Gerry Crossley?’ said Bob when he came on line. ‘He sounded more than a wee bit flustered when he put you through.’

‘Me? Nothing at all. How’s your first full day been? I’d have called you sooner but I’ve been tied up in meetings, then when I did try, you were out.’

‘I’ve been away. I had to take an unexpected trip with Neil; somebody had information he said was for our ears only.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Dražen Boras.’

‘Jesus!’

‘Wrong department, love, wrong name. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I’ll be a while yet, though. I’ve called a general meeting about our various murder investigations, a brainstorming session.’›

‘Are you making progress?’

‘Seems like it. That’s what the meeting’s about; I want to pull the threads together.’

‘Is that how you plan to run things in CID from now on?’

‘I’m going to be hands on, sure, but this was Neil’s idea. He reckons I’m still the best detective on the force. . I’m not going to argue with him either. . and he wants my input.’

‘Good luck, then. I hope it helps. What do you want for supper when you do get home?’

‘Nothing much. I ate like a hog last night.’

‘OK, I’ll do something light, a salad perhaps.’

‘That’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.’

‘Use the mobile. I might not be home myself by then. I’ll see you, whenever.’ She made to hang up then stopped. ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, ‘I almost forgot that I had a reason for calling you. You do remember we’re having guests for dinner tomorrow night, at the official residence, don’t you? Randy Mosley and Denzel Chandler.’

‘Of course,’ he replied, but only after a second’s delay that suggested he had not.

‘It’s still all right, isn’t it? I realise things have changed a bit since we made the arrangement. I’ll postpone it, if you want.’

‘No, not at all. We’ll all be ready for it by then. Randy’s having a hard week too, so it’ll be a welcome break for her. Just the four of us, is it?’

‘Yes, but I can add to the party. Alex, if you like. It’s a private affair, our expense, not on the hospitality budget, so I’ll be doing the cooking.’

‘Let me think about that. Meantime, my troops should have gathered by now. See you later.’

He hung up. Aileen was about to return to the matter of the unruly police horse, but as an afterthought, she buzzed her outer office. ‘Hey, what did you say to get Gerry Crossley flustered?’ she asked her private secretary. ‘Have you made a move on the guy already?’

Bob Skinner sat at his desk and pondered upon the day’s discoveries. In his mind he could see a jigsaw, its pieces laid out before him. He was a distance short of seeing the finished picture, but he knew that it was there to be assembled. One more check was needed, he felt, to verify some elements that were still only suspicions.

He picked up his secure telephone and dialled a number. Apart from the access that his rank gave him, Skinner had two important personal contacts within the security and intelligence community. Piers Frame was one, but their relationship was based on leverage that the Scot had gained during an investigation in the past, one that he had been seconded to carry out. The other was a friend, and a trusted colleague, with whom the darkest secrets could be shared.

Until a few days earlier, Amanda Dennis had been acting head of the security service, but with the appointment of one of the new Prime Minister’s favourites as the permanent director general, she had reverted to her former deputy status. While Whitehall tended to empty at five like a football ground after the final whistle, he knew that she was usually at her desk for longer than most of her staff, and so he was not surprised when she answered his call.

‘Bob,’ she said. ‘Congratulations. I heard this morning.’

‘Thanks. I’m sorry our po-faced leader hadn’t the sense to do the same with you.’

‘I’m not,’ she said. ‘The DG’s a public figure these days. I’m old school; as deputy I’m under the radar and that suits me far better. You’ll be fine at the top of the tree, though; in your service it pays to be highly visible. What are you after today, or whom?’

‘Straight to the point, eh, Amanda,’ he laughed. ‘My people are trying to clean up the mess left by the murders of two authors, and now a third man, an associate of our chief suspect.’

‘Glover and Mount? Yes, I’ve heard about those. I’m a Fred Noble man myself; keep him safe, Bob, please.’

‘We’re doing that, but I don’t really believe he’s in danger. Ainsley and Henry were working together on a project; they were keeping it secret, not discussing the subject matter, but I, we, believe it was to be a book about a Serbian war criminal, General Bogdan Tadic, whose story seems never to have been told, although it was one of the bloodiest chapters in the whole Balkan conflict.’