In the Name of a Killer Read Online Free PDF

sneered at the rebuke. Maintaining the expression, he said to the Russian: ‘So what are you doing?’
    Danilov was abruptly impatient: it had to be the tiredness. He said: ‘Starting at the beginning. Hoping to get to the proper end.’
    ‘I saw the movie!’ The sneer remained.
    Now a wash of definite fatigue engulfed Danilov, like a wave. How would they have reacted, if he’d spoken next in perfect English? They’d been extremely careless. There might be some excuse, because they would have been shocked, but he found it difficult to allow them very much. He said: ‘There was a key, in her pocket: to her apartment, obviously. I need the address.’
    ‘Hold on here now, Ralph!’ said the perpetual critic to the one identified man. ‘We can’t have Russia’s answer to Dick Tracy going through her things. We’ve got to insist on diplomatic protection.’
    Danilov wondered who Dick Tracy was.
    Baxter said: ‘I need proper guidance on this. Why the hell was she like she was; you know what I’m saying.’
    ‘I’ll get a handle on it, as soon as Washington puts the pressure on for me to take control,’ Barry assured him.
    ‘We’ve got behind with the translation,’ protested Danilov, mildly. ‘I asked for the lady’s address.’
    ‘I don’t have it, to hand,’ avoided Baxter, weakly.
    ‘It wouldn’t take more than a few moments to obtain, would it?’
    ‘There’s a great deal for us to consider. To discuss,’ said the diplomat, still avoiding.
    ‘Of course there is,’ agreed Danilov. ‘That doesn’t affect my getting her address, does it?’
    ‘Stall the bastard, Ralph!’ ordered his companion. ‘I don’t give a fuck how you do it, but stall him. If Washington hear we’ve let them stumble around we’re each of us going to be swinging in the wind with piano wire round our balls. Jesus, what a fucking mess!’
    FBI, guessed Danilov: and just as presumptuous and conceitedly believing himself above all censure as every KGB investigator Danilov had ever encountered, which fortunately had not been too many. Danilov supposed the discussion would have already begun about poor, brutally shorn Ann Harris at Security Agency headquarters in Lubyanka Square.
    Baxter made a conscious effort to compose himself. The American said: ‘This has been an appalling shock. She was a girl we all knew. Respected.’
    ‘I understand that,’ said the Russian detective.
    ‘We need the opportunity to discuss it: there are family to be advised, in America.’
    ‘I understand that, too.’
    ‘I would ask you to give us an hour or two.’
    ‘I don’t follow the reasoning.’
    ‘To discuss things, here in the embassy.’
    ‘I still don’t follow,’ persisted Danilov. ‘Any discussion here – the way you advise the family – is entirely a matter for you. All I want is an address, so I can continue my inquiries.’
    ‘We’d like to have that discussion, before we go any further,’ refused the desperate Baxter.
    Danilov intentionally let the silence build across the table between them. Finally he said, accusingly: ‘You are obstructing a criminal investigation into the murder of an American citizen.’
    ‘No!’ protested Baxter.
    ‘Don’t let him pressure you, Ralph,’ warned the other man.
    The good old days that Pavin yearned for weren’t completely gone, Danilov reflected: there might still be an inquiry avenue open to him. But first this had to be concluded. He said: ‘I regret you have refused greater cooperation.’
    ‘Fuck him!’ said the contemptuous one, after the dutiful translation. ‘This jerk won’t be around much after today.’
    ‘I regret that this is your opinion,’ Baxter said to the Russian, with diplomatic stiffness.
    Danilov looked too obviously at his watch, surprised nevertheless at the lateness. ‘We will leave you the location of the mortuary. I will need a member of this embassy there at exactly three o’clock tomorrow, for formal identification …’ The pause was as