In the Name of a Killer Read Online Free PDF Page B

theatrical as the time-check. ‘… You will appreciate, of course, that there can be no question of releasing the body until all our inquiries are completed …’
    ‘Now wait a goddamned minute …’ said the critic. ‘Burden will go apeshit at the thought of his niece preserved here, on ice.’
    ‘I cannot accept that,’ protested Baxter, to Danilov, with increased professional formality. ‘I will personally make that identification and at the same time present both to you and to your Foreign Ministry the positive request for the return of the body of Ann Harris.’
    ‘Until all our inquiries are completed,’ echoed Danilov.
    ‘We’ll burn his ass,’ said the sneering American, looking directly and venomously at Danilov. ‘I’ll personally burn his ass.’
    ‘I think I have to talk to your superiors,’ said Baxter.
    ‘There is probably the need for higher authority on both sides,’ said Danilov. Be careful at the embassy ,he remembered again. Beside him Pavin tore the mortuary address from his notebook. ‘Three o’clock,’ Danilov reminded, passing it across to Baxter. At the same time he began to pick up the photographs still displayed.
    ‘I want those,’ insisted the American who had done most of the talking. ‘They’re evidence I shall need.’
    Baxter said, through the interpreter: ‘We would like to keep the photographs.’
    Danilov completed the collection, tapping them tidily into their folder. ‘They are official police exhibits, the property of the Moscow Militia.’
    ‘Son of a bitch!’ exploded the predictable American.
    Danilov rose, before anyone else. Pavin followed, very quickly. Danilov said: ‘Thank you again, for this meeting,’ and stood waiting for Baxter to escort them from the building.
    The journey back to the exit was made in complete silence. At the door Baxter did not appear to know what to do. Finally he said: ‘I have the mortuary address.’
    ‘I’ll be expecting you,’ said Danilov.
    Pavin waited until he had negotiated the embassy forecourt and they were back on Ulitza Chaykovskaya before he spoke. He said: ‘I didn’t need a translation to know it was bad.’
    ‘She’s related to an American Congressman.’
    ‘Mother of Christ!’
    Danilov wondered if the Major genuinely had any religious beliefs: they’d never discussed it. Neither had they ever discussed special arrangements possible in this new Militia district from which Danilov might have benefited, as he’d benefited before. He was sure Pavin would have a source: probably several. Everybody had their special sources. ‘They don’t think we’re competent enough. They expect to take over. They refused to tell me where she lived.’
    ‘Do we go back to Petrovka?’
    ‘No. Drive slowly towards the scene. She wasn’t dressed to go out walking, in that temperature. She probably lived close.’
    ‘The embassy compound, surely?’ Pavin frowned.
    ‘Some embassy staff live outside,’ said Danilov. ‘It’s worth checking.’ His first call from the car telephone was to the Foreign Ministry. He quoted his official ID, explained in great detail to the Records division what he wanted and promised to call back. The clerk, a man, said the checks might be difficult. Danilov said he’d try anyway. Danilov’s second call took longer, because he had to be transferred through several departments to put the forensic team on standby. They were back in the side road off Gercena before he tried to reach Lapinsk. As he dialled he looked out to where Ann Harris had lain, spread-eagled, only a few hours before. The small amount of bloodstaining had congealed like black oil, not red, and the chalked outline was practically trodden away beneath the morning dampness of slightly thawed frost and fog. Unnoticing, unconcerned people were scuffing over the blood and chalk with the toe-to-heel care of Russians expert in walking over slippery, frozen surfaces.
    ‘Why haven’t you come back here?’ demanded the