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There wasn t even a proper glass by the sink, just another plastic
tumbler. He unscrewed the top from his Johnnie Walker Red
Label and poured generously. He was about to add water from
the cold tap, but thought better of it, so he drank the scotch neat
and watched the water finally cover the bottom of the bath.
He toasted the mirror. Welcome to England, he said.
He d arranged to meet Bob Broome in the hotel bar.
They knew one another from a conference they d attended in
Toronto when both had been drug squad officers. That was going
back some time, but then they d met again when Hoffer had been
in London last trip, just over a year ago. He d been tracking the
Demolition Man then, too.
You mean Walkins is still paying you? Broome sounded
awed.
I m not on a retainer or anything, Hoffer said. But when
we hear anything new on the D-Man, I know I can follow it up
and Walkins will pay.
Bob Broome shook his head. I still can t believe you got here
so quickly.
No ties, Bob, that s the secret. Hoffer looked around the
bar. This place stinks, let s go for a walk. He saw Broome look
at him, laughed, and patted his jacket. It s okay, Bob, I m not
armed. Broome looked relieved.
It was Sunday evening and the streets were quiet. They
37
Ian Rankin
walked into Soho and found a pub seedy enough for Hoffer s
tastes, where they ordered bitter and found a corner table.
So, Bob, what ve you got?
Broome placed his pint glass carefully on a beer mat, check-
ing its base was equidistant from all four edges. There was a
shooting yesterday evening at six o clock, outside a hotel near the
U.S. Embassy. A minute or two after the shooting, a bomb ex-
ploded in a rubbish bin nearby. We had an anonymous call warn-
ing us, so we sent men over there. We arrived just too late, but in
time to start a search for the assassin. But he d been a bit too
clever. We went for the building directly in front of the hotel,
and he d been holed up in the office block next door. He must
have seen us coming. He called for an ambulance, gave them
some story about being seriously ill, and they whisked him away
to hospital from right under our noses.
Hoffer shook his head. But you ve got a description?
Oh, yes, a good description, always supposing he wasn t
wearing a wig and colored contact lenses.
He left the weapon behind?
Broome nodded. An L96A1 Sniper Rifle.
Never heard of it.
It s British, a serious piece of goods. He d tweaked it, added
a flash hider and some camouflage tape. The telescopic sight on
it was worth what I take home in a month.
Nobody ever said the D-Man came cheap. Speaking of
which. . . ?
We don t even know who his target was. There were four
people on the steps: a diplomat and his wife, the secretary of state
for the DSS, and the journalist.
How far was he away from the hotel?
Seventy, eighty yards.
Unlikely he missed his target.
He s missed before.
Yeah, but that was a fluke. He must ve been after the
reporter.
We re keeping an open mind. The diplomat seems sure he
was the intended victim.
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Bleeding Hearts
Well, you have to keep an open mind, I don t. In fact, I m fa-
mous for my closed mind. Hoffer finished his drink. Want an-
other? Broome shook his head. I need to see anything you ve
got, Bob.
That s not so easy, Leo. I d have to clear it with my
By the way, something for your kids. Hoffer took an enve-
lope from his pocket and slid it across the table. How are they
anyway?
They re fine, thanks. Broome looked in the envelope. He
was looking at £500.
Don t try to refuse it, Bob, I had a hell of a job cashing
checks at the hotel. I think they charged me the same again for
the privilege, plus they had an exchange rate you wouldn t accept
from a shark. Put it in your pocket. It s for your kids.
I m sure they ll be thankful, Broome said, tucking the en-
velope in his inside pocket.
They re nice kids. What re their names again?
Whatever you want them to be, said the childless Broome.
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