‘Oh, Radovan I can believe is concerned. Radovan is always concerned. Spiridon, I imagine, is more than that.’

‘Enraged, then. Is that more acceptable?’

‘Accurate, perhaps. Acceptable is another matter.’

‘May I speak frankly?’ said Frend.

‘There is little point in your being here if you do not.’

‘Spiridon thinks you may have some knowledge of who killed Nikola Musulin.’

Which was a diplomatic way of putting it. Frend did not even glance at Stajić, the man who was probably responsible for planting the explosives that ended Musulin’s life, because the lawyer remained hopeful of making it back to Vienna alive.

Kiš’s expression of benevolent interest did not alter.

‘And if I did?’ he said. ‘Would Spiridon want revenge?’

‘Spiridon wants only to come home. He wishes to spend his remaining years by a lake in the mountains.’

‘In peace, with no thoughts of vengeance?’

‘In peace. As for his thoughts, they cannot be policed, but his intentions are clear.’

‘Really?’ said Kiš. ‘If so, it would be the first time.’

Now Stajić spoke. His voice was raspy, and his breath smelled of a thousand ashtrays.

‘Where are they?’ he said. ‘Where are the Vuksans?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘But you know?’

‘Actually, I don’t. I felt it was wiser to dwell in ignorance.’

‘Safer, too,’ Kiš suggested.

‘Indeed.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Stajić.

‘That’s unfortunate,’ said Frend.

‘Yes,’ said Stajić, ‘it is.’

Kiš made a calming gesture to his colleague. Stajić lit another cigarette, puffed on it until the tip glowed red, then held it upright just outside Frend’s field of vision. Frend could almost feel the heat of it close to his ear.

‘If they are in hiding,’ said Kiš, ‘which they are, of course, from whom are they hiding? Us?’

‘Among others,’ said Frend.

‘They have no need to hide from us,’ said Kiš. ‘No one wants more deaths. It would draw too much attention.’

‘But one can always disappear, which is less awkward,’ said Frend. ‘And a death can be postponed.’

‘Your clients have bigger problems elsewhere. Soon an Interpol Red Notice will be issued in their names, or so we have been informed. That’s what you get for crucifying an old man these days, unless you’re an ISIS Turk.’

A Red Notice was a request to locate and arrest a suspect, pending extradition. It was the modern equivalent of the Wanted posters that had once been put up outside sheriffs’ offices in the American West. Frend had been aware that a Red Notice for the Vuksans might be on the horizon, but so far his sources had suggested it was not imminent. Kiš might have access to more recent intelligence but Frend doubted it. Still, the man’s confidence worried him.

‘There are places they can go,’ said Frend, ‘countries in which Red Notices are difficult to enforce.’

‘Yes, North Korea,’ said Kiš. ‘Or perhaps the Vatican. They can convert to communism or Catholicism!’