Honey Trap

by JJ Marsh

When both men had left the room, Isabella gave a dismissive shake of the head and an apologetic smile. “Ignore him. He’s having a bad day. Problems with insurance at the warehouse. His office was destroyed and all his paperwork gone. Gennaio is not a racist, just quick to find fault.”

  Beatrice was not mollified. “In that case, he needs to moderate his language. I have a question regarding our accommodation. My guests want to hire a car this week. How do we get access to the car park at the apartment?”

  “You already have access. In the kitchen drawer, there is a little grey device with a red button. Put that in the car and when you want to open the gates, press the button. Check it first. The batteries might be dead.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Beatrice? Please don’t mention Gennaio’s comments to Suhail. I will calm my stupid brother-in-law and make everything all right. Are you getting closer to solving our problem?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to give too much away, but I think I am closer to finding the source of the rot. Please tell no one. Everyone should carry on as usual. That is vital.”

  “Of course. I will say nothing. Thank you very much.”

  When Beatrice returned to the kitchen, most people had gone. Benoît was emptying the dishwasher and flashed her a wide smile as she popped her head around the corner.

  “Hello, Benoît, I’m Beatrice. Parlez-vous anglais?”

  “Bonjour, Beatrice, ça va? Désolé, non. Avez-vous une cigarette?”

  “Non, je ne fume pas. Bonne journée!”

  “Bonne journée!”

  She retreated from a conversation which gave her very little, other than how much she loved the way her name sounded in French.

  Behind the fridge in the dessert section, Agusto was talking to Suhail in Italian. From what she could understand, the chef was offering to help him find a new apartment. Deliberately dropping the used spoons onto a steel work surface, Beatrice announced her presence as subtly as a breeze block.

  Agusto came around the corner. “Well done, Beatrice. I like your dessert very much. You know, I think you could be a very good chef. You have imagination.”

  “Not matched by my skills, I’m afraid. I am grateful for Suhail as my cover.”

  Isabella opened the kitchen door, her mobile in hand, beckoning Agusto with a fierce expression. “Andiamo!”

  Beatrice didn’t hesitate. “You best get on and so should I. Ettore will be waiting for me.”

  She waited till he had gone before saying her goodbyes to Suhail, with a whispered promise they would make a plan to collect him that evening.

  The whispering was unnecessary. The kitchen was deserted. Benoît had finished his lowly task and left for the afternoon. She spotted him outside with Bruno, both lighting up.

  Bruno saw her and waved. “Ciao, Beatrice. A domani!”

  “A domani!” she replied, rather proud of her Italian accent. Then a thought occurred to her and she walked over to address Bruno in English. “Sorry to disturb, but can I ask you something?” She felt in the pocket of her chef’s whites and pulled out the plastic card she had found in the courtyard. “What is this?”

  He took it and turned it over. “An access card, like in a hotel. Where did you find it?”

  “It was lying on the ground over there. I think the man who scratched Agusto’s car dropped it when I threw the sharpener at him. I wondered if it was worth taking to the police.”

  Bruno examined it more closely and showed it to Benoît, who pointed at the logo and spoke in rapid French.

  Bruno blew smoke up into the air. “Oui, d’accord. Beatrice, we think this is a key card for the entrance to the docks. Benoît says this logo is ADSP, the people who manage the port. Gennaio has one exactly the same. Yes, maybe you should tell the police. It might be important.”

  “Thanks, you’ve been a big help. Have a relaxing afternoon. Au revoir!”

  She spent a leisurely afternoon wandering the Centro Storico with Matthew and Luke, idly browsing all the various horns and masks at every street stall. She waited while Matthew took photographs of Luke: in front of towering monuments, posing with a double scoop of ice-cream, pointing at graffiti and fussing a small dog which looked like Huggy Bear. The sights and smells of the streets occupied only a part of Beatrice’s mind. She turned the facts over and over, putting each person she suspected on an imaginary stand and examining their alibis. The more pressing problem of how to get Suhail home safely without being followed preoccupied her from piazza to gelateria. It was a good job Matthew took so many pictures, because she was unlikely to remember a thing about the day.

  Around five o’clock, Matthew suggested they return to the apartment for a rest. She agreed with alacrity, her concerns for his health ever present. Not to mention the constant need to grab Luke and drag him out of the route of a moped. Her nerves were frazzled. The best place to keep Luke safe, let Matthew rest and give herself some thinking time was their beautiful, calm apartment.

  On arrival at the front door, they met Will and Adrian returning from their expedition. They took afternoon tea on the terrace. To Beatrice’s immense relief, Will had devised a plan.

  Chapter 27

  Adrian only had himself to blame. He wanted Beatrice to be a private detective. He wanted Will to come to Naples. He had encouraged her to take on the Ecco case. Now his husband had got all involved and enthusiastic about it and Adrian didn’t have a leg to stand on when Will wanted to explore the area around the Porta Antica rather than going on a boat trip.

  They found a restaurant within walking distance of Ecco and although they could not book – no reservations, we’ll fit you in if there’s room – they decided to eat there that night. As a party of five would not fit in a regular taxi, they would travel there with Ettore, and after dinner, Beatrice, Matthew and Luke would return home the same way. Adrian and Will would wait until Suhail left after his evening shift, when Will would meet him and insist he join them for a coffee. Once inside the bar, they would keep moving and leave through the side entrance where Adrian would be waiting in a cab. Anyone following Suhail would be waiting out front and by the time it became obvious their target had vanished, Adrian, Will and Suhail would be safely back inside their own apartment with their feet up.

  Adrian thought the plan was relatively low on the risky side, apart from how he could explain his requirements to a cabbie in Italian. They walked the streets around the restaurant, checking escape routes, taxi ranks and parking places, while Will coached Adrian in a few essential phrases. Possiamo aspettare i miei amici? Can we wait for my friends? Mi dispiace, loro sono in ritardo. I’m sorry, they are late. They practised till they were completely satisfied with the plan and began to look forward to the evening. Until they got back to the apartment and met Beatrice.

  Her face pinked from their excursion that afternoon, she listened intently to their suggestions. “Very good thinking. Just a couple of points. I’m happy to use Ettore to take us there and bring Matthew and Luke back. However, I will stay with you two, for the following reasons. A, certain factors in this case need discussing but not in front of granddad and grandson. And secondly, it makes more sense if both of you meet Suhail from work. Strength in numbers. I will wait at the bar and when you send me a message saying you’re on your way, I will find us a cab and explain the situation.”

  “In Italian?” asked Adrian, incredulous.

  She gave him a headmistress-like look. “I think you’ll find I can manage.”

  “OK,” said Will, with a wry smile. “You’re the boss. Just be aware that Il Capitano is a harbour café for fishermen and a far cry from the five-star joints you are used to. We’re going local and eating street food. Rough and ready.”

  Beatrice laughed and ran her hands through her tangled hair. “I’d say me and Il Capitano are well matched.”

  The car eased up the Via del Porto and despite the views across the sea, Il Capitano had already drawn their attention. Coloured lights and striped awnings stood out against t
he dusky pink evening glow and the bustle and activity within would make any passer-by look twice.

  “Here we are, everyone!” announced Ettore and stepped out of the car to open the rear door. He helped Beatrice and Luke out and gave a bow to Matthew, Will and Adrian. “Call me when you are ready to leave. I am at your service.”

  “Thank you, Ettore. It is possible that the boys might stay out later. But if you could come back at ten to take some of us home, that would be very kind.”

  “Buon appetito!”

  Il Capitano was a restaurant with a difference. Facing directly onto the docks, what had once been a takeaway counter had grown up with delusions of grandeur. Long trestle tables formed canteen-style vertical lines away from the kitchen and marquees provided the walls, complete with plastic windows. Diners sat on benches, elbow to elbow with strangers. On a warm spring-like evening, it worked. Adrian dreaded to think of how the experience would change affected by winter chills and summer stink.

  The waitress waved an arm at the tables, inviting them to seat themselves. Adrian liked the look of the one closest to the heater with no other occupants, but Will had already asked the people filling half a table in the middle if they could join them. So they had no choice but to cosy up to a bunch of total strangers on a hard bench and sit on their coats.

  Adrian sighed.

  “I know. It is awfully hard to choose,” said Matthew, browsing the menu.

  Luke tore off some bread and began the oil and vinegar routine. “I am REALLY hungry. Probably hungry enough for a starter and a main course and a pudding.”

  “Set menu!” said a fierce voice. A squat, dark woman in a pinafore stood at the head of their table with a notepad. “Salad or soup, spaghetti alla vongole and fish of the day. Very good. You want?”

  Whatever it was, they wanted.

  Dish after dish was plonked on the table with little ceremony, leaving the diners to shuffle plates around to the right owners, but the food was plentiful, the wine drinkable and the conversation lively.

  Matthew’s face glowed as he mopped up the caper sauce with a chunk of brown bread and he looked across at Adrian. “Tell you what, this ticks all my boxes. Those upscale establishments are fascinating, in a rare butterfly sort of a way. This, on the other hand, is how I should like to eat on a daily basis. Hearty, flavoursome and unfussy. Even the wine, if a tad boisterous, passes muster, wouldn’t you say?”

  It actually was. All Adrian’s snobbery and judgement had disappeared as his appetite took over. A child in the neighbouring party managed to strike up a dialogue with Luke over some kind of puzzle and the nearest woman watched them converse in different languages with a fond smile.

  She looked up and caught the adults’ eyes. “English? Turisti?”

  “Sì, siamo turisti,” said Will.

  To Adrian’s ears, his accent sounded perfect and really rather sexy.

  The woman asked another question. Will shook his head. “Non ho capito.”

  She pointed at Luke and repeated herself. Adrian caught the word ‘No potty’ and wondered if she was asking if Luke was house-trained.

  In the face of Will’s blank look, Matthew responded. “Lui è mio nipote. Adesso, l’unico. Ma ho due figlie. Forse ci sarà più bambini in futuro. Quanti figli avete?”

  “What did he say?” asked Adrian. Will shrugged.

  They both stared at Matthew as he carried on a cheerful conversation with the kindly woman in what sounded like fluent Italian.

  “I can’t follow all of it,” said Beatrice, “but they’re discussing grandchildren. After spending most of his life teaching Classics, he’s picked up a thing or two. You should hear him speak Greek.”

  As the evening drew on, Luke and his new friend said their goodbyes with gestures. Matthew wished everyone goodnight and kissed Beatrice before escorting his grandson to the car.

  Beatrice gave a polite smile to the family and guided Will and Adrian over to the bar for coffee. She had just begun to speak when the door flaps opened and her driver strode into the room. Adrian nudged Beatrice, whose attention was elsewhere.

  “What is it, Ettore? Are they both all right?”

  “Yes, yes, but you must also come. I cannot leave you here. I am responsible for your safety and I will take you home.”

  Beatrice’s expression hardened. “Thank you, but no. Please take Matthew and Luke back to the apartment. I will come later with Will and Adrian. They will take care of me, there’s no need for concern.”

  Ettore side-eyed Adrian and gave Will the once over. “How long you want to stay? I can take them home and come back. It’s not far and I wait till you are ready.”

  “Ettore! Please listen to me. I would like you to deliver my boys and then go home to your girls. You’ve worked long hours already and I am officially dismissing you for the night. Don’t worry, I promise you we’ll stay together. Goodnight and see you tomorrow.”

  Ettore stood for a moment, his face mutinous. “Buonasera a tutti. A domani, Beatrice.”

  They watched him shoulder his way out.

  “Has he got a crush on you?” asked Adrian.

  Beatrice snorted. “Just overprotective, that’s all. Now listen to me. Three things I want to talk about. One, I found something in the courtyard outside Ecco. Apparently it’s a key card to access the dock area. My theory is that when I walloped that bloke with the knife sharpener, he fell and dropped this. Why would someone trying to damage Agusto’s or possibly Gennaio’s Ferrari, have a key card to the docks? And why would that person be lurking around Ecco at the precise same time that Gennaio’s warehouse catches fire?”

  “If it is Gennaio they are targeting, it could be someone who works for him, someone with a grudge,” Will observed. “My guess is that whoever it was lit the fire first, then came to the restaurant to damage the Ferrari. The idea being that Gennaio would get the alarm call, rush out to his car and find that it had been scratched. Message received: someone is out to get him. But for whatever reason, the fire took hold sooner than expected and the guy got the wrong car. Which tells me this person is an amateur.”

  “Interesting word, amateur,” said Beatrice. “Our tail seems to be far from expert and I wonder ... what if the clumsy surveillance and half-arsed threats are either a double-bluff or poor performance from an outsourced contractor? Let’s come back to that later. Point Two. The Spy. According to Suhail, there is no spy in the Ecco kitchens because he’s already dead. Golden Boy Rami was selling recipes to some kind of powerful organisation. Perhaps that’s true. But if he was the spy, how do we explain the fact that my dessert, albeit badly executed, appeared on a rival menu the next day? Nevertheless, Rami ended up dead and they are putting pressure on Suhail to step into his shoes.”

  Adrian gasped. He realised he was attracting attention so dropped his voice to a whisper. “So that’s why they ...” He mimed cutting his throat.

  Beatrice tutted, with a glance around the room. “Can we not conduct confidential discussions as pantomime?”

  Abashed, Adrian sipped his coffee.

  “You said three things,” Will said, his focus intense. “The access card, Suhail’s confidences and what else?”

  “Gennaio has issues with Suhail. Today, he expressed little sympathy for Suhail’s predicament and actually referred to him as ‘the refugee’. This might just be casual racism. But I sense there is a strong antipathy between the two based on more than nationality. Suhail has never mentioned Gennaio by name, but I’ve seen how he avoids being in the same room with him. Then Gennaio gave himself away by saying ‘Everyone had the whole weekend to invent new ideas, including the Arab. When he comes home to a burglary, all his ideas go pfft.’ Those were his exact words. He already knew Suhail’s apartment had been turned over and when.”

  Adrian looked from Will to Beatrice, waiting for elucidation. Neither spoke.

  After several minutes of staring into coffee cups, both heads rose and Adrian watched a silent communication which excluded him com
pletely.

  “What?!” he demanded.

  Beatrice glanced around the glorified tent for eavesdroppers. “I believe we’re being played. By whom I can’t be sure. I think tomorrow will be the decider. Would you two drop into Ristorante della Nonna at lunchtime? Go late and act up till they fit you in. I’m pretty sure The English Garden dessert will already be on the menu. If it’s the same as Suhail and I made, we know who’s spilling secrets. It can only be Suhail himself, which is unlikely as he helped me lay the trap. If it’s Grandma’s Bathroom, things are a lot more complicated. Only Isabella, Agusto or Gennaio could be the leak and I know which one of the three I suspect.” She checked her watch. “Shouldn’t you be heading up to Ecco by now? Suhail usually finishes by eleven.”

  They drained their coffees and left PI Stubbs at the bar. As they reached the doorway, Adrian looked back to reassure her. He needn’t have worried. Beatrice was busy collecting all the uneaten chocolates from each of their saucers. She saw him watching and affected an innocent look, unperturbed. She waved her phone as a reminder to call once they were on their way back to Il Capitano.

  “Right, let’s go get our man,” said Adrian, his light tone belying his nerves. They were about to meet either a double-crosser who was playing them for fools or an innocent man being targeted by a corrupt gang of murderers. He made a vow to himself. If they survived this holiday, which was far from a certainty, their next vacation would involve nothing more dangerous than a peaceful canal barge along the Norfolk Broads.

  Twenty minutes later, Adrian began to worry that Suhail had already left. Various kitchen and waiting staff exited via the courtyard, passing Adrian and Will on the street corner.

  They had positioned themselves in that spot to be able to watch the front doors as well as see who emerged from the courtyard. As each person left, the tension in Adrian’s shoulders increased. When his phone vibrated in his pocket and the ring tone trilled into the night air, he jumped as if someone had goosed him.