We were walking along a gravel path between two large flower beds covered with precision-cut bushes and the odd, hardy rose still sticking out. I’m pretty sure it was an Italian style garden, which seemed appropriate considering who I was talking to.
“You won’t mind telling me where you went last night then?”
He recoiled a little at this question then quickly gathered himself. “I was here in the hotel. You were with me.”
“No, after that. After everyone had gone to their rooms. You got in your car and drove somewhere. Where did you go?”
His pace suddenly increased as we walked around a large pond in the centre of the garden where the fleur-de-lys fountain was noisily squirting water down into the lower basin. “Oh… After that?” He laughed his tuneful laugh once more. “The thing is, Izzy, I could tell you anything and you have no way of knowing it’s true. So, why even ask?”
It was a question I’d thought about a lot. I wasn’t the police and the suspects I spoke to weren’t compelled to talk to me. “Sometimes a lie can tell me much more than the truth would. Whatever you say will be worth hearing.”
“Okay then, how about… I went to the circus. How do you like that for an answer?”
We had reached the wall at the end of the garden. In front of us was a patch of grass which covered the fifty metres between the low, stone barrier and cliff edge. I had my enormous floppy summer hat on, and wasn’t worried about the sun for once, so stopped there to talk to him.
“That wasn’t an answer. It was a performance.” I stepped a little closer to study his face as we spoke. “There’s a difference between acting and answering. I’ll rephrase the question. Where did you tell the police you went last night?”
He raised his eyebrows a little to tell me that it was an obvious ploy but not entirely without merit.
Very good body language interpretation there, Izzy. Not everybody can read eyebrow semaphore with such alacrity.
Shut up, you! You’re just annoyed because I chose the monkfish over the paella, which, may I remind you, we didn’t even get to eat!
“I told them I had driven in to Santander to experience the nightlife. I went for some tapas and a few drinks in a club. You can probably find the photos on Twitter somewhere. I’m quite well known these days and people often want to take selfies with me.”
“So you had a few drinks here at the hotel, then drove into the city and had a few more drinks there and then drove home again. Weren’t the police concerned about your driving when you told them this?”
He leaned forward to whisper in my ear. It reminded me of the first time I’d met him, it was a gesture filled with both malice and charm. “Between you and me, I told them I stuck to lemonade.”
Lemonade! The drink of champions!
He smelt of expensive cologne and the red wine he’d consumed at lunchtime. His attractively lined cheek was so close to mine that, if I’d turned my head, I would have kissed him. Such was the power this man had that, for a moment, I genuinely considered it. I was relieved when he straightened back up and I could get a hold of myself once more.
I moved on to my next question. “When the news came in this morning of the girl’s death, you looked horrified. Did you know her?”
He had the answer ready prepared on his tongue. “How could I know her? I haven’t even heard her name. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with showing emotion. A girl has been murdered. If I’d sat there casually eating my breakfast like nothing had happened, I could understand you wondering why. If anything, my reaction shows I had nothing to do with the murder.”
“But how would such unbridled emotion fit with the message of Next Phase?” I let him think on this before continuing. “I have to admit, I wasn’t familiar with your movement until this week, but everything I’ve read about it since suggests that your old-fashioned, macho followers would not approve of you crying into your morning coffee.”
This was enough to trigger his contempt. He clicked his tongue behind his teeth and began to stroll back towards the house. It was not a sign that the conversation was over, but that he was the one controlling it.
“Oh really? I thought you told me that you were here for the conference. Have you been lying, Miss Palmer?”
Bleeding heck, this guy is good.
You reckon? Well I’m better.
I increased my pace to pull level with him. “Heike and Lio? I was going to ask you about them. Are you paying them to be your cheerleaders? Or they do it out of the goodness of their hearts?”
“My organisation includes all sorts of wonderful people.”
“Álvaro Linares was very interested in the type of people you attract, wasn’t he?” I asked and he stopped once more beside the fountain. “Why did you threaten to kill him last night?”
His lips curled back against his teeth and I could see I’d really got to him this time. “That man was a liar. He wrote terrible things about me in the press and thought he could get away with it.”
“So you killed him?”
He barely gave me time to finish the question before roaring his answer back. “No, I lost my temper and threw a glass at him. That was all.”
Just then, his daughters appeared from the hotel in their beach clothes. He smoothed his face out and waved to them.
“Where were you when Álvaro was murdered?” I knew he wouldn’t answer, but gave it my best shot.
“If you’ll excuse me, Miss Palmer. I’m going to enjoy some time with my family before we move on to our next destination.” He was already walking away from me, but I couldn’t let him have the last word.
“I wouldn’t be too cocky just yet, Mr Romanelli,” I shouted after him. “Your next destination might be a cell in Santander police station.”
Marco’s thick black eyebrows drew together in critique and I felt a little guilty for saying it with his kids there. His eldest daughter was the first to arrive and had clearly heard what I’d yelled.
As her father ushered her sisters away, she stopped for a moment and looked at me.
“Valentina,” he called and she shook her head anxiously and scurried away.
Chapter Seventeen
I had a problem. There was one obvious suspect who wasn’t at the hotel at the time of the first murder. Three people who could have been involved in both killings but had no obvious motive and ten or so others who, for the moment, I would have to discard.
“I still say Ian Dennison’s son was involved.” I found Ramesh by the back door of the kitchen, on his break with Cook. “That little hell-seed told Delilah Shaw I fancy her. She was bad enough already, squeezing my bum all the time. I feel like a tenderised steak.”
Cook was smoking a fat Cuban cigar and, between puffs, would sympathise with Ramesh with a weary, Spanish sigh.
“Ramesh why are you smoking?”
“It’s the job, Izzy. It’s the relentless grind of life in the hospitality sector. You can’t imagine what it’s like. I’ve only been at it three days and I’ve already turned to nicotine.”
“Belén Esteban!” Cook suggested. “The killer is Belén Esteban!”
I still didn’t know who that was so I ignored her.
“It can’t be Ian Dennison’s son. For one thing, the chance of a ten-year-old boy indiscriminately murdering hotel guests is pretty infinitesimal, but more importantly he was with us at lunch when Álvaro was shot dead.”
Ramesh thought for a second. “What about that old Spanish couple? They’re kind of creepy.”
“Ramesh, I thought you wanted to help me with this investigation. Not just suggest people who can’t possibly have been involved in the murder.”
He bowed his head despondently. “I’m sorry, Iz. This working life is eating me from the inside out. I can’t even come up with convincing theories for who the killer could be.”
I didn�
��t like to point out that his previous track record was not much better. Instead, I put my most sympathetic face on and, avoiding a cloud of filthy smoke, gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “I appreciate you trying, buddy.”
“The one like Belén Esteban!” Cook tried again. “Much makeup, big lips. Dresses like prostituta from the twenties. You know!”
“Delilah Shaw?”
The middle-aged Spanish woman, in her standard-issue, blue kitchen uniform, exploded with joy. “That’s her! She’s the killer, I know this. She’s got face of killer.”
I could see that she and Ramesh were born to work together. They had a surprisingly similar attitude to life.
“Thanks for the suggestion, Cook.”
It’s funny how, every time you report a Spanish person’s speech in English, it’s full of mistakes and yet, when you speak Spanish, it’s like you’re a native.
I ignored my brain and my two companions’ theories. “Listen, Ramesh. I haven’t got much time. Who knows how long the police will keep everybody at the hotel. I can’t see Bielza forcing the Romanellis to stay here after tomorrow.”
“I’ll come with you,” he responded and stubbed his cigarette out on the brick wall. “My next shift is about to start.”
He said goodbye to his colleague, using the international language of grunting and she raised her cigar to us in salutation before puffing out an enormous, black smoke ring.
“You can do it, Iz. I know you can,” Ramesh said as we skirted the building. “And I’ll try to think up some really good ideas while I’m cleaning. Maybe I’ll land on the killer myself this time.”
I wanted to believe him, but things were not looking good. There were still suspects and witnesses to talk to. Still ideas to explore but I felt like I was missing something obvious.
It’s not as if anyone’s paying us. Why don’t we go down to the beach again and relax for a while? Or what about the swimming pool? There’s nobody in there, we can splash about and make all the noise we want.
How about I choose paella for dinner? Will that shut you up for the rest of the day?
Silence! I promise you. Pure, uninterrupted silence from now until bedtime.
There was only one police car left at the front of the hotel so I imagined that the other officers were off investigating potential leads. As we mounted the front steps, I noticed a taxi pulling away, but I didn’t think anything of it until I got inside.
When we walked past the police guard and into the foyer, I was surprised to see two new guests checking in. A woman dressed in a spotless cream dress and matching hat, which I could totally picture my mother wearing, was standing at the front desk making a fuss.
“I’m Bu-Bu La Mer!” she boomed in a powerful American voice. “What do you mean you haven’t got my booking?”
The man standing behind her said nothing. Dressed in a tight black suit, which showed off his broad frame, he moved his weight from one foot to the other intimidatingly. I couldn’t see his face but, from his pose – hands behind back, legs apart – it was safe to assume he was her bodyguard.
“OMG!” Ramesh only uses abbreviations when he’s really excited about something – so maximum thirty times a day. “I love Bu-Bu La Mer!”
“Who’s Bu-Bu La Mer?”
He looked at me like I’d recently had a lobotomy. “You don’t know Barbara La Mer? How is that possible?” He looked at me like the lobotomy had been a massive failure. “She was a gigantic star in the eighties. She was in that movie ‘Woofable.’ You know, the one about the talking dogs and that series, what was it called?” He thought for a moment. “‘Every Silver Lining Has A Cloud’!”
“I’m pretty sure you just made that up. I’ve never heard of either of them.”
Ramesh ignored me as he was busy geeking out on his celebrity crush. “I had her posters all over my walls when I was a kid. I thought she was so sophisticated. I have to talk to her.”
Without waiting for me, or my opinion on what he was about to do, he stormed across the foyer. “Miss La Mer,” he screamed. “I’m such a big fan. It’s an honour to have you in our hotel.”
Behind reception, Kabir was looking worried. “I don’t have any record of the booking.”
“Forget the booking, uncle. This is Barbara La Mer! Put her in the best suite we have. And if there’s not one available, kick Izzy out of hers.” All starstruck, Ramesh looked over at his heroine. “Don’t worry, Miss La Mer. We’ll sort out this misunderstanding in no time.” It was odd to see him so efficient and businesslike.
“It’s about time someone with brains turned up,” La Mer said to her bodyguard. I thought perhaps I recognised the voice but her features were hidden by her hat and glasses.
“Of course,” Kabir added. “We’re not open to the public at the moment, but we’ll make an exception for you, Miss La Mer.”
“Izzy,” Ramesh shouted to me. “Take the luggage to the third floor and no dawdling.”
I was a bit put out that I’d ended up at the bottom rung of The Cova Negra staff ladder. Strangely overpowered by Ramesh’s orders I walked across to the flamboyant actress and carried her first two cases to the lift. I was about to return for the others when her bodyguard appeared, his face covered by a pair of large aviator sunglasses and his head down to guide the cases inside. I held the door open for him and Ramesh arrived with our celebrity guest.
“It’s such an honour,” he repeated and ushered her into the lift.
Bu-Bu La Mer’s hat was almost too big to fit inside. Two great peacock feathers arched across it and it instantly cleared a space around her like she wanted to ensure people kept their distance.
The door closed and Ramesh pressed the button for the third floor then instantly burst out laughing. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he screamed, “And that, Izzy Palmer, is the power of amateur dramatics!”
Bu-Bu La Mer pulled the hat from her head. “Hello, Izzy darling!”
“Mum? What are you doing here?”
She joined in with Ramesh’s noisy joy. “I came as soon as I heard. Ramesh called me this morning and we were on a plane in Gatwick by ten o’clock.”
“That does not explain what you’re doing here.” A thought suddenly occurred to me and I turned to her fake bodyguard. “Danny? Why would you go along with one of Mother’s ridiculous plans?”
Mum removed her equally oversized sunglasses. “Well Greg’s on a retreat this weekend. And somebody had to drive me to the airport.”
There wasn’t much I could say to that. The lift dinged and the door opened.
“You will be in the Celebrity Suite.” Ramesh had their key at the ready. “I don’t know why it’s called that. According to uncle no celebrities have ever stayed here.”
“Until now, darling,” my mother replied, waving her hat through the air with a flourish. “Until now!”
As Ramesh opened the door to the last remaining suite, Danny came to look at me. He put his hands on my shoulders then pulled me in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you, Iz. I really mean that.”
My tummy quaked, my muscles contracted and my brain felt all funny as he held me tighter. I was fourteen years old again. That’s the effect he could still have on me.
“It’s only been about three days, Danny.” I ducked out of the hug and hurried into the room in search of answers “Alright, Mum, you’ve got some explaining to do. I only told Ramesh about the first murder at eight thirty this morning, how did you have time to buy new luggage and clothes, get plane tickets and get to the airport so quickly?” An even more important question came to mind. “And how did you have time to coordinate a backstory for your characters with Ramesh?”
Mum wasn’t listening because she was too busy staring around in wonder at her hotel room. “Don’t worry about any of that, darling.” She spun her floppy hat through the air into her bedroom. “The important thing
is that we are here now and we can help you solve this murder.”
“Murders, plural, Rosie,” Ramesh corrected her. “Another one bit the dust this afternoon.”
Danny’s eyes grew three sizes bigger. “It wasn’t that Marco Romanelli bloke was it?”
“No, it was the journalist.” Ramesh slunk over to Danny conspiratorially. “You know, the one I told you about. Nice beard, poor dress sense.”
“Everybody, slow down.” I was still trying to figure out what they were doing there. “Mum, why are you pretending to be famous?”
“That was my idea, Izzy.” Ramesh was extremely proud of himself. “You’re always saying we need to be more methodical, well I am a method actor.” He put his arms out to the side like his audience had just demanded an encore.
“Yes, but why did you bother?”
He slumped down onto the sofa and, in two clicks of the remote, “World’s Grumpiest Animals” was back on. “Oh… dunno really. Just thought it would be fun.”
Mum stepped forward to elucidate. “And I went along with his plan because now I can go undercover at the hotel and find out everybody’s dirty little secrets.” She had returned to her deep southern accent. It was far superior to the New York one she had tried in the past.
Danny was still rushing around the place with his tail wagging. “I don’t want to freak anybody out, but I just peeked into the bathroom and we’ve got our own jacuzzi!”
“That’s nothing. Wait until you see the wardrobe!” Ramesh jumped up from the sofa to pull Danny into the bedroom.
It was always going to happen one day.
You said you were going to be silent!
Oh, come on. That was too good to resist!
While the boys checked out the ample storage space, I yanked my mother over to the balcony and shut the door behind us.
“Mum, what are you doing here? There have been two murders already, it might not be safe for you.”
She was too busy admiring the view to give me her full attention. “They wouldn’t dare kill me, darling. I’m British!”
I knew I would only lose such an argument so moved on to my next complaint. “I can’t believe you brought Danny here. You know I have a boyfriend.”
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