The Beatrice Stubbs Series Boxset One

by JJ Marsh

  “Cheers.” Beatrice took a careful sip, sensitive to her swollen mouth. Her eyes watered, not with pain but at the amount of gin. She glanced at the empty bottles on top of the fridge. Luz had used all four little Bombay Sapphires but only one bottle of tonic between them. No ice, no lemon. No-nonsense. Serious G&Ts. Beatrice approved.

  “But from what I understand, the controls make it impossible to substitute poor quality wine at the vineyard. So it must be at Alava Exports.”

  “Not impossible, but far more difficult. Alava Exports, on the other hand, can not only reproduce labels, but buy bulk loads of industrially produced white and market it as Rioja. Not in Spain. But my father takes great delight in conning ‘the country with no taste’, as he puts it. I am proud of my country, and even prouder of my region. We have a brilliant reputation for food and wine, deservedly so. I used to be proud of my family, too. Now, my father has bribed or blackmailed more and more vineyards into participating, coerced my sisters and their husbands into collaboration, paid officials at every level to ease his path through bureaucracy and built himself a persona based on bullshit. He has the wine industry by the balls. White Rioja, with the right blend of grapes from carefully tended vines and made with care and respect, is a wonderful wine. What my father and his cronies are doing is pissing all over its reputation. And I want you to stop them. I’m sorry for my bad language.”

  The sound of a text message dragged Beatrice’s attention from the impassioned face in front of her. She grabbed the phone, deflating as she saw Adrian’s name.

  Zilch happening. We’re bored.

  How much longer should we wait?

  Beatrice sent a rapid reply.

  A bit longer. I’ll get a taxi and come fetch you.

  She returned her attention to Luz. “Sorry about that. I hoped it might be news of Ana, but unfortunately not. And as a matter of fact, I think your language is entirely appropriate. So how do we proceed?”

  Luz took a long draught of her drink and gazed at Beatrice, before pulling a document file from her bag and handing it over.

  “I’m not proceeding. You are. You need proof and I can give it to you. The one thing I ask is that you do this through the proper channels. You must work with the police because this is far too dangerous to tackle alone. This trail goes all the way to the top and some very powerful people would do anything to stop this information becoming public.”

  Beatrice frowned as she flicked through the printouts of emails, spreadsheets and bank statements. Two memory sticks dropped onto the floor. “How did you get hold of all this?”

  “My father underestimates me.” She reached over and withdrew two pages of despatch schedules. “Call the police and get them to intercept any one of these deliveries. Tell them that according to your enquiries, you suspect the Aguirre brand of being a fake. They’ll get it tested and expose it for what it is. But you and I must be well out of the way. Please don’t think I’m being melodramatic. You must not put yourself at risk. You have no idea how far they’ll go.”

  Beatrice opened her mouth and closed it again. The police. If Aguirre, according to his daughter, had ‘paid officials at every level’, why should the police be exempt? Milandro had been deliberately obstructive and unhelpful, his supervising officer had made no secret of his dislike and despite two dead bodies and a missing person, no formal investigation had been launched to explore connections. Beatrice made up her mind to trust her instincts. She wouldn’t go it alone. But neither would she involve the Vitoria police. She looked at Luz.

  “OK. I’ll play it safe. But I have a question. Loyalty to the region and passion for wine is one thing, but to blow the whistle on your own father? Your own family? Is there more to this story?” Beatrice placed her drink on the table. The potent effects of the alcohol were more than she could take at the moment.

  Luz glanced at her watch and threw back the remainder of her gin. “Yes, there is. But it’s complicated and I need to catch my train. Here’s my card, but you can only call me if it’s really urgent. Remember, the trail cannot lead to me. He has no idea I can hack into his computer and if he suspected, he’d kill me. And that is not immature hyperbole. He would have me killed.”

  The cramping acidity in Beatrice’s stomach increased. “How do you know he didn’t follow you here?”

  “He’s not back till tomorrow. My mother has probably raised the alarm by now, but he won’t give up the chance of being on television to search for his daughter. He’s doing a live TV broadcast from Madrid this evening.” She gave Beatrice a sly smile. “Half past eight. You should watch it. He’s quite an entertainer. Listen, I have to go.”

  “I’ll come with you. I’ll walk you to the station. You don’t have to tell me the whole story; we could talk about the weather instead.”

  An oppressive fug hung over the streets. The blue sky and sunshine of the afternoon was replaced by thick cloud cover, trapping heat rising from concrete, a lid on a boiling pan. Almost as soon as they reached the last of the hotel steps and hit the street, Beatrice started to sweat. An ashen bank of thunderhead built over the edge of the city, a mushroom cloud before the explosion. Beatrice sensed the city’s inertia, leaden and in limbo, as it waited for the rain.

  They passed the Parque de la Florida and followed Calle Ramón y Cajal towards the station. Exhaustion caused by heat, tension and alcohol frayed Beatrice’s nerves. Every passer-by appeared suspect while Luz appeared intent on speed-walking, manoeuvring her suitcase and talking at the same time.

  “My father is a traditionalist. He is of another world. He’s a snob, a bigot and a bully. As far as he’s concerned, his daughters are only useful for making good marriages. My brother, Basajaun, will be the heir. My father tried to block me going to university, but my mother battled him on my behalf. She was very sick at that time and he gave in, to keep her happy. She’s pleased I’m getting an education, but even she knows I have no hope outside the Castelo de Aguirre network. When I finish my studies, I must get married. My parents have already chosen the shortlist. And every single one of them disgusts me. You know what, that gin’s gone right to my head.”

  Panting, Beatrice stopped. Speech was impossible at such a pace. “That’s barbaric. Nineteenth century sort of thing.”

  “I know, but it’s true. Come on. I can get the 19.35 if I’m lucky. What makes it worse is that I’ve met the man I want to spend my life with. But it’s a lost cause.”

  A flash caused them both to look up. The sky loomed lower and darker than before, the colour of dirty sheep, and a distant boom of thunder reached them.

  “Why?” asked Beatrice, scurrying to keep up.

  “My family ... let’s be diplomatic and call them xenophobes. Marrying anyone who is not Spanish and not Catholic is unthinkable. All the shortlisted candidates check both boxes, they’re mostly Basque, all rich and definitely influential. Tunçay is a Turkish Muslim whose family would be equally appalled by me. It’s hopeless.”

  “But surely ...”

  “We have another four years, until my degree ends. Then we must separate. We understand that, which is why we’re making the most of every day. I can never be free to marry him, I know it. But I can be free of my father’s choices. Mierda, it’s raining. You should turn back.”

  Beatrice lifted her face to the sky, allowing fat dollops of rain to fall on her flushed face. “No, I’ll see you onto the train. I want to know you’re safe. Anyway, we’re almost there.”

  Rain fell harder and faster, bouncing off the steaming tarmac, darkening Luz’s shirt and soaking Beatrice’s hair. They rushed across the street, splashing and gasping as they reached the station building. Beatrice wiped her forehead with a wet hand and shook herself. Luz pulled out some tissues and handed one to Beatrice. Her eye make-up had run, so black teardrops stained her cheeks.

  “Just made it. Do you have a ticket?” Beatrice asked, mopping her eyebrows.

  Luz patted her handbag. “I’m all prepared. Thank you for listening to
me. I wish you luck with exposing all this corruption. Please be careful and don’t tell anyone about me. I’m trusting you.” She bent to kiss Beatrice on both cheeks. “And I hope your friend will be fine.”

  “So do I. Take care, Luz. I’ll do everything in my power to bring this to light. Don’t worry, I always protect my sources. I appreciate your trust.”

  Luz smiled, which did nothing to change her sad, stoic air, and made her own way onto the platform. She stamped her ticket at the machine, gave one last wave and heaved her case onto the train. With a sigh, Beatrice turned to look out at the weather. Glittering curtains of rain blurred the hectic scene of taxis and rushing commuters, thunder cracked away to her right and the smell of drenched streets and soggy people surrounded her. Regardless of how wet she got, she had to get back to the hotel. She took a deep breath, wrinkling her nose at the stench of pungent tobacco and launched herself into the deluge.

  Chapter 34

  “This is getting ridiculous.”

  Matthew pressed himself further against the tree trunk and looked up at the drips falling between the leaf cover. “How much longer does she expect us to stand out here in the rain? We don’t even know what we’re supposed to be looking for.”

  Adrian sighed. “This is the reality of detective work, Matthew. Long, dull hours of surveillance. It can’t be all car chases and shoot-outs, you know.”

  Matthew shot him a dour look. “I yearn for neither vehicular action nor gun-play. A cup of tea and a warm towel, however, would be most welcome. The point is, we offered our services as consultant oenologists. Why then, are we squashed against some Spanish foliage spying on a deserted warehouse? She’s taking advantage.”

  Thunder rumbled like barrels across a wooden floor. Water trickled down Adrian’s neck and he began to have some sympathy for Matthew’s perspective.

  “Look, it’s almost half past eight now. What with the thunderstorm, we can’t see much, so by nine o’clock, we may as well pack up and go back to the hotel. I admit to feeling in need of some creature comforts as well. Thirty minutes more, and if she hasn’t arrived by then, you can call us a taxi.”

  Matthew inhaled and released a theatrical sigh-groan. “There has to be a reason you are so unwaveringly loyal. Fair enough, I hitched my wagon to her cattle train many moons past. But why does an urbane, gay sophisticate with a taste for Rodgers and Hammerstein carry such allegiance to a woman who with the best will in the world could be called difficult?”

  A brilliant flash lit the sky, allowing a glimpse of sooty plum-coloured clouds, starkly exposed trees and the bald expanse of nothing in the car park of Alava Exports.

  Adrian considered. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about that. If I had to define it, I’d say I can see qualities in her I wish I had. But she’s also very much like me in other elements. We both have gluttonous, lustful appetites and indulge them without apology. Maybe we just see enough similarities to attract and enough differences to respect. Put it this way, I’ve never wanted to unfriend her.”

  Matthew looked at him. “An eloquent explanation, with the exception of that bastardisation of the English language in those final words. It does go some way to explaining your companionship, but why do you literally endanger yourself on her behalf? You could be at home right now, watching ... I don’t know ... The King and I while sampling something delicious from the wine rack. Why are you standing in the damp gloom of a Spanish thunderstorm watching an empty car park ... oh, hello. What’s that?”

  Adrian followed Matthew’s sightline, as a discreet sedan eased into the yard below them, pulling up beside the raised delivery bays. Still and silent, they watched as a tall, dark-haired man exited the car and climbed the steps to the huge doors. He seemed unaware of the rain, moving at an unhurried pace. He bent for a few seconds and a normal-sized door shape appeared in the corner of the massive shutter. Adrian hadn’t even noticed it before.

  The figure turned and scanned the area from the shelter of the eaves. Adrian held his breath and sensed Matthew doing the same. From such a distance, it was impossible to be sure exactly where he was looking, but both exhaled as he loped back down the steps and opened the back door of the car. Another man stepped out, who could have been the first’s twin from this distance; same height, build and colouring. However, number two seemed more perturbed by the weather, holding his hand up to shield his eyes as he too spent several seconds checking the empty landscape. Adrian prayed the lightning would hold off.

  Satisfied, the second man ducked back into the car. He heard Matthew’s sharp inhalation as he dragged a young woman with long dark hair from the interior. One man either side of her, she was bundled up the steps, through the black opening and into the warehouse. As the door closed, Adrian struggled to contain his panic and motioned to Matthew with his eyes. Retreat.

  He slipped backwards behind the tree, moving as gradually and subtly as he could manage. Once hidden in deeper foliage, he spoke.

  “That was Ana. And she was not a willing guest.”

  Matthew’s face sagged. “That’s what I thought. So we’ve found Ana, but where’s Beatrice?”

  Adrian hit redial before Matthew had finished. The phone rang and rang. And went to voicemail. A flare of anger superseded his nerves.

  “Where the hell are you? We’ve just seen two men take Ana into the warehouse. I hope you’re already in a taxi, Beatrice Stubbs, that’s all I can say.”

  He rang off and stared at Matthew. “Listen, I know what we promised, but I am not going to stand here and wait for instructions while those gorillas do what they want with that girl. We have no choice but to help.”

  “I agree.”

  Busy building up a head of righteous steam, Adrian was wrong-footed by Matthew’s acquiescence.

  “Oh. Good. So?”

  “Call the police. Adrian, we are horribly under-prepared for any kind of encounter with the criminal element. We may well put Ana in worse danger than she already is. I know Beatrice mistrusts that one particular detective, but she’s not available to advise us. In the circumstances, we have to call for professional help. We saw a woman forced into a building against her will by two men. Regardless of Beatrice’s investigation, that is cause for alarm.”

  Adrian could see the logic. He desperately wanted to burst into that warehouse and stop them, but Matthew was right. Ana’s safety came first.

  “We must dial 999 immediately. Or whatever number they use here.”

  “112. The European Union countries all use the same. Apart from Britain, of course.”

  Adrian hesitated and dialled Beatrice one last time.

  This time, she picked up. “Hello Adrian, I ...”

  “Where are you?”

  “Just got out of the shower. I got soaked on the way back from the train station. I’m just getting dressed and then I’ll call a cab. Be with you in a short while. Are you terribly wet?”

  “Beatrice, did you listen to my message?”

  “No, not yet. It’s like Piccadilly Circus here. I have five missed calls and now the bloody doorbell’s ringing. What was your message?”

  “They’ve got Ana. Matthew and I saw two men take her into the Alava Exports warehouse. We have to do something! Matthew and I think we should call the police. Immediately.”

  He waited for a reply.

  “Beatrice! Beatrice?”

  Matthew’s eyes bore into him and he pressed the headset so hard to his ear that it hurt.

  “Bea ...”

  “Sorry, Adrian, I had to open the door. Could you repeat what you just said?”

  “Two men, lookalike Sopranos rejects, took Ana into Alava Exports through the delivery bay. She is in there now. With them. On her own. Beatrice ...”

  “That’s not Ana.”

  Adrian took the handset from his ear to stare at it in disbelief.

  “And how do you know ...”

  “Because she’s standing right here.”

  Chapter 35

  Beatrice s
tared at the girl in the doorway, transfixed. A lift pinged along the corridor and broke the spell. She pulled Ana into the room, locked the door and attached the chain. Then she grabbed her in a tight hug and felt Ana squeeze back. Somehow, the pain of squashed bruises seemed insignificant. She released her with a smile and lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Ana’s right here. How long ago did you see them take that woman inside the building?”

  Ana stared at her, listening intently. She mouthed ‘Who is it?’

  Beatrice mouthed back. ‘Adrian.’

  Adrian sounded indignant. “Just now! Two, maybe three minutes ago.”

  “Then it couldn’t have been Ana.”

  “Well, it was someone who looked exactly like her.”

  All the blood seemed to drain from Beatrice’s body. Her hand felt weak and cold as if the effort of holding a tiny Nokia was too much.

  “Thing is, Beatrice, whoever it was, she was forced to go in there, so we have to call the police,” Adrian hissed through clenched teeth.

  Beatrice shook her head. “No. If I’m right, it was the police who tipped them off. I think the woman they’ve got is Luz, Aguirre’s daughter. She came to see me today and Milandro was here when she arrived. He must have called Aguirre’s thugs as soon as he left the hotel. But I put her on the train myself!”

  “His daughter?” Ana’s eyes were incredulous. “He’d never set those bastards on his own daughter, surely to God?”

  Beatrice paced the room, searching for her shoes and talking to Ana and Adrian at the same time. “He would. She told me so herself. But he can’t do anything yet, he’s still in Madrid. Ana, put the telly on. Listen, Adrian, we can’t call the police. They’re in this up to their necks. But we absolutely have to get Luz out of there before Aguirre gets back. I’ll call Jaime and see if he can’t find us some reinforcements. And then I’m taking this to Interpol, to expose this bloody nasty little boys’ club for the greedy, murderous cabal that it is. I’m on my way, but please don’t do a thing till I get there. I’m serious. It’s too dangerous.”