by Ricki Thomas
His boss mulled the idea for a short while, sipping his coffee, and eating several biscuits, before nodding. “Supongo que eso suena probablemente. Guarde el caso en archivo, y marqúelo como sin resolver. Si conseguimos nunca un fósforo de la DNA, we’ve consiguió a nuestro hombre.”
“Mujer, Sir.” Garcia kicked himself for not having mentioned the DNA was from a female, also wishing he’d not corrected his superior, he was bound to consider a woman burglar too unusual to warrant filing the case as unsolved. So close!
The large man, excess fat rippling through the stretched buttons of his white shirt, balding head reflecting the fluorescent light, eyed Garcia, his mind ticking this new information over, pondering if his officer’s time was better spent on other work. To Garcia, the seconds seemed like hours, and he was on tenterhooks when his boss finally concluded the conversation. “Archívelo.” He let his breath out, and grinned with relief.
Garcia headed back to his office, a spring in his step now he no longer needed to investigate the death, and bragged the news to his colleagues. They had all guessed he would try and offload the file as soon as possible, he hated foreigners with a passion, he never failed to ensure everybody knew it, and being put in charge of the murder of a British girl was inappropriate. Benita Lopéz was furious, pointing out that the lock to the flat wasn’t damaged, so an intruder couldn’t have gained entry without either having a key, or being invited in by Victoria, both of which would suggest the girl knew her killer. Garcia waved his hand, dismissive, channelling his irritation to the woman with his glare. “Extranjeros sangrientos! Beben demasiado, they’re violento, y they’re estúpido. Césped Victoria Halliday!”
Benita returned his stare, before throwing her paperwork onto the desk and storming out, prepared to aggravate her colleague by challenging his conclusion with their superior.
Minutes later she returned, strode to Garcia’s desk, and proudly informed him that the decision to archive the murder had been reversed, and she was now the official investigating officer. Having relayed her triumphant victory over the sexist man she despised, Benita took the file and left the office, intent on finding out as much about Victoria, her life, and her death, as she could.
Bob had managed to catch four hours sleep on the sofa, and woke feeling renewed, to the delicious aroma of bacon, and he smiled in anticipation of his favourite lunch. He trotted through to the kitchen and greeted Maureen and Darren, taking the plate laden with bacon butties, which Maureen handed him. “We were just discussing how we’re going to get the baby away from Sophie, get her back here where she belongs.”
Bob, guilt rising, grabbed a roll from the plate and took a large bite, avoiding having to reply to the statement. Darren continued. “I still think we should tell the hospital about Sophie’s drinking during the pregnancy. It must have affected the baby somehow, has to have, otherwise they wouldn’t say in all the books that you shouldn’t have alcohol in pregnancy. It’s common sense.”
Maureen took a butty, nibbling at the crust. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I suppose that’s our best option, really. I mean, other than snatch the baby, or kidnap her with her mother, what other choice do we have?” She and Darren laughed, Bob taking another gigantic bite to avoid being part of the conversation, praying he would get a call from Sophie soon so they could end this ridiculous plotting, and, by coincidence, the phone began to ring. Dropping his food onto the plate, Bob raced through to the living room to answer.
Less than a minute later he returned, grabbed the half eaten roll, taking a bite, and took his car keys from the basket on the kitchen side. “I’ve just got to go out for a short while.” He pecked Maureen on the cheek. “I’ll be a couple of hours at most.”
Confused, Bob rarely went anywhere without her, Maureen grabbed his arm, tugging him back. “Where are you going?”
Expecting the question, although disconcerted it had been asked, he issued the lie he’d already prepared. “That was Paul, he needs help with moving some furniture. Back soon.” He rushed away before Maureen could continue her interrogation.
The front door slammed, the gate squeaked open and closed, and Bob’s car started up. Maureen, her lips tightened, angry yellow eyes her son had inherited from her flashing, growled suspiciously. “He’s lying, Darren. Paul went to the UK yesterday for his daughter’s wedding. I’m going to find out what’s going on.”
Retrieving the phone, she brought up the call list, and dialled the last number received.
Sophie, fully dressed and eager to get home, was in the ward’s day room, her packed suitcase by the chair, alongside the baby car seat containing her sleeping daughter. The public phone she’d just used began to trill, and she glanced around, unsure whether to answer or not. But the incessant ringing was disturbing Jaimee, which resolved the quandary. She picked up the receiver. “Hello, can I help you”
The line went dead, and back at the villa, Maureen was already on her way out, explaining to Darren where he was about to drive her as she marched huffily through the door. She could recognise Sophie’s dulcet voice anywhere.
Bob arrived sooner than Sophie had expected, he grabbed her suitcase and she lifted the car seat, making their way swiftly through the maze of corridors to the car park. Having strapped Jaimee into the back, Sophie climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. “Have you got the passport?”
Bob reached into his trouser pocket, shifting awkwardly, and showed her the book. “Where are we going, then?”
“Head back towards Puerto de Pollenca, I’ll show you where to go.”
As Bob was pulling out of the car park, Darren’s van was approaching the entrance. Without checking the traffic, Darren screeched into a u-turn, the surrounding drivers slamming on their brakes to avoid colliding with him, and ended up three cars behind Bob’s. He gave chase. “He’s got Sophie in the car, Mam. What’s he playing at?”
“I don’t know, but I’m bloody well going to find out!” Her lips were still pursed, ochre eyes still flashing.
In the wing mirror, Sophie had noticed the van, alerted by the dangerous manoeuvre, and she realised that Darren and his mother were in pursuit. Irked at having been taken in by Bob’s lies, she realised she dare not direct him to the villa in El Vilar to furnish the Delaneys with her new address.
Benita strolled from the bar, dropping her notepad, loaded with information and gossip about Vicki, as she had liked to be known, into her pocket. She’d been to the Café Parisio, and gleaned from the Irish owner that Vicki had been a regular at Blakes Bar, so, after questioning him, in her pigeon English, about his deceased employee, she’d headed to the bar to see what else she could uncover about the girl. The clientele who had been inside had been very receptive to her questions, tongues loosened from their drinking sessions.
She already knew that Vicki had been having an affair with a married man, which made his wife the number one suspect, but, according to the notes, she’d had a baby the previous day, which made the scenario of her popping out to murder the mistress highly unlikely. However, she’d still need a DNA sample to rule her out.
According to her fair-weather drinking buddies, Vicki didn’t have the best of reputations, she’d been a promiscuous girl who had no respect for the sanctity of marriage, and the possibility of one of the spouses of a former sexual partner being involved was high. It was a can of worms.
She decided to head for Darren Delaney’s apartment, scrape his wife’s cheek for some DNA, and see if Darren had the names of any of the men Vicki had slept with before meeting him.
Harry and I had been to visit Sophie and Jaimee early in the morning, and she had assured them that she didn’t need us to help her home later, explaining the visit from Bob, and that he was prepared to return her passport, much to our relief.
At Sophie’s request, Harry had been trying to find a solicitor to use for several purposes: initially to draw up the visitation agreement that Bob wanted; and subsequently they would need an ally who could help
them complete the troublesome tasks of registering Jaimee’s birth, applying for a British passport; and lastly, to begin divorce proceedings. He eventually found a man named Carlos Gutierrez who was confident he could assist with all of the issues stated, and, as a bonus, he spoke fluent English.
Harry made an appointment with him for the next day, and his mind was set to rest, enabling him to have a relaxing lunch interval in my company, the woman he planned to propose to once all the drama was over, not that I knew that then.
As he was driving, Bob was becoming more confused as they neared Puerto de Pollenca. “We assumed you’d moved away from there, we haven’t seen you or your father, and we’re out and about a lot.”
Sophie chuckled. “Well, we haven’t been going out and about, that’s probably why you haven’t seen us.” When she told him to stop outside the Montaña Vista Apartments, Bob’s anger began to rise, sure now that he was being duped.
“Sophie, you’re not telling me that you’ve been in the same block as Darren! Just remember I still have your passport, so I don’t want any funny business.”
Sophie climbed out of the car and unbuckled the baby seat, as Bob retrieved her suitcase from the boot, and he followed as she confidently strutted into the building. Behind them, the van had also parked, and Maureen and Darren followed, equally bemused, at a short distance. Taking the lift to the fourth floor, Sophie and Bob stepped out onto the foyer, and Darren, having seen the level they’d exited on, the floor of his apartment, ran up the steps, two at a time, leaving Maureen behind to wait for the lift to return to the ground floor.
As Sophie stopped outside the familiar flat she’d inhabited for several months, and pulled the keys from her bag, Bob lost his temper. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Sophie, we had an agreement.”
She opened the door and took the baby inside. “Yes, Bob. We had an agreement. An agreement that didn’t involve Darren and Maureen following us.” She glared at him, her defiance blistering.
In his confusion, Bob glanced back and saw Darren racing towards him. “Darren! What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing!” Darren grabbed his father’s shirt and dragged him into the apartment, angry yet bewildered.
“Why did you go and pick Sophie up without…” A light tapping on the door stunted the question, and Darren shouted back, irked. “Come in, Mam, you don’t have to knock.”
“Darren Delaney?”
He spun round to the unfamiliar voice, laden with a heavy accent, and was astounded to see the uniformed Benita. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you lot again. You already know it wasn’t me, so what do you want now?”
“May we sit?” Benita was making her way confidently across the flat, and Darren followed, alongside his curious father. Sophie settled the baby seat on the floor, Jaimee still sleeping peacefully, and stood, arms crossed, listening. Benita caught her eye. “Sophie Delaney?”
“Yes.”
“This needs you also. Come.” The four adults sat on the two sofas, Sophie and Bob puzzled, Darren angry. “And you? Who are you?” Noticing that Benita’s eyes were now gazing beyond them, all thee turned to see Maureen striding through the door.
She was instantly nervous, uncomfortable with the policewoman’s presence. “I’m, er, my name’s Maureen. I’m Darren’s mam.”
Waving the older woman over. “Come. You sit.” She did as she was told, and now Benita was ready to explain.
“This is for Vicki Halliday, our tests of forence, er, how you say?”
“Forensic.” Maureen’s heart was beating rapidly in her chest.
“Forensic show Vicki was, er, kill by woman, so, er, Sophie, we need your DNA sample, please.” She dug two containers from her belt-bag, unscrewing the lid of one, revealing a cotton bud attached to the inside. She waved it at Sophie. “Your mouth, please.” Sophie leant across the table, mouth wide, and the officer scraped the inside of her cheek, replacing the bud in the bottle and writing on the label. She turned to Maureen. “We take you, also, please.”
Maureen stood up, disgusted. “No, you bloody well don’t! We’ve already told you we were all here last night, we have alibis, so you can stuff your bloody cotton bud up your jacksy!”
“You have the alibi, you have not to worry. Please.”
Maureen turned, stomping towards the door, furious on the outside, terrified on the inside. “You want my DNA, you bloody get a warrant.”
In a swift movement Benita had caught up with her, and slammed handcuffs around her wrists. Maureen stopped in her tracks, stunned. “What the hell are you doing?” Bob’s head bowed down, he didn’t want to see any more, whilst Darren and Sophie both followed the events, incredulous.
“You don’t give sample here, you give in station.”
“Okay! Okay! I’ll give you the bloody sample, just get these bloody things off me.”
Bob sat still, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. The police must have found DNA at the scene, and his wife’s was going to match it, but all they had to do was say she was a frequent visitor of Vicki’s, that would explain the hairs, or whatever. It would be okay. He instructed himself to calm down, stop fretting, and by the time Benita had her sample and had left, he felt no need to be concerned, reasoning that he was only worrying so much because he knew of her guilt. He resolved to burn the clothes she’d been wearing the previous evening later.
“What was all that about, Mam?”
She hesitated, remembering Sophie’s presence. “Nothing, baby, it just feels like Big Brother, having my personal details on a criminal database, it’s ludicrous! Now, let’s get back to what’s going on, shall we? Robert Delaney, you lied to me. Had you forgotten that Paul’s gone to his daughter’s wedding?” Bob’s head fell again, angry at his memory playing up. “Obviously you had. So you went to pick Sophie up, behind our backs. I think it’s about time you told me just what you’re up to.”
It rapidly dawned on Sophie that Bob hadn’t lied to her, that he had intended to take her home without divulging her whereabouts to his family. “He can tell you later, Maureen. Jaimee’s going to wake for a feed soon, and I want to get back home. Bob, you can drive me. You two,” she glared at both Maureen and Darren, “had better stay here, or I’m going to direct Bob to the police station and tell them all about you stealing my passport.”
“Bob, you’re staying right here. And so is she!” Maureen was impudent.
Sophie’s eyes widened. “You can’t keep me here, you stupid woman! Have you lost your marbles, or something! You’re crazy.”
Pointing at the car seat, Jaimee still asleep for now, but squirming. “That, young lady, is my grandchild, my Darren’s daughter. You are not taking her anywhere.”
Bob stood up, he’d never challenged Maureen throughout their entire marriage, but he was fed up with the whole situation. They hadn’t come to Mallorca for this, and it had gone too far. “Come on, Sophie, I’ll take you home. Don’t try to follow us, because if you do, I’ll be forced to tell the police about the blood-stained clothing of yours in the linen basket. I know what you did, Maureen, and I think it’s about time that you admitted you need some help.”
After Bob, Sophie and Jaimee left, the flat fell silent: Maureen shocked, and distraught that Bob had discovered what she’d done; and Darren, unable to fully comprehend the implications of his father’s threat.
Five minutes ticked by. Ten. Fifteen. Finally Darren managed to get his tongue to form the words he didn’t want to say. “You killed Vicki?”
Maureen’s lips tightened, and she became defensive. “I did it for you, baby, so you could keep your baby here.”
Darren waved his hands, shaking his head. “Oh no, don’t try and offload your guilt on to me, Mam.” He stood, bitter, stomping to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. Through habit he poured a wine for his mother, bringing the refreshments and the bottle of brandy back to the table. “How could you do that, Mam, what on earth possessed you?”
“It was an accident, baby, just an accident…”
“No!” He was angry now. And desperately confused. And scared. “No. I saw her body. And the police showed me photos of her body when they were trying to get me to confess, and that scene, that bloodbath, that was no accident. She was a right state, she was hacked to pieces. You tell me the truth or I’ll never let you see my child again!”
Maureen sighed deeply, her neat little world falling apart around her, and she licked her lips, preparing herself. “I went to her apartment to try and get the passport back, and she wouldn’t give it to me. She started saying that you’d given her the black eyes, and she was going to give it back to Sophie, said she deserved it. Well, she kept taunting me about you hitting her when I said you weren’t the type of bloke to hit a woman, over and over, she was going, and eventually I snapped. We all have a breaking point.”
Darren’s face twisted into a pained sneer. “But murder, Mam, this was murder.”
“It wasn’t like that for me. I just wanted her to shut up, to stop saying those awful things about you. I don’t know how it happened. I remember seeing the knife, and the next thing she was on the floor, blood going everywhere. It all happened so quickly. I don’t know.”