“That will do you.” Claire helped him park.
As they opened the wide wooden door Stuart expected to see a reception area with a second door leading to Don Pedro’s, but it led them straight into the bar. He scanned the bar for a sign to the reception. All he could see were three other doors, one with a sign depicting a man’s head smoking a pipe, another with a woman’s shape in a long flowing dress, and a third labelled Privado. There were about nine customers, all of them men. Upbeat pop music was playing in the background.
Catching the eye of a dark haired middle-aged man behind the bar, Stuart asked: “Excuse me, can you tell me where the hotel entrance is?”
“Detrás.” The barman pointed behind Stuart.
Stuart looked back at the door they had just come through.
“Ah. Can you tell me where the reception is then?”
“Aquí.”
“So we check into our room here?”
“Sí.”
“My name Stuart Doyle.” He pulled out his passport. “I have reservation.”
“Por favor, speak normal.” The barman took hold of his right ear lobe. “I hear English good.” He then put his fingertips to his mouth and fanned them out from it. “No speak good. Sometimes forget the…”
“Word.” Stuart helped him out.
The barman laughed, along with two men sitting at a small table nearby.
“Welcome, I have been expecting you.”
“Ah, you’re the gentleman I spoke to on the phone,” Stuart smiled in an attempt to hide his embarrassment at the joke made at his expense.
“Would you like the first floor or the second floor? The second floor is quieter at night. We do not close the bar until well after midnight.”
“I never said this on the phone, but I am an English police officer.” First he laid his warrant card down on the bar and then held up a photo of Alice Evans.
“That is Alice, the blonde English lady. I remember her. She is a very good dancer.”
“Good. Do you remember which room she stayed in?”
“For five nights she stayed in room twenty-four with a dark Englishman.”
“No, I think she stayed seven nights,” Stuart corrected him.
“Five nights in room twenty-four, and two nights in the village.”
“Perhaps you might tell me more about that later. But for now, is it possible for us to have room twenty-four?”
“But of course. Only room twelve is occupied at the moment.” The barman turned his back on Stuart and opened the top drawer of four in a unit sitting below two rows of shelves containing beer and wine glasses. He then turned back holding up a key with a large brass fob attached to it. “Habitación doble, dos-cuatro.” He smiled at Claire. “Through the door.” He pointed at the door marked Privado. “Up two sets of stairs. There are only four rooms on each floor. Yours is the end one on the second floor.”
“Actually, could we have two beers before we go up? It’s been quite a journey.” Stuart picked up his warrant card and put it away. “Will you want to keep the passport for a while?”
“Yes please. Just leave it there. San Miguel or Al Hambra?”
“Two San Miguels please.” Stuart perched himself on a bar stool and made eye contact with Claire.
“Would you like me to join you detective?” whispered Claire.
“Yes please Watson.”
When the barman returned with their beers, Stuart asked: “Would you have a computer I can send and receive emails on?”
“Yes, in the office. Two euros an hour. And one euro for every four pages you print.”
“Right. And can you supply receipts?”
“But of course. Receipts cost twenty euros,” laughed the barman.
“You said that...”
“One moment.” The barman placed a cognac glass on the bar and tipped a generous quantity of Soberano into it. He then delivered it to an elderly gentleman wearing a checked shirt and braces who was sitting at a table under the television.
“For God’s sake Stuart, offer the man a beer before you start interrogating him,” said Claire.
“Sorry, I guess I need to remember I am on foreign soil.”
“That’s right. There’s no point in alienating the people here within an hour of your arrival.”
“It’s good to have you with me.”
“It’s good to be here, despite the fact that you made me eat dust earlier.” Claire smiled and leant forward to give him a peck on the cheek.
“Can I buy you a beer?” asked Stuart when the barman returned.
“Yes, a bottle of Al Hambra would be good. I recommend it, it is better than San Miguel.” He bent down and pulled a bottle from the fridge, closed the fridge door, and popped the top off his beer.
“My name is Claire.” She held out her hand.
“Alfonso.” He took hold of her hand gently. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” replied Claire.
“You are not here for pleasure?” said Alfonso, still looking at Claire.
Just as Stuart was about to reply Claire said: “Some pleasure, but also some business.”
“Police business, yes?”
“Yes,” said Stuart quickly. “I am afraid I am here as part of an investigation into Alice’s death.”
“Alice is dead?” Alfonso looked shocked.
“Yes, I am afraid so. Possibly suicide, but maybe not.”
“No, not suicide. Alice was such a happy girl, except when… No, not suicide.”
“Except when what, Alfonso?” asked Claire, much to Stuart’s annoyance.
“The man she was with. They argue half way through their stay. I think it was the Miércoles, Wednesday. They came back here after dinner. The man Hasem, he only had one beer and he went up to the room.”
“So Alice stayed in the bar on her own?” Stuart picked up the questioning.
“Not on her own. She was with us. We cheered her up. And then she cheered us up.”
“Explain what you are saying please Alfonso.”
“Alice, she danced to the music. Very sexy. We said she should try flamenco dancing. The next night she wore the flamenco dress. She danced with a fan. She was not so good at flamenco, but it was a good time.” Alfonso lifted his bottle to his mouth. There was a small glint in his eye, but also a look of sadness across his face.
“Were those the two nights Alice did not stay here?” Stuart took a gulp from his glass.
“Young Pepé was the lucky man.”
Claire sensed Stuart was about to ask for the young man’s address. “Will Pepé be in tonight?” she injected sharply.
“Pepé is in every night. He will arrive at ten, or maybe ten-fifteen.”
“Thank you.” Claire lifted her glass. Alfonso clinked his bottle against it.
Stuart joined in the chinking somewhat reluctantly; there were a thousand questions he wanted to ask, but they would have to wait.
The first thing Claire did after entering the small stuffy room was to open the patio door and step out onto the balcony. “Verde Vista indeed,” she said aloud as she looked out onto a mosaic of green olive groves and white villas with royal blue swimming pools. The land dropped downhill. It was peppered with grey jagged rocks with precariously rooted trees growing out of them.
As she breathed in the fresh air, Stuart’s hand nestled on her right buttock. “It seems our Alice was quite a one,” he said.
“Why else would you book this place?”
“Is that a woman’s perspective as well?”
“There does not seem to be too much else to do here. Even I am starting to wish I had packed a couple of books to read while you’re out playing detective. And it doesn’t look like a place where you can buy an English book, does it? Not what I was expecting at all.”
“Don’t worry, I doubt that it will take more than a day or two.”
“Oh, I won’t really be in a hurry to get back home. I am sure we can indulge in the same form of entertainment now a
nd again. Perhaps a night or two in Nerja before we fly back might give me something to look forward to.”
“Maybe one night, but I don’t think George will accept me loitering out here longer than necessary. Two would be pushing it.”
“Stuart, promise me you will at least try to push it.” She rotated round to kiss him. “After all, you are meant to be on leave.”
“Okay, it might involve a few porkies, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“You do that. Debbie said if you find a sheltered spot out of the wind, sometimes it can still be hot enough to sunbathe topless at this time of year.”
“Trust Debbie to know that,” laughed Stuart.
“She has her uses. And don’t forget, if I couldn’t rely on her to run the agency while I’m away, you would be here all on your lonesome.”
“To Debbie.” Stuart lifted the bottle he had brought up with him, and took a mouthful of beer.
“To Debbie. And all who sail in her.”
Some beer escaped through Stuart’s lips as he tried to swallow and laugh at the same time.
“Has she still not got a steady?” he asked.
“She’s been with Luke for a couple of months now, but I am not planning on buying a hat just yet. Still, she seems happy enough.”
“Good. Despite my jokes about her in the past, she deserves to be happy.”
“Everyone deserves to be happy Stuart.”
“Except the bastard that pushed Alice over the balcony.”
“Mmm, except the bastard that pushed Alice over the balcony.”
Their evening meal was taken at what looked like the best restaurant in the village, La Bodega. Although there was a cool breeze blowing across it, they chose to eat on the terrace outside at tables with blue tablecloths clamped onto them. Just as Stuart was sharing out the last dregs of red wine from the bottle, a tall gentleman approached and sat down on one of the two vacant chairs.
“Good to see you again,” said the man as he extended his hand out to a confused-looking Stuart. “Juan Gomez. We met this morning.”
“I almost didn’t recognise you out of uniform,” chipped in Claire, hoping Stuart would now realise who it was.
“Ah, you’re the officer who attended our little accident.” Stuart lifted his bum a few inches off his seat and firmly shook the policeman’s hand.
“I live just down the road.” He turned to Claire and partially bowed. “Good evening madam.”
“Good evening sir.” She raised her almost empty glass his way.
“Listen, can I get you a drink to say thank you for your help earlier?” Stuart turned to look for the waitress.
“No. Thank you, but no.”
“I telephoned the hire company, and they hope to have someone up here to fix the lights by tomorrow. The dent in the wing might have to wait a bit longer. I shan’t be driving it again until at least the lights are fixed.”
“Not a problem Mr Doyle. You are an unfortunate victim of our curvy roads, and one of our faster drivers.”
“I have to say, I did think he was going a bit fast.”
“But can we prove it?” The Spanish officer shrugged.
“Maybe not. Not to worry though, I paid for full insurance when I hired the car.”
“No sir, I am here to offer you my help once more. I spoke with Alfonso earlier. You are investigating a murder, yes?”
“Possible murder, yes. It could also be a suicide.”
“I think an English police officer does not travel fifteen hundred kilometres to investigate a suicide.”
“Did you cross paths with Alice?” asked Stuart.
“I saw her around the village. We do not get many women with short blond hair in our village. She was very noticeable. What brings you here? What possible evidence can you find?”
“Before I arrived I didn’t know what I was looking for, I was just hoping to find something. I now know she had an argument with the man she was here with, the same man she was with the morning of her death. Hopefully I will find out what that argument was about. Who knows what else might come out of the woodwork.”
“Pardon. I did not understand what you say.”
Stuart thought for a moment. “Oh, out of the woodwork. That means unexpected or hidden.”
“Ah, I understand. You hope to find something that is hidden.”
“Well, something like that, yes.”
“May I bid you goodnight. Should you need my help, Alfonso will tell you where I am.”
“Thank you.” Stuart stood to shake his hand again. “Good night.”
“Goodnight officer,” said Claire, and then watched him walk down the four stone steps onto the road.
“That was good of him, wasn’t it?” stated Claire.
“I’m not so sure it wasn’t a ‘you’re on my patch, talk to me first’ routine.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that. Mmm, maybe.”
“Anyway, it wouldn’t pay to alienate him. We might need his help with something, you never know. I think I will go inside to pay the bill. I haven’t seen that waitress in at least twenty minutes.”
“You do that. I’m going to find the ladies. I’m not sure the ones at Don Pedro’s will be up to much.”
By the time Claire came out of the toilet, Stuart was standing by the door.
“All paid up?” she asked.
“Yep, and I left a tip as well.”
“I’m not sure I am fancying this. Another bottle of wine here would have suited me better.”
“There’s work to be done.” Stuart pulled open the door and held it for her.
“I know. I was just starting to relax, that’s all.”
“We’ll have some more us time soon enough. I’m actually quite intrigued to meet this Pepé guy.”
“Come on then, let’s go and meet him.” Claire led the way out of the restaurant.
The music coming from Don Pedro’s sounded loud enough from the street; inside it was almost deafening. Two young men stood up from their table by the door and gestured for Stuart and Claire to take their seats. At first they declined, but the two men walked away, thus ending the debate.
“Thank you,” said Claire to their backs, knowing she would not be heard.
The tables and chairs at the far end of the bar had been moved to create a dance floor which a couple in their late sixties were making use of. Their dancing was awful, but no one seemed to mind. It was clear they were enjoying themselves.
“I guess this is the village hotspot,” shouted Claire with one hand up to her mouth.
“I think you’re right,” Stuart shouted back.
“And over there is our Pepé.” Claire pointed to a young man standing at the bar with a long blue drink with plenty of ice in. His muscular upper body was stretching the fabric of his white T-shirt to its limits. His jeans were almost as tight and left Claire wondering if the bulge in his crotch was real, or if he had a sock stuffed down there. The man’s narrow dark sideburns thinned down to a point just above his clearly defined jawline.
Stuart leant forward to within inches of Claire’s head. “How do you know that’s Pepé?”
“Believe me Stuart, if we had an argument and I was looking for the comfort of a stranger’s bed, his would be the most comfortable bed around these parts.” She moved her head forward to kiss him on the lips. “You’re incredibly fit looking darling, but believe me, he’s in a different league. Just look at that backside.”
“I’d rather not if you don’t mind.” Stuart poked his tongue out at her.
“Two San Miguels.” Alfonso appeared from nowhere. “Pepé will meet you outside when you want.” He turned and looked over to the hunk in the white T-shirt.
The young man looked back and nodded a greeting.
“Alfonso, put another one of whatever he is drinking on our bill.” Stuart hoped he had been heard correctly.
After twenty minutes Alfonso delivered another two beers without being asked to do so. Stuart stood and tilted his head
towards the door. “Ask Pepé to meet us outside would you?”
The barman nodded.
Outside in the cool air, the music became a rhythmic thud penetrating the walls. There were only two red metal tables to choose from, each very close to the road. Stuart made for the second one, and dragged a third chair to it as he went. Just as they were sitting down Pepé appeared through the door. He did not hesitate in joining them.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening. My name is Stuart Doyle.”
“No problem, this sounds quite exciting.” Pepé spoke incredibly good English.
“And I’m Claire Marsh,” nodded Claire, taking a sly look at his crotch as he sat down.
“Most people around here call me Pepé.”
“Your English is terribly good.” Claire could not resist paying him a compliment that Stuart could not take offence to.
“I had a good English teacher at school and working the bars in Ibiza helps. Some of the guys I work with are from London, and English is the international language for what we’re interested in.”
“Is that what you do in the summer? Work in Ibiza?”
“Yeah. And after Christmas I’ll be up in the ski resort above Granada. I understand you want to know about Alice.”
“Yes,” said Stuart. “Alice died in a fall and I am trying to piece together the events leading up to her death.”
“She was here with a man called Hasem. They fell out halfway through the week. To be honest I wasn’t looking to get laid, but English women tend to get so horny when they are on holiday, it’s hard to say no to them. In the bar where I work we say they are DFPs.”
Fearing Stuart would not seek clarification, Claired smiled and asked: “DFPs, what does that mean?”
“I shouldn’t say really, but if you really want to know; drink, fuck, puke. DFP. That’s the order they usually do it in.”
“Well, some can be a bit like that, but some of us can control our vices.”
“Oh, no offence lady, the ones I’m talking about are younger than you.”
Stuart almost choked on his beer laughing.
The Spanish Hotel Page 7