“I can’t argue with that.” He dropped his hands down towards her knees and brushed them back up her thighs, lifting her dress as much as he could manage as he did so. It was a manoeuvre that did not go undetected by Kamela.
“Are you trying to flash my underwear to… Well, to anyone that is looking.”
“Are you wearing underwear?”
“What do you take me for?”
“Someone who likes to fuck.”
“Okay then, let’s do it, it might help me sleep, and you are rather impressive down here.” Her hand came round and grabbed him between the legs. His aroused state blew away any doubts she had.
Alfonso smiled, pleased that his customers had enjoyed a little bit of entertainment at the end of a good evening. He picked up the couple’s glasses and totted up their bills. Neither paid before they went through the door marked Privado, but Alfonso knew he would get the money tomorrow. What’s more, trade was bound to be better than an average Monday. For most of his customers, watching others seducing and fornicating with each other was as close as they got to sex in the flesh without paying for it. They would not pass up the chance of another show tomorrow night, no matter how long the odds against it were.
Her alarm clock spewed out its annoying chorus of beeps. Acting on autopilot, Kamela hit the large white button on top of it. It was then that she realised she was lying on her back with her legs open. She never slept on her back, the snores it induced always woke her and prompted her to turn onto her side. Her raised dress and the cold airy sensation between her legs reminded her of what she had done at two in the morning. Or rather, what Pepé had done at two in the morning. An image of him throwing her panties towards the window flashed through her mind. She lifted her head to check they were there. For a brief moment she enjoyed the memory of what followed, and appreciated how it had helped her sleep.
And then panic swept through her body. She jumped up, pulled back the curtains and picked up her binoculars. Her heart slowed a little as she saw Ortega still floating on her lilo. Her head moved occasionally, but never violently. Perhaps she had worked out the consequences of struggling so much that she risked the possibility of tipping the lilo over.
The sun was up, there was no time to waste. A shower would have to wait. She quickly washed away Pepé’s smell from between her legs and rinsed her armpits. It did not take long to fish a change of clothes out of her suitcase and to stuff her dirty ones into it.
Without taking breakfast, Kamela paid her bill with cash. Alfonso helped her take her luggage out to the car. As he loaded her case into the boot she could not resist looking down the hill to the villa.
Alfonso followed her line of sight. “Señora Ortega is sunbathing early today.”
“Is she? You must have good eyes, I can’t see her.” She thrust a good tip into his hand.
“Have a good journey back to Cordoba.”
“I will. And thank you, I hope to come again.”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Rosita was drowsy but awake when Kamela arrived. “Good morning?”
“Did you do this?”
“Have you screamed?”
Rosita did not answer.
“I guess you viewed this as a good place to buy because you didn’t want the neighbours to complain about your noisy parties. Unfortunately for you it was a bad place to buy if you wanted your screams to be heard clearly enough when you were in trouble. And boy, are you in trouble.”
“What is this about?”
“Have you pissed? Ooh, your gusset suggests you have. That’s good, you needed time to get the drugs out of your system.”
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“Ooh, good English, bad language.” Kamela put her heel on the pillow end of the lilo and pushed it hard towards the more sheltered end. Due to a change in wind direction it only just made it. Kamela ran round to grab it before it started to blow back the other way.
“Sorry, no time to mess around, I have a long journey to make.” She pulled up on the side of the lilo, just managing to avoid being pulled into the water.
Rosita screamed as the lilo turned over. Her legs kicked and flailed around under the water. The lilo wobbled violently.
Goose bumps broke out over Kamela’s skin as she watched the final signs of life ebb away. All signs of movement ceased. A few bubbles of air broke the surface of the water. Finally the only ripples running across the surface of the water were due to the strong breeze
Job done, it was time to go.
“Right perverts, all you will see now is two blue lilos floating on the pool, just as they do most weekdays.” Kamela walked back towards the villa. In the unlikely event that she had been seen, and the even more unlikely event that she was to be tracked down, well, a girl has to collect her discarded underwear, doesn’t she? Señora Ortega was sunbathing when I left. The killer must have wiped my prints from the door handle when they were covering their tracks. The false name I used? I have my reputation to consider.
An unexpected sexual rush swept through her body. Killing people was proving to be more exciting than sex. She thought back the sex she had with Hasem the last time she killed someone. This time there was no one to satisfy her lust.
On Wednesday morning Aisha was sitting at her desk scanning the long list of emails that had built up during her time away. As she worked through them one by one, Douglas Phillips, MP, was on a British Airways flight to Madrid for what had become his bi-monthly meeting at the embassy there.
That lunchtime, Aisha met some of the other girls in the canteen.
Angela’s cynical words were music to her ears. “That bastard Phillips has done it again.”
Acting coy, Aisha asked, “What has he done again?”
“Asked me to contact BA and postpone his return flight until Sunday evening. He gets his bloody holiday flights at the taxpayers’ expense.”
“You don’t pay his extra hotel fees though do you?”
“No, he pays those himself, but…”
“I don’t see the problem. The flight is transferable isn’t it?” Aisha continued to defend him.
“What about Friday? The bastard should be in the Commons.”
“Get real,” chipped in Samantha, “most MPs don’t know where the House of Commons is.”
Everybody laughed
“How was France Aisha?” asked Karen.
“France was great, it was just the break I needed.”
“Tell me again, I’ve forgotten. Which bit did you go to?”
“The Loire, the Loire valley. I love it down there.”
“Mark talked about us going there,” said Samantha. “Would you recommend it to a couple with two kids?”
“Well, it’s châteaux, it’s rivers, it’s French countryside. It is also good food and good wine. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good to me but I don’t know what the kids would make of it. Is it anywhere near the French Disneyland?”
“Umm, no. Disney Paris is in Paris, surprisingly enough.”
“And that’s not near the Loire?”
“For fuck’s sake Samantha,” exclaimed Karen. “For someone who books flights and hotels for a living, you seem to know bugger all about geography.”
“I don’t go there, I only book them. Mind, I did once send an American diplomat to Palma in Majorca instead of Parma in Italy. He was not best pleased.”
“Jesus,” laughed Karen, “I best buy you an atlas for Christmas. No, on second thoughts, I’d best not wait that long. I’ll get you an atlas instead of an Easter egg.”
Pleased to have escaped detailed questioning about her short break in France, Aisha stood up. “Sorry girls, I have a backlog of work to catch up on. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“Okay Aish,” replied Karen. “It’s almost time anyway.”
“Bye.” Aisha gave a fingertip wave and left.
As Douglas Phillips approached the villa late on Thursday night, the sight o
f Rosita’s car parked outside lifted his spirits. His spirits took a nosedive once he was inside. Why was she not there when her car was parked outside? Knowing she had three cars and three residences, he pondered the logistical possibilities. Maybe a business trip, he concluded.
Only after pouring himself a brandy did he notice the computer-generated note on the kitchen work surface.
Sorry, urgent meeting in Madrid. I will be at our usual hotel on Saturday night if you care to join me. Must dash, Rosy. xxx
“You crazy Spanish bitch.” He directed his anger at the note. “Why didn’t you call or email? Now I’ve got to drive all the fucking way back up there.”
He spent the night alone in Ortega’s bed and drove up to La Bodega for breakfast the next morning.
By Friday night he was back in Madrid, sipping a brandy in an exclusive club, eyeing up the women with a view to buying one of them for the night. It was an Asian girl that caught his eye. It did not take long for her to fire a seductive smile his way. He patted the seat next to his. The girl approached in her short skirt and the heels she was struggling to walk in.
The deal was struck, and ten minutes later they were in a taxi heading for Phillips’ hotel room. He did not usually take prostitutes back to a room registered in his name, but the girl had nowhere comfortable and discreet to take him to. His annoyance at an unnecessary round trip to Ortega’s villa and frustration at not getting the much anticipated rewards for the journey made him more reckless than normal.
The price reduction he negotiated salved his irritation a little. Perhaps he should have moved on to one of the other women on offer, but Asian women always seemed happy to indulge his little perversions.
At eight on Saturday night Douglas Phillips walked up to the reception desk in the hotel where he was becoming quite well known; if not by name, by sight. He had spent a total of five nights there while the British taxpayer picked up the bill for a hotel suite not five minutes’ walk away.
“Could you call Señora Ortega and let her know I am here?”
“One moment sir.” The receptionist started to tap on the keyboard in front of her. “And your name is…?”
“Señora Ortega is expecting me.”
“I am sorry, Señora Ortega is not with us at the moment.”
“Are you sure? Check again.”
“No,” the receptionist shook her head. “Would you like a room sir?”
“No. I will call in later.” Phillips stormed out of the hotel.
When he returned at ten, the story was the same, only this time he agreed to take a room for the night. He had already checked out of Friday night’s hotel.
It was not long before he was settled into his room and on the phone to an escort agency advertised in a complimentary magazine. He had never seen their advert before, but the promise of discreet hotel visits and multi-nationalities lured him into trying out their services.
Chapter 7
Two weeks after Douglas Phillips returned home from Madrid, DI Stuart Doyle’s girlfriend Claire was ironing her work clothes for the week. She was not really paying attention to it, but she had her television tuned in to a rolling news program. A female journalist was anchoring the daily ‘news from around Europe’ feature.
Claire was listening, but she was not looking.
“Spanish police today dismissed reports that they were interviewing a British citizen in connection with the mysterious death of a Spanish business executive in southern Spain. Chrissie, can you tell us more?”
“Yes. Spanish authorities today named the dead woman as Señora Rosita Ortega, a prominent Spanish businesswoman. There are reports that she was found floating in her own swimming pool, and she had been in the water for over two weeks, but these reports are yet to be confirmed.”
“The villa is in the popular Sierra Nevada region of Spain, just south of Granada…”
Claire looked up to see a close-up image of the villa on her screen.
“… It is in a picturesque region where many wealthy businessmen have second, or even third, homes. People I have spoken to here say they are shocked at the news. Señora Ortega was a well liked, and well respected member of their community.”
The camera zoomed out from the close-up of the villa until the reporter came into view, with a large microphone held up to her mouth. Claire knew exactly where the woman was standing; she was on the pavement opposite Hotel Verde Vista.
Without switching the iron off, she dashed across the room to phone Stuart.
“So what is it that couldn’t wait?” asked Collins.
“Well, do you remember the Alice Evans case? The girl who plummeted to Earth from her balcony.”
“I may be at a stage in life when I know exactly what my pension entitlement will be, but I am not senile.”
“No.” He paused before continuing. “Then you will also remember the place in Spain Claire and I went to, the hotel where that Arab guy had been with his binoculars.”
“Hasem.”
“That’s the guy. Well, a Spanish woman has been killed within binocular range of that hotel.”
“Has she now. It seems it’s time to dust off the files then. The first thing for you to do is to phone our Spanish colleagues, and then…”
“I’ve done that,” interrupted Doyle. “I phoned the officer I dealt with while I was out there.”
“I’m waiting.”
“He said he is not at liberty to talk about the case.”
“Not at liberty to talk about the case,” scoffed Collins. “What’s Spanish for ‘who does he think he is’?”
“I think I need to go to Spain to talk to him face-to-face.”
“Do you now? What I think is that we need to go and talk to him face-to-face.” He emphasised the word ‘we’.
“With all respect sir, if the official shutters are down, I don’t think it makes sense to go mob-handed.”
Collins glared at him. His lips moved but he said nothing.
“I did build up something of an informal relationship with the guy.”
“They can’t pull the shutters down on a British murder enquiry just because they don’t want to air their dirty washing in public.”
“Let’s try and crack the first nut without a sledge hammer. If we need more force later, then so be it.”
“Aye, maybe you’re right. It’s not as if time is of the upmost importance anymore. Have it your way, go on your lonesome.”
“I’m on the afternoon flight out of Gatwick.”
“You cheeky sod. Make sure you bring me back some of whatever it is the Spanish are famous for. On second thoughts, no, I don’t think I fancy a bullfight.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Stuart, how did you hear about this Spanish murder?”
“Claire saw a news item about it. Makes you wonder doesn’t it? Would they ever have contacted us if my good lady hadn’t had the telly on last night?”
“This is actually all quite intriguing. While you’re away, I will give those files another good going over. This Spanish copper, he had enough information to get in touch with us didn’t he?”
“Oh, for sure. He also knew enough about our case to make the connection.”
“Why haven’t we been approached for copies of our files then?”
“I don’t know guv. Maybe a request will come through later today.”
“Call me, day or night. We seem to have a very thick plot brewing here.”
“Will do.”
Chapter 8
“Hello Alfonso, we meet again.”
“Buenos tardes Señor Doyle.”
“Here you are.” Alfonso held up the key to room twenty-four. “On the house.”
“No I’ll pay.” Stuart took the key. “Well I won’t pay, the Metropolitan police will pay.”
“On the house. The people in the village here are not happy. Help us if you can.”
“Okay, thank you.” He deliberately avoided making even a half promise.
&nb
sp; “Juan will meet you at La Bodega in an hour. You have dinner with him.”
“Oh, I see.” This might not be as much hard work as I expected, he thought.
“You do not have the beautiful lady with you this trip?”
Stuart’s mind was on other matters. “Sorry?”
“We hoped the beautiful lady would come with you.”
“Oh Claire. No she had to work. This is not a vacation for me either.”
“It is not good to be apart. Enjoy her while you still can.”
“Right then, Dinner at La Bodega in an hour.” He bounced the key in his hand. “I best get my skates on.”
Stuart arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early. Juan Gomez was at a table in the corner. Both neighbouring tables had reserved signs on them.
“Pleased to meet you again.” Stuart held out his hand.
The Spanish police officer shook it firmly. “I knew you would come.”
“I had to. If our roles were reversed, you would have done the same.” Stuart sat down.
Gomez raised his forefinger to beckon the waitress. “Yes, I would. But I do not have your rank, it would not have been easy.”
“I guess not. What I don’t understand is…”
“Would you like a drink sir?” The female voice came from over his right shoulder.
He turned his head her way. “Just a mineral water, con gas. And could I see the menu?”
Gomez shook his open hand in front of his face and smiled. “It is already ordered. We are going to share seafood paella, you won’t find better anywhere in the world. Now, you were saying?”
“I didn’t think you could talk to me.”
“I have a mouth, I can talk. But no one must hear about it.”
“But Alfonso. The waitress.”
“They will not speak to the people down in the town. There is a feeling of betrayal around the village. Señora Ortega grew up here. Her mother and father are buried in the local graveyard. She became successful and travelled far and wide, but she always said she would come home to see out her days. She was one of us.”
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