Juan Foot in the Grave

by Roger Keevil

  “They don’t want you to starve, do they, guv?” commented Copper as, after a lengthy period when conversation took a definite second place to the serious business of making inroads into the meal, the dessert of a blessedly modest portion of ice cream arrived at the table.

  “They don’t,” agreed Constable, downing a further glass of sangria. “And I’m not that certain that they want you to remain altogether sober, despite what our waiter said, so in sheer self-defence, and in the interests of Anglo-Spanish relations, I propose to see the rest of this jug off. You, on the other hand, are the driver.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll have a coffee.”

  “And you think I won’t? No, on the whole, I think the Spanish lifestyle most certainly suits me. All I shall require after this is a substantial siesta.”

  “No problem, guv. It should only take us about an hour to get back. Just strap yourself in firmly, and please try not to snore while I’m driving.”

  *

  “Do they have such a thing as the Trade Description Act in Spain?”

  “No idea, guv,” replied Dave Copper, gingerly placing a mug of tea beside his superior as he lay stretched out on a sun lounger in the shade of the pergola at the side of the pool. “Why?”

  “Because if they have, I am going back to that restaurant to have a word with our waiter and his famous mama about that sangria. ‘Not strong’, indeed! The only good thing about it is that I drank a great deal more of it than you did, otherwise I’m convinced you would have had us in a ditch on the way back.” Andy Constable reached for his tea and groaned with the effort.

  “I call that noble self-sacrifice, guv,” said Copper cheerfully. “Think of it as taking one for the team. I feel absolutely fine.”

  “You would,” grunted Constable in an undertone.

  “Anyway,” continued Copper, “I reckon it’s all a question of culture. Don’t they say that kids in the Mediterranean countries are brought up to drink wine and stuff with meals from a very early age, so they get used to it and don’t go mad, unlike the mobs we get at home on a weekend who just get as much lager and whatnot down their necks as quickly as they can and then get rampant all up and down the High Street. Maybe there’s something to be said for that famous ‘Mediterranean diet’ and ‘continental cafe culture’.”

  “I certainly hope so,” retorted Constable, who under the influence of the tea was beginning to feel fractionally more human. “Remember those two electricians who were putting away the brandy over at the bar the day we arrived? And that was lunchtime! What’s the betting they were off to wire somebody’s house with that lot under their belts?”

  “In which case, guv, if I ever win the lottery and decide to buy my villa in the sun, remind me to check what time of day the workmen did the plumbing and the electrics,” laughed Copper. “Anyway, talking of the bar, time’s getting on a bit and I’m starting to rumble. Do you fancy popping over for a bite and a jar?”

  “Are you completely insane? After you have eaten a lunch which consisted of half the annual prawn catch for the whole of Spain? I may never eat again. Anyway, the first time we set foot in there, it led to us getting dragged into having to think and sorting out dead bodies and other thoroughly non-holiday activities. The last thing I’m looking for is any more excitement, thank you very much. I am not up to it.”

  “What you need is a hair of the dog, guv. That’ll see you right.” Dave Copper was not to be put off. “And I just fancy some tapas. I don’t actually know exactly what they are, but everybody goes on about them, so you have to try, don’t you?” The young detective had the look of an expectant puppy.

  Constable sighed and swung his feet on to the floor. “All right. Against my considerably better judgement… ”

  *

  “Hello, lads! Back again? Nice to see you. With you in half a tick.” In a flurry of clinking glasses, accompanied by the spluttering of the coffee machine, Eve swiftly loaded a tray with a selection of drinks and cups and disappeared towards the bar’s front terrace where a group of thirty-something Spaniards were evidently unwinding at the end of the working day. “Right, now I’m all yours. You’re getting to be part of my Runcorn Regulars, aren’t you? Having a good time? What are you having?”

  “Hi, Eve. Just a couple of pints… ”

  “Red wine.”

  “Righty-ho. Pint for me, and a glass of red for the governor here.”

  “Governor?” said Eve quizzically as she deftly poured the two drinks simultaneously. “That sounds awfully grand.”

  “Office joke,” explained Constable swiftly. “He just means I’m his boss, so he has to do what I tell him. Like buying the drinks.”

  “So what is it you actually do?” persisted Eve. “You never did tell me.”

  “No, we didn’t, did we?” Constable refused to be drawn. “Sorry, Eve, but we made a deal. No shop on holiday. Anyway, cheers. Now, David is looking for some advice, and I reckon you’re the expert, so I think you should sort him out with what he fancies.”

  “Dave! Now I’m intrigued!” Eve smiled and leaned forward expectantly across the bar. “What are you after?”

  “Just… just some tapas,” spluttered Copper, with a glare at his superior who was having trouble concealing a grin of amusement. “If you do them, that is.”

  “Oh. Right. Course we do, love. Everybody does. Can’t be a bar in Spain and not do tapas. They’d throw me out of the country. They’re over here in the cabinet. Come along, Dave.” Eve came round the bar and took Copper by the hand. “Let me show you what I’ve got.”

  As a variety of dishes was being selected, a thought struck Andy Constable.

  “Eve, I’m curious.”

  “What about, darling?”

  “The bar. It’s called ‘The Runcorn’. That doesn’t sound very Spanish to me, so how’s that come about?”

  “Oh, that’s quite funny,” gurgled Eve as she returned behind the bar. “It’s all a bit of a joke. You see, when this bit of San Pablo was first built, the restaurant was bought by this English couple from… I think it was somewhere in the Midlands. Monty and Mary, they were. Lovely couple – just retired, and they thought it would be a good idea to move to the sun and run a bar. Mind you, I’m talking about a few years ago now, back in the glory days when everybody wanted to come to Spain and the property was cheap. Of course, it’s all changed a bit now. So anyway, Monty and Mary had this idea that they were going to buy a bar and cater for all the other Brits and what have you, and he was going to be the genial mine host, and she was going to perch on a bar stool all day sipping G & T. Not that they were alone! Half the Costas were full of people who had the same idea. Completely loopy!” Eve laughed. “So anyway, they bought this place, and the traditional Spanish name for a little local bar is ‘Rincon’ – that’s the Spanish word for a sort of cosy nook. So they called it ‘El Rincon de Monty y Mary’, which was fine, except that Monty didn’t have two words of Spanish to rub together, bless him, and he could never get his tongue round ‘rincon’, so he was always calling it ‘The Runcorn’, and it sort of stuck.”

  “So what happened to the English owners?” Dave Copper wanted to know.

  “Spain happened, that’s what,” said Eve shortly. “Oh don’t get me wrong,” she explained hastily, “it’s a lovely country, and I love it here and I wouldn’t live anywhere else, but the bureaucracy drives some people mad. There’s a form for this, and a permit for that, and it’s not so bad for me now because I speak the language, but if you’re in business it can be a nightmare, and poor Monty and Mary just couldn’t hack it. And I think the Spanish dream wasn’t quite what they’d expected, and I reckon they missed their family in England, so they sold up and went back. And that’s when Alfredo bought the place – it doesn’t do any harm to have a few contacts round here – and he just kept the name for the bar, just for fun. He’s actually got a sense of humour, which can be rare for a Spaniard, let alone a policeman!”

&nb
sp; “Hmmm, yes,” commented Constable. “A policeman with a sense of humour. Imagine that, eh, David?”

  Copper was saved from the need to reply by a hail from the doorway.

  “Eve, my dear! Set ’em up. A large measure of your finest mother’s ruin, and have one for yourself!”

  “Hello, Percy darling,” smiled Eve in welcome. “I was wondering where you’d got to. Usually I can set my watch by you.”

  “Things to do, my dear, things to do.” Percy Vere seated himself on a stool at the bar. “Been getting ready for tomorrow. I hope you haven’t forgotten.”

  Eve shook her head. “Course I haven’t, Percy. As if I could. I wouldn’t miss one of your parties for the world. I can just see you over there with your pinny on, dusting everywhere and baking loads of sausage rolls!” She flashed a roguish wink at Constable and Copper.

  “Eve,” chortled Percy, “you’re a very bad girl! You shouldn’t take the mickey out of your more senior customers. It’s bad for the old ticker.” He turned to the two detectives. “Eve knows me too well,” he explained. “She knows very well I can’t be fussed with all that sort of thing. If you’ve got the money, no sense in not spending it, that’s what I say. I worked hard for what I’ve got, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t enjoy it in my retirement. So I have this lovely Spanish girl who comes in to clean for me – Isabel. She’s been doing it for… well, ever since I started coming out here on holiday, which is donkey’s years ago now. Come to think of it, she’s not so much of a girl now, is she, Eve?”

  “Hardly, darling,” remarked Eve. “Considering her daughter’s just had her second baby.”

  “Well, there you are, then,” continued Percy, “so she’s always come in and kept the place up to scratch for me, wherever I’ve been. Mind you, she’s had her work cut out in my new place, because there’s been ten times as much builders’ dust everywhere where the lads have been finishing things off – not that they have finished everything yet, because the pool’s still not completed and there are still a lot of plants to put in the garden, but at least the inside is sorted. And then Isabel’s got a sister who runs a bakery down in town with her husband, so I’ve put in my order for the food with them, and Antonio will bring it up to the villa tomorrow. So all I have to do is pop a few corks when people arrive, and Bob’s your uncle.”

  “Percy love, you’re one of the nicest men I know,” said Eve. “You just love having people in, don’t you.”

  “Friends, my dear, friends,” said Percy. “That’s what it’s like out here… Andy, isn’t it? We’re all away from the old friends and family from back home – not that I ever had any family, because I was too busy working ever to get around to getting married or anything of that sort, but you know what I mean. So out here, you tend to make new friends. You’re sat on your front terrace having a glass of wine, and somebody you’ve never clapped eyes on before comes past, and you get chatting, and the next thing you know they’re sat with you having a drink, and so it goes. You’ve made a new friend.”

  “A bit different from the U.K., then,” commented Dave Copper. “Where I live, I don’t even know the name of the people across the road.”

  “Just what I say,” agreed Percy. “In fact, chaps, as the newest of my friends, why don’t you take me up on that invitation to come over and join the party tomorrow. It’s just a few friends. Free booze!” he coaxed.

  “Well, we wouldn’t want to intrude. I mean, it’s not as if we know anyone… ”

  “Go on, Dave,” urged Eve. “It’ll be fun. I’ll be there, so you know me. So unless you’ve got other plans…?”

  “We would love to,” affirmed Andy Constable, just managing to keep a straight face at his young colleague’s discomfiture.

  “Excellent!” cried Percy. “Any time after eight, then. Villa Demasiadocara, just over the way. The one with the high wall with all the stones set into it. You can’t miss it.” He downed the remainder of his drink and stood. “Well, have to get on. Things to do. I will see you gentlemen tomorrow. Don’t bother to dress up – we’re all very casual round here. TTFN!”

  As the bar door closed behind Percy, Eve again fixed Dave Copper with a determined eye. “So, Dave, how were your tapas?”

  “Oh… er… very nice, actually.”

  “So, can I tempt you to any more? The patatas bravas are very good. Really spicy.” She smiled invitingly.

  *

  “You’re absolutely determined, aren’t you? So we’ll go.”

  “Well, not really, guv, but it is Friday night. You’ve got to go out on Friday night, haven’t you.”

  “Obviously so, in Copper-world,” said Andy Constable. “Speaking for myself, I would be perfectly content with a stroll down to the sea, a wander along the promenade, and then the difficult decision about which restaurant to go to for a bite to eat and a couple of drinks. But I suppose you have other considerations in mind,” he added mischievously. “After all, the luscious Eve will be there, and I’ve got an idea she has plans for you.”

  “Oh, come on, guv,” expostulated Dave Copper. “Do me a favour. She’s a bit obvious for me.”

  “Well then, David, you will have to play your cards very carefully, won’t you?” remarked Constable. “It’s all my fault, I suppose, for saying yes to Percy Vere, but with the look on your face when Eve was fluttering her eyelashes at you, I couldn’t resist it. Not that my idea of a perfect holiday is to stand around in a room full of total strangers making cocktail party conversation all night.”

  Copper thought for a moment. “Tell you what – how about a compromise? We’ll pop over for a couple of drinks, stay for as little time as we decently can, and then we’ll do your plan of the stroll and a meal. That way, Percy Vere gets to do his social host bit, and I’m not in your bad books for soaking up a whole evening. How does that sound?”

  “Very diplomatic and resourceful,” said Constable. “Excellent thinking. Plus,” he commented, “it will allow you to escape the clutches of the delightful Eve, who will doubtless be severely disappointed.”

  “I’ll live with it,” grinned Copper. “Right, then. I’m ready if you are. Shall we?”

  The gates of the Villa Demasiadocara stood open. As Constable and Copper climbed the steps, flanked by tiered walled beds which awaited their plants, towards the heavily-carved front door, they were left in no doubt that Percy Vere had spared no expense with his new construction. Elaborate wrought-iron grilles ornamented each window, and highly-glazed tiles in a deep iridescent blue covered the roof. At one end, a circular stone-clad turret opened onto a first-floor balcony shaded with tiles of a different but toning colour, while at the other, through an arch which led to the rear, could be glimpsed the corner of a wooden pergola topped with another balcony, up which a bougainvillea in a monumental terracotta pot was already beginning to writhe its colourful tentacles. A curving ramp led down to the doors of a subterranean garage beneath the house. As Andy Constable was about to place a finger on the ornate cast-iron bell-push, Percy Vere appeared through the arch.

  “Good evening, gentlemen – glad you could come. This way – we’re all round here.” He ushered the two detectives round the corner of the house and on to a terrace, where a group of evidently non-British guests stood in a sheepish huddle at one end with glasses in their hands. Mostly young men in their twenties, with one or two wives or girlfriends hanging on to their partner’s arms, they smiled tentatively at the newcomers and some murmured a collective “Buenas tardes”, before reforming what looked rather like a defensive circle. Nobody else was to be seen.

  Constable was concerned. “We’re not too early, are we? Because you did say sometime after eight… ”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” boomed Percy. “Nobody gets anywhere on time around here. Spanish time, you know – it’s a very flexible thing.” In response to Constable’s raised eyebrow and slight nod of the head towards the other group, Percy lowered his voice. “Mind you, if it’s a cas
e of a free drink, the Spaniards can be as punctual as you like. It’s the builder’s lads,” he explained as Constable continued to look puzzled. “Spanish plus a few oddments. I couldn’t really not invite them, considering the amount of work they’ve all put into building the place for me, and all in all I’m very pleased with what they’ve done so far, so I thought it would be a nice gesture. Of course,” he said, indicating the still-unfinished back garden, “there’s still a lot to do, but that’s mostly the people from the garden centre, so I think I owe these chaps a bit of a thank-you. They’ve only got a few bits of finishing up to do, like the garden lighting and the pool and the barbecue area.”

  “I hope you haven’t got them coming in to do your lighting in the morning,” commented Dave Copper. “The last electricians we saw were putting away the booze like there was no tomorrow. I wouldn’t have fancied letting them do my electrics.”

  “Don’t fret about that,” chuckled Percy. “For these lads, there is no tomorrow!”

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s a fiesta day. Nobody’s working at all, so they can have as much as they like. Now, listen to me – I’m standing here chatting, and you haven’t got a drink. I’ve got plenty of fizz standing by inside – come on in and get a glass, and then I’ll give you the conducted tour before anyone else arrives.”

  As the three passed through wide double doors into a spacious sitting room, they almost collided with a man emerging with a glass in his hand, who swerved adroitly and, with a murmured ‘Perdon!’, joined the group on the terrace. Constable had a brief impression of thick black swept-back hair, a deep tan, piercing eyes and a white smile, and a pair of shiny patent electric-blue trainers.

  “That’s Juan,” said Percy over his shoulder.