by Roger Keevil
“It’s fine.” There was an echo of defensiveness in the way Philippa spoke. “It’s a good way of meeting new people. It’s not always easy here, you know, if you’re not working. You might have a lovely house, and the weather’s beautiful, but for a lot of the time, you’re living behind walls, so you don’t get much of a social life unless you go out and mix. So that’s what’s so good about the bar. Eve’s a laugh, and there’s different people coming in all the time, so it makes a nice change. Oh, I’m not complaining,” she added hastily. “Don’t think that. It’s just that…” She tailed off.
“Yes, of course. I think I understand.” Exactly what the inspector understood was not specified. “So that’s how you met Mr. Laborero, was it?”
“Oh no,” replied Philippa. “He was working for X-Pat long before I started to. But it was probably in the bar that I got to know him a bit better. He used to come in for a drink most nights after he finished work – several of the boys did, but Juan Manuel was always the one with all the bunny.” A smile of reminiscence passed over her face and was gone almost at once.
“So you got on well with him?”
“Yes, of course. I liked him, but then, I think most of the girls did. It was quite funny – sometimes the boys off the site would come in with their wives or girlfriends, and Juan would always flirt with them. He had that sort of smile, you see… ” Philippa stopped short and her hand went to her mouth. “Oh my god! Listen to me. He’s not been dead five minutes, and here I am talking about him in the past as if it’s the easiest thing… oh, that’s horrible.” She seemed suddenly shaken. “And to think I was only talking to him a few hours ago.”
“So you were…,” the inspector trod delicately, “quite close to him, then?”
Philippa’s denial came swiftly and emphatically. “Not at all! We were just friends, that’s all. There was nothing going on, if that’s what you’re implying. No… it’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all.”
“I’m afraid sudden death does have that effect, miss,” said Constable. “And I’m sorry if it can be upsetting, but that’s why we need to speak to everyone concerned as soon as possible so that the facts of the case are still clear in their minds.”
“How did he die?” asked Philippa. “You never said.”
“I don’t think we’re quite ready to discuss that at the moment, Miss Glass,” responded the inspector. “I believe the Captain is still establishing the details of that, and I wouldn’t want to release any information prematurely. All I’m seeking to do at the moment is to establish some sort of sequence of events from Mr. Vere’s party last night so that we can find out who saw Mr. Laborero last, where that was, who spoke to him – that sort of thing.” He waited, eyebrows raised in expectation.
Philippa shifted uneasily. “Well, I chatted to him last night, of course, but then I think everyone did. Why, hasn’t X-Pat told you what happened?”
“He has indeed, miss, but you’d be surprised how often people forget little details, and how sometimes one person remembers something which has completely escaped the notice of someone else.”
The shutters appeared to come down. “Sorry, but I can’t really tell you any more than that. I’m afraid I didn’t spend my evening looking at my watch, so I don’t know anything about times. I just wanted to enjoy myself… ” He hand went to her mouth again, and she blinked several times. “Sorry.”
Inspector Constable bowed to the inevitable. It was clear that there was no more to be learnt at this stage. He stood. “Then we’ll leave you alone, Miss Glass. But if, while you’re thinking things over, you happen to remember anything that might be of help to us, I hope you’ll let us know. You can always get in touch with us via Captain Alfredo. I imagine you can do that fairly easily.” In response to Philippa’s nod, the two detectives turned and made their way back through the house to the front drive, where X-Pat was just giving a final polish to the car’s windows.
“Waste of time, really,” he greeted them.
“Sir?”
“Cleaning this.” He looked up into the sky where the flawless blue was beginning to be marred by an encroaching bank of cloud from the south-west. “It just takes a little shower, and this’ll be covered over with little spots of red dust, and I’ll have to start all over again. It all comes over from the Sahara, you see,” he explained, “but, ah, what can you do? What’s a Saturday morning without the ritual of cleaning the car?”
“I never seem to have the time to do mine, sir,” responded Dave Copper. “Sometimes I don’t know whether I should clean it or plant it.”
“All done?” enquired X-Pat.
“Certainly for the moment, sir,” said Andy Constable. “We’ve had a word with Miss Glass, but I’m not sure she was able to add much to what you’d already told us. But we might want a further chat later, if that’s all right with you.”
“Just as you like. If I’m not here, I’ll probably be at the office.”
“Which is where, sir?”
“First floor, just above ‘Lott’s Property’ opposite the cop-shop. You know where that is, I’m sure.”
“Oh yes, sir. No problem there. So, thank you again for your help, and we’ll get out of your way.”
As the two detectives left the property, X-Pat stood and watched them, then turned to re-enter the house.
“What do you make of that then, sir?” asked Copper.
“I think that our Mr. Connor seems very charming, very amiable, and very helpful,” said Constable. “I also think that I wouldn’t be inclined to trust him as far as I could throw him. There’s a sort of smile which goes all over the face but never seems to get to the eyes, and that’s what I detect in Mr. Connor. There’s a story there. But I’d be happier if you hadn’t mentioned how we think Juan died. Let’s keep all the advantages we have, if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry, guv – didn’t think,” said Copper humbly. “And what about Philippa Glass? She’s jumpy about something. And I reckon he keeps her on a tight rein.”
“Hmmm. I think you’re right. Well, if we’re any good at our job, I dare say we shall winkle it out. Let’s just let it stew for a bit.” He turned his mind to other matters. “I’m more concerned at the moment in getting back to Percy Vere’s villa and finding out if Alfredo has any more news about how Juan died. Ready for a walk?”
Chapter 6
At the Villa Demasiadocara, two police cars were parked in the road outside alongside a blue sports car, while a plain black van with tinted windows stood on the drive.
“I recognise that,” commented Dave Copper. “They’ve sent the meat wagon, so Alfredo’s probably got matey out of the ground by now.”
“Come on, Copper,” frowned his superior in response. “Let’s have a bit of respect for the poor guy. Nobody deserves to get whacked on the head and then end up six feet under on somebody’s building site.”
“If that’s what happened, sir.”
“Well, I suggest we go and talk to Alfredo and find out.”
Standing guard at the villa’s front door stood the junior officer who had accompanied Alfredo that morning. In reply to Constable’s hesitant “El Capitan?”, the young man nodded and gestured wordlessly to the path which led around the side of the house towards the rear garden. Rounding the corner of the building, the two British officers were greeted with the sight of two white-overall-clad men lifting the body of Juan Manuel Laborero on to a stretcher, assisted by the other young officer from Alfredo’s squad, while the captain himself stood and watched.
“This is mad, guv,” commented Copper in an aside to his superior. “At home we’d have SOCO crawling all over the place. These guys might be missing evidence left, right and centre.”
“Shhh! Don’t go treading on toes,” warned the inspector in lowered tones.
“Ah, Andy,” Alfredo greeted Constable sombrely. “You see we have at last had success in getting the dead man from the ground. It has taken a longer time than I t
hought, but it is because I have told my two boys to be careful and be slow.”
“Very wise,” agreed Constable. “The last thing you want is to be mucking up the body.”
“Sorry? Mucking up…?”
“I mean causing any other injuries, apart from those that were there already,” explained Constable.
“Good thought, sir,” added Copper. “I remember one case we had where the victim had been battered about with a shovel. Poor bloke looked like he’d been through the mincer. You don’t want your guys complicating things with a bit of over-enthusiastic spadework, do you, Alfredo?”
“Thank you, sergeant. I don’t think we need to tell the captain how to do his job,” said Constable in reproof. “So, Alfredo, are you any clearer as to how Juan died?”
“I will know for sure when the doctor at the mortuary has examined him, but I think you were right in what you thought. Come and see.” Alfredo knelt down alongside the stretcher and gestured to the two Britons to approach. He spoke briefly to the two mortuary assistants, who stepped aside several paces. “Look, here is a big wound to the head – just one. I believe it is as you said – that piece of wood with the blood, it has been used to hit him, and I think that the one blow has killed him.”
“From in front or from behind, do you reckon, sir?” Copper craned over the body.
“Couldn’t begin to guess, sergeant. That’s one for Alfredo’s forensics people – they can sort out direction and speed of the blow fairly easily when they start work on Tuesday, I expect.”
“Yes, on Tuesday,” confirmed Alfredo heavily. “I am sorry that it will not be sooner. I think this does not help you.”
“Don’t fret, Alfredo,” smiled Constable as he straightened. “We’ll do our best with what we’ve got. Oh, just a thought. Anything useful on the body? You know, stuff in his pockets.”
“We have his wallet with some money and his papers – his identity card and his driving licence.”
“Any car keys?”
“Yes, we have those too. And I believe that his car is parked out in the road.”
“I bet that’s that blue one, guv,” said Copper. “Matches the shoes.”
“I think so,” said Alfredo, “so I will look in that now.”
“You’re ahead of me. Look, I want to have another word with Mr. Vere, so if you want to get things sorted out with the body, Copper and I can come and find you afterwards, if that’s okay by you.”
“It is good, Andy. Mr. Vere is I know in the house. I will have Juan Manuel taken away now, and we will speak soon.” Alfredo turned back to his Spanish colleagues and began to issue instructions as the two British officers climbed the steps towards the villa.
*
Percy Vere was seated as before in the large leather armchair facing the patio doors, but in contrast to his earlier dishevelled state, he had resumed his customary dapper appearance, dressed in a white shirt with a cravat and dark-blue cardigan. As Constable and Copper entered, he rose to his feet.
“Come in, gentlemen. I’ve been waiting for you.” He raised the cut-glass tumbler in his hand. “Thought I’d have a spot of G & T to go on with. I don’t normally start this early in the day but… well, special circumstances and all that. I suppose you wouldn’t care to join me? No? I thought probably not. Well, do sit down. You’ll want to get on with it, I dare say.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vere,” said Constable. “We’ll try not to take up too much of your time. I can see that this must all be a severe shock.”
“I’m fine, inspector,” responded Percy. He sounded robust. “I’m pretty tough. You don’t get to my age without encountering a few surprises along the way. Not usually this kind of surprise, though, I have to say. This is all a bit of a turn-up for the books. I’ve never been mixed up with the law before.”
“Well, Mr. Vere, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that you’re actually mixed up with the law on this occasion. For instance, we don’t know that you had any sort of motive to do the dead man harm. But obviously, when it’s a case of murder, we do have to look into everybody’s relationship with the victim. So let’s say that we need your help in our investigation.”
“Hmm. Sounds a lot like being mixed up with the law to me,” muttered Percy. “Anyway, as I say, this is all new territory to me. The closest I ever came to this sort of thing was when we had the VAT people in to do an investigation into the books when I ran my printing business back in the U.K. Not that there was anything dodgy there, of course, but you’re always on tenterhooks because these blasted officials are invariably on the lookout for the tiniest thing, and you can never tell whether you might have made the most trivial mistake which they’re going to pounce upon. I do hope you’re not going to pounce upon me, inspector.”
“We’ll do our best not to, Mr. Vere,” smiled Constable. “If we can just get a few facts straight – I’m sure you won’t mind if my colleague here makes a few notes.”
“Ask me anything you like,” said Percy. “My life’s always been an open book. Ha ha! Sorry – very old printer’s joke. But then, I’m a very old printer. Well, I was – forty-odd years I was in the business. When I first started out as a grubby apprentice, some people were still using hot metal. D’you know, sometimes I can still smell that smell – very evocative stuff, molten lead. But I worked my way up, got to the top, and made a very good living out of it. Finally sold up about five years ago. I think I got out at the right time, too – there have been so many changes over the last few years that I don’t think I’d even know my way around my old plant now. Well, that’s progress, I suppose.” It seemed to dawn on Percy that he was straying from the point. “Anyway, gentlemen, you don’t want to hear my life story. You’re wanting to get on with trying to find out who killed poor old Juan. I suppose you are certain that it’s murder?”
“Oh yes, sir,” replied Constable. “Having seen the body, I don’t think there can be any doubt about that. So had you known the dead man long?”
“Not really, no. Only since we started on the villa. I think I first met him when I was at Liza’s office one day – that must have been very early on, because at that stage I was looking for a plot of land to build on, and Juan happened to come in, and Liza introduced him to me as the man who could do anything. Seemed a straight sort of chap, and that’s what you need around here, they say.”
“Oh, sir? In what way?”
“Well.” Percy looked around furtively and, to Constable’s surprise, lowered his voice. “I was chatting to my solicitor the other day. Nice woman, Isabella – she’s Spanish, but she’s got an English mother, so she speaks perfect English. Well, I say perfect, because she’s the only Spaniard I know who speaks with a Brummie accent! Anyway, I digress. She and I were arranging for her to go off to see the notary to sort out the final transfer of the deeds to the property. It’s not like the U.K., where you get an exchange of contracts, and then a month later you get completion. No, you all go and sit round a desk, and then some chap jabbers on for an age with all the legal jargon, and then somebody hands over a cheque and you walk away with the keys. At least, that’s the way it works when you’re just buying or selling an existing property. But when I sold my old place, I gave Isabella my power of attorney because I couldn’t be fussed with all that malarkey. But I didn’t want to take any chances with this place.”
“What do you mean, chances, sir?”
“As I say, according to what Isabella was telling me, there’s a big corruption scandal in the wind. She’s heard that there’s going to be an investigation by the regional government into all these allegations of fake building permits being sold by some of the planning officials in some of the Ayunt… – the Ayuntim… – oh, dammit, the Town Halls. Blasted language! I shall never get my tongue round it. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if everybody spoke English, but there’s no chance of that!”
Dave Copper looked up in interest. “So what’s all this about fake building permits, then, sir?”
“Doesn’t that worry you, sir?”
“Lord, no. There’s no problem with this place. I know that, because I sorted it all out myself. I had to go to the Town Hall in person with Liza – several times, in fact – and every time we took Juan along as interpreter. Well, he knew all the people there and he had all the lingo for what we needed to sort out, so it was pretty obvious really. Very useful chap – I shall miss him about the place. Always smiling, you know. And he was very good with the lads, keeping them up to the mark.”
“So Juan Manuel was instrumental in arranging the whole building project, then, Mr. Vere?” resumed the inspector.
“Absolutely. He explained it all to me as we went along, because as I said, it’s so very different from the English system. And it’s not just the legalities, you see. There are so many things that have to be paid in cash, because apparently that’s the way the system works here.”
“How do you mean, sir?”
“Well, from what he and Liza told me, there are two rates of tax for things, one rate if you pay in cash and another if you pay by cheque or bank transfer. Sounds mad, I know, but that’s the way the Spanish government wants it, I’m told, and if I can make a saving by paying up front in cash, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m not daft, and money doesn’t grow on trees, does it?”
“Well, it would certainly be foolish to spend money you don’t have to,” agreed Constable.