Juan Foot in the Grave

by Roger Keevil

  “Ah, but then you’ve got the other side of the coin,” continued Percy. “You get prices changing all the time, so sometimes the building costs suddenly go up, and then the government can change the tax rate completely at the drop of a hat, so you never know where you are. That’s why people like Liza and Juan have been such a godsend. Oh, and X-Pat too. I remember one time when we all met up at Liza’s office, and when I arrived, X-Pat was there on the phone, checking our appointment I think, and he said to whoever it was on the other end, ‘That’s going to cost a lot more’.”

  “Did you have any idea who he was talking to?”

  “Good grief, no! Could have been any one of a dozen people, I expect. I completely lost track of all the officials we met at one time or another – you know, one chap in glasses behind a desk looks very much like another. That’s why I was so pleased that I could put myself in the hands of Liza and the others. I’ve spent enough years fussing about with accountants and the like – it’s the last thing I want to have to do now I’m retired.” He drained his glass and stood. “Well, I have to say that went down a treat. I think I shall have another.” He headed for the drinks table. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you chaps?”

  “Positive, thank you, sir,” said Copper.

  “Still rather early in the day for me too, Mr. Vere,” added Constable.

  “Yes, of course, quite understand,” said Percy, splashing a generous measure of gin into his glass and topping it up with a microscopic amount of tonic. “Got to have a clear head in your line of work. And here I am getting you off track. So what else can I tell you?”

  “It seems to me, sir,” said Andy Constable, “that there’s something of a thread of money running through all this. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

  “No, no, inspector,” responded Percy, resuming his seat. “I think you’re absolutely right. They all get so het up about money, don’t they? What, do you think somebody might have killed Juan over some sort of money problem? Debts, or something like that? Or even… ” his eyes gleamed, “what about blackmail? That’d be a motive, wouldn’t it?”

  “Now why on earth would you suggest blackmail?” Constable wanted to know. “Do you mean that Juan was a blackmailer, or that someone else might be blackmailing him?”

  “I’m sorry, inspector. I really don’t know what on earth I meant. Just got carried away in the moment. But the thing is, they’ve all got their fingers in so many pies, I suppose you’re bound to run up against a wrong ’un at some point.”

  “Sorry, sir, but I’m still not too clear on who you’re talking about. Who do you mean by ‘they’?”

  “Well, you’ve got Ewan, for a start. He’s got so many business schemes on the go that I’d be surprised if he can keep track of them all.”

  “That would be Mr. Husami, I assume, guv,” chimed in Dave Copper. “You remember, that businessman that Alfredo told us about. He was here too last night, wasn’t he, Mr. Vere?”

  “That’s right,” affirmed Percy. “Not much goes on round here that Ewan hasn’t got something to do with somewhere along the line. Have you met him?”

  “Not as yet,” said Constable. “He’s certainly on our list to chat to. Assuming we can track him down, if he’s as busy as you say.”

  “Ah, well, I’ve got an idea that even he might be over-stretching himself these days. I think he might be planning on selling some of these businesses off, because I heard Juan talking to him at the party last night, and Ewan was talking about disposing of things, and Juan said something like ‘someone’s going to be in trouble if I don’t get my share’.”

  “Sounds a bit like a threat to me, guv,” remarked Copper. “That’s the first hint we’ve had of anything like that. Mind you, of course, it’s the wrong way round, isn’t it. That’s this Mr. Husami on the receiving end of it, and not our dead man. Did you get any idea of exactly what it was they were talking about, sir?”

  Percy coloured a little. “Well, a chap doesn’t like to eavesdrop and all that, so I may have got it completely wrong, but it might have had something to do with Ewan’s agency for casual labourers. That’s all to do with X-Pat, you see.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I’m assuming that, with the work on this place coming to an end soon, X-Pat is going to move his lads on to some other job. Or, in fact, thinking about it, I think some of them may be about to get the push, because Ewan said ‘they’ll get their cards soon enough, don’t you worry about that’, and then Juan said something like ‘I hope so, because I’ve got a busy day on Tuesday and I may not be around here much’. Which actually I thought was a bit odd at the time, because of course he ought to have been on here on site.”

  “Did you have a chance to ask him what he was referring to?” asked Constable.

  “Lord, no. In fact, I didn’t really see a lot of Juan last night because I was so busy going round chatting to everyone. Oh, I do remember one thing. There was one of those lulls in the conversation that you get sometimes at a party when everyone stops talking at once, and Juan said that he was just going outside, and somebody made a joke about ‘I may be some time’, and there was some remark about oats, and someone laughed. I thought, what’s funny about that, but then of course I realised that they were talking about Captain Oates – you know, the chap on Scott’s expedition who walked off into the night and was never seen again.” Percy shivered suddenly. “Actually, that’s not a very pleasant thought – I never did see Juan again after that. Bit of a coincidence, that, eh, inspector?”

  “As you say, sir,” replied Constable. “Not that I’m a great fan of coincidences. I’d rather stick to plain mundane facts – they tend to be rather more productive. So, the last you saw of Juan was when he went out into the garden.”

  “Yes, I thought he might be popping out to check up on the workers, because they tend to huddle together and not mix, even though you try your best, but then of course I realised that they’d pushed off hours before.”

  “So this was when, sir? Any idea?” enquired Copper, poised to make a note.

  Percy wrinkled his brow in thought. “Must have been about half-past nine or so. Yes, the lads were long gone by then.”

  “And was anyone else out there at that point?”

  “Not that I know of, sergeant, but I can’t be positive – sorry. Oh, I noticed Philippa went out into the garden about five minutes later – goodness knows why, because the lighting out there isn’t working yet, and you can’t really see a thing, but you do get a lovely view out over the bay when it’s dark, what with the lamps along the coast road, and you also get the twinkling of the lights from the villages up in the mountains in the distance. Ah!” Percy snapped his fingers. “I do recall, X-Pat went out into the garden looking for Philippa about five minutes after that. Don’t know if he saw Juan, but I dare say he’ll tell you if you ask him. And that’s about it.”

  “Nothing else useful that you recollect, sir?”

  “Sadly not.” Percy sounded apologetic. “I’m afraid it’s all a bit hazy after that, because I was on the old Shampoo all night, and I probably got a tad squiffy. Well, it was my party, after all. So of course, people all eventually drifted away, and for goodness’ sake don’t ask me who left when because I haven’t got the foggiest. And then I toddled off to bed, slept the sleep of the righteous, woke up this morning, and looked out the window. And I think you know the story after that.”

  “I think we do, sir.” Andy Constable got to his feet. “Look, we’ll leave it at that for now, Mr. Vere. We have some other people to talk to, but if you remember anything else, please let us know.”

  As the two detectives descended the front steps of Percy’s villa, Constable shook his head in frustration. “Well, this is all very helpful. Everybody loved Juan Manuel, everybody saw him but nobody can remember when, and nobody’s got any idea why anybody else would want to do him harm!”

  “Par for the course, though, isn’t it, guv?” replied Copper. “Aren�
��t we used to this sort of thing?”

  “You’re right, of course,” sighed Constable. “Doesn’t make it any less frustrating, though.”

  Dave Copper smiled slowly. “You’re actually getting caught up in this thing, aren’t you, sir? Whatever happened to ‘I’m on my holidays and there’ll be no shop talk, thank you very much’?”

  Andy Constable grinned ruefully. “Must be something in the genes, sergeant. Why, are you wishing we’d never got dragged into this business?”

  “Not at all, guv. To be honest, I was getting rather bored doing nothing much, and it’s actually fun to have a bit of a challenge. No disrespect to the dead guy, of course,” Copper added hastily, “but there’s something different about doing an investigation when it’s not actually your job to do it. I mean, it’s not as if there’s anything on the line, is it?”

  “Except our reputations as standard-bearers for the British detecting community, sergeant.”

  “Ah, well in that case, sir, we’re stuffed.”

  “How so?”

  “Because at the moment, I haven’t got a clue.”

  Constable laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got some, Copper. You just haven’t recognised them yet.” A thought struck him. “What you need is some intellectual stimulation. Let’s go and see your friend Eve.”

  “Excuse me, sir. Eve and intellectual stimulation? How do they belong in the same sentence?”

  “Coffee, sergeant. Let’s go and see if your brain can be jolted into activity by one of Eve’s famously strong shots of caffeine.” He glanced at his watch. “Perfect timing – elevenses at the Runcorn, I think.”

  Chapter 7

  As the two detectives approached the bar, they were surprised to see that the establishment was doing a lively morning trade. Spanish family groups, seemingly including everyone from shambling toddlers to elegantly-groomed matrons, were clustered around the tables. Adolescent boys, bravely sporting the shadows of their first moustache, were assiduously helping frail grandmothers to find a comfortable seat in the shade. Thirty-something fathers, sharply suited as if modelling for a fashion shoot, glanced anxiously over the shoulders of their young teenage daughters whose thumbs moved in a continuous digital blur of messaging on their smart-phones, while their wives swept back their long dark hair as they turned from one friend to another in an animated exchange of gossip.

  Eve, emerging from the door with a tray laden with coffees and toasted rolls, greeted the Britons with a sort of flustered relief. “Dave, Andy, I’m so glad you’re here. I have to talk to you.”

  “I take it the news has got around, then,” said Andy Constable, gesturing to the buzzing restaurant clientele.

  “What… ? Oh no,” replied Eve. “This is nothing to do with that. This is all for the fiesta. Everyone goes into town for the procession round the square on the Saturday morning before the first Mass at mid-day, so they all come in for the late breakfast first.”

  “So that’s why they’re all togged up in the Sunday best, is it?” queried Dave Copper. “I thought they were a bit over-dressed.”

  “Look,” said Eve, “I’m rushed off my feet, so you sit down somewhere, let me get everyone sorted and I’ll come over.” She took a deep breath. “Alfredo’s told me a bit about what’s happened. Honestly, I still can’t believe it. Juan of all people – he was such a nice guy. And you two being policemen and all – you never told me that, did you, Dave? Well… no, we’ll have a talk in a minute.” She was away to a distant table before the detectives could utter another word.

  “Intriguing,” remarked Constable. “I wonder what that’s all about.” He led the way to one of the few vacant tables.

  “I’m back,” said Eve, materialising unexpectedly at his shoulder. “I’ve just realised, there’s someone else you ought to have a word with. Hold on.” She scurried to the door of the bar, pushed it open, and leant in calling, “Tim! Could you come out here a minute?” She rushed back to Constable’s table. “You should talk to Tim – he was there last night.”

  In response to Eve’s call, a tall rangy man had appeared in the bar doorway. Eve beckoned, and he approached. “Tim, this is Andy and Dave. They’re the ones I told you about – the ones Alfredo has asked to help him. Andy, this is Tim – he used to work with Juan.”

  “Good morning, gentlemen.” The man proffered his hand. “Tim Berman. How can I help you?”

  “Mr. Berman,” replied Constable. “Well, this is a fortunate coincidence.”

  “Really? In what way?”

  “Because your name happens to be on the list of people we need to talk to about the death of Mr. Laborero. A list given to us by Captain Alfredo. And I was saying to my colleague here only a little while ago, funny thing, coincidence, isn’t it, sergeant?”

  “Sergeant?”

  “Indeed, sir. Sorry, didn’t Eve mention the fact? I am surprised. Well, in that case, we really ought to introduce ourselves properly. I am Detective Inspector Constable, my colleague here is Detective Sergeant Copper, and as Eve has said, we have been invited by the local police Captain to assist with the investigation into the murder of your friend Mr Laborero.” Constable smiled blandly. “I am assuming he was your friend, sir?”

  “If I’m to be grilled, I take it I may sit down, inspector?” Tim Berman’s tone was sardonic. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled out a chair, turned it around, and hitched one long jeans-clad leg over it to sit with arms resting on the chair-back. The rolled-back sleeves of his check shirt revealed slim but well-muscled forearms, ending in large hands with unexpectedly stubby fingers, the nails short and well-kept. His light brown hair showed a sprinkle of grey and there were white creases around the laughter-lines of his deep-set brown eyes, which had deep dark circles beneath them. Late thirties, Constable estimated.

  “Not grilled at all, Mr. Berman,” responded the inspector easily. “Far from it. We haven’t the authority to do anything of the kind, as I’m sure you probably realise. It’s simply that Captain Alfredo finds himself in need of a little assistance in looking into your friend’s death and gathering some of the facts from those individuals who were present last evening, and as we were on the spot, we were only too happy to help.”

  “As a sort of professional courtesy?”

  “Something like that, sir,” smiled Constable in agreement. “If you can spare us a moment…?”

  There was a shade of reluctance in Tim’s voice. “Very well. Although I’ve got a pint getting warm inside… ”

  “We’ll try not to keep you from it too long, sir. So, then – Mr. Laborero. Your friend…?”

  “Friend… colleague… whatever you like, inspector.” Tim Berman did not seem disposed to offer more information than was absolutely necessary.

  Andy Constable paused. “Look, Mr. Berman, can we start again? I get the impression that you think I’m trying to trap you into something, which I’m not. My colleague and I are just attempting to help a fellow policeman look into a rather unpleasant murder, and giving up our holiday into the bargain. So a few basic facts, and then we can get out of your way. How’s that?”

  Tim seemed to relax. “Sorry, inspector. You’re right, of course. I’m afraid that after living in this country for a while, I’ve rather adopted the customary native truculence in response to questioning from officialdom. It’s purely a defence mechanism – it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. So, what would you like to know?”

  “As much as you care to tell me, Mr. Berman. At the moment, all we have is your name. It might be useful if we knew how you came to know the dead man. I take it you won’t object if my sergeant makes a couple of notes?”

  “Building up the dossier, eh?” Tim gave a wry smile. “Sorry, there I go again. Right. Juan Manuel and I work together – worked, I suppose I have to say now. We’re… damn! We were both with X-Pat’s firm.” He looked quizzically at the inspector. “I suppose you do know who I’m talking about – X-Pat Connor, the builder?”
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  “Yes, we’ve met Mr. Connor, sir,” affirmed Constable, “so we know who he is. And you’re one of his associates?”

  “You could say that, inspector. I’m his chief carpenter.”

  “Doors and kitchens, then, sir?” interposed Dave Copper. “Is that the sort of thing?”

  “Thank you, sergeant,” replied Tim. “You make it sound so impressive.” The irony in his voice was plain. “Yes, shutters, balconies, balustrades, built-in fitments – anything involving carpentry. All the villas which X-Pat builds are individual commissions, which means that virtually nothing is standard. Everything has to be tailor-made to fit the particular building, plus we’re very often working with unusual woods rather than the standard softwoods and oak and such. So I am in control of a group of skilled craftsmen.”

  “And this was what brought you into contact with Mr. Laborero?”

  “Of course, sergeant. I would work very closely with Juan, because he had overall control of the schedule of the building works, and I had to make sure that my team of chippies were always standing by at just the right moment so that we didn’t get any delays. It’s all a jigsaw.”

  “You use jigsaws, sir?”

  Tim laughed softly. “No, sergeant,” he explained with a pitying smile. “The scheduling. I can’t afford to have my lads hanging around between jobs getting paid for doing nothing. So the builds are sequenced so that the electricians, for instance, go in and work on a particular project, then they move on to the next job and the plasterers move in, then as soon as they’ve finished my team takes over, then the decorators, and so on. That way, each team makes the most effective use of its time.”

  “Like a conveyor belt, then, sir?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And that’s what cuts out the delays?”

  “Yes. X-Pat has never been one to put up with delays. Not conducive to a good bottom line. It costs a great deal to build some of these villas, so you have to keep a very tight rein. As soon as you’ve got somebody standing about doing nothing, you might as well start setting fire to bundles of Euro notes. Mind you, having said that, it’s always going to cost that bit extra to have a permanent workforce rather than just hiring casuals as and when.”