Juan Foot in the Grave

by Roger Keevil

  “Yes, and to singularly little effect,” objected Constable. “Not only did nobody have a bad word to say about Laborero, but everybody was infuriatingly vague about when they saw him and where.”

  “Fret not, guv. For a start, we haven’t finished speaking to everyone. I bet you that somewhere in this lot, we shall turn up a diamond. And, we’ve always got the chance to go back and talk to people again. You know as well as I do that that’s when the cracks begin to show. That’s when we get ’em. If we start to tell A what B has said, then chances are that the stories are going to start to change.”

  “They’d better. We’ve only got a couple more days. Don’t forget we fly home on Tuesday.”

  Copper refused to be depressed. “We’ll get there, sir. I’ve got a feeling. You’ll do it.”

  Constable could not fail to be amused by his junior’s unbounded confidence. “This is your famous power of positive thinking again, isn’t it?”

  “That or the caffeine, guv. You decide.”

  A shadow fell across their table. Constable looked up. Liza Lott stood there. Her face was drawn.

  “Miss Lott?” Constable half-stood. “Were you wanting something?”

  “Not really, inspector,” she replied. “I’ve just locked up because I’m totally wasting my time working today. The place is absolutely dead… ” She caught her breath. “I mean, there’s no business about, so I’ve decided to pack it in and go home. I noticed you here and I thought I should just tell you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Lott. That’s thoughtful of you.”

  “Liza, please. Otherwise it all seems so official. You make me sound as if I’m some sort of suspect.”

  “Very well. Liza, then.” Constable declined to deny Liza’s assumption. He simply sat and looked up at her without speaking.

  Liza grew restive. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask if you’re making headway on the case, gentlemen?” she said.

  “I can’t really say at this stage,” said Constable neutrally. “Early days.”

  “Well…” Liza shifted awkwardly. “I’ll be off.” As she turned to leave, another woman hurried on to the bar terrace. She held out her hands to Liza, and the two women embraced.

  “Rox,” said Liza. “You’ve heard.”

  “Yes,” said the newcomer. “X-Pat phoned me. I was just coming up to pop into my office and I saw you here. What a dreadful thing.”

  “Rox, I think you ought to talk to these two,” said Liza, gesturing to the two Britons. “Alfredo has put them on the case. They’re policemen from England.”

  The woman frowned in disbelief. “You’re what?”

  “English police,” repeated Liza. “They’re investigating Juan’s death. They’re talking to everyone who was at Percy’s last night. They came and saw me first thing this morning. That was the first I heard of it.”

  “And what have you said to them?”

  “I’ve just told them what I know,” sighed Liza wearily. “Look, I can’t be doing with all this. I’ve got a splitting headache. I’m just going home. If that’s all right with you, inspector…?”

  “Of course, Miss Lott. You go. We’ll find you if we need you.” As Liza turned and left, Constable gestured to an empty chair. “Do sit down, Miss… ?”

  “Stone. Mrs. And Liza called you ‘inspector’.”

  “That’s right, Mrs. Stone.” Constable performed the introductions. “I’m rather glad you’re here, because it saves us the task of tracking you down. You see, your name is on a list which the local police have given us of those people who were present last night at Mr. Vere’s party when, to the best of our knowledge, Mr. Laborero was killed. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, I was there,” agreed the new arrival. In contrast to the immaculately-turned-out Liza, she presented an altogether less groomed appearance. Her longish mousey-coloured hair was untidily drawn back into a loose ponytail, and the faded jeans and pale-blue polo shirt which she wore concealed a figure which looked to be on the verge of turning plump. A plain gold ring and a substantial solitaire diamond gleamed on her left hand, but she was otherwise devoid of jewellery. A touch of lipstick was the sole concession to make-up. She looked at the detectives with calm hazel eyes and waited. Just turned forty at a guess, thought Constable, and could be quite good-looking with a little more effort.

  “You said Mr. Connor has told you what’s happened, Mrs. Stone. Did he give you any details?”

  “No, just that Juan had been found dead in Percy’s garden, and that the police think it’s murder. He didn’t say anything about when or how or who.”

  “And I’m afraid that we’re not in any position to fill in any of those gaps for you at this stage, madam,” said Constable with a disarming smile. “At the moment I’m rather more concerned with gathering information than handing it out. Now, if I can just establish a few basic facts, and I take it that you won’t mind if my sergeant makes a couple of notes.”

  “I’d better have your full name to start with, madam, if you don’t mind,” interjected Copper.

  “Of course. It’s Roxanne Stone.”

  Constable picked up the questioning again. “So, Mrs. Stone, I’m under the impression that the majority of people at Mr. Vere’s little get-together last night were in some way connected with the building of the villa. So do you fit into that category as well?”

  “Yes. I run a building supplies company.”

  “Really?” Constable sounded faintly surprised.

  “Yes, inspector. I know it might sound like an unusual job for a woman, but the firm was started by my late husband, Ed Stone, and I took it over when he died a while ago.”

  “So am I to take it that you worked with Mr. Connor on the construction project for Mr. Vere’s villa?”

  “Oh, not just that one. X-Pat and I have been working in conjunction for quite some while now. Our businesses dovetail quite well. We’re both quite specialised, and neither of us caters for what you might call the bread-and-butter end of the market. Just as well, really,” she snorted derisively, “with the bottom end of the market being what it is at the moment – not that much bread, and precious little butter. But in our line of work, we’re not too affected by the crash. Never mind what the saying is about the poor – as far as we’re concerned, I’m pleased to say that the rich are always with us.”

  “And the rich are your clients.” Constable made it a statement rather than a question.

  “Certainly. We do a lot of sandstone and marble and granite – premium building materials. Most of X-Pat’s clients aren’t the sort of people who would want a house built out of those cheap terracotta bricks. One bump with a car, and you’ve lost an entire wall. No, our clients are looking for the best, so of course they’re more than happy to pay extra. So with me supplying the finest materials, and X-Pat’s expertise in the construction business, our clients have the complete package.” She stopped abruptly. “Listen to me, launching into the sales spiel. I’m sorry, but when I start talking shop, I tend to go on to auto-pilot. And none of it is what you want to hear, I expect.”

  “Information is never wasted, Mrs. Stone,” Constable reassured her. “But you’re right, it’s information about last night’s events that I’m more concerned about at this point. Now unfortunately, most of the people we’ve already spoken to have been rather vague about their contacts with Mr. Laborero last night. I don’t suppose you can help us out with a bit more detail, can you?”

  “Yes, of course I can, inspector.”

  “That’ll make a nice change,” muttered Dave Copper in the background.

  “Now, let me think. I got there not far off nine o’clock – yes, because X-Pat and Philippa had got there just before me. And then Percy insisted that he give me a complete tour of the house, because I hadn’t been there since it was pretty much an unfinished shell, and we had been around choosing the materials and finishes for his bathrooms and kitchen and so on. But then once I’d escaped from him, I w
ent and got myself another drink, and then I was talking to Juan for quite a while. But then, you know what it’s like, someone else came up and Juan got talking to them – it might have been Philippa, but I’m not sure – and then I got grabbed again by Percy because he was intent on making sure that all his guests circulated and didn’t get into a huddle with anyone in particular. I did want to have another chat with Juan a bit later, and I went looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found.”

  “Did you want him for any particular reason?” asked Constable.

  “Oh no,” replied Roxanne. “It was just something I’d suddenly thought of about the business. Juan was always managing to find new suppliers for me, because he knew everyone, so I wanted a word about that. Nothing important.” Her face fell. “It’s all very sad. Juan was a really nice guy.”

  “So everyone has told us,” remarked Constable. “Which makes it that much more unbelievable to think that, in the absence of any surprising new information concerning some outsiders we know nothing about, one of his friends must have killed him.” He sat back to watch the reaction to his remark.

  “That’s a horrible thought, inspector,” said Roxanne quietly. “I hope you do find it was someone from the outside. Otherwise, how can the rest of us…?” She tailed off.

  After a moment’s awkward silence, Dave Copper came to the rescue. “Well, Mrs. Stone,” he said, closing his notebook, “I think I’ve got everything. Unless you need anything else, sir?” He glanced enquiringly at his superior.

  “I think not.”

  Copper stood. “So in that case, sir, should we be getting on? You did say you wanted to… ”

  Constable swiftly picked up the hint and got to his feet. “Yes, you’re right, sergeant. We must get on. Things to do, Mrs. Stone – people to talk to. I’m sure you understand. But perhaps we can talk again later.”

  As the two detectives returned to their car, Constable looked quizzically at his colleague. “What was all that about, Copper? You plainly wanted to get away, but what’s the hurry?”

  “The thought occurred to me, sir,” answered Copper, “that the phones have been buzzing. Everybody has heard about this business from somebody else. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could get to someone before they’ve heard the news? You never know, it might stop somebody having the chance to get their story straight before we talk to them.”

  “Anyone in particular in mind?”

  “Not at all, sir. But I have to say, I’m looking forward to having a chat with this elusive Mr. Husami.”

  “Good thinking, Copper. Right, let’s see if we can track him down. Any ideas?”

  “Alfredo? He’ll probably know if anyone does.”

  “Right then, sergeant – back across the road. You know, we’re spending so much time in this station, I’m starting to think we might as well get a transfer.”

  *

  As Constable and Copper entered Alfredo’s office, he was just hanging up the phone on his form-strewn desk.

  “I have just spoken to my Commander,” he explained. “I succeeded in finding him at last. He was not pleased that I disturb him on fiesta day, but when I told him about Mr. Laborero’s murder, he became very interested. I do not know why in special, but he has given me the permission to make a search of Juan Manuel’s office. It is part of Mr. Connor’s place. Who knows, I may find something with his work that is a help.”

  “Yes, Mr. Connor told us about his office. Do you want us to come with you? It’s over the road above the estate agent’s, he said.”

  “No,” contradicted Alfredo. “This is where he meets his clients. There are many offices above those shops. Mrs. Stone has one too. No, Mr. Connor’s real office where he runs his business is at his house. His company is based in his home, so his managers all have their offices there.”

  “Whereabouts?” enquired Copper, intrigued. “We never saw any sign of an office when we were there, did we, guv?”

  “It is in his sotano… underground… ”

  “Basement?”

  “Yes, that is it. Many of the big houses are built with a garage underneath the house – Mr. Connor has made his into his offices.”

  “You’re pretty well-up on the people on your patch, aren’t you, Alfredo,” remarked Copper admiringly.

  “It is my job,” replied Alfredo simply. “And the people with much money, those I like to know a little more about.”

  “So,” repeated Constable, “any objections if we tag along when you go visiting?”

  “Not at all, but I do not think I will have time to go today. I have many things here that I must do.” He gestured to the paperwork in front of him. “But I will go tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. Actually, that’s not why we came to see you. We wondered if you might know where we can track down the last couple of people on the list you gave us. Mr. Husami, for instance.”

  Alfredo thought for a moment. “It may be difficult on fiesta day. I do not think he will be working, and his house is out in the country many kilometres. But he has a boat in the marina in San Pablo port, so I think at a weekend he is very often there.”

  “Another one of your wealthy locals you keep an eye on?” queried Copper with a grin.

  “Of course.”

  “We’ll give it a go, then, sir, shall we?” Copper swept an arm towards the door in a florid gesture. “Your carriage awaits.”

  *

  The drive into San Pablo was short, but as the car approached the centre, the roads became ever more filled with crowds streaming away from the direction of the main square.

  “It’s busy today, sir,” commented Copper as he negotiated a particularly large family group who seemed determined to cross the road as one single unit.

  “Of course,” said Constable. “Don’t you remember those people at the Runcorn, all dressed up? Eve told us there was a procession and a church service – I bet it’s just turned out, so they’re all off for their lunch.”

  “Well, if they’re all off somewhere, guv, we might stand a chance of getting somewhere to park.”

  Copper was in luck. As he approached the road along the harbour front, lined with restaurants whose terraces, overflowing the pavements and spilling on to the road, were becoming ever more crowded, an elegant limousine with tinted windows slid out of a space just in front of him.

  “More money, guv,” remarked Copper as he reversed into the gap.

  “As you say. We’re certainly in the right place for it.”

  The quays of the marina stretched away to the left behind a gleaming white and flag-decked yacht clubhouse. Vessels of every sort, from simple chubby 28-foot motor-sailers to the most gleaming confections in aluminium, glass, teak and chrome, nestled against the pontoons. One cruiser in particular caught Copper’s eye.

  “Will you take a look at that one, sir!” The boat was well worth admiration. The long sleek lines of the craft moored alongside the pier were a delight to the eye. From a waterline poised to cut the ocean like the sharpest of knives, the bow flared proudly up and out, and the hull in deepest graphite grey streaked back towards the stern as if poised to pounce. Above, a dazzling white superstructure, punctuated with smoky grey windows in an elongated diamond form which echoed the racing lines of the vessel, rose to a roofed cockpit where chrome shone on the impressive wheel, and coloured glints from the navigational lights provided the only relief from the beautifully stark monochrome theme. Whiplash aerials and a radar golf-ball topped the structure. Aft, beneath a striped awning in shades of grey, lay an immaculately-patterned timber open deck, bleached to the palest buff, where varnished wooden steamer chairs were placed around a table alongside an open locker containing an impressive array of spirits. Astern, in the slight chop of the marina’s waters, danced a miniature acolyte which proclaimed its identity as ‘Tender to Medea’. “That,” breathed Copper, “is worth a pretty penny.”

  “I see you’re admiring my boat, gentlemen.” The soft Scots burr at the
ir shoulder caused the detectives to spin round in surprise. Rather more surprising was the appearance of the owner of the voice. Of middling height, and with receding grey-brown hair with a pronounced kink in it, the man smiled at them with an array of white teeth in an olive complexioned face, whose eyes were concealed behind mirrored aviator shades. A pale turquoise open-necked shirt beneath a crisply-tailored cream linen suit shrieked ‘designer’. White leather snake-skin patterned shoes matched the glimpse of belt. “Would you like to take a closer look at her?”

  Copper could not restrain his enthusiasm. “Wow! Would I?”

  “Ewan Husami.”

  “You what?”

  “Ewan Husami.” The man extended his hand. “The Medea is my boat. And you, if I’m not much mistaken, are the two gentlemen from the British police who are anxious to speak to me about this sad matter of Juan Manuel. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

  “No, sir, you’re not, but how…?”

  Ewan waved his hand airily. “One hears things. San Pablo is a very small place. Now, are we going to stand here in the sun, or are you going to come aboard, sit down, have a drink, and talk about things in a civilised manner?” Without waiting for an answer, he led the way on board, seemingly confident that the two detectives would follow.

  “Another of those amazing coincidences you’re so un-fond of, guv?” hissed Copper out of the side of his mouth.

  “Shut up and get on board!”

  “Take a seat, gentlemen,” said Ewan, indicating a pair of cushioned seats under the awning. “You’ll have a drink, I’m sure. I can do you a beer or something a little more interesting, or I have soft drinks as well. It all depends on whether you’re going to give me that old ‘not while I’m on duty, sir’ line.”

  “A beer will do very nicely, sir, thank you,” replied Constable. “You’re very kind. And we’re not officially what you might call ‘on duty’. It’s just that we have become acquainted with the local police captain, and he has enlisted our help over Mr. Laborero’s death. But from what you say, I’m assuming you know this already.”