Juan Foot in the Grave

by Roger Keevil

  Ewan nodded in affirmation. “In fact, there are really only two things I don’t know. One is precisely who you are… ” Constable told him. “And the other is, how you think I can help you.”

  “Not necessarily you in particular, sir,” said Constable, accepting a tall beer-glass already covered with condensation in the warmth of the afternoon. “But we’re interviewing – at Captain Alfredo’s request, you understand – all those who were at Mr. Vere’s house-warming party in the hope of gleaning some significant piece of information which may lead us to the killer. And you, we are told, were present. Can I ask in what capacity? Are you a friend of Mr. Vere’s, or is it a business connection?”

  Ewan seated himself, leaned back and stretched out his legs, and tossed his sun-glasses carelessly on to the table-top. “Do you know, Mr. Constable, that is probably one of the more difficult questions to answer,” he mused. “I have so many business interests, I hardly know what to call myself. I suppose, if you force me to it, I would have to say I’m an entrepreneur.”

  “Which, I’m afraid, sir, tells me everything and nothing. Could you be a little more explicit.”

  “By all means, inspector.” Ewan smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m rather teasing you. Specifics, then. The reason I was there last night was because I’ve known Percy Vere slightly for several years – he comes into the bar here at the yacht club occasionally, so of course you get chatting – but also because I have a connection to his new villa through X-Pat Connor, who I think you have met.” Constable nodded a confirmation in response to an interrogative eyebrow. “I have a lot of dealings with X-Pat and Liza Lott because I have a cousin who has an architect’s practice in Alicante. I’m a partner in the practice, so we work very closely together with their clients to generate the designs for the villas they commission.”

  “I see, sir. So that’s mainly what you do? And that’s how you came into contact with Mr. Laborero?”

  “Oh, not at all. No, I’m no architect myself – I just have an investment in the business. My main dealings with Juan were through another cousin of mine who runs the agency I own for freelance building labourers.”

  “Here in San Pablo, sir?”

  “No, no, up and down the coast. And inland, up towards the mountains, for that matter. Despite what you may have read in the press, there’s always a ready market for special houses – people coming in from Eastern Europe are some of our best clients, you may be surprised to hear. So wherever there’s building going on, there’s always going to be a demand for flexible labour. A man like Juan wouldn’t necessarily know what workforce he’d need from one day to the next. Just for the routine labouring, you understand – the skilled men are a different matter altogether.” He chuckled in amusement. “My cousin’s certainly kept on the hop juggling everybody’s needs.”

  “I think Mr. Vere may have mentioned something about it, sir. So, pretty big family business then,” commented Dave Copper. “I see what you mean when you say you have trouble deciding what exactly you do.”

  Ewan laughed. “Hey, that’s not all of it. There’s the site security. And, we have a lot of people coming in from abroad when they first get the idea of building a holiday home out here, so we need to organise a lot of flights. Fortunately, another one of my businesses is a travel agency, so one way and another, we get to keep a pretty tight control on the whole project.”

  “You’re not going to tell me that the agency is run by another one of your cousins, are you, sir?”

  “Where on earth would you get an idea like that, sergeant?” A sigh of mock relief from Copper. “He’s my second cousin.”

  “Forgive me for sounding nosey, sir,” persisted Copper, “but if you don’t mind me saying so, the Scottish accent doesn’t quite seem to go with the name. I’ve never met anyone called Husami before.”

  “That, sergeant, is probably because you’ve never been to Morocco.” Copper looked baffled. “It’s perfectly simple, sergeant. My dad was from Morocco, and when he was young he worked for a time at a hotel in London. He was a waiter. While he was there he met this wee Scottish girl who was a dancer at one of the theatres, who took a fancy to him, and they got married. Result, me! So you see before you a right mixture. I was born in England, the surname’s from my dad, the first name’s from my granddad in Glasgow, the accent’s from my mum… ” He drained his glass. “And the beer’s from the fridge. Another, either of you?”

  Just as Dave Copper seemed disposed to take up the offer, Andy Constable leant forward to resume charge of the conversation. “We won’t, sir, thank you all the same. This isn’t really a social call. We’re actually more interested in what you can tell us about the events of last evening.”

  “What can I say, inspector? It was a very pleasant party, with Percy playing the part of the genial host as he does so well, and the rest of us simply having a good time among friends, chatting and enjoying Percy’s generous liquid hospitality.”

  “Did you have any particular dealings with Juan Manuel?”

  “Dealings? What an odd word. I had a few conversations with him, and a few drinks, if that’s what you mean, but I really wasn’t there to talk business. No, I came, I saw, I conversed – and at the end of it I went home.”

  “And was Mr. Laborero still around when you left?”

  “I have no idea, inspector. I don’t remember seeing him, but I wasn’t checking up on everybody’s movements. Forgive me for not having thought of it.”

  Inspector Constable rose to his feet. His tone was brusque. “Then we’ll take up no more of your time, Mr. Husami. I’m sure you’ve helped us all you can, so we’ll leave it at that for now. Thank you for the drink – we’ll be on our way.” He led the way ashore briskly, while Dave Copper hastily bolted down the remains of his beer and trotted in his wake.

  Chapter 9

  “Now there’s a very smooth gentleman,” remarked Copper as the Britons headed down the pier towards dry land once more. “Not the most helpful individual we’ve ever interviewed, eh, guv?”

  “Well spotted, Copper – ten out of ten,” snapped Constable, and immediately relented. “Sorry, David – I shouldn’t take it out on you. No, you’re quite right, of course. Blood out of a stone doesn’t come into it. And I do resent characters like that seeking to amuse themselves at our expense.”

  “So you reckon he was being deliberately obstructive then, guv? All this ‘oh dear, if only I could remember’ guff is just a load of old hogwash? You think he’s got something to hide?”

  “I’m absolutely certain he has. Now, whether that’s got anything to do with Juan’s death or not, I wouldn’t like to say.”

  “But you don’t think that the old ‘detective’s nose’ is letting you down?”

  “I don’t.” Constable smiled. “As a mere youthful whipper-snapper, you should recognise that my many years’ seniority in both age and experience gives me a considerable advantage over you. I’ve met more slippery customers than you’ve had hot dinners. So first, remember that you should never judge a book by its cover. But at the same time, just ask yourself, how come the son of a foreign waiter and a British chorus girl ends up owning a boat which probably cost more than you will earn during your entire career in the police force. Not to mention a clutch of businesses, of which we’ve possibly only heard about a few of the tentacles.”

  “Eggs with tentacles, guv? Sounds nasty!”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean, sergeant, mixed metaphor or not.”

  “Sorry, sir. Yes, sir. I do. But as to how, could be any number of reasons, couldn’t it? Brilliant entrepreneurial skills – ruthless ambition and a determination to tread on the opposition – after all, we’ve all seen ‘The Apprentice’ – just plain ordinary luck?”

  “Luck!” snorted Constable in derision. “Did you not notice the boat? Who gets that lucky?”

  “Can I make a suggestion, sir?”

  “Go on.”

  “You won’t like it
.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Could you sit down and take a deep breath, guv.” Constable gave his junior a look, then sat on a nearby bench as it became clear that Copper was not intending to proceed unless he complied.

  “Well?”

  “Shall we pack it in for today, sir? I think it’s getting to us.”

  “‘It’ being the case. And by ‘us’ you mean me. Yes?”

  “Look at it like this. We’ve been at it since first thing this morning. We’ve been asking questions all day, talking to people who either can’t or won’t tell us anything useful. And it’s not even as if it’s our case – we’ve just been dragged into it to help somebody out. I know you’ve got the bit between your teeth, sir, because that’s what you do, and I’ll admit that I want to know what happened, probably almost as much as you do. But we are supposed to be on holiday, and it is Saturday, and for crying out loud, we’re the only ones working in this whole blasted town!”

  Constable sat for a few moments as he digested what for Dave Copper was an unusually impassioned speech. Eventually the tension drained from his body, and he nodded.

  “Sergeant… David… you are a great deal cleverer than I sometimes give you credit for. You are absolutely right. Even Alfredo said he can’t do anything more before tomorrow. So we will bale out, and do our damnedest to find something else to occupy our thoughts. Any suggestions?”

  “Well, guv, it was probably the mention of hot dinners that did it. Could we please find some food? I can’t survive on the odd beer and coffee – I’ll start to twitch. We haven’t had a thing to eat so far today, and even the Spanish probably think this is a bit late to call lunch-time. We missed breakfast this morning when Alfredo came calling, and now I am so utterly starving that my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

  “God help us!” ejaculated Constable. “Let’s not go there. One gruesome death in one day, Sergeant Copper, may be regarded as a misfortune,” he intoned. “Two looks like carelessness.” He got to his feet and surveyed the still-milling crowds along the promenade. “Come on – fiesta or no, there’ll be a table somewhere.”

  *

  The restaurant could by no means be called chic, but it was certainly popular. A dozen or so busy tables were scattered under an awning between two rather dusty-looking mimosa trees, while through the full range of glazed doors, now standing open to take advantage of the spring sunshine, an interior furnished with simple pine tables and chairs appeared packed. A chalked blackboard alongside a serving hatch listed the dishes offered on the ubiquitous ‘menu del dia’ at a gratifyingly normal 10 Euros. Lettering along the front of the awning proclaimed the establishment to be ‘El Rincon de Hanibal’. As Constable and Copper approached, a couple rose from a table and, with a smile and a nod, departed as the two officers slid gratefully into their places. Miraculously, within seconds the table had been swept clear of used plates and glasses by a briskly-efficient passing waitress, and a basket of bread, a plate of salad, and a bottle of water accompanied by two glasses appeared unbidden as if by magic.

  “Another ‘Rincon’, guv,” remarked Copper. ‘No relation to the Runcorn, I hope.”

  “If by that you mean you’re anxious to avoid the attentions of the delicious Eve, I should imagine you’re relatively safe,” responded Constable, his good humour thoroughly restored. He nodded in the direction of a youthful curly-headed individual who was circulating from table to table with smiles and handshakes. “That, I’m deducing, is Hanibal, and I suspect you may not be his type at all.”

  “Bit of an unusual name, guv, isn’t it? I mean, you don’t meet many Hannibals on the average day.”

  “Ah, but I suspect you may in this neck of the woods. Something of a local hero, is Hannibal.”

  “We are talking about the same Hannibal, aren’t we, guv? The guy with the elephants? I thought he came from Carthage. Isn’t that North Africa?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, and yes, in that order. And your problem is what exactly?”

  “Oh no.” Dave Copper groaned and put his head in his hands. “I know that look. I’m about to get one of those history lessons from your fabulous education, aren’t I, sir?”

  “You will walk into these things, Copper.” Constable leaned back and stretched expansively. “We shall use these few moments of precious relaxation to improve your knowledge of ancient history. Unless you have any objection, of course?”

  “Just one question before you start, guv. Who’s paying for lunch?”

  “As I am now back in a good mood, sergeant, you will be pleased to hear that I am.”

  “In which case, sir, I don’t mind a bit. Bash on.”

  “Hannibal,” began Constable, “was indeed a member of a very famous Carthaginian ruling family. Have you heard of Hasdrubal?”

  “Vaguely, I think, guv. Was he another general? In the Punic Wars?”

  “Absolutely right. Maybe your education hasn’t been as badly neglected as I suspected. So, Hasdrubal Barca was Hannibal’s brother-in-law, and he was ruler of the city of Cartagena, just down the coast.”

  “What, here in Spain?”

  “The Romans weren’t the only ones with an empire, you know. In fact, that’s why the Romans and the Carthaginians came into conflict. Rival imperial ambitions, and this part of Spain was the front line. At one time, this was all part of Carthage’s empire, so when the Romans started spreading west, the Barca family didn’t take too kindly to it.”

  “So Hannibal loaded up his elephants and headed over the Alps?”

  “That’s skipping one or two steps, but in essence, yes. Of course, it did him no good in the long run, and the Romans ended up with pretty much all of the Iberian peninsula, and Carthage ended up as a pile of rubble with salt ploughed into its fields. Ruthless people, the Romans, when it suited them. But although Hannibal was gone, he wasn’t forgotten. He somehow hung on in local legend as a symbol of resistance to foreign oppression.”

  “What, some sort of North African Robin Hood?” laughed Copper.

  “You mock, but there’s a long tradition of conquest and underdogs in this part of the world. It’s not like in England – we have 1066, and apart from the occasional kerfuffle involving roses or Roundheads, nobody’s come tramping in from the outside to tread the people down. They have long memories around here, and there’s still more than a hint of North African influence left. Not just from the Carthaginians, of course, but you remember what Alfredo told us about the origins of this weekend’s fiesta – from the Moors as well.”

  “And still carrying on,” observed Copper, “with our friend Mr. Husami.” He suddenly guffawed. “Here, guv,” he gurgled in delight. “Does that make him one of the Scottish Moors?”

  “I shall pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Constable severely. “I have taken your advice and switched off. Unless you want to witness the return of the snarling old grouch who was here earlier, I suggest we stay away from that subject for the rest of the day.”

  Dave Copper was spared further criticism by the timely arrival of the waitress, order pad at the ready, with a cheery ‘Y que toman los señores?’. Constable took a deep breath, and wrenched his concentration to the Herculean task of plundering his meagre reserves of Spanish sufficiently to order the meal.

  “Er… ”

  The waitress took pity. “And what do you like to eat?”

  *

  Andy Constable was awoken on Sunday morning by the almighty splash from the pool beneath his bedroom window. Throwing back the sheet, he wrapped a towel around himself and padded out on to the balcony, from where he could see Dave Copper below flailing through the water in an inelegant but speedy front crawl. The sergeant glanced up and, with a cheerful flash of teeth and a wave, disappeared beneath the surface to emerge at the end of the pool in a flurry of spray and with much noisy puffing.

  “Insomnia?” enquired Constable mildly.

  “Too good a morning to waste, guv,” came
the reply. “It’s gone nine, you know.”

  “Couldn’t be bothered to shower?”

  “Sets you up, guv, a brisk swim first thing. Gets the blood circulating. You should give it a try.”

  “What, ‘come on in, the water’s lovely’? I suppose that’s your next line.”

  “Please yourself, guv. I’m only saying.”

  Thirty seconds was enough for Constable to pull on a pair of beach shorts and, with a noisy impact that scattered water for several yards, join his colleague in the pool. “You know what, David?” he spluttered as he surfaced. “You’re absolutely right. This was a very good idea.”

  “Recovered from yesterday, then, guv?”

  Constable flexed experimentally. “Well, the old bones don’t seem to be aching all that much, but I suspect my feet may be killing me for quite a while.”

  “Occupational hazard of being a flat-foot,” suggested Copper with a grin.

  Following their conversation at the restaurant table the previous day, the two had done well to stick to their agreement to avoid any further mention of the case in hand at all costs. Shop talk was ruthlessly prohibited. After a protracted and very pleasurable lunch – “This fish is brilliant, guv; I could live on fish if it didn’t cost an arm and a leg back home” – lubricated with a bottle of the restaurant’s house rosé – “I’ve had more than you, sir; you’d better drive. Here’s the car keys; just please don’t bend it!” – the pair had come to the mutual conclusion that the Spanish tradition of siesta had a great deal to be said for it. Constable was the first to arise from hibernation. With mug in hand, he tapped at Dave Copper’s door and, in response to the muffled grunt which he took as an invitation to enter, did so and drew back the half-closed curtains to illuminate a tousled figure blinking at him.

  “Medicinal tea,” he explained, placing the mug at the bedside.

  “Thanks, guv,” croaked Copper. “You know, I think I’m going to stay away from wine in future. It sneaks up on you. I’ll stick to beer – you know where you are with beer.”