Juan Foot in the Grave

by Roger Keevil

  “Not a clue, sir.”

  “And that’s my point. You wouldn’t know, would you, not without taking the whole thing to pieces, and who’s going to do that? You’d have no need. And here’s another thought – if somebody had the security people at the quarry in their pocket, who’s to say they even paid for the marble in the first place?”

  “It sounds to me,” resumed Andy Constable, “and correct me if I’m wrong, but you may be referring to Mrs. Stone. Which seems to be straying rather from the point, when what we’re seeking to do is investigate the death of Juan Manuel Laborero. So do we have some sort of a link?”

  “It’s not up to me to make judgements, inspector. But let’s just say that that may not have been the only secret of a certain lady, I reckon. Now don’t get me wrong – Roxanne’s a free agent now, and she can do what she likes. You know her husband’s dead, I take it?”

  “Yes, we had been told that.”

  “Well, I was good mates with Ed Stone up until he had his nasty accident, and I don’t like to think that there may have been anything between Roxy and Juan beforehand.”

  “You say ‘nasty accident’, Mr. Torrance? What happened?”

  “Oh, it was up at one of the quarries,” explained Walter. “Ed was up there one day, checking out something or other, and he had a fall. Stupidest thing ever – you can’t believe that a bloke who’s been around quarries all his life is going to go climbing a rock-face without so much as a hard hat on, but by all accounts, that’s what he did. Killed instantly, Juan said. He told the police all about it.”

  “Juan was there?”

  “Aye. It was a weekend, and Ed had taken him along. Just as well, really, because he told the police he saw the whole thing when he reported it. And of course he had the terrible business of telling Roxanne. I think that may be what brought them closer together.”

  “Yes,” said Constable, “I imagine it must have been a dreadful shock for her. You could see how that could happen.”

  “Well, inspector, I’m not one for gossip, but maybe Roxanne wasn’t so cut up about Ed’s death as some people might be. Oh, I don’t know that there was anything wrong between them or anything like that, but for a start, it meant that she inherited the whole building supplies company, which was worth shedloads of money, so I dare say that helped her to get over it. And as I say, Juan was around to give her a hand.”

  “So, Mr. Torrance, we’re back to Juan again, and as I say, I’m rather more interested in his movements at Friday’s party than any other time. So if we can focus on that…”

  Walter gave a wry smile. “The party. Hmmm. More like a game of hide-and-seek, I’d say.”

  “Now that, sir, is a very odd remark. From what everyone else has told us so far, it was just a pleasant social occasion.”

  “Might have started out as such, guv,” put in Dave Copper. “Didn’t end up that way though, did it? Maybe Mr. Torrance can give us some pointers as to when things changed.”

  “True. Mr. Torrance, so far we’re woefully short on specifics. Times and such. Can you help us out on that?”

  “I’ll give it my best shot, inspector.” Walter thought for a moment. “Right. I didn’t stir too much out of the big room, because I was talking to Percy when I first arrived, and he’s got a very generous hand with the whisky bottle, so you can imagine I didn’t want to stray too far. And then Eve came up, and I was with her after that. In fact, inspector, if you’re looking for a suspect, you’ll not find one in me, because I was in plain view of everyone the whole time.”

  “Yes, but the point is, was everyone in plain view of you? I take it they weren’t. From your remark about hide-and-seek.”

  “Let me see… I did see Juan early on, but I couldn’t tell you exactly when.” Copper sighed in the background. “Hold your horses, laddie. I’m still thinking. Now Juan had gone off somewhere at one point, because Tim Berman was looking for him, which must have been about a quarter past ten. Aye, because Roxanne and Ewan had come back in about five minutes before… ”

  “Do you mean back in from the garden, sir?” interrupted Copper.

  “That’s right. So then Tim went out to look for him, but he came back in a few minutes later to say he couldn’t find him. Mind you, it’s no wonder – it was as black as your hat out there.”

  “So did you see Mr. Laborero after that?” asked Constable.

  “No, inspector, I did not, but then, I wouldn’t have had much chance. I left a few minutes after that, because I didn’t want to be too late. I had some thoughts of getting an early start.”

  “Really, sir? What, with the fiesta weekend and everything?”

  “Well, inspector, I’m not much of a man for fiestas and such. We lose enough work-time round here as it is with all that malarkey. I’d rather put in an honest day’s work, so I planned to pop in here and see if I could get a few things sorted out ahead of Tuesday. Fat chance – when I turned up here, one of Alfredo’s lads was on the gate, and he turned me away. No wonder – you can’t get much in the way of drains laid with a dead Spaniard in your trench, can you?”

  Chapter 10

  “Breakfast, boys,” announced Eve brightly as she arrived with a heavily-laden tray. “Sorry about the hold-up, but I’d run out of sausages, so I had to get some more out of the freezer, and I had to make sure they were defrosted properly, because I don’t want to go killing off my customers, do I?”

  “Preferably not,” replied Constable drily. “We’ve got enough to do as it is.”

  Eve’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, what am I saying? Oh, that’s dreadful. Andy, I hope you don’t think that I… I mean I wouldn’t… ”

  “Don’t worry, Eve,” Constable soothed her. “Anybody can do a foot-in-mouth. You should hear some of the things my sergeant here come out with.”

  “I’ll just let you have your food then, shall I?” Eve hurried away.

  “That, guv, was one of the best breakfasts I’ve had in a long time,” stated Dave Copper as he wiped up the remaining smears of baked bean sauce from around his plate.

  “She does a good breakfast, does Eve,” agreed Walter Torrance. “Girl in a million. I’m surprised someone doesn’t snap her up.”

  “There you are, David,” smiled Andy Constable. “What finer recommendation could you have than that? Somebody who can do you a breakfast just the way you like it.”

  Copper was spared any further teasing by the timely arrival of Eve herself. “Everything all right, boys?”

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” said Constable. “We are fortified for the rest of the day. And I haven’t forgotten that you said you had things to tell us.” He cast a sideways glance at Walter.

  “That’s fine, inspector,” responded the Scot. “A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse. I dare say this is all about Juan, and you’ll be wanting to know whether I’ve told you the truth or not, so I’ll leave you in peace to have your wee chat.” He rose to his feet. “Be seeing you, Eve.” He winked at her. “Be gentle with them.”

  As Walter left, Constable looked around the terrace, which had emptied of customers save for a solitary elderly man immersed in a Spanish newspaper on the far side of the terrace. “If you’re free, Eve, no time like the present.” He indicated a seat at the table.

  As Eve sat and drew breath to begin, Dave Copper’s mobile leapt into life.

  “Hello… oh, yes, Alfredo… okay… what, now? Hang on – guv, it’s Alfredo. He wants to go and make that little visit he was talking about. You remember.”

  “Oh, to Mr.… yes, of course. Right now?”

  “He says so. He wants us to meet him at the house.”

  “Look, Eve, sorry, but duty calls. We’re going to have to postpone this. Come on, Copper. We’re off.”

  “It’s a conspiracy, isn’t it, guv?”

  “Shut up and get the car keys.”

  *

  At X-Pat Connor’s villa, Alfredo’s police car had jus
t pulled on to the empty drive as Constable and Copper arrived. As the Spaniard climbed out, he greeted his British colleagues with a smile. “Thank you for coming, Andy and Dave. I do not know, but I think maybe we will be quicker if we have three people, and also it could be that you see something that I do not.”

  Dave Copper surveyed the vacant parking space in front of the house. “Looks as if Mr. Connor’s gone off somewhere.” And in response to Alfredo’s slow smile, “You knew, didn’t you? You knew he wasn’t around, so you chose now. You reckon there’s something to find, don’t you? Do you think Connor’s mixed up in all this?”

  Alfredo remained calm in the face of Copper’s growing excitement. “I do not know anything for sure, David. I do not know a reason why Mr. Connor should kill Juan Manuel. This is not to say that there is not such a reason. But I am a policeman like you – I am a suspicious person. And we have the opportunity to see if there are some things, not only about Mr. Connor, but about many of the other people in the case, which are not as they should be.”

  “He’s right, Copper,” pointed out Constable. “This is probably the perfect place. Everybody involved has got a link here. Connor lives here, so does Philippa Glass, Juan worked from here, so does Tim Berman and Walter Torrance…”

  “I thought we were ruling him out, guv. From what he told us about being with somebody all evening.”

  “Well, maybe,” admitted Constable dubiously. “I’ll have a bit more confirmation before I finally cross him off the list. But even so, you can bet that all the others – Liza Lott, Ewan Husami, and Roxanne Stone – have got business links with Connor, so who knows what there is to find.” He turned to Alfredo. “You’re in charge – over to you.”

  A weary-looking Philippa Glass answered the door. Apprehension leapt into her eyes. “X-Pat’s not here,” she blurted, “if that’s who you’re looking for. He’s gone out… to see someone.”

  “This is not a problem, Philippa,” replied Alfredo smoothly. “It is not Mr. Connor we wanted to see. But I have spoken to my superiors about this murder of Mr. Laborero, and they have agreed that it may help if I can examine his office to look if there is any helpful clue there. With your permission, of course.”

  “You want to do a search? What, all of you? I don’t know…” Philippa hesitated. “Have you got a warrant?”

  “No,” said Alfredo calmly. “That I do not have. I will not have a document from the judge until Tuesday. Of course, I can wait until Tuesday if you refuse to let me into the house. But I’m sure you would not wish to do that.” He smiled.

  “So… you want to see Juan’s office?”

  “And maybe the other offices as well, if that is all right? I hope you do not object?”

  “Oh. I suppose not. You’d better come in,” said Philippa grudgingly, and held back the door. “It’s down those stairs in the basement,” she continued. “The light is on the left. I think I’d better come with you.”

  “No, no, Philippa, you do not need to do that. My two friends here will give me all the help I need.”

  “Watch and learn, Copper,” murmured Constable in an undertone as the three policemen descended the stairs. “That is as smooth an unauthorised entry as I have ever seen. Well done, Alfredo.”

  “It is not illegal,” protested Alfredo laughingly. “But sometimes, we have to be a little faster than the paperwork. Now… ” A short corridor faced them, with doors left and right. “Do we work together, or do we have one office for each person?”

  “Split up,” suggested Constable. “We can cover more ground.”

  “Then I will look in here,” said Alfredo, indicating a cubby-hole whose notice-board was covered with notes and signs in Spanish. “I think this will be Juan’s room.” He disappeared through the door.

  The office Andy Constable entered was evidently the one occupied by Tim Berman. Rifling briskly through the papers on the desk and in its drawers, nothing sprang instantly to his attention. A small two-drawer filing cabinet alongside the desk seemed crammed with architectural plans, design drawings for furnishings, and commercial catalogues from a plethora of companies from all over the world detailing the bewildering and unending selection of woods on offer. On the notice-board was a large-scale map of the area dotted with variously coloured pins, presumably indicating the location of various work projects. Posted beneath it, and seeming to lack relevance, was a large-scale nautical chart of a section of coastline, with a prominent ‘X’ written on it in marker pen and the figures 12.30 alongside. The place indicated was distant from any marked town or village – only a single narrow road seemed to lead there. ‘Cala de los Pescadores’ was the legend. Constable trawled his memory banks to dredge up a translation – ‘Fishermen’s Cove’. As he mused over what, if any, meaning the chart had, he was interrupted by Dave Copper’s excited voice.

  “Here, guv, come and have a look what I’ve found.” Constable followed the sound to the room next door, which was noticeably more spacious and better furnished – evidently X-Pat Connor’s own office. A desk in pale Scandinavian wood, whose top was inlaid with a sheet of exquisitely-veined marble, matched ledger-laden bookshelves and a side table where a computer with a large flat-screen monitor slumbered, its single eye dormant. An aggressively modern floor lamp arched its metallic neck in an extended curve to finish in a bulbous cream acrylic shade over the chrome and white leather deep swivel chair in which Sergeant Copper was seated, swinging gently back and forth as he studied the documents in his hands.

  “What have we got?”

  “These, sir.” The papers appeared to be invoices from a company called ‘Costamatcon S.A.’, made out to Connor Construction at the address of the villa, and listing a variety of what Constable assumed must be building supplies.

  “So? They’re a couple of bills for some sort of materials, I suppose. You can’t tell what, because everything’s referred to by a product code, and I for one don’t intend to burrow through all the suppliers’ literature to find out what’s what.”

  “You don’t need to, guv.” Copper’s tone was triumphant. “Take a closer look. It’s not two bills – it’s one. Well, it is and it isn’t. Look – same invoice number on each, same date. Same materials – twenty-five cubic metres of whatever it is, a hundred and fifty cubic metres of something else, and eighty metres of some other thing. But on this one you’ve got a charge of x-amount for each thing, and a total of six thousand, six hundred and fifty Euros – on the other one, the price for everything is doubled, and the total comes to thirteen thousand, three hundred! Now there’s a nice little earner for someone!” Copper leaned back and grinned at his superior in satisfaction.

  Constable nodded slowly in agreement. “Very good, sergeant, as far as it goes. But don’t leave the job half-done. Continue with your excellent deductions to the logical conclusion.”

  “Okay, guv. I see it like this. We can’t be sure who this supply company is or what they’re supplying, because we haven’t got any names. But let’s just guess, as a reasonable supposition, that it might be Roxanne Stone. We know she does building materials. She supplies stuff to X-Pat Connor at a certain price for the building works, together with two versions of the invoice – he then pays the proper bill, and puts the dodgy one into his customer’s file. Then when, say, Percy Vere comes to pay for his villa, out comes the dodgy bill in justification of the charges, and Percy ends up paying over the odds, and he’s got no clue that he’s been diddled.”

  “A very cunning little scam,” mused Constable, “and probably exactly the sort of thing that Walter Torrance was alluding to with his not-so-subtle hints. But now we’ve got actual evidence of what he meant. And it’s reasonable to suppose that Juan Manuel Laborero was smack in the middle of it. Well done, Copper.”

  “Thanks, guv. Any luck your end?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice. I’ve had a brief browse through Tim Berman’s stuff, but nothing jumped out at me. Except… Ah, Alfredo!” he said, as the cap
tain appeared in the office doorway. “Have you managed to find anything useful?”

  “I do not know,” replied the Spaniard. “I have looked at the papers, but there is much there and I do not have time to… do you say ‘examine’… everything. I can send my boys on Tuesday to see if there is something. But I have this.” He held up a desk diary. “It is Juan Manuel’s. I will take it and look through it at my office. Do you have success?”

  “One or two things which look a bit iffy,” answered Constable, “but nothing which gives us an obvious reason for murder at the moment. We’re still chewing things over. But we’ve just got to take a look in Walter Torrance’s office, and then we’re done.”

  “I think I have finished,” said Alfredo. “So as you do that, I will find Miss Glass and tell her we will go soon.” He turned and headed towards the stairs.

  Walter’s cubicle was tiny and scrupulously neat. Pens were ranged in rows, papers were stacked in coloured trays in an orderly fashion, and a calendar and several notices were pinned to the noticeboard with immaculate precision.

  “This,” remarked Dave Copper, as the two detectives attempted to squeeze through the doorway, “is the office of a very tidy man. You know, I have trouble in imagining that he’d leave a dead body sticking out of one of his trenches in such a ramshackle manner.”

  “Nevertheless, Copper, stunning though your detective abilities may be, we do not conduct investigations on the basis of your imagination. Do the search.”

  A few brief moments’ rummage revealed nothing of interest. “We did have an inkling he was out of it, guv,” said Copper, climbing the basement stairs to return to the hall. “And if he’s got this alibi provided by Percy Vere and his whisky bottle, then at least there’s one name we can definitely cross off the list.” He looked around the empty hall. “I wonder where Alfredo’s got to.”

  “With Philippa Glass, I assume. In her previous sunny corner catching a few rays, perhaps.”

  The Britons emerged on to the terrace at the rear of the house, to find Philippa sitting under a sun umbrella, nursing a coffee and gazing unfocussed into space. Of Alfredo there was no sign.