Juan Foot in the Grave

by Roger Keevil

  “If it’s a question of certification, then perhaps she was worried about the signing-off of one of the building projects. It doesn’t seem a likely topic of conversation for a house-warming party, does it? And as for security, inspector, then no doubt that would be something related to the site guards.”

  “How cynical would it be to ask if these would be yet more of your Moroccan cousins, Mr. Husami?” Constable raised an eyebrow.

  “Ah, inspector, I do appreciate your sense of humour,” responded Ewan. “But when the money is talking, who cares where the labour comes from, as long as it’s cheap?”

  Chapter 12

  “That guy,” remarked Dave Copper, “has got evasion off to a fine art.” He leant against one of the ornamental cast-iron lamp standards adorning the promenade along San Pablo’s sea front.

  “Impressive, wasn’t it?” agreed Andy Constable wryly. “I can never quite make up my mind whether people like that are evasive for the sheer hell of it, or because they’ve actually got something to hide.”

  “Both, I bet, guv. He’s let enough things drop there to give one, as you might say, furiously to think.”

  “Been reading more 1930s detective fiction late at night, sergeant?”

  “It’s where I learnt all my best detective skills, sir,” grinned Copper. “Anyway, do you propose to take Mr. Husami’s hint and have further words with Liza Lott?”

  “Why not? She’s on the list. The only question is… ” Constable stopped short. “Hell’s teeth, Copper! How in the name of all that’s holy did you do that?”

  “What, guv?” asked the bewildered Copper.

  “That!” Constable turned Copper through 180 degrees and pointed along the promenade. There, approaching a mere fifty yards away, a model of purposeful sophistication from her dark hair drawn back into a smooth chignon to the vivid scarlet patent shoes which matched her neat clutch bag, in a short clinging dress in a bold geometric black-and-white pattern and wearing white-rimmed mirrored sunglasses, came Liza Lott herself. “If you tell me that this is the product of your infamous power of positive thinking, I shall personally strangle you!”

  “Nothing to do with me, guv,” protested a smiling Copper. “But who says an honest policeman never gets an even break?”

  As Liza Lott drew nearer, her pace seemed to falter for a moment as she recognised the two officers, but Constable was too quick to allow her to take avoiding action. “Miss Lott!” cried the inspector. “This is a happy coincidence. My colleague and I were just talking about you.”

  “Were you?” Liza sounded disconcerted.

  “Oh, just in the way of normal chat,” Constable reassured her. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re looking extremely glamorous this evening. On your way somewhere nice, are you?”

  “As it happens, yes, I am.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. I needed to have a further word with you, and this would have been the perfect opportunity. I don’t suppose… you couldn’t spare us a few minutes, could you? If I offer to buy you a coffee…?”

  “Um… well, I suppose so.”

  “I hope whoever it is you’re meeting won’t mind if you’re a couple of minutes late. Shall we…?” Constable indicated the glassed-in terrace of a smart ice-cream parlour on the opposite pavement. He stood back and invited Liza to lead the way.

  “Smartly done, guv,” murmured Dave Copper appreciatively.

  “You’re not the only one who can play the idiot when the need arises,” responded Constable in similarly lowered tones. “Lull them into a false sense of security. Works nearly every time.”

  The coffee order executed, Constable leaned forward confidentially. “Miss Lott. You strike me as a woman with her finger very much on the pulse of things. I think you know pretty much what’s going on in your little… well, perhaps not so little… circle of friends. Friends and business contacts, of course – I realise that they’re not necessarily the same thing. So I’m hoping you can provide me with some truths which I’m not always getting from other people.”

  “What do you mean, inspector? Where is this leading?”

  “For a start, to the truth about Juan Manuel Laborero. When first we spoke to all the people who were present at Mr. Vere’s party, everyone was singing Mr. Laborero’s praises. Nobody could say enough good about him.” Constable permitted himself a small dry smile. “To listen to you all, it was inconceivable that anyone should wish him harm, let alone murder him. But between you and me, the cracks are starting to show. I’m getting inconsistencies in what people are telling me. Now why would that be, do you suppose?”

  Liza paused for a few seconds, then seemed to come to a conclusion. “You want the truth? Well, I hope you can handle the truth. So guess what? Juan Manuel was a scheming little rat who was only after one thing!”

  Constable was taken aback at Liza’s sudden vehemence. “Would it be indelicate to assume that the one thing you refer to would be…?” He let the query hang in the air.

  “Actually, inspector, I lied. Two things. Apart from the obvious, which you have so cleverly worked out, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he got very well paid, he wouldn’t have cared a damn about whether X-Pat and I got this venture off the ground or not.”

  “Paid by yourself and Mr. Connor, you mean?”

  “Think that if you like, inspector. But you ought to bear in mind that there are always two parties to any negotiation. Juan was a very… proficient middle-man. He had access to all the people X-Pat and I needed to start things up the way we wanted. And of course, once we started, we just kept going. Which has been fine up to now.”

  “And why would now be any different?” butted in Copper.

  “Because of the investigation that they’re talking about, sergeant.”

  “Of course. You remember, guv. Percy Vere told us his solicitor had mentioned something of the sort.”

  “So some people are running scared, is that what you’re telling us?” resumed Constable.

  Liza suddenly seemed to realise that she was getting into deeper water than she had intended. “I’m not admitting that there was anything illegal about our operation, inspector. There’s a fine tradition around here – favours for favours, that’s all.” She snorted. “I dare say your friend the police captain could tell you a story or two in that line. Have you considered asking him a few questions instead of coming round bothering the rest of us? But X-Pat would have been in deep trouble if the paperwork had dried up, and Juan was the only one who knew all about it. So it wouldn’t exactly have been in the best interests of either of us to go killing the man who helped us get our golden eggs, would it?”

  “Personal matters aside, Miss Lott?”

  “Personal matters aside,” stated Liza firmly. “But as for that, Juan really didn’t care what he did to get what he wanted. You try asking the sisterhood about that.”

  “And by the sisterhood you would mean…?”

  “Mr. Constable.” Liza stood. “You’re not a stupid man. You work it out. And now, if you don’t mind, I have somewhere to be, and I am late.” Without a further word, she turned and crossed the road, and in moments was lost among the fiesta crowds still thronging the promenade and heading for the main square.

  “You don’t suppose she’s heading off for an evening with Mr. Husami, do you, guv?” hazarded Dave Copper.

  “I couldn’t begin to guess,” replied Constable. “But what an intriguing thought if she were. Business or pleasure, do you suppose?”

  “On that subject, guv, you’ve still got a couple of ladies left on your list for a little light grilling. The sisterhood, as Miss Lott called them. Bit lacking in solidarity, isn’t she? But if you think about it, I suppose they do fit quite neatly into the two categories.”

  “What are you talking about, man?”

  “Business and pleasure, sir,” explained Copper. “Roxanne Stone and Philippa Glass. Chalk and cheese. Hard-as-nails or kept woman. Quite a
contrast. So shall we go a-hunting?”

  “Copper, you sometimes have a very quaint turn of phrase.” Constable heaved himself to his feet with a quiet groan. “I’m getting too old for this. And remind me never to accept any further invitations from you in future. You promised me a Spanish vacation – I didn’t expect it to turn into a sort of Spanish investigation.”

  “No, guv.” Copper struggled to keep a straight face. “But you know what they say – nobody expects the Spanish inv… ”

  “Don’t you dare!” Constable attempted a stern glare, but couldn’t quite manage to retain control of his features. He gave up the effort. “Alfredo has enough to do with one murder on his hands. You’d better not provoke me into making it two, although, given a dossier of your jokes, I don’t think a jury would ever convict. Come on – let’s go and check in with Alfredo and see if he’s turned up anything useful.”

  *

  At the branch police station at the urbanisation, all was in darkness.

  “Part-timers, guv,” commented Copper. “No commitment. Well, if Alfredo and his boys aren’t working, I can’t see that we should be beating our brains. Shall we pack it in for the evening and saunter down for a half? Or two? You can pretend you’re on holiday like a normal human being.”

  As the detectives turned back towards their car, Constable noticed a light in one of the offices above the shops across the road. “Somebody’s working late,” he remarked. “On a fiesta Sunday. That’s dedication.”

  “Well, it’s not Liza Lott, that’s for sure,” said Copper. “We know where she is. Maybe it’s X-Pat Connor. He’s got an office up there.”

  “Yes, but he’s not likely to be schmoozing potential clients at this hour, is he? But we do know someone else who’s got an office here, because Alfredo told us about it. Let’s just saunter over the road and take a closer look. I have an instinct.”

  As the two Britons drew nearer, a figure could be indistinctly seen moving about behind the drawn blinds, and a legend in gold lettering could be discerned on the windows.

  “Look, guv – ‘Costamatcon S.A’,” pointed out Dave Copper. “That’s the company name on those invoices we found at X-Pat’s office, isn’t it? The company that does the building materials. Nice and snug, cheek by jowl with X-Pat’s front operation. What a cosy little arrangement. Want to take a guess as to who’s burning the… ” He glanced at his watch. “… the mid-evening oil.”

  “Don’t blither, Copper,” said Constable. “We both know who it is. You’ve done it again. And when we get back to the U.K., I fully intend to have you burnt at the stake for witchcraft. If you could learn to rustle up suspects on demand like this at home, I might actually get all my scheduled days off when I’m supposed to. Now ring the damned doorbell, and we’ll have that promised conversation with Mrs. Stone.”

  In response to the bell, swift footsteps sounded on the stairs behind the glazed door, and it opened to reveal the slightly breathless figure of Roxanne Stone. After a moment’s pause, she registered the identity of her visitors.

  “Oh. It’s you.”

  “I’m afraid it is, Mrs. Stone,” replied Constable in his most avuncular tones. “Sorry if we’re a disappointment. Were you expecting someone else?”

  “Yes… no… well, not really.”

  “I do apologise if we’re disturbing you,” continued Constable, “and it’s pure chance that we’re here, but we intended to call at the police station across the road to tell the Captain about some interesting information that’s come into our possession, and we happened to notice that your office light was on. So on the off-chance that it might be you, we thought we might take the opportunity to have that second talk I mentioned. That’s if it’s not inconvenient.”

  Roxanne had recovered from her initial surprise. “Of course, inspector. Why not? To be frank, I’d welcome the interruption. I was just sorting out some paperwork, so a break will do me good. Come up, and I’ll put the kettle on – don’t they say policemen are always ready for a cup of tea? Do please go in and sit down.” She led the way and disappeared into a tiny kitchenette at the head of the stairs.

  “Hey, guv, what’s this ‘interesting information’ that we’re supposed to have?” hissed Dave Copper as they ascended in Roxanne’s wake.

  “Why don’t we let her worry about that?” responded his superior in a similar undertone.

  The office was furnished with two large leather sofas at right angles around a magazine-strewn coffee table in one corner, while in the other corner a desk and work station in chrome and glass were covered with files and documents apparently drawn from the open filing cabinet which stood alongside. A full shredder had been busy, to judge from the overflowing waste-bin next to it.

  “Here we are, gentlemen.” A smiling Roxanne deposited a tray on the coffee table and took a seat on one of the sofas, gesturing to the two policemen to seat themselves on the other. “Here’s something I don’t very often get the chance to make – proper English builder’s tea in mugs. All our Spanish boys bring bottles of water to work, or else they just disappear to the bar for a coffee at odd times. There’s sugar there if you want it.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stone. Actually, I’m surprised to find you working. I would have thought you would be enjoying yourself with everyone else at the fiesta.”

  Roxanne smiled again. “Not this year, inspector. I’m afraid I’ve been here long enough to have grown rather blasé about the San Pablo fiesta. Very traditional, of course, but that means by definition that it’s the same every year, so it’s a case of ‘seen one, seen ’em all’.”

  “So you’re taking the chance to clear out some documents, by the look of it?” Copper glanced at the heaps of paperwork and the bulging refuse-bag by the shredder.

  “Oh, just old files,” said Roxanne. “Mostly paperwork to do with enquiries or projects that came to nothing. It was just cluttering up the place. I’ve been meaning to clear it all out for ages. And it gives me something to do.”

  “All on your own? That’s a job and a half. Nobody to give you a hand?”

  “Well… I thought perhaps X-Pat might pop up. After all, half of this is his. That’s why you rather caught me by surprise – I half-thought you might be him. But I’m quite happy to do it by myself. Anyway, I don’t suppose you want to talk about me, do you? You’re still trying to find out about Juan Manuel, aren’t you? So what is it you wanted to ask?”

  “Actually, Mrs. Stone,” resumed Constable, “it is about you – well, not specifically you, but we’ve had some conversations with Miss Lott and Mr Husami about various aspects of the case, and they have drawn our attention to the financial side of things. And of course, you are one of the many people whose financial dealings were intimately tied up with the activities of Mr. Laborero.”

  “Trust those two. Especially Ewan!” Roxanne Stone was dismissive. “That man thinks of nothing but money. He probably believes that there isn’t anything that can’t be bought. Or anybody!”

  “And you don’t agree?”

  “It’s not always about money, you know, inspector,” said Roxanne in a calmer tone. “I was actually very fond of Juan, and I imagine the tongues have been wagging, so you’ll already know that we did have a bit of a thing going at one time.”

  “I understand that you may have had something of a difficult time when you came to take over the business by yourself,” probed Constable delicately.

  “True. But that’s all over now. A long time ago.”

  “And Mr. Laborero had… shall we say, moved on since then. And no hard feelings?”

  “Look, inspector, I’m not blind, even if some people are. I don’t care if he was mixed up with Philippa or not. That’s their business. In fact, these days, like everyone else you meet, the only one I really care about is me.”

  Constable smiled gently. “So we can rule out a ‘crime passionel’, then. Well, that’s a step in the right direction. But it does leave us with the ess
ential question of who might have wished Mr. Laborero harm, and for what reason. And I will happily confess that I’m a little puzzled as to why some people have praised him to the skies in one breath, and then damned him in the next. Would you have any thoughts on that?”

  “More than you could possibly imagine, inspector,” scoffed Roxanne. “In fact, if you were to come asking who would want Juan out of the way because they’ve got some nasty little secret, I could tell you plenty of stories.”

  “I’m here, Mrs. Stone,” said Constable quietly. “Try me.”

  Roxanne seemed to make up her mind. “Right, inspector. For a start, I wonder how Ewan would fancy spending a lot more time with his father’s side of the family. Some things can quite easily get you deported. Or worse. And I wonder what the sentence is these days for bribery of public officials. Fortunately, in my business, I don’t come into contact with the authorities much, but I can think of one or two people who do. And would you like to find out what the inside of a Spanish prison looks like? I don’t expect you would, and I’m sure I wouldn’t. So you can see, there’s a lot more for you to think about than the possibility of a non-existent crime of passion.”

  *

  “Another crack in the facade of unity, guv,” commented Copper as the two officers climbed back into their car. “When did all these lovely people start turning into ferrets in a sack?”

  “About the time we started asking awkward questions, would be my guess,” returned Constable. “Which makes things interesting. And now, if my calculations are correct, there’s just one person outstanding on our talk-to list, and I shall pre-empt your fabled mystical powers by declaring positively that it is Miss Philippa Glass, whom I confidently expect to find behind the bar at the Runcorn.”

  “Does that make me superfluous to requirements, guv?”

  “Never that, sergeant. You can have the pleasure of chauffeuring me back to the villa. We shall then stroll across to the bar, purchase a couple of drinks just as if we were innocent holiday-makers, and engage Miss Glass in casual conversation. We may glean all sorts of information without her even realising it.”