Amusement turned to dismay as he found himself staring at another headline: ‘Housekeeper dies after raid on art collection.’ He read the report in mounting horror, then threw the folder aside, spilling the contents on the tiled surround of the pool, and covered his face with his hands. ‘This is terrible, terrible!’ he moaned.
‘Something is troubling you?’ said Juan softly.
‘It has always been my rule that no one should be hurt! A woman has died because of my actions – I am a murderer!’
‘Nonsense, amigo. The woman was sick, she could have died at any time.’
‘It would not have happened but for me. I am responsible for her death!’
Juan stood up and began picking up the scattered pages. ‘You must put it out of your mind,’ he commanded. There was a new, steely edge to his voice and this time Roddy had no doubt that the invisible eyes were fixed on him, their gaze full of menace. ‘You can study the rest of these later,’ Juan went on in his normal silky tone. ‘For the moment, we have other business to attend to.’
‘What business?’ With an effort, Roddy dragged his mind away from the tragedy. His mind suddenly filled with questions. Was I on the point of being arrested? Wallis certainly seemed very concerned when I told him what had happened. And what went wrong with the raid – was Crowson bluffing or had someone else really been there before he and Morris got to the house? Aloud, he said, ‘But what I don’t understand is: why should anyone go to all this trouble for me? What does this man, the man you call El Dueño, want with me?’ He looked appealingly at Juan, trying desperately but vainly to read his reactions.
‘He will tell you himself, when he is ready,’ Juan said softly, and this time the perpetual smile was no more than a tigerish baring of the unnaturally white teeth. ‘For the moment, you are to come with me.’
Roddy shivered as he stood up to comply. The cool mountain air, that had seemed so pleasant a short time ago, had suddenly acquired a keener, icier edge. Juan led the way round to the front of the villa, where a white Mercedes awaited them. A powerfully built man in a white uniform who, like Juan, wore dark glasses that totally concealed his eyes, sat at the wheel. He got out, held open the rear door and gestured to Roddy to get in. After a moment’s hesitation, he complied; Juan slid in beside him, gave a curt order to the chauffeur and they drove off.
The car sped smoothly down winding mountain roads and along broad avenues, past splendid white-walled mansions half-hidden among ornamental fig and flamboyant, vivid scarlet trees. At last they came to a prosperous-looking town of elegant apartment blocks and exclusive stores and restaurants, its streets full of sleek cars and even sleeker, expensively dressed people. The driver stopped outside a gleaming glass and stainless steel shopfront and switched off the engine, ignoring signs stating that parking was strictly forbidden at any hour of the day or night on pain of a substantial fine. He opened the rear door and his two passengers alighted and entered the store.
For the next couple of hours, Roddy found himself indulging in the most extravagant shopping spree of his life. In every establishment they entered, they were approached by obsequious assistants who bowed almost to the ground as Juan informed them that El Dueño had given instructions that his friend was to have the very best of everything. He strutted around, smiling his tigerish smile, demanding to be shown – and encouraging Roddy to buy – the most luxurious and expensive items on offer. Designer suits, silk shirts and underwear, hand-made shoes and a Cartier watch were elaborately wrapped and carried to the limousine while the managers agreed with forced, nervous smiles that everything would be charged to El Dueño. Roddy was no gambler, but he would have been prepared to lay considerable odds that no money would ever change hands. There was a price to be paid for the privilege of living and owning a business in this tropical Eden.
And soon, he felt sure, he too would learn the cost of the luxury so arbitrarily thrust upon him. He trembled inwardly at the prospect. On the way back to the villa he thought again of Pepita and the missing photograph. What did they want with it? Cold fingers seemed to brush his spine as the fear crept into his mind that they might mean her some harm. He told himself that it would be no more than she deserved, but he could not deny his true feelings. In spite of everything, she was still the woman of his dreams and the one true love of his life.
Nine
After the excitement of the Bussell Manor robbery and the spectacular disappearance of the chief suspect, the number of incidents reported to the SOCOs on Monday morning was smaller than usual after a weekend and all were depressingly routine.
‘The real villains must have gone on holiday,’ commented Mandy as George Barnes handed her reports of the disappearances of a prize rabbit from its hutch, an ornamental statue from its plinth and a lawnmower from a garden shed.
‘Never mind, it’s a nice day for outdoor jobs,’ Sukey consoled her. ‘What have you got for me, Sarge?’
‘Three more cases of handbags stolen from cars parked on Robinswood Hill. They just never learn, do they?’ he said gloomily as he gave her the computer printouts. ‘You’d think, with all the warning notices, people would be a bit more careful.’
‘It all makes work for the working SOCO to do,’ said Sukey cheerfully.
‘We can tell you had a good weekend,’ said Mandy pointedly, and even George, who was not in the sunniest of moods after spending his weekend decorating the spare bedroom while his wife and baby were staying with his mother-in-law, managed a knowing chuckle.
Checking the cars from which the handbags had been stolen occupied most of Sukey’s morning. At midday she returned to the office, where George informed her that no news of progress on the Bussell Manor case had found its way into their department. She had not had a chance to speak to Jim Castle since he left her to return to his flat in Tewkesbury Road on Sunday evening to catch up with some routine paperwork; on the pretext of going to the toilet she slipped along the corridor to his office, hoping to have a word with him, but found it empty. On the way back she bumped into DC Hill, but could get nothing out of him, except that they were following up some new leads, before he hurried off on some urgent errand. Frustrated, she settled down to write her report on her morning’s investigations. For the moment there were no more cases to work on and she and George ate their sandwiches and drank their mugs of instant coffee without interruption.
At two o’clock, just as they were beginning to think the entire criminal population of Gloucestershire must have decamped to a neighbouring county, a report came through of a break-in at an address in Tuffley.
‘There you are then,’ said George as he handed it over. ‘That should keep you going for the rest of the afternoon.’
‘Thanks, Sarge.’ Sukey scanned the sparse details. ‘Nothing missing, by the looks of things.’
‘You can’t have a major art theft every day.’
The modest semi-detached house stood at the far end of a short cul-de-sac on what had once been part of a council estate and now consisted entirely of owner-occupied dwellings. The little enclave had an air of modest prosperity, with neat porches, double-glazed windows and stone bird-baths in well-tended front gardens. A police car was parked outside but the road was otherwise empty. Sukey rang the bell and the front door was opened by WPC Trudy Marshall, who greeted her with a cheery smile that lit up her round, freckled face and led her into the front room. A thin, pretty woman in her thirties was seated disconsolately on a couch clutching a mug of tea and contemplating the ruins of her home. At first glance, it seemed to Sukey that everything moveable, except for the larger items of furniture, had been smashed or overturned.
‘Donna, meet Sukey Reynolds, one of our Scene of Crime Officers,’ said Trudy. ‘She’s here to look for evidence. Sukey, this is Donna Hoskins. She got back about a couple of hours ago and found this, so she’s feeling a bit shook up.’
‘Understandable,’ said Sukey sympathetically. ‘I promise we’ll do our best to catch whoever did this.’
&
nbsp; ‘Thanks.’ Donna gave a watery smile. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ She spoke with a slight North Country accent. ‘There’s one in the pot.’
‘No thanks, I’ve not long had lunch.’ Sukey put down her bag on one of the few clear spaces on the floor and looked around. ‘Any idea how they got in?’
‘I haven’t done a thorough search, but there doesn’t seem to be any sign of forced entry,’ said Trudy. ‘Donna says the front door was locked as usual when she got home. When she saw what had happened she got scared, ran out of the house and called us from the phone box down the road. I found her shivering on the front step, so the first thing I did was make her a cuppa.’ She reached across and gently took the empty mug from Donna’s unresisting hands. ‘Want a refill?’ she asked.
Donna shook her head. ‘No thanks.’
‘Right then. You’ll be OK while Sukey and I look around?’
‘Of course, but I’d better tell Alan what’s happened. Is it OK if I use the phone?’
‘D’you mind hanging on for a minute while I dust it for prints.’ Sukey opened her bag and got busy with brush and aluminium powder. ‘Is Alan your husband?’ she asked conversationally as she worked.
‘Partner. I’ve lived here with him for just over a year.’
‘What time does he start work?’
‘Eight-thirty. He usually leaves about eight o’clock.’
‘And you got home about what time?’
‘Just after one.’
‘Well, let’s hope someone saw something. The police will be asking around among the neighbours.’
Donna shrugged. ‘I doubt if they’ll be much help. They’re mostly out all day.’
Sukey lifted several prints from the telephone handset and labelled them. ‘You can use this now – sorry, I’m afraid this stuff makes a bit of a mess.’
Donna gave another weak smile. ‘You reckon anyone’ll notice?’ She got to her feet and picked her way over the scattered debris of books, CDs, videos, magazines and broken ornaments to the telephone. She tapped out a number, waited for a while in silence, then said, ‘He must have his mobile switched off, I’ll try the office.’ She called another number and after a moment said, ‘Hullo, it’s Donna here – could I speak to Alan, please? What?’ There was a pause, during which her expression grew more and more concerned. When she spoke again, her voice was a fearful whisper. ‘Yes, of course… thankyou… goodbye.’ She put down the phone and turned to Sukey with dread in her eyes. ‘He didn’t show up this morning, and they’ve had no message,’ she said in growing agitation. ‘I’m sure he said he was going to be working over the weekend, but Maggie didn’t know anything about it. D’you think he’s had an accident? Perhaps I’d better ring the hospital.’
‘If it was anything like that, I’m sure you’d have heard.’ Sukey did her best to be reassuring. ‘Haven’t you any idea where else he might be? When did you last speak to him?’
‘Thursday morning when I left home. I’ve been staying with my Mum in Yorkshire.’
‘You didn’t ring him while you were away?’
‘No, we don’t normally bother. Mam isn’t on the phone.’ Donna’s voice was shaking and she was very close to tears. ‘Whatever can have happened to him?’ Her eyes filled and she made her way back to the couch, sank down and covered her face with her hands. ‘Whatever can have happened?’ she repeated.
‘Could he be staying with a friend?’ Sukey suggested.
‘That’s a thought.’ The cloud momentarily lifted. ‘I’ll try and have a word with his mate.’ She got up again and went back to the phone. Out of the corner of her eye, Sukey noticed that she pressed the recall button. After a moment, she said, ‘It’s me again, Maggie. Could I have a word with Jack Morris? What? When did you last see them, then? No, I told you, I haven’t any idea where they might be, I’ve been away… yes, of course I will.’ She hung up and sank back onto the couch in an attitude of utter despair. ‘They haven’t seen Jack either,’ she quavered. ‘Neither of them has been in since Friday.’
‘Maybe they went on a pub crawl and woke up at Jack’s place with hangovers,’ said Sukey, privately thinking that it was an unlikely explanation, but anxious to keep Donna from going to pieces until she could glean a little more information. At the mention of the name Morris, her brain had begun ticking away like a tightly wound clock, but she did her best to keep her voice level as she asked, ‘Does Alan often work at weekends?’
Donna pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her denim jacket, scrubbed her reddened eyes and then began nervously twisting the square of cotton between her fingers. ‘Only now and again, when his firm’s extra busy with special orders,’ she said in a dull voice. ‘I always go to Mam’s when that happens, or when he has to do a lot of overtime. Alan doesn’t like the thought of me being stuck here on my own. Ever so considerate, he is.’
‘Did he happen to work overtime on Thursday?’
‘Yes, he did, as a matter of fact.’ Donna lifted her head and looked at Sukey, her expression suddenly and unexpectedly defensive. ‘Why d’you want to know? You’re not the police, are you?’
‘No, sorry… only trying to help. I’ll get on with my own job.’
At that moment, Trudy re-entered the room. ‘I’m afraid the upstairs is in a bit of a mess as well,’ she began, then looked at Donna in concern ‘What’s up, love?’
‘Alan’s missing, that’s what.’ Donna’s tears began to flow again. Trudy sat down and slid an arm round her. Sukey briefly explained the situation.
‘I’m sure he’ll turn up safe and sound.’ The young policewoman gave Donna’s shoulders an encouraging squeeze. ‘You just come with me and check around while Sukey carries on hunting for clues.’
‘All right.’ Donna put away the soaking handkerchief, got to her feet and looked helplessly about her as if uncertain where to begin. She stooped to pick up a garishly coloured woollen throw that lay on the floor alongside the couch and almost mechanically began folding it.
In a moment, Sukey was at her side, taking it from her. ‘Leave the tidying up for the moment,’ she said. ‘Don’t touch anything – just let Trudy know if anything valuable’s been taken.’
‘Oh, all right.’
‘I’ll take this back to the station with me, if you don’t mind,’ said Sukey. ‘You never know, forensics might be able get some evidence from it.’
‘Feel free.’
‘You’ll get it back, of course.’
Donna gave an indifferent shrug. ‘I’m not bothered. I’ve never liked the thing anyway – Alan’s mother gave it to us.’ She wandered aimlessly out into the hall and Trudy was on the point of following her when Sukey called her back.
‘I’m not sure, but I think there may be more to this lot than a bit of wanton vandalism,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Look what I’ve just spotted.’ She pointed to a dark stain on one corner of the throw. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, that’s dried blood.’
‘Gosh!’ Trudy’s eyes grew round. ‘You reckon we’re looking at a case of abduction?’
‘Can’t be sure at this stage, but I think CID should know about it.’
‘It’s a mercy Donna didn’t see that or she’d have had hysterics.’
Sukey rolled up the throw, taking care not to handle the stain. ‘You keep an eye on her while I take this out to the van and bag it up. While I’m out there I’ll contact George Barnes and tell him what we’ve found.’
Ten
When Sukey returned to the station at the end of her afternoon shift, Sergeant George Barnes informed her that she was to report immediately to DI Castle. She found him at his desk, his brow furrowed, doodling on a notepad. When she entered he looked up to greet her, but his expression hardly altered as he waved her to a chair. Without preamble, he said, ‘I understand you’ve attended a break-in and you think there might be a link between the householder and Miguel Rodriguez.’
‘Yes, Guv.’ He continued with his doodling without interruption while she g
ave him a brief account of what she had found on arrival at Number 8 Vine Close, Tuffley. His features showed no reaction, but she knew from experience that he was listening intently to every word. ‘The place had been pretty thoroughly trashed, but there was no apparent sign of a break-in and robbery didn’t seem to be the motive because the TV was still there, with its screen smashed. That struck me as a bit unusual, but it wasn’t until Donna called Alan’s firm for the second time and asked to speak to Jack Morris that bells started to ring – I remembered hearing you say that was the name of one of Roddy’s sidekicks and that Crowson’s first name was Alan, which was how she’d referred to her boyfriend. Of course, she hadn’t said what his job was or who he worked for so it could all have been a coincidence, but when I saw the blood on that throw I was sure there was more to the incident than a straightforward break-in and I thought you should hear about it.’
‘Well done, and full marks for observation,’ said Castle. He looked up from the pad and for the first time his hawklike features relaxed into a brief smile.
‘I’d been hoping to get a bit more out of Donna, but all of a sudden she seemed to get suspicious of my motive in asking questions,’ Sukey went on. ‘I’m beginning to wonder whether she knows – or suspects – more about what her man gets up to while she’s away than she was going to let on. That would account for her agitation when she found out that he’d gone AWOL.’
‘You could be right. I understand Trudy offered to take her down to the station so that she could report Crowson as a missing person, but she didn’t want to know. Said that on reflection she was sure he’d get in touch with her.’
‘Does she know about the blood on the throw?’
‘Not yet. We’ve told her we’ll come back to her when we’ve made some enquiries. Trudy made her promise to let us know the minute she hears anything and that’s how we’ve left it. In the meantime, we checked with Roddy’s firm and you were absolutely right – the Alan Crowson and Jack Morris who’re employed there as delivery men are the same two that Donna Hoskins was enquiring about.’
Death at Beacon Cottage Page 7