Five minutes later he approached the Roma Bar and was not surprised to find the barrel outside unoccupied. He walked into the bar; that too was empty, apart from the barman.
Vinnie knew he had to play it cool, so he relaxed his demeanour and ordered a small beer. He took a stool by the bar and when half-way through his lager, asked the barman where his father was. He hoped that by showing he knew they were related, he might encourage the barman to infer some kind of friendship or at the very least, that he and barrel man were acquaintances.
‘Why you ask about Matias?’
Excellent, at least he knew his first name now. ‘Just a bit of business, and I was passing,’ Vinnie said, and noticed that the barman’s eyes had narrowed, ever so slightly. Totally involuntary he was sure, but a tell-sign, he was also sure.
‘He go out about half an hour ago, should be back soon.’
‘Go where?’
‘Just out. Maybe I can help, senor?’
Vinnie emptied his glass and said that it would keep, said he’d call back. He doubted that Matias, if that was even his real name, would say too much in front of the barman. He’d be better off confronting him on the promenade, as he neared the bar. The trouble was, Vinnie would be surprised if Matias returned at all tonight, after what he had done. Just in case the real cops did come calling. He wandered off, retracing his steps, and then saw the alleyway described by Christine. He’d looked for it on the way down but hadn’t seen it, but she had described it from this side and he could see the overgrown bougainvillea she mentioned. It would do no harm to have a look. If he was lucky, it might lead to a dead end with Matias there, though he doubted it. He’d just check where it led, and then get back to Christine.
Chapter Four
Christine had calmed down from her ordeal, but still thought it was a total over-reaction by barrel man. His actions had had the opposite effect. She knew for sure that there was a subtext here, a story to be found. But she also knew she had very little chance of discovering what it was.
She enjoyed chatting to Jimmy, he was certainly a charmer, but she wasn’t sure whether he was in character or not. ‘Now I can’t decide if it’s the real you being so nice, or someone else from inside your head,’ she said.
Jimmy laughed before he answered. ‘I have to admit that in my old line of work, personas can become mixed if you are not careful.’
‘You say “old” but I thought you were still doing it?’
‘I suppose I am, but it’s far less complicated, I just play an ex-pat who’s on his toes; same play every time, just with a different name. But the Mr Nice you allude to is all me, I promise.’
Christine laughed as she heard someone approach. She turned and saw Vinnie. ‘Any luck?’ she asked, as he joined them.
‘Nowhere to be seen,’ he said, before quickly telling them of his trip to the bar and then the alley.
‘What is at the end?’ Christine asked.
‘Nothing of note. It bends around to the left, and then opens out into one of the back streets that run parallel to the prom.’
‘What about down the alleyway itself?’ Jimmy asked.
‘Just the lane he dragged Christine into, and then it’s a five-foot-high wall down both sides, with only ambient light from the prom for illumination. He chose well.’
‘In that case, let’s call it a night, I’m starting to feel whacked now,’ Christine said, and she was. The come-down from the adrenalin rush was leaving its mark on her. She just wanted her bed; they could try with the local police in the morning, when they called to collect their statements. She was glad that both statements had been completed before they came out for the evening; at least they wouldn’t have to face that. Though she might have to face another one, if they took her complaint seriously. If they did, they could write it.
She said her goodbyes, as did everyone else. Jimmy insisted on paying the bill, it clearly was his own persona that he’d shown earlier. He said he’d have to head out early in the morning, so wouldn’t get chance to see them again. She exchanged telephone numbers with Jimmy so they could all keep in touch. She’d already had an idea about doing a documentary on Jimmy’s Costa clean-up operations, but knew it would have to wait until he’d finished his task. That would no doubt be sometime well into the future, but she’d park the idea and keep in touch with him along the way. It would make great TV.
As they wandered back to their apart-hotel she noticed that Vinnie kept looking around. It unnerved her slightly, and she said so.
‘Sorry, I’m not trying to freak you out, just maintaining my spatial awareness.’
‘Oh, that’s OK then,’ she said, and smiled as they turned the corner to their hotel.
*
Christine slept better than she had imagined, the ordeal had obviously mentally drained her. No worries, she’d awoken fairly early, eight-ish, to another beautiful sunny day. She left Vinnie to lie in as she showered, dressed and walked onto their veranda with a bowl of muesli. She’d just finished it when a groggy-looking Vinnie, dressed only in boxer shorts, came into view.
‘Well this is a relationship tester, given that we have only been seeing each other properly for a short while,’ she said, trying to stifle a grin.
‘That’d be why you got up early, I guess,’ Vinnie answered.
‘Cheeky sod,’ Christine said, as Vinnie checked himself out in the lounge mirror.
‘OK, I see what you mean, but I did have a few more drinks than you.’
‘I’m only messing, you look quite handsome, in a sort of, heavily dishevelled, hungover sort of way.’
‘Got the hint, I’m off for a shower,’ Vinnie said, then turned and headed towards the bathroom.
Christine smiled to herself, headed to the kitchenette and put the kettle on. She’d just finished making two coffees when she heard the bathroom door open as Vinnie headed back into the bedroom. She sipped her coffee and shouted to let him know that a brew was ready.
As she waited, she picked up the written statement that Vinnie had filled in for her and headed back onto the veranda to read it. She was fairly used to writing tight copy, but had agreed to let Vinnie fill in the forms for her at her dictation. Having signed it, she thought she’d better check it before the cops arrived — and now was a good chance to do it without Vinnie present. She could tell how his professional pride had kicked in and she didn’t want him to think she was acting as editor.
That said, she didn’t fully understand hearsay in the way Vinnie clearly did, though he had told her that her statement could only include that which she had experienced with her own senses, and that which was said in the presence and hearing of the accused. Or at least, that was the case in the UK. Vinnie reckoned it would be similar in Spain. “But who was the accused?” she’d asked him. They’d assumed the beach man was the victim, but were now not so sure, so Vinnie had included all that had been said at the beach. Christine thought it didn’t really matter what she put in, if something was inadmissible, then surely the Spanish police or magistrate would simply strike the offending sentences out? But she’d humoured Vinnie; he had clearly enjoyed doing it for her.
Half a mug of coffee later, she put the statement down. It was an accurate transcription of her words. She then started to wonder what had really been going on between the woman and the beach man, and why he had been so coy in the Roma Bar. And why such a dramatic warning-off by barrel man? Then, a loud knock at the door jolted her out of her reflections.
She glanced at her watch, it was gone nine now, she should have put the privacy label on the door, but no matter, she may as well let the maid do her job.
On opening the door she saw that it was not the maid, but two policemen. Well, she assumed they were both policemen; only one was in uniform. The second was in casual plain clothes. He produced a badge and spoke to her in excellent English.
‘Miss Jones, I presume?’ His accent had a hint of Rigsby about it. She ignored the thought, and confirmed who she was. She then heard
the man whisper in Spanish to the uniformed officer, telling him who she was. Rigsby then identified himself as Sebastian Fernandez, a detective from the national police. This surprised Christine, as she was sure the officers dealing with the beach incident had been local police, guardia urbana; perhaps they were now taking the incident more seriously, ‘gypsy scum’ or not.
Christine invited them in and immediately went to the lounge table, picking up her statement form and Vinnie’s. She then turned to face the officers. ‘Here are our statements from yesterday, I’m glad you are here.’
As she handed them over, Detective Fernandez looked slightly taken aback, but then read both before handing them to the uniformed officer. He then turned back to face Christine and asked, ‘Is Senor Palmer here?’
‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘He’s just getting dressed,’ she added, before shouting for him. Vinnie shouted back that he would be out in a minute.
‘There has been a development…’ Christine started.
‘How so?’ Fernandez asked.
Christine then gave the officer an abridged version of what had happened the previous evening.
‘And you are unhurt?’ Fernandez asked.
‘Yes, I’m OK, but I was pretty shook up last night.’
‘And why did you go to the Roma Bar?’
‘Just being nosy, if I’m honest; I’m a TV reporter back home.’
‘Ah, I see. And the man who attacked you; are you sure it was the man from outside the bar?’
‘As sure as I can be, but by way of what he said rather than by getting a clear look at him. He sort of referenced himself by linking his threat, warning or whatever it was, to what he had said to me in the bar. Not his smartest move.’
‘I see,’ said the detective, before adding, ‘and this man, the one you call barrel man, is the father of the man behind the bar, yes?’
‘That’s the impression I got, he is certainly a relative or very close family friend.’
‘This is much unexpected, senora, but very helpful,’ Fernandez said.
Christine wasn’t quite sure what the detective meant by this, and was about to ask when Vinnie came into the lounge and finished pulling a T-shirt on.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
Christine watched as Fernandez nodded at his uniformed colleague, before he turned to face Vinnie. ‘I am Sebastian Fernandez, a detective with the policia nacional from Palma,’ he began.
Palma, Christine thought, that was the capital of Majorca and at the other end of the island. They certainly were taking the matter more seriously.
‘And you must be Senor Vinnie Palmer?’ the detective finished.
‘Yes, but has Christine told you about the attack on her? I can certainly testify as to the distressed state she was in, minutes after it.’
Fernandez seemed to ignore what Vinnie had said as he continued. ‘And you went to find her assailant, the man from the bar?’
‘Yes, but I couldn’t see him.’
Fernandez then reached into his pocket and produced two photographs, he showed the first one to Christine as he spoke. ‘Is this the person you call barrel man?’
Christine immediately recognised the man, and said that it was. She also noted that it was a mugshot. Fernandez showed the photo to Vinnie and asked, ‘Is this the man you went to confront?’
‘I’ve no idea, I’ve told you, I couldn’t find him, only the barman, and he’ll confirm that. And I’m not sure what you mean by confront…’ Vinnie said, then went on to explain his plan to record a confession from the man.
‘We have spoken to the barman, and he said that you were very angry,’ Fernandez said.
‘I was upset for Christine, but I wasn’t outwardly angry. I hid my real reason for visiting, on purpose.’
Christine then watched as Fernandez put the first photo back into his jacket before he showed a second picture to Vinnie. She could see Vinnie recoil and instinctively leaned over and took a peek. She recoiled too. It showed a man in a hospital bed all bloodied and bruised with all sorts of tubes coming out of him.
‘This is Alexandru Lolo, a Romanian national. It was taken a few hours ago in Palma General Hospital. He is fighting for his life,’ Fernandez said.
‘What’s that got to do with us?’ Vinnie asked.
‘Because, Senor, you know him as barrel man, and thirty minutes after you went looking for him he was found like this. Senor Palmer, you are under arrest for making the offence of attempting to murder Alexandru Lolo.’
The uniformed officer then produced a pair of handcuffs and said, ‘Ponga las manos detras de la espalda.’
‘Hands behind back, now,’ Fernandez translated.
Chapter Five
‘Pick up Jimmy, for God’s sake,’ Christine spat into her phone.
‘Sorry, just pulled over, is everything ok?’ Jimmy asked.
Christine quickly told him what had just happened, and that she knew they were taking Vinnie to the local police station in Pollensa.
‘That’s a good sign,’ Jimmy said.
When Christine asked him why, he explained that, if the authorities were happy they had their man — which, he added, they obviously couldn’t be— then they would have shipped Vinnie straight to the main station in Palma.
‘What solace can we take from that, exactly?’ she asked him.
‘If he’s the last bloke to see the victim, that they know of, and he went to have it out with that victim because of his attack on you, then he’s a fair suspect. But no more than that, as yet.’
Christine thought about this for a moment; it was a fair point. But how could poor Vinnie prove his innocence? He had no alibi.
‘Look, sit tight for now, I’ve got some friends in the policia nactional in Palma, I’ll make some calls and be with you in 40 minutes or so.’
Christine thanked him, she hadn’t expected Jimmy to drop everything and come all the way back, but was glad he was going to. She ended the call and then tried to remember all that had been said, leading up to Vinnie’s arrest. It was then she remembered Fernandez’ comment about Vinnie being angry, or irate, or whatever phrase he had used. That couldn’t be right. He’d been in control when he’d left her and Jimmy, upset obviously, but not overtly aggressive or anything. She looked at her watch. It would be a long 40 minutes, she couldn’t just sit there. She picked up her bag and room keys and headed out.
Ten minutes later she approached the Roma Bar. It looked to be closed. She glanced at her watch, it was now 9.40 am. If it was not open, then surely someone should be present, preparing to open up? In fact, when she’d first noticed the bar on the way to the beach the previous morning, it was around this time and was open then.
She tried the front door in case it was just closed to, but it was locked, and there was no sign of life. The bar was at the end of the promenade with only one neighbour, a coffee bar, which was open. Christine asked the waiter, who was resetting a table, but he said he didn’t know the people next door. She wasn’t sure she believed him. She pressed for the barman’s address, but the waiter just gave her a shrug and disappeared inside with a tray of dirty dishes.
Christine slowly made her way back to her hotel and wondered, just for a moment, if Vinnie had caught up with barrel man or Alexandru-whatever-his-surname-was, last night. She also remembered his furtiveness on the way back to the hotel, and immediately felt guilty at such a thought. In any event, surely Vinnie’s clothes would have been bloodied when he re-joined them at the bar? And they were not. He also willingly fished the clothes out of the linen bag in their room, to hand to Fernandez before he was taken away. Not the actions of a guilty man.
Then she felt a second twinge of guilt; for only disregarding her initial question once she had rationalised it. She knew Vinnie well enough to know better. He was a detective inspector after all, for God’s sake. She then shook off her discomfort; she was an investigative journalist after all. Time to forgive herself.
Twenty slow minutes later, Jimmy was
knocking on her door. She let him in and thanked him again. ‘No problems, I’ve known Vinnie a long time, and if he had found barrel man and had given him a little slap, well, fair enough. But by the state you say barrel man was in in the photo, he’s been royally worked over. Not our Vinnie, that. Plus, Vinnie would have been covered in claret when he came back to the bar, and he wasn’t.’
Christine felt better on hearing Jimmy say what she had thought. She quickly told him about the bar being closed.
‘No surprise there,’ Jimmy answered, before he went on to explain the phone calls he had made. ‘It was like I thought, he’s a fair bet as an initial suspect, but that’s all they’ve got at the moment. Hell, situations reversed, Vinnie would have locked himself up. I’ve been told that he’s just a T-I-E as we’d call it back in the UK, which is why they are holding him in a local nick.’
‘What’s a T-I-E?’
‘Trace, implicate or eliminate,’ Jimmy answered, and then went on to explain that any number of people could be subject to a T-I-E enquiry, and in the process you’d come across one who didn’t sit right.
‘What you mean, that they had no alibi or that they did have an obvious motive?’
‘More than that. Don’t forget, Vinnie had both. But sometimes it’s just a gut feeling. The tasty suspects rarely act like innocent men wrongly being questioned. They either underplay or overplay it.’
Christine then told Jimmy of the many TV news appeals for help she’d been involved in, when someone had gone missing. Where it later transpired that the relative or whoever it was that was fronting the appeal turned out to be the abductor, or worse, murderer. How the fake tears etc. compared to a genuine cry for help, from a genuinely distraught family member. On reflection, it always seemed obvious. They even used to have bets in the newsroom as to authenticity.
‘Come on, let’s go to the nick and see what we can find out,’ Jimmy said, and Christine reached for her bag.
Chapter Six
The ajuntament de Pollenca, or local government building in Pollensa town, was a five-minute drive from the port resort. Jimmy said that, according to his sources in Palma, Vinnie was being held in the local police station next door. Christine wondered if she shouldn’t give Vinnie’s boss, Detective Superintendent Harry Delany, a call. She knew Harry well enough from two previous cases she had worked on, which had been interwoven with investigations that Vinnie and Harry were involved in. She voiced her thoughts but Jimmy told her not to, not yet. ‘Nothing to tell, yet,’ he said.
The Badge & the Pen Thrillers Page 56