Murder on the Rocks (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 7)

by P. J. Thurbin

  Just then one of the models stumbled and fell. Everyone gasped as they could see that she had badly twisted her ankle. The man with the headset cursed under his breath. Suddenly he turned and saw Marcia. He gave her a look of recognition and a smile.

  “Well I’ll be damned if it isn’t Marcia. I haven’t seen you for years.” He grabbed her and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “Pedro Swares,” Marcia gasped.

  “Yes it’s me. You look marvellous. But what are you doing in Seville?”

  “We’re just here to see the old photo shoot locations. It looks like your girl won’t be up for much this afternoon,” Marcia indicated the model with the twisted ankle who hobbled towards the waiting first aid people.

  “”And this is our last day and no time to find a replacement,” Pedro explained.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Marcia commiserated. “But these things happen, as I know only too well.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider stepping in for Francesca. We’d pay you, of course.”

  “Marcia was taken aback. It had been a good fifteen years since she had been on a catwalk or taken part in a photo shoot. She had kept her figure, but she was under no illusion. She was pushing fifty and these girls looked to be in their thirties.

  “You look great, kiddo. Just go over and get makeup to give you a bit of a going over. That is, if you’ll agree to help us out.”

  Wild horses could not have stopped her.. With a quick apology to Cynthia she disappeared into the on-site changing room. Within 5 minutes she was out again and parading and posing in Francesca’s place. Cynthia sat on a low wall that surrounded the courtyard and watched, enthralled.

  “The crew are having lunch at L’Oca Giuliva just as soon as we finish here,” Pedro said as he came over to stand next to her. ”I hope that you and Marcia will join us. It’s a little Italian place around the corner.”

  Pedro had asked Marcia to give him a call to talk about some possible work, and after a splendid lunch and a glass of wine, Marcia and Cynthia shook hands with him, and Marcia promised to give him a call. As they walked towards the Cathedral, Cynthia noticed that Marcia all but floated along.

  “You really enjoyed that,” Cynthia said as they walked down the tree lined avenue.

  “I had forgotten how much of an adrenalin rush it gave me. I must admit I enjoyed being in the spotlight again, even if I was only filling in for someone else.”

  Cynthia wondered how long it would be before Marcia decided she wanted to get back into modelling again. She may have been a bit older than these particular girls, but the demand for the fifty-something model was booming, and by the look on Marcia’s face, she was eager to cash in on it.

  ***

  Peter had never seen a bullfight but he had read about it in Death in the Afternoon. He had enjoyed Hemmingway’s tale, but killing an animal just for sport was something he abhorred. But as they stood in front of the deserted and silent yellow and white Baroque style building he could sense the excitement that the event must engender in the crowds. They visited the Museum and toured the inside of the stadium which the guide reminded them was the oldest bullring in Spain.

  “You know Peter, it must be something to watch these things but I’m not sure if I could sit there while some animal was being slaughtered,” said Peter as they looked at the photos of the bullfighters.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. Pity they can’t have the spectacle without having to harm the bull,” Lance agreed. “But I suppose that’s a bit like trying to enjoy a bacon sandwich without killing the pig.”

  “Mind you some of my Kiwi mates have been to Pamplona for the running of the bulls. They said it was quite a spectacle. You know, church bells striking, national songs, rockets and all the mayhem when they turned the bulls loose in the streets. Now that’s something that I might like to try some day.”

  “I can see you now, Lance. Just like a down under version of Billy Crystal in City Slickers. Don’t forget, though, he was gored in the bum by one of the bulls. It could put you out of the romance game for a while.” they both laughed at the imagery.

  The tour of the arena included a chance to sit in the Spanish Royal Box and walk through the arched tunnel where the bullfighters exit.

  “I think this is about as close as I want to get to the action,” Peter said, as they thanked the guide and hurried off to see the Cathedral.

  Peter was keen to visit the Cathedral. A contact he had at Seville University had given him the name of a priest who regularly played the organ for visitors and he hoped he would be able to speak with him. There were only a few people around as the tour coaches had not yet arrived.

  Peter found Father Ignatio and explained who he was.

  “I would be honoured if you would play for me now,” the priest said to Peter as he led the way to the massive organ.

  Lance sat in one of the pews and listened as his friend played. He was amazed, as he always was, at the passion his friend injected into his playing.

  “Thank you,” Father Ignatio said as Peter thanked him for allowing him to play the wonderful instrument.

  As they left, Peter made a generous donation to the church.

  “I should be paying you,” the priest laughed, but he accepted the donation as he said it.

  “Look my pal at the University said there’s a tapas bar near here. I’ve got it written down on that paper with Father Ignatio’s name. El Rinconcillo, 40 Gerona Street. It’s supposed to be the oldest one in Seville.”

  “You know Peter everything in Seville seems to be listed as the oldest.”

  It was getting late and they made their way back to the Cathedral where Cynthia and Marcia were waiting.

  Everyone was more than glad to be back at the cool hotel. During the journey Peter had mentioned that he had managed to play the Cathedral organ but did not elaborate. Marcia had not said anything about the photo shoot other than that she had met an old friend who had bought them lunch. Peter had dozed off and Cynthia could see that Marcia was trying to work out how she could broach the subject of possibly going back to work.

  ***

  Ralph and Katie spent a busy morning sightseeing. After a delicious lunch in a small Greek cafe they discovered in the old town, the only thing left on their list was to see the tunnels. They found a booth that sold tickets for guided tours of the Great Siege Tunnels which some signs billed as The Galleries. Ralph was a bit averse to joining in with a crowd of tourists, but Katie reminded him that whether he liked it or not, he was a tourist just like them, so why not relax and enjoy the holiday.

  The highlight of the tour was a secret wartime room that had been carved into the rock face. Their guide explained that it was all part of Operation Tracer and that it was known as ‘Stay behind Cave’. The room was 45 feet by 16 by 8. But it felt damp and everyone commented that it had that claustrophobic feel about it. The plan was to seal six men in the room who would remain behind if the German Army ever captured Gibraltar from the British. Their orders were to report back to London by radio on enemy shipping movements through the Straits of Gibraltar. There was a narrow slit in the rock where they could extend a small aerial.

  When the guide stamped her foot on the floor. The group looked at her expectantly. Ralph thought this was probably a bit of theatrics that she had performed a thousand times before. She waited a full half minute before she spoke.

  “The floor in here is made of earth. That is so that should one of the men die in here he could be buried.”

  It had the desired effect. Everyone looked down at the spot where they stood. The same thought went through everyone’s mind. Were they standing on someone’s grave at that very moment? Ralph thought it was an effective way to warm your tour party up before you stuck your cap out for a tip. She continued to explain to her attentive audience that the men had bicycles that acted as power generators for the radio and a channel that supplied water from the top of the Rock. The room was apparently so secret that it went undiscovered
until a local caving group found it in the late 1990s, more than thirty years after the end of the war. Fortunately, there had been no need to use it. The iron door to the cave was revealed only after a layer of concrete had been removed.

  More oohs and ahs emanated from the group as the guide led them back through the tunnels. Ralph noticed that one boy had stayed behind and was furiously scooping up some earth from the floor. Katie just laughed when he told her that it was probably a souvenir to show his friends back home.

  “I’ll bet he was trying to find one of those dead bodies that she told us about, replied Katie. They peered out through the small openings in the rock to see where the guns and search lights had been mounted before making their way back to the daylight.

  They thanked their guide for a most interesting tour, Katie saw Ralph slip her a five pound note. She reminded herself that she had left the same amount for their waiter at the cafe and decided not to mention it.

  They returned to the hotel to dress for their dinner date with Colonel Stigart. A short taxi ride delivered them back to the sun drenched yachts that were bobbing gently in the clear blue water of the Marina. The quayside was a delightful sight. Couples sat at tables overlooking the water and sipped their sundowners as they anticipated an evening of good food, music and dancing.

  “This is a lifestyle that I could easily get used to,” commented Peter as they walked past restaurants where aromas of grilled fish, barbequed steaks and salade nicoise tempted their palates.

  Colonel Stigart’s motor cruiser was spectacular. Once on board it was like being in an elegant hotel. The Colonel had invited his three sons to pre-dinner drinks and a chance to meet his guests. Katie sipped her iced water as everyone else savoured their cocktails and snacked on canapes in the air conditioned dining salon. The swish of the overhead fans and soft background music created a perfect setting and as Katie later remarked, was her definition of conspicuous wealth.

  “I want you to meet my sons,” Robert Stigart said. “Jack, Steven and Miles. I’ll just leave it to you to introduce yourselves. They live on that yacht you can see across the harbour, the Loch Ewe. It’s moored well away from their Dad. They think I can’t see what they get up to,” he laughed. “Rumour has it that there are some pretty wild parties on board, but so far I haven’t gotten an invitation.” He clapped one of the sons on the back.

  “What’s it like just sailing about the Mediterranean?” Asked Ralph of the three bronzed giants who he guessed were in their early to mid-thirties. Before they could answer their host stepped in.

  “They won’t tell you this, but they’re all ex-military. Commando types. Daring deeds and all that,” he laughed. “Now they’ve done their time I have my suspicions that they’re all thinking of signing on as mercenaries for some tin-pot dictator down the coast, given half the chance. Am I right, boys?”

  His sons just smiled. They were obviously used to their father’s ribbing. By the looks of them, Ralph guessed that Robert was not that far off the mark. They passed the cocktail hour pleasantly enough. Katie regaled them with her exploits in the Sydney to Hobart yacht race and Lance updated them on the news from the Rugby world until the young men left. Ralph noted that by the way that they climbed over the side and rowed back to their yacht, these were three tough merchants.

  Over the excellent dinner, Colonel Stigart began to relax. He was obviously wealthy, but he seemed to be a lonely man. His sons might be close by, but by the way he joked and told stories about himself, he seemed to enjoy some female company for a change. Katie presumed that he had probably divorced a long time back. She noticed that he had a number of photos on the wall. One was of an attractive woman on a horse.

  “Your family?” Asked Katie pointing to the picture.

  “Well yes. That’s my wife Claudine. She died a few years back.” There was an awkward silence before he continued. “She was a fine horsewoman. She won at Royal Windsor when we were first married and then at Wembley the following year.”

  “I don’t recall a Stigart from the show world,” Katie commented.

  “She rode under her maiden name. Claudine Legrand. Her mother was a British agent during WW2 and escaped from France and then out through Spain and Gibraltar with my father. The Basque guides did a fantastic job. Not that people seem to care about it now. That Eta group are still fighting for their freedom from the Spanish lot down South. After the war was over my parents became best friends with the Legrand family. A shared experience like that does a lot to cement relationships, as you can imagine. Our two families were inseparable, and no surprise that Claudine and I married. She was a bit older than me and never let me forget who the senior partner was,” he smiled.

  “Katie’s a bit of a rider,” Ralph interjected, although he had no sooner said it than he realized that it sounded a bit clumsy.

  “Do you get back to London much or do you stay here all year?” Asked Marcia as she stepped in to fill the gap that Ralph’s comment had created.

  “I’ve a house in West Sussex, near Petworth and there’s my Club in London, The In and Out. Odd name for a club, but there you go. It’s for Military Officers or was, nowadays it also admits ‘other ranks’. Everything changes.”

  “Yes, I know the club,” said Ralph. Just off St James Square.”

  “That’s right. If you’re ever up that way perhaps you’d like to join me for one of their formal dinners. Battle of Waterloo night is great fun. Good company and good conversation. Sometimes I get a bit fed up hearing all that Gibberish here on The Rock.”

  “What do you mean?” Marcia asked. “I thought everyone here spoke English.”

  “Officially,” the Colonel said. “But mostly they speak what’s known as Llanito or Yanito.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of that,” Katie remarked.

  “It’s a mixture of Andalusian Spanish and English. A sort of creole unique to Gib. Some of the locals switch back and forth between Llanito and English. It became known as gibberish,” he gave another loud laugh.

  They chatted on for a while and Colonel Stigart told them about some of his military exploits until it was time for them to say goodnight.

  It had been a good evening and as it was still warm they walked back to their hotel. The night sky was crystal clear with the stars revealing all their secrets.

  “He must be pretty well off, Katie,” said Ralph as they walked ahead of the others. “Did you see that painting over by his desk? It was Picasso’s Guernica. I don’t think it was an original but it was a damn good copy. I reckon it was worth at least five thousand pounds.”

  “That’s the one showing the town being destroyed by German and Italian bombers during the Spanish Civil War isn’t it? We must have been pretty close to it when we were at Santander. Basque country. You see I do listen to your lessons, Ralph.”

  “Almost. It’s about 20 miles east of Santander. Close to Bilbao. The other direction to the way we sailed. Funny thing to have on display on a motor cruiser in the Mediterranean, though.”

  “I ask a simple question and get a geography lesson. But you’re right; he’s an interesting man. Probably got his fingers in a few pies. He seems very close to those sons of his, and I expect that he gets up to more escapades with them than he lets on. I think it’s nice that he has family around him as he gets older.”

  “You’re just a romantic,” said Ralph as he raced Katie up the steps of the Hotel.

  Their friends were starting to flag. Marcia said that she was bone tired after all the sightseeing and Lance admitted that he shouldn’t have eaten so many canapes on an empty stomach.

  _______________________

  Chapter 3

  It was a breathtakingly hot day. The taxi was waiting to take their friends to the airport to catch their flight to London and the driver appeared reluctant to carry the heavy cases that they had piled up in the hotel foyer. Ralph and Peter did the porter’s job while Lance, who was still looking distinctly fragile, savoured the last of the hotel’s a
ir-conditioning before facing up to the heat of the airport and a crowded flight back to Gatwick.

  There was the usual flurry of handshakes and farewells as their friends prepared to depart.

  “Look you two take care and we’ll see you back in blighty”, said Peter as he shook Ralph’s hand and gave Katie a hug. “Someone’s got to go back and keep the University on the straight and narrow – eh, Lance?”

  Lance tried to smile but Ralph could see that he was not a happy camper as he took another swig of Imodium.

  “Marcia always looks as though she’s about to hand out the prizes at a garden party and Cynthia will have to tone down that suntan if she wants to be taken seriously as a museum curator,” Ralph chuckled as they went back inside. A party of ‘suits’, as Lance had referred to them, swept past and went into one of the conference rooms. At breakfast they had noticed a group that looked like delegates at a conference or a company away event. Their waiter had informed them that it was a party from the European Union who were meeting to set the timetable for the disarmament of Eta.

  “Seeing that lot reminds me of all those awful conferences where a bunch of self -important academics, myself included if I’m honest, hunker down in some third-rate hotel to congratulate each other on the excellence of the papers they’re presenting,” Katie whispered to Ralph. “It’s been nice to have a break from all of that. Although now I think about it, all that may change with my new job at UCL.”

  “Well, hopefully these people may be doing some good. The EU member states want to verify that Eta have actually decommissioned the cache of arms as promised. The Spanish Government want all of it just handed over, but like the British Government found with the IRA, it’s not that simple. Many Eta members are still held in Spanish jails, and from what I’ve read the Spanish intend to keep them there.”

  “What I’ve never understood is where groups like the IRA and Eta let alone all the others get their money from. I don’t know how much a Heckler or a Koch rifle costs, let alone explosives and ammunition, but it must add up to millions,” Katie said.