John Frame had also noted that Angel was a common Spanish name ‘might even know our angel, Matt! Mind you, ours is an Arch Angel.’
Healy sat in the Elvis bar in Prestwick airport with a double brandy and soda in his hand, wondering just what “The King” had made of Scotland on his only visit to UK shores. He looked around him at some of the people about to board the Ryanair flight; no wonder he didnae come back.
Three hours later Healy was waiting for his bag to come around on the luggage carousel at Gerona Airport; and getting himself worked up about the probable communication problems he was about to encounter when he met up with Dorado. He picked up his bag and went through the sliding glass doors. Almost immediately he saw his name written on a piece of cardboard being held up by a distinctly un-Spanish looking guy; tall with fair hair and gold rimmed specs.
Healy walked over hesitantly, building himself up. ‘Buenos dias. Me llamo Matt Healy.’
‘Bon Dia big man, and we speak Catalan here by the way, no Spanish.’ He held out his hand ‘the name’s Alistair, Alistair Dorado.’
Healy found himself temporarily speechless.
‘Spanish father, Scottish mother. My mum was born in Glasgow as a matter of fact, will probably know your murder scenes as well as you, Matt . Got the car outside, with driver, so we can go for a wee drink while we chat.’
The drive into Lloret de Mar only took about half an hour and Healy liked the look of the countryside that they drove through, not quite understanding the tacky image that the area had generated over the years. Until he arrived in Lloret itself and all became clear; tacky was a compliment.
‘What kind of bar do you fancy, Matt, Spanish or tourist?’
‘Normally Spanish, Alistair, but can we go to one of Turner’s bars, maybe help me get a feel for the guy?’
‘Sure.’
A few minutes later Healy and Dorado entered the Star and Garter. A drunk sixteen year old girl from Newcastle was slumped over a karaoke machine in the corner trying to look sexy while getting the words to her chosen song all wrong, and a few groups of lads, all wearing football tops, were suggesting that she remove her clothes while singing; but their request not quite framed in those words. Dorado went to the bar and ordered two bottles of Estrella. Healy picked a table outside on the terrace in order to get away from the racket.
‘We could arrest that lassie, you know?’ said Healy as Dorado joined him.
‘What for?’ replied Dorado.
‘She’s just murdered Celine Dion.’
Dorado sat down with the drinks. ‘Spanish bars from now on, Matt?’
‘Definitely.’
They both laughed.
Dorado explained that when he got the request to assist Healy he had set the police computer to list unsolved crimes of females dating back 30 years. He had been surprised when the print out had come back that there were fourteen. The first went back to twenty eight years previously and the last one had been about two years ago.
‘Any linked?’ asked Healy.
‘Impossible to say. We didn’t have DNA, obviously, back then for a start.’
‘Was there anything to connect even some of the murders?’
‘I can’t say at the moment as I only have names, dates and minimum details. I’ve requested all the files but that will take a bit of time. Some of the files will be here, some in Gerona and I’m afraid some will be missing.’
‘Missing?’
‘Spain was going through a lot of changes post Franco, Matt. Added to that, there is a lot of tension between authorities in Spain and Catalonia and co-operation is not high on the agenda. Unfortunately, as well as this, there is also the problem that a British tourist getting herself raped and killed is not exactly uncommon here. But I’ll do everything I can to help you and see where it takes us.’
‘Can’t ask for more than that Alistair. Now what about that Spanish bar? There will be one more dead British tourist if I don’t get away from this din shortly.’
***
I could tell Susan wasn’t ‘with me.’ We were lying in bed, after having made love and she was in my arms, but she wasn’t with me.
‘Is everything all right, Susan?’
‘Yes. Sorry, Ray. It’s just work, lot on my mind.’
‘Want to share it?’
‘Love to but I can’t, especially not to you.’ She elbowed me in the ribs. ‘You’re the enemy.’
‘Thought we were both on the side of justice?’
‘You’d better grow up then. Justice? What the hell is justice, Ray?’
‘Well it’s........’ My sentence tailed off, I knew Susan was right. A couple of minutes of silence passed.
‘Healy’s in Spain.’
‘What? On holiday do you mean?’
‘No, researching your client.’
‘Why, what’s he hoping to find over there?’
‘Christ what am I doing. Look, Ray, forget I said anything.’
I turned and lay on my side facing Susan.
‘You’re more important than anybody, Susan. You’re going to be my wife so if you need me to support you then that is what I’m going to do. I’m going to drop Joe Turner as a client. I’ve always felt uneasy about being his lawyer anyway; for a variety of reasons, and that issue of the train ticket was a classic example, it’s all too close to a conflict of interests.’
‘Ray, I’m sorry about that.’
‘No, you were right to use it. It’s your job.’
‘What will Turner say?’
‘He won’t be a problem. I’ll tell him that the Law Society told me to hand his case over to another firm, baffle him with science, he’s thick anyway.’
‘Not so sure about that.’
‘What?’
‘Him being thick. We think he might be very smart indeed. You promise we’re talking in confidence now, Ray?’
‘Of course.’
‘OK. You accept Turner killed Julie Connor don’t you?’
I paused momentarily; ‘Yes.’
‘Healy is convinced he killed his wife as well. Do you think that’s possible?’
My hesitance didn’t even last as long as the previous pause; ‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘Healy also thinks he’s the Azrael killer as well. It is possible. He had opportunity.’
‘Bit of a stretch don’t you think? Comes over here, kills his wife and then just goes on a rampage for no reason.’
‘Well, there might be two reasons actually. One, his wife’s killing is not his first, and that’s what Healy’s looking into and two, he’s a psychopath.’
‘Of course the other scenario is that Turner killed Connor in a moment of rage and somebody else is the psycho.’
‘Yes, there’s always that.’
I looked at Susan; she still wasn’t ‘with me.’
***
John Frame sat pensively at his desk. He sensed that something had changed in the squad. He remembered back to a previous similar occasion; an occasion where he had heard a whisper that his role in some dubious convictions was being quietly investigated. He had that same feeling now. Brown and French were hardly ever in the station now and when they were they were ensconced in Dornan’s office most of the time, Healy was in Spain hoping to achieve God knows what and T’Baht and Allan seemed to be wrapped up in their own worlds. Frame blamed Dornan for the disintegration in the morale of the squad. He felt that she had lost their confidence after the Rice killing. What’s a fucking woman doing in charge anyway? He had also made sure that his personal lap top and none of his “special” photos were still in his house.
***
Healy slept late the following morning. He hadn’t heard from Dorado but wasn’t concerned as he had expected that things would move slowly here; the “Mañana Effect.” He left the Hotel Samba and walked down a steep slope that the receptionist had told him would lead him into the centre of the town. Healy passed an array of shops that all seemed to be selling the same tat as each other, with none
of them appearing to be owned or run by any Spanish people. Healy couldn’t help feeling that it was a shame that the former quaint fishing village had come to this state of existence but also inwardly acknowledged that it was predominately UK tourists that had started the cultural decline. He stepped out of a narrow alley way and suddenly found himself on the main causeway through the town. The streets seemed busy enough with people heading either to or from the beach a few yards down to Healy’s right but the shops and bars appeared deserted for some reason. Healy took a seat in a pavement side cafe, Blanco y Negro, ordered a much rehearsed “cafe con leche” and watched the world go by. He thought of Dornan and her betrayal, wondered what was going on with her and French and Brown.
He looked around, tried to get a feel of Turner’s home territory. Across the road he watched a tall guy with tousled hair and round shoulders offloading some boxes from a van into “The Londoner” disco. A few minutes later the same guy sauntered over to the cafe and sat down at a table across from Healy. Healy thought the guy looked British, but somehow not a tourist. He ordered a cortado, which Healy had never heard of, and pulled out a copy of the Daily Record.
‘Scottish then?’ asked Healy.
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you live here by any chance?’
‘I do as it happens.’
‘Do you happen to know Joe Turner? I told a mutual friend I was coming here and he advised me to look Joe up.’
The man opposite seemed to ponder what to say next but Healy had expected that.
‘Nothing sinister, honest, just grab a few beers, talk football, usual crap,’ said Healy.
‘Yeah. It’s just that Joe’s not here right now. He’s in Glasgow as a matter of fact. His wife was murdered over there a few weeks back. Joe’s stayed over there.’
‘Christ. Did you know his wife?’
‘Yes. We worked together as a matter of fact.’
Healy already knew from Dorado that Kate Turner had worked at “The Londoner” but knew he had to tread warily. Healy got up and took a chair at the other table.
‘Look I’m not going to lie to you; I’m from the press, “The Record” as a matter of fact. I’m trying to get some background info on Joe and Kate. Can you help me out? I can’t pay for information but I could stand you dinner. What do you say?’
‘Oh. I don’t know.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Robbie.’
‘Well, Robbie I’m not looking for dirt or sleaze. I just want to be able to get a feel of what Joe and Kate are, were, like.’
‘I can’t promise anything, and I’ve got to go now, but I’ll meet you in a restaurant called the C’Al Avi if you like. Tonight at eight?’
‘I’ll be there.’
***
Jack T’Baht watched as Jill French walked into Buchanan Galleries. He knew French had photos of Turner with her, and was showing them to the barman who had ID’d Sandra Graham. Hoping he would say Turner was the man she had met up with. But T’Baht wasn’t concerning himself with that. He watched French. Long black boots, short skirt. He had sat in Buchanan Galleries, and many other places, watching women just like French exhibiting themselves; encouraging men to lust over them. He couldn’t take the chance of following her into the arcade but he would wait near her car for her coming back.
As he waited in his own car for French’s return he opened the glove compartment and took out his well-worn copy of the Koran. A business card fell out of the compartment onto the floor unnoticed. T’Baht felt only the words of the Koran coursing through his head, and the hardness between his legs.
Chapter 22
Healy arrived dead on eight at the restaurant and was pleased at the look of it from the outside, but was disappointed once inside that he and Robbie were the only customers. Robbie was obviously a regular there and he introduced Healy to the owner, Pepe, as “a friend from Scotland” which Healy felt augured well for the rest of the evening. They ordered quickly, and whilst waiting for their seafood starters, Robbie explained that the restaurant at one time had had a Michelin star and that although it had obviously gone downhill since those heady days, the food was still good. Healy felt that the Michelin star must have been for Pepe’s spare tyre but said nothing.
After the main course had arrived and a half hour of small talk had passed by, Healy decided to move things on.
‘So were Joe and Kate happy, Robbie?’
‘They were generally viewed as an odd match to be honest but yes, I think they were happy enough.’
‘Any lovers on the scene ever?’
‘Thought you said this wasn’t about dirt raking.’
‘So there were lovers?’
‘Look, Joe was a bar owner in a holiday town; what do you think?’
‘And Kate?’
‘Who knows?’ Robbie seemed awkward in his reply.
‘I hear Joe has a temper.’
‘Yeah. He could be a bit wild at times but we all mellow with age.’
‘Do you think Joe would be capable of killing Kate if he found out she was cheating?’
‘Is this what this is all about? You think Joe killed Kate?’
‘No, I’m asking what you think.’
‘Well, then, no I don’t. If you saw how upset Joe was when one of his customers was murdered way back in the early years then you’d know he hasn’t got that kind of thing in him.’
Healy was struggling to remain passive.
‘What happened?’
‘One of his customers, Sally I think her name was, was killed near here.’
‘How was she killed?’
‘Raped and murdered, stabbed I think. Police reckoned it was one of the Moroccans that were around a lot in those days.’
‘But no-one was arrested right?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘How long have you lived here, Robbie?’
‘Thirty-odd years.’
‘You know of any other unsolved murders around here in that time?’
‘There’s been a few now that you mention it but it just seemed to go with the sex and sangria nature of the place. Don’t get me wrong it’s not a weekly occurrence or anything like that, maybe ten in all the time I’ve been here. An Italian girl was murdered two or three years ago but that’s the most recent as far as I know.’
‘So you’ve been here 30 years or so and Joe Turner was here when you first came?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And there has been a girl killed, that you know of, every two or three years since you arrived.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘No nothing, honest, Robbie. It’s just the reporter in me, trying to see a story where there isn’t one.’
‘Right. Anyway, how many unsolved killings in Glasgow in the last 30 years?’
‘Not as many as you would think, Robbie, not as many as you would think.’
***
Max Kermack was listless; things weren’t moving fast enough for him. Paul Allan came into the room carrying two bottles of beer.
‘Paul, why don’t you contact this Joe Turner guy directly? Tell him you need to meet him. He doesn’t need to know it’s not exactly official police business. I’ll come along, get some useful background for my story. No harm done.’
‘No harm done? My balls over hot coals if I got caught. Why are you so taken with Turner anyway? I’ve told you I’ll set up a meeting with some other low lives I know.’
‘No. It’s got to be current and it’s got to be murder. To fit into my main character’s back ground you see.’
Allan paused for a few moments. ‘I don’t know much of your background, Max.’
‘Not much to tell.’
‘Still, I’d like to know.’
‘All I can really tell you is that we were adopted. After my mother died, my father didn’t want us. It’s strange how the mind works. For a long time I never forgave my mother for dying. My father I just put from my mind.’
‘We?�
�
‘My sister and I, although I didn’t know I had a sister until I was in my twenties. She traced me through the adoption agency.’
‘And your father?’
‘Don’t know, don’t care. He didn’t want to know me then, I don’t want to know him now.’
‘Does he want to get in touch with you?’
‘My sister eventually traced him. He said he would like to meet me apparently, but he can go to hell.’
‘Would that be so bad? Maybe you’d like him once you heard his side of the story.’
‘He has no side. No. Never. Not under any circumstances. I’ve never even known his name and don’t want to know it. Change the subject now, Paul, if you don’t mind.’
‘Where does your sister live now?’
Max Kermack paused for a moment ‘I’ve lost her as well.’
‘Eh?’
‘Australia’
‘Right. Maybe we could fly out there for that holiday we’re always promising ourselves?’
‘Maybe, Paul, maybe.’
***
Matt Healy lay on his hotel bed. He had made his excuses to get out of going on a pub crawl with Robbie and come back to the hotel. He had phoned Alistair Dorado but had got no reply. He had thought of phoning Dornan but wanted to wait until he had more definite news about Turner. Probably lying screwing that bastard Ford anyway. Fucking bitch. A group of girls passed by on the street below his balcony, arms linked and in full voice:
The Initial Blow Page 22