The Beatrice Stubbs Series Boxset One

by JJ Marsh

  “Good question. Let me introduce you to some of our local delicacies. Salt cod croquettes with nuts. You will love them. Tell me you are not vegetarian.”

  Even if Beatrice had been a committed vegan, the hostile expression on Enrique’s face would have forced her to lie. As it was, she shook her head.

  “No, I will eat anything.”

  Enrique’s approval spread across his face. “Good. British and Americans with their fussy intolerances ...” He waved a hand in front of his face, rolled his eyes and then pointed at a terracotta dish. “This is beautiful. Prawn and bacon topped with a home-made vinaigrette. And Txalupa; mushrooms and cream, covered with cheese in a pastry boat. And the speciality of the house, our secret tuna mix topped with anchovy and chives. Try, please. These are for you.”

  “How very kind!” Beatrice’s delight was genuine. Lunch seemed a long time ago. She selected the messy-looking boat, which would force Ana to take over the conversation.

  Enrique poured white wine and watched Beatrice eat, nodding his satisfaction. “Ana, try something. You never eat my pintxos and it hurts my feelings.”

  Ana picked up a croquette. “Nothing personal. It’s just, when we come in here, it’s usually after work. I don’t want to spoil my appetite for dinner.”

  “It doesn’t seem to bother the others. Jaime, Tiago, Maria-José; they always have something. Think of it as an appetiser.”

  Beatrice watched Ana in her peripheral vision. The girl’s manner was totally relaxed as if she hadn’t even heard the name. She bit into a croquette.

  “Bloody hell, these are good. See, you’ve broken the dam now. In six months’ time, I’ll be the same size as Maria-José.”

  Enrique laughed, showing long, yellowing teeth. “She has an appetite, most certainly. Beatrice, try a croquette. Save the tuna till last. You will never eat anything as perfect anywhere in Vitoria.”

  Beatrice obliged.

  Ana wiped her fingers and took a sip of wine. “Did Maria-José come in at the weekend, Enrique? I have a feeling I agreed to meet them, but totally forgot.”

  Enrique’s face seemed unchanged. “No. I haven’t seen her since last Friday. When you all came in together. They’re good, aren’t they? The nuts add something special to this croquette.”

  Beatrice agreed. “They are sublime. I could live on this food forever.” This was her kind of interrogation. Her job was eating and appreciating fine food while Ana did the tricky stuff.

  “What about Tiago? Was he here?”

  Enrique poured more wine and frowned. “Tiago? No. In fact the place was very quiet all day on Saturday. Everyone deserted me.”

  Ana smiled. “And Sunday?”

  A look of puzzlement crossed Enrique’s face. “Ana, we’re closed on Sundays. That shows how often you come in at weekends if you don’t know that. I spent Sunday with my parents-in-law. To be honest, I’d rather open the bar than drive over there, but my wife insists.”

  Now Ana looked puzzled. Beatrice finished her croquette, caught Ana’s eye and made a tiny twisting motion with her hand.

  “Does anyone else have the keys to this place?”

  “El Papagaio? Of course not. Why would anyone have the keys?”

  Ana looked to Beatrice. The girl clearly needed guidance.

  Beatrice decided to trust him. “Enrique, the truth is that I’m not a travel writer. I’m a police detective from London. Ana asked me to help her find Tiago. He’s gone missing and the last place we think he was ... well, Ana can explain.”

  Ana pulled out her phone and explained her analysis of Tiago’s last message.

  Enrique shook his head and rolled his eyes once more. “You women. Too many soap operas. Always searching for the dramatic. EP is not El Papagaio. The bar was closed on Sunday so no one was here. But EP could be El Periódico de Alava. It’s much more likely he went to the newspaper office and asked you to join him there. And he’s probably chasing some lead or other right now, while you’re panicking over nothing.”

  To Beatrice, that made perfect sense. She hadn’t even questioned Ana’s interpretation of the text and accepted it at face value.

  Ana set her jaw. “And San Miguel?”

  “SM could mean many different things. Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?” Enrique nudged Beatrice and she joined in his laughter.

  Ana looked from one to the other as Enrique handed Beatrice the tuna fish.

  “Even if you are nothing more than a police detective, I can see you are a woman who appreciates good food. Eat. This will be a moment of revelation.”

  He was right about that.

  The crescendo of excitement built by the football fans was soon deflated by the groans of a near miss. Beatrice, like everyone else, glanced at the screen to watch the replayed moment. The scrambling figures, high colour and garbled commentary made as much sense to her as a computer game, so she picked up the tuna and opened her mouth. That was when she saw it. A camera. She stopped, eyes fixed on the small device high in the corner of the room, with a tiny red light announcing its presence. Replay.

  “Enrique ...”

  He followed her eyes. “That doesn’t work. I must call the engineers. It’s crazy, spending all that money on a security system which doesn’t even function. I should ask for my money back. Now, tell me, is that the most delicious thing you ever put in your mouth?”

  Chapter 5

  Rita’s hair spilt over her pillow, a matt-black tangle and as light-absorbent as Guinness. Her lips released a puff of air on each exhale and her shoulders rose and fell with her deep-sleep breathing. From the other bed, Luz watched for several moments, finally turning her head to see the luminous blue digits of the alarm clock. 01.43. Time to move.

  She lifted the duvet clear of her legs and waited. Rita never woke, not even in the early hours of Sunday mornings, when clubbers returned from the city. But Luz took no chances. Especially this time. She pushed herself up on her elbows and slid her feet to the floor, stopped and listened.

  “Puh ... puh ...”

  The rucksack was ready, hurriedly packed while Rita had been running through her Bryan Adams repertoire in the shower, and stuffed casually under the communal desk. Luz scooped up her trainers and her keys, listened for a couple of seconds, and then slipped into the corridor. The lock clicked softly behind her. She paused, scanning the corridor for movement and padded towards the bathroom to dress.

  Only two windows of the residence building were lit as Luz zipped up her black fleecy jacket. Her red pea coat would have been warmer, but too recognisable in the unlikely event anyone was looking. Instead, she pulled out a long fluorescent strip to loop over her shoulder and around her waist, unlocked her bike and checked the lights. Safety first. She was her mother’s daughter. But if she knew what I was doing right now … She snorted a dry laugh at the thought. With one more glance around, she swung herself into the saddle and headed towards Reyes Católicos, her breath visible and her heart already racing.

  Cold tightened her cheeks as she pedalled along the colonnade and through the campus paths. A familiar sense of exhilaration and guilt filled her. There was no doubt. Taking Rita and Pilar to his restaurant tonight had been a stupid, unnecessary risk. They’d spotted the attraction immediately.

  Pilar had peeped over the top of her menu. “Luz, I swear that waiter’s tongue is hanging out. Why don’t you give him your number?”

  “I noticed that too! He can’t keep his eyes off you. At first I thought it was great service, but now I suspect he has another reason for being so attentive. Pilar’s right. Just leave your number and see what happens. It’s time you had some fun.”

  “Rita! Keep your voice down. He’s just after a decent tip. These guys are struggling to survive on the minimum wage and he’s probably got a wife and three kids to support.”

  “Don’t think so. No wedding ring. Beautiful eyes. Is it possible to get an eyelash transplant? If so, I want his.”

  “You can have his eyelashes,
but I want his bum. Which bit do you want, Luz?”

  Luz had joined in the shrieks of laughter, blushing and refusing to look in his direction. The tension was obvious and she couldn’t hope to get away with being that close again.

  Traffic was sparse as she sped past the hospital, moving from patches of street light to tree shadows in a comforting rhythm. She shook her head. The freshman Luz of a year ago would have seen rapists and psychopaths in every opaque corner. Now, she’d even befriended the night. She turned into Calle Valentin Jalón, sweating and exhilarated. This battle between body and mind brought back memories of being a child. Her mother, always insisting on decorum, correct behaviour and toeing the line, while her father encouraged wildness, breaking the rules and grabbing as much fun as possible. How things had changed as soon as she’d hit puberty. Game over. Still, the imprints remained. Luz’s sensible head, in her mother’s voice, told her she had already taken a huge risk tonight and she must be an idiot to get on her bike and take a second. Her body ignored the dampening maternal tones of her conscience and encouraged her to hurry, filling her with expectation and the cravings of an addict. That voice didn’t belong to her father, though. That was all her own work.

  The apartment block was in darkness so she was careful to make no noise as she locked her bike to the fire escape. She checked her watch. If the bus was on time, she had about three minutes to prepare. Creeping up the iron steps, breathing through her mouth, she shivered with excitement and fear. This was insane. So many things could go wrong. If someone saw her, if the door was locked, if he’d been delayed, if he’d brought someone home ... she stopped, her confidence faltering for the first time. In the cold stillness of the night, three steps from the top, she argued with herself, the rational against the passionate.

  He wouldn’t mess about with anyone else. He loved her. She didn’t doubt him. Even the girls had seen it in his eyes this evening.

  But he wouldn’t expect to see her tonight. As far as he was concerned, she’d gone home with her friends and he wouldn’t see her till tomorrow afternoon. He was free and he was a man. Men only ever thought with their … she shook her head. That was a stupid cliché designed to make women paranoid. Didn’t she trust him? After he’d made absurd amounts of effort to see her while keeping their relationship secret.

  Perhaps the secrecy was for his own benefit. If he had someone else, the two lives could easily be kept apart. Until Luz turned up at his apartment, coming face-to-face with some Turkish beauty with honey-blonde hair. Her face flushed hot with embarrassment and humiliation.

  Why did she put herself through these imaginary scenarios? Even if Tunçay arrived home now, alone, surprised and delighted, all the joy had gone from the moment. She felt jealous, betrayed and mistrustful, which was as far from the intended romantic mood as she could get. She’d spoilt it. All by herself.

  She turned around and silently descended the fire escape, eyes fixed on the metal steps ahead. On reaching the last, she felt in her jeans pocket for the key to unlock the bike. A movement caught her eye.

  “Luz?”

  Adrenalin flooded her system and she dropped the key. Tunçay stepped away from the wall, a faint light glinting off his glasses.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered. “You gave me a terrible fright. I came round the back with scraps for the cat and thought we had burglars!”

  His expression was impossible to read but Luz could hear the smile in his voice.

  “I was just taking out my mobile to call the police when you turned around and came back down. Not a burglar at all, but my beautiful, mysterious lover creeping around my house in the middle of the night!”

  Luz dropped her head but laughed with him. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “More of a shock, I’d say. What was the plan?”

  She looked up at him and he smoothed back the hair from her temples with gentle fingers.

  “I was going to use the fire door. You said it’s never locked. Then I was going to get into your room, undress and warm the bed for you.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “I ... changed my mind. I thought it might not be such a good idea after all.”

  His eyes searched her face. “It’s a brilliant idea. Brilliant but completely crazy. Riding around the city at two in the morning is dangerous. And how did you plan to unlock my apartment without a key? Not that I care what the neighbours think, but someone might have seen you and called the police. And most of all, Crazy Lady, my number one worry is how on earth we’re going to get any sleep tonight.”

  All the elation and desire which had propelled her out of bed returned, and Luz kissed him, drawing his tongue into her mouth, pressing her body hard against his, feeling the heat spread in her groin. He broke the kiss with a small moan.

  “Upstairs. Now. Let’s stick to your plan, but how about you use the conventional stairs and take my key. Leave the door open. I’ll feed the cat, which will give you two minutes. Then I’ll ‘come home’ and get the best surprise of my life. You may as well keep that key, by the way. Just in case you get the urge to surprise me again.”

  Luz gave him the thumbs-up and ran round to the front door, grinning all over her face.

  Chapter 6

  “Shit.”

  Ana entered the little hotel room, dumped her handbag onto the desk and sat on the end of the bed, hands dangling between her knees.

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  Beatrice opened the tiny window in a feeble attempt to overcome the smell of damp. “Shit indeed. And with classic misjudgement, I revealed my profession.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. I thought it was a good move. Until he started lying.”

  “Several things occur to me. First, Enrique’s trying to hide something, but not particularly well. And unfortunately, thanks to my incompetence, he knows we’re trying to find it. Under normal circumstances, I’d demand the weekend footage recorded on that camera, but I have no jurisdiction here. We must talk to the police.”

  Ana shrugged. “I’ve tried that already and they dismissed me as a sensationalist. Although I suppose Stubbs of the Met might carry more weight. OK, we’ll give it a go. What were the other things?”

  “Alibis. Both Gregorio and Enrique gave us a detailed account of their whereabouts on Sunday, including several witnesses. Possibly both are telling the truth, but such efficient accounts might suggest preparation. And something feels odd about those flowers.”

  “Doña Llorente’s flowers?”

  Beatrice pulled out the little kettle from the cupboard, along with the tiny tubes of coffee, slim selection of teas and milk substitutes. “Can I offer you a drink?”

  “Have you no mini-bar?”

  “Unfortunately not. I could order room service?”

  “No, I’m grand. The flowers?”

  “Tiago was rushing out the door, dressed well, late for an appointment, probably scheduled for seven o’clock, with a bouquet of roses. He had no idea his neighbour would be arriving home at that moment, but decided to give her the flowers he was carrying. If he believed he was on his way to meet you, for some kind of romantic liaison, he may have bought flowers but bottled out at the last minute. And Doña Llorente benefitted from his indecision.”

  Ana’s eyebrows rose. “Jesus.”

  “What is it?”

  “Tiago’s nickname is ‘Depende’ meaning ‘it depends’. He’s famous, so much so it’s a running joke, for being the most indecisive person on the news-gathering team.”

  Beatrice sat down beside Ana. “Right, we need to go through every possible scenario until we work out the most likely sequence of events which fits with the elements we know. Then we test our theories, one by one.”

  “Brilliant. Thing is, do we have to do it here? This place is depressing.”

  Looking around the room, Beatrice acknowledged the drawbacks. The minuscule amount of light, the pervasive whiff of
mould and the ancient furnishings combined to create a grim echo of 1960s bedsits.

  Ana elbowed her. “Look, say no if you want, but I have a spare room, a big balcony and a well-equipped kitchen. You realise that staying at mine would put you at risk of questions and queries at any hour of the day or night. But it’s got windows and it doesn’t stink.”

  Beatrice considered for all of fifteen seconds. “I’ll take you up on that. Thank you, you’re very kind. It’s only for a couple of days, as I need to press on with my itinerary. But you can rely on my full support until I depart. Do you happen to have broadband?”

  Balancing a suitcase on the moped was out of the question, so with some relief, Beatrice took a taxi to Calle Cuchillería. She paid the driver and walked down the busy pedestrian street, dragging her baggage behind her. The tall, cluttered buildings either side and the spread of cafe tables outside every other bar gave the street a narrow, almost mediaeval appearance. Washing and flags dangled overhead, rippling in the wind. The walls between the shops and bars bore murals, peeling fliers, graffiti and the occasional stone relief. Music pounded out of several doorways and Beatrice looked up at the balconies and open windows, wondering how the residents got any sleep. Crowded, colourful and just the kind of place a tourist would label ‘a discovery’.

  Ana opened the door with a smile. “Come in. What the hell have you got in that case? It’s almost as big as you. We won’t both get in the lift with that. You go ahead, fourth floor. I’ll come up the stairs.”

  She pointed to the open lift doors behind her and raced off up the stone stairwell. She was right, the space inside was tight, barely enough room for three people. Beatrice manhandled her suitcase into position, squeezed in beside it and pressed the button for the fourth floor. With a ponderous pause, the doors closed and so began the slowest lift journey Beatrice had ever experienced. On arrival, the doors eventually opened to reveal Ana waiting.

  “So, let’s get this inside and then we’d better shift. I’ve called the local police and they’ve given us an appointment in twenty minutes. God, this thing weighs more than my Vespa!” She heaved the bag onto the landing, pulled out the handle and wheeled it into the apartment.