by JJ Marsh
“What do you want?”
His speech facility stalled. “I came because of Luz.” He indicated the envelope.
Rita dropped her head onto her shoulder and her smile fell short of her eyes. “Ha! I thought as much. Well, Lovely Lashes, you missed the boat. She’s gone. Her mother came this morning to collect her stuff. She’s dropped out, the silly cow.”
Tunçay shook his head. “She’s resigned from her course? Are you sure?”
“Sure enough to advertise for a new room-mate. Hey, don’t look like that. Not the end of the world. It’s a shame for me, and for you too, I guess.”
“Well, I ...”
“It’s even a shame for the legal profession. She’d have made a great lawyer. But we should be happy for her. She’s found her Mr Right. Her mother said they announced their engagement this weekend and they’re getting married next summer. Wouldn’t suit me, I want a career before I have kids, but her family’s pretty traditional. And her fiancé is something impressive in the building trade, apparently. Good luck to her, I say.”
“Of course. Good luck to her. I should go. I’m sorry to trouble you.”
“No trouble. Hope to see you again sometime. Maybe we’ll pop into your restaurant one of these days, just to say hello. I’m Rita. What’s your name?”
“My name is Mehmet. Thanks very much. Goodbye.”
He stood in the hallway of the residencia, his head resting against the wall and his feelings draining out all over the industrial-grade carpet. He told himself this was a good thing. It would make him lighter. He would go home with less baggage.
Chapter 31
She told them everything. Almost. As soon as Jaime returned, pale-faced and sweaty, Salgado-the-slug joined them, with a brusque nod of acknowledgement towards Beatrice. He ignored Jaime completely. Beatrice gave a full account of what she knew and the source of her information. The only item she omitted was the current location of Matthew and Adrian. Without telling an outright lie, she inferred they were on their way back to the city, having visited a vineyard. She wasn’t even sure why.
Salgado required frequent translations, eyeing Beatrice with great suspicion, as if she were using expressions such as ‘trawl’, ‘scupper’ and ‘shaking like a leaf’ deliberately to annoy him. After Milandro produced Ana’s briefcase, she handed over all the documents. It felt like a second betrayal of her friend, but she had no choice. Salgado asked a question in Spanish. While they spoke in low, guttural tones, Beatrice got chance to talk to Jaime.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I feel absolutely out of my depth. Are you feeling all right?”
Jaime shrugged. “I think I now understand the meaning of the phrase ‘worried sick’.”
“Me too. I can’t bear to think of those men ...”
“Beatrice, the one thing we must remember is that Ana is one of the most resourceful women I know. If anyone can find a way out of this, she will.”
The senior officer shoved back his chair and with a dismissive nod in their direction, made for the door. Milandro stood, rasping the backs of his fingers against his chin.
“Detective Inspector Stubbs, I’ll take you back to your hotel. Under the circumstances, I think you should stay there for the time being. I checked just now and your friends have not yet returned. Where are they?”
Beatrice didn’t hesitate. “Sightseeing, probably. They’ll be back for dinner, I’m sure.”
Milandro’s expression, blank as a snake’s, still managed to convey disbelief. His black eyes bore into hers as if trying to force out the truth. Jaime broke the spell.
“I’ll stay with her until her friends return, Detective. I hate to think of her being alone.”
Milandro’s eyes flicked away and back again, reminding her of a gecko, silent, patient and predatory.
“If you wish.”
The drive to the hotel seemed interminable, as the streets were clogged with rush-hour traffic. Beatrice fidgeted in the back seat beside Jaime, who stared silently out of the window. She would bet he was wishing he’d never met Beatrice Stubbs. Milandro sat in the passenger seat, making occasional comments to the police driver. Beatrice tried to concentrate on how to proceed, but her mind replayed the expressions of the men she’d interrupted at Ana’s apartment. Ugly, cruel and without compassion. She placed her hands to her temples and tried to massage away her imagination.
The hotel doorman was obviously intrigued by Beatrice’s arrival in a police vehicle. He looked at them with a kind of amused respect until he saw her face.
Milandro got out. “I’ll escort you upstairs, if you don’t mind. I’d like to check your room.” It was more of an imperative than a request. Beatrice didn’t argue.
They crossed the marble floor towards the lifts, Jaime on one side, Milandro on the other, making her feel more like a convict than ever.
Once inside, she watched as the detective checked the room with methodical precision, trying window locks, testing the phone, searching the wardrobe, shining a torch under the bed. Jaime’s phone rang, but he cut the chirpy tune dead. The atmosphere reminded Beatrice of the days when she had worked in witness protection. Long hours of tension, bored but alert, tuned to every irregularity. It wore her out. The sound of Milandro tearing back the shower curtain made her jump. Jaime reached across to squeeze her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance but unfortunately chose the left one, still tender from being wrenched by the seatbelt. Then someone knocked at the door.
Milandro emerged from the bathroom and Beatrice tensed as she saw him withdraw his gun. He jerked a thumb at her, indicating she should go into the bathroom. Despite her resentment at being bossed around, she knew how frustrating it could be when someone disobeyed orders. It was his investigation now and she was nothing more than a witness. She went into the bathroom but left the door ajar. She watched through the gap between hinges as Jaime retreated to stand with his back against the wall. Milandro checked the spyhole.
He holstered his gun and looked in Beatrice’s direction with a half smile. “It seems we can call off the missing person search. She’s here.” He unlocked the door.
“Oh thank God!” Beatrice hurried across the room only to stop in her tracks. The dark-haired woman in the doorway with a suitcase and a basket of flowers wasn’t Ana. It was Luz Aguirre.
Luz obviously had not expected Beatrice to have company. She looked from one to the other and her face showed more alarm than surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you. But I have something for you.” Her expression was hunted.
Beatrice made a decision. Whatever the reason for this unexpected visit, she needed privacy.
“Hello Luz. You’re not disturbing me. Just a case of mistaken identity, that’s all. Detective, I’ve made the same error. This is an acquaintance of mine, and she certainly does look like Ana, I agree. However, the search is still on. Gentlemen, thank you both for your support. I’m tremendously grateful. But now I think I’d prefer to have some time to chat to my friend and have a restorative gin and tonic.” She pointed towards the phone. “Can we agree to maintain mobile contact and update each other when we have news?”
Milandro moved to stand in front of her, his eyes like anthracite. “If you hear anything, I want to know. And I mean anything.”
She nodded, forcing herself to maintain eye contact until he glanced at Luz.
Jaime reached forward to kiss her cheeks. “Call me. Anytime. I just need to know you’re OK.” He squeezed her upper arms as if to underline his sincerity and stared deeply into her eyes.
Beatrice tried to smile but instantly felt her lip crack and begin to bleed. She reached into her sleeve for a tissue. “I’ll be in touch. And really, thank you both so much for your help. Detective, please find her. Remember what I said about El Papagaio. It must be worth a try.”
Luz stood back and allowed them to pass. They watched the two men turn the corner of the corridor, Jaime’s mobile audible once again. Poor man. The life of a newspaper editor was hect
ic enough without dropping everything to hold Beatrice’s hand. She turned to her visitor.
“Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” Luz handed her the flowers. “These are for you. Did you have another accident?”
“Yes, this time with the wall of the police station. Seems I attract trouble.”
Luz closed the door behind her. “No, I don’t think you attract trouble. I think you go looking for it.”
Chapter 32
Take, take, take.
He only had himself to blame. Women were, always had been, his Achilles heel. They sucked him dry, took everything he had and came back for more. Aguirre stared out at the dense cloud, a black roiling fungal formation, a reflection of his emotional state. The private jet sank lower and Aguirre clipped his seatbelt before the attendant could advise him to do so. Even when it was in his own interests, Aguirre hated being told what to do.
Klaudyna made no move to return to her seat, still curled up on the buttermilk leather sofa, her back to him, sighing, sniffing and cuddling a sheepskin rug. Silly bitch. She’d dragged it out for almost half an hour now. Whining and griping all the way to the airport about their aborted evening, complaining and sniping for most of the flight about his family and then she’d crossed the line, suggesting Marisol had him by the cojones. His outburst sent both attendants into hiding and a fountain of tears flowed down that pretty Polish nose.
Enough.
The flight touched down at 17.20. Ten minutes late. The pilot blamed the weather. Like a gentleman, Aguirre gestured for Klaudyna to go down the aisle first. She threw a reproachful glance at him which evoked nothing more than repulsion. Puffy eyes, red nose and her messy make-up showed how far the mask had slipped. His decision was the right one and part of him already yearned for the next adventure.
They crossed the tarmac, where two vehicles waited. His Range Rover and a taxi. He motioned to his driver to collect his suitcase and signalled to the cabbie.
“Get that bag and take this lady where she wants to go. Charge it to my account.”
“Si, Señor Aguirre.”
Klaudyna’s eyes blazed. “You’re putting me in a taxi? I don’t believe it. Arturo, for God’s sake, what is the matter with you!”
“It is finished between us, Klaudyna. I wish I could say I’m sorry, but in fact, that would be a lie. You are greedy and demanding and have no sense of your place. It’s my own fault for indulging you. This is where it stops. Goodbye, Klaudyna, and good luck.”
He got into the passenger seat of the Range Rover and closed the door, shutting out the infernal noise. For a foreigner, she knew some shocking words.
On the approach to the Castelo, Aguirre’s phone rang for the seventh time. He checked the display and once again rejected the call. He switched the phone to silent and looked up at the house. Marisol waited in the doorway.
“Arturo, you mustn’t blame Carmina. She’s terrified and already had a panic attack this afternoon. It’s not her fault and after all she’s a housekeeper, not a security guard. Luz went out via the library and must have hitched a lift with the caterers. Carmina thought she was in her room. She had no idea she was missing until she took her lunch upstairs. Inez is on her way to Burgos and Paz is calling all her friends in Vitoria. I’ve been thinking. When we find her, we must send her away for a while. Maybe abroad.”
Aguirre swept past her and strode up the stairs. “Arturo de Aguirre is well known for his refusal to tolerate incompetence. We never use those caterers again and ensure no one else in our acquaintance does. Carmina is due for early retirement and I will choose the next housekeeper. I think we’ll have a man this time, someone discreet. More like a butler. As for your daughter, I’ll decide how to handle this.”
Marisol made to follow him but he held up a hand.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see for myself.”
He knew as soon as he opened the office door. The chair was halfway across the room, as if its last occupant had rushed out in a hurry. Aguirre would never leave the room that way. This place was his haven, his War Office, his operational HQ and each time he left, he prepared it with great respect for the next visitor – himself.
Years ago, he’d allowed the girls to join him for short periods. Pie charts, bar graphs and colourful graphics demonstrated their father’s power and reach. Yet their tiny attention spans and irritating prattle had disappointed and bored him. Now, no one, not even Marisol, came in here. When the time was right, he would introduce Basajaun to his domain. When the time was right.
The machines booted up and he examined his work station. The mouse lay to the right of the mat. All the loose change in the drawer had gone. Two greasy smudges marred the screen. His browser history showed no activity, but recent items viewed included payrolls from the last two years, personnel data, private profit and loss accounts, and carefully worded letters to significant influential people in the wine trade.
He pressed his fingers to his temples.
Power.
His daughters were not beautiful or particularly intelligent, but they took after their father in one way. They understood power. Find it, ally with it, marry it, use it and hang onto it at all costs. Luz was powerless in the face of her father’s strength and influence. So she had stolen herself some bargaining chips. She found a way into his private affairs and armed herself for battle. In a way, he admired her gall. He would win, of that there was no doubt, but Luz could be proud of herself. She put up a fight.
The battle would be one-sided, however. And the sooner it were over, the better for everyone. He reached for his phone and cursed when he saw fifteen missed calls. Eleven from Klaudyna, two from Tomas, one from Paz and the one he’d been waiting for.
He pressed voicemail and allowed his eyes to rest on a photograph. The three girls, apparent angels in soft-focus, surrounded their mother, who held a week-old Basajaun in a crocheted blanket. In the background, the Castelo de Aguirre vineyards. A family, finally complete. He would protect them with his life.
In his ear, laconic growls and adenoidal shrills told him Tomas and Paz had nothing to report. Luz was still AWOL. The final message, timed at 18.08, began to play.
“Arturo? Call me back. We have a problem. Might be nothing, but if it’s something, it’s potentially ruinous. Your daughter, Luz, just turned up at Hotel Valencia. She came to see Stubbs, the British detective. Said she wanted to give her something. Call me as soon as you get this and please, for the love of God, tell me Luz knows nothing.”
Chapter 33
The sun streamed through the open windows as Luz parked her suitcase beside a chair.
“Don’t worry. I haven’t come to stay. I’m going back to university this evening. But I wanted to talk to you before I go.”
“Have you been waiting long?”
“Not really. About four hours.”
Something about Luz made Beatrice uneasy. The girl seemed composed, determined and almost confrontational. Better to let her do the talking.
“I see. So it must be important.”
“The two men that just left. Police and newspapers, right?”
Beatrice met her eyes. “Right. Do you know them?”
“Not really. I know who they are, but they don’t know me. Unlike my sisters, I don’t take every opportunity to get photographed with influential people.”
An uncomfortable pause followed that non-sequitur.
“Luz ...”
“You’re investigating my father, aren’t you? On behalf of the British Police.”
“Not exactly. I am a British detective inspector, yes. But I really am on holiday. Someone asked me for advice ...” She broke off as her stomach seemed to drop. How many hours since Ana had disappeared?
Luz nodded impatiently. “And?”
“This afternoon, she went missing.”
“Not another one,” Luz muttered. She clasped her hands together. “This is something else, something so much worse. He can’t just dispose of people who cr
oss him.”
“What do you mean by that? Who? Are you talking about Alava Exports?”
Luz exhaled through her nose, a laugh devoid of amusement. “Angel? He wouldn’t get his hands dirty. No, the people who killed Miguel Saez and Tiago Vínculo are sadistic, unpleasant bastards who are paid, by my father, to intimidate, wound and kill. They enjoy their work.”
Beatrice pressed her tissue to her mouth. “Oh God. And they’ve got Ana.”
“Is she a friend of yours?”
“Yes, she is. If they hurt her, I’ll hound them all the way to hell if I have to.”
Luz’s expression of pity made Beatrice’s throat contract.
“I understand. Just don’t do it alone.”
“Luz, if you have any idea where Ana might be, I need to know that first.”
She shook her head. “I don’t. I really don’t. Who knows where these thugs do their thing. You’ve reported her missing to the police and that’s the best you can do. How long has she been gone?”
“I lost her after lunch,” said Beatrice, distracted. She mentally scanned every detail of Ana’s life, or what little she knew of it. Her friends at the paper, that man at the mortuary, Enrique at El Papagaio. Could she trust any of them to help?
“So there’s nothing else you can do. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you a drink. Gin and tonic, wasn’t it? Mind if I join you?”
Beatrice sank into an armchair with a heavy sigh and watched Luz rummage around in the mini-bar. “Thank you. So if you didn’t come here to tell me about Ana, why did you want to see me?”
“To help you. The fact is, my father is a criminal. He and his collective of white Rioja producers are growing wealthier and more powerful by committing fraud on an industrial scale. Quite literally.”
Beatrice brought her mind back on track. “He’s selling substandard product for export, isn’t he?”
Luz raised her eyebrows. “Yes. You’ve got further than I thought. It’s mainly to Britain, but there are other markets which are paying four times the market rate for something which contains less than two percent of the Viura grape. Here’s your drink. Cheers!”
