Juan Foot in the Grave

by Roger Keevil

  “Nice try, Mrs. Stone,” responded Constable, “but I’m afraid it won’t wash. The facade of universal approval didn’t last very long, I’m afraid. So I’ve heard differing stories at different times, and I’ve managed to build up quite an interesting picture which, in one way or another, would give each one of you a motive, to a greater or lesser degree, to want Juan dead.”

  “What, all of us?” said Philippa Glass. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Perhaps not all of you, Miss Glass. But enough of you to make a really complicated picture. Enough to make me consider all of you as suspects.” The word fell heavily, and was greeted by a brief stunned silence.

  “Yes, suspects,” went on Constable. “Something of an old-fashioned word, I grant you, but then, some of my colleagues would probably describe me as something of an old-fashioned policeman.” He permitted himself a dry smile and glanced at Dave Copper. “Feel free to confirm that, sergeant, if you like. Maybe that puts me out of synch with a lot of the technology we’ve got these days to help us out, but as Captain Alfredo here has pointed out, I haven’t had access to that in this instance. And I’m working to a deadline. I’m flying back to the U.K. tomorrow, and I’m not a man who likes to leave loose ends lying around, so I’ve been forced to do this the old-fashioned way – good old brain-power. What my young colleague here is always advocating as the power of positive thinking. Now I’m quite fond of the old certainties, the old procedures. I don’t say I always follow them, as Copper here will no doubt tell you, but it’s nice to have the landmarks fixed so that you know what you’re ignoring. And the landmark questions in a murder case have always been, who had the motive, the means, and the opportunity? Well, the means we’re pretty certain of. I dare say the labs will confirm it quickly enough when they actually get on the case, but I don’t think I’m going to quarrel with a theory which puts together a massive head wound and a blood-stained chunk of timber and comes up with the answer ‘murder weapon’. So the means are pretty clear. As to the opportunity – well, I’ll come on to that a bit later. But when it comes to motives, I’m practically falling over them at every turn.

  “So, what did each of the suspects have to hide? There is certainly no shortage of guilty secrets, as some of you yourselves have pointed out.” There was a perceptible change in the atmosphere in the room – an almost palpable sharpening of attention. Constable took great care that his gaze did not fall on any particular individual. “Yes, you may think of yourselves as a group of close friends and colleagues, but self-preservation is a powerful instinct. So, was this drip-drip of compromising facts about some others in the group an attempt by some to divert suspicion away from themselves?”

  “Inspector,” interrupted Liza again, “you sit there spouting generalities, but you haven’t said a thing that’s relevant to why we’ve been called here.”

  “Thank you for the prompt, Miss Lott. I’ll come to the point if you wish. But don’t disparage the power of conversation. We’ve learnt a great deal from our conversations with various people, and certain witnesses have given us plenty of information from which to put together our jigsaw. So I’ll happily start with you. Now Mr. Vere told us all about the bureaucracy involved in the building of his new villa. I think you told us something about that yourself. And you and Mr. Connor here worked very closely together to get the right paperwork so that there shouldn’t be any snags in the way of your developing schemes. But I’m thinking that some of this paperwork seems to have come at a price. One very interesting thing which our Spanish colleagues here found when they examined Mr. Laborero’s car was an envelope with a significant amount of cash in it, running to several thousand Euros. Those ever-popular ‘unmarked bills’ so beloved in fiction. The bills might have been unmarked, but the envelope wasn’t. Clearly addressed to JML – Juan Manuel Laborero – it bore the message ‘For the next 3’.”

  “Why would you think that’s got anything to do with me?” objected Liza. “It could mean anything.”

  “It could indeed,” agreed Constable. “But Walter Torrance happened to drop into one of our conversations that it was, and I think I’m quoting him correctly from memory, ‘amazing what permits she manages to get hold of’. He was referring to you, Miss Lott. And Mr. Vere himself had heard rumours about a forthcoming investigation into corruption involving fake building permits. I do wonder why such an otherwise shrewd former businessman didn’t put two and two together, but then, like me, I suspect he’s a bit old-fashioned, and maybe he’s inclined to believe the best of everybody. I, on the other hand, being a sceptical policeman, do not. And here we had Juan Manuel, right in the middle of all the negotiations, translating where his clients could have no idea whether he was rendering the facts accurately, and generally fixing things. This may come as news to many of you, but Mr. Laborero was due to meet with the police authorities tomorrow. So we ask ourselves, with all this information in his possession and an investigation on the horizon, was he planning to turn police evidence? Did he mean to jump before he was pushed?”

  Liza’s eyes went from side to side, and she drew breath as if to reply, only to bite it back. Constable looked evenly at her for a moment, and then turned his attention to the other side of the room, where Philippa Glass sat, hands twisting nervously, her gaze fixed on the floor.

  “Now, Miss Glass.” Philippa’s head came up sharply. “For no particular reason, let’s turn to you and have a little chat about what guilty secrets you have to hide.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” stated Philippa defiantly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  Constable gave a pitying smile. “Do you know, Miss Glass, I’m inclined to agree with you. But I suspect that’s because, rather like Mr. Vere, you may be disposed to believe the best of your friends. But yes, I apologise if I’m thought to be making trouble for you in your personal relationships, but I’m dealing with the truth here, and nothing should be allowed to stand in the way of that. You did have a secret. Possibly only the one – I still haven’t come to a definite conclusion about some little cards which you may or may not have known about, but perhaps we’ll come to those later – and even that one secret wasn’t such a secret as you may have thought. Your… let’s put it no stronger than ‘friendship’, shall we… your friendship with Juan Manuel Laborero was well known to your friend at the bar, Eve Stropper, but baristas, unlike barristers, are not exactly notorious for keeping secrets.”

  Philippa turned huge moist eyes towards her lover. “X-Pat, don’t listen to him,” she pleaded frantically. “There really wasn’t anything in it, and we never… I mean, I wouldn’t… ”

  X-Pat threw off the hand placed on his arm in appeal. “Don’t touch me, you little… I warned you,” he grated. “I told you… ”

  “Be quiet, Mr. Connor!” Inspector Constable’s voice cut sharply through the rising tone of X-Pat’s fury. “I really would advise you to say as little as possible at the moment, for your own good. If you want to consider that as an official warning, please feel free to do so.” X-Pat subsided into smouldering silence, but his eyes continued to burn, and he eased himself away from his former close proximity to Philippa.

  “So there, I think,” continued Constable calmly, “is the illustration of your problem, Miss Glass. I mention nothing more than ‘friendship’, and we have a demonstration of the possible consequences. So were you afraid that your undeniably comfortable lifestyle was about to be snatched away, simply because of – forgive the bluntness – a bit on the side? Did you in fact kill Juan in a panic in order to prevent the truth emerging? Or should we consider the other side of the coin? Mr. Connor, should I entertain the possibility that your violent threats against the man who was playing around with your girlfriend, threats which I’m afraid Miss Glass herself revealed to one of our informants, were translated into reality? So there, Mr. Connor, I’ve got two very plausible scenarios whereby Mr. Laborero was highly prejudicial to your interests – one personal, and the one
I’ve already referred to, in your business dealings with Miss Lott.”

  “This is all moonshine,” riposted X-Pat. “You’re grabbing facts out of the air and twisting them together to make up some wild accusations. Nobody could possibly believe all this wild fantasy.”

  “I think you’ll find they could, Mr. Connor. But if you think that’s wild fantasy, I could go much further on the evidence that I’ve had handed to me. For instance, consider the possibility that Philippa Glass really was in love with Juan Manuel, but that he had turned away from her. We’ve heard from a number of sources that Mr. Laborero was a serial ladies’ man. Could it be that he had resumed a previous relationship with Roxanne Stone, and that Philippa was jealous? Or let’s get even wilder in our speculations. Perhaps Roxanne killed him because he was making a nuisance of himself again and she had moved on.”

  “Is this why you’re bringing me into all this?” Roxanne Stone sounded incredulous. “Because Philippa hasn’t got the sense to stop her love-life turning into some kind of soap opera, you are seriously suggesting that that would give me a reason to kill Juan? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous!”

  “Oh no, Mrs. Stone,” returned Constable. “I don’t think any of the convolutions of Miss Glass’s affairs touch you in the least. That was simply an illustration of how far the facts might stretch if we were so inclined. So let’s turn to some plainer facts, which I don’t think anyone will dispute. You yourself did have a relationship with the dead man – you’ve admitted as much yourself, but you say that it was long over. I’m quite happy to believe that – our friend Eve has confirmed as much, and told us that you are currently very much involved with Mr. Berman. Involved,” he mused. “Such a useful word. A choice of meanings, both of which I’m sure are applicable in this case. There is the connotation of romance, and there’s also the meaning of ‘linked in business’.”

  “But we’re all linked in business, inspector,” protested Tim Berman. “You know that perfectly well. Are you trying to make out that there’s some sort of gigantic conspiracy between all of us to murder Juan Manuel and cover it up?”

  “Oh, there’s certainly a conspiracy, Mr. Berman,” replied Constable, “but not quite of the nature you describe. No, perhaps a number of little conspiracies would describe the situation better. And I was talking about you and Mrs. Stone being in business together. Not that that makes you two special, except that we actually have some concrete evidence, if you will forgive the metaphor, in your case.” He turned to Walter Torrance. “I have to thank you, Mr. Torrance, for blowing the whistle on your colleague. Not directly, I hasten to add,” he said, swiftly forestalling Walter’s denial. “You said yourself that you didn’t want to name names. But you did drop enough hints about rackets in the building business, and there were more than enough references to fiddles involving building materials. In fact, Mr. Torrance, you’ve so willingly pointed us in several helpful directions that I’m inclined to conclude that you yourself haven’t got a thing to hide.”

  “So if you’re telling us Walter didn’t say anything specific about us,” persisted Tim, “what exactly are you saying? That this conspiracy you’re talking about is based on hearsay, and not even that?”

  “Lord, no, Mr. Berman. I can do a great deal better than that. We have in our possession a pair of invoices for materials from Mrs. Stone’s company. A pair, but by no means identical twins. Same goods, same quantities, but some very different prices, and I suspect not in favour of the final customer. So that’s what you might call a very nice little earner. Now we’ve been told that Mrs. Stone was searching for Juan Manuel at Friday night’s party, and talking about ‘protecting herself’. Would that be from the prospect of going to prison for fraud, perhaps? She told me herself that she wouldn’t be keen to find out what the inside of a Spanish prison was like. Just a hypothetical comment? Well, maybe. But Walter Torrance also told us that on Friday night, you, Mr. Berman, also went looking for the dead man, but you returned, saying that you couldn’t find him. Well, it was very dark in that garden, by all accounts. So was it true that you were unable to find him, or did you find him and make sure that he didn’t spill the beans when he came to have his little conference with our colleagues in the Spanish police?”

  “But I had no idea about this meeting you’re talking about,” Tim defended himself. “And even if I had, what would be the point of killing Juan? Wouldn’t that just draw more attention to whatever it was he was planning to reveal to them? I’d be better off trying to persuade him not to go ahead, or even to buy him off.”

  “Dear oh dear,” laughed the inspector softly. “The power of money. Which, Mr. Husami, you very helpfully told us speaks with the loudest voice in these parts. Well, I imagine you would know that better than most of us, with your extensive business interests, and your extended family. Quite surprisingly extended – one might almost say implausibly so.”

  “And what has the extent of my family to do with your supposed investigation into the death of Juan Manuel Laborero, may I ask?” Ewan Husami seemed quite at ease as he lounged in his chair, and his voice was level and contained traces of amused contempt.

  Andy Constable’s hackles rose. That, he thought, is a smile which I shall enjoy wiping off this particular gentleman’s face. But his tone remained calm and conversational. “Just this, Mr. Husami. Mr. Vere told us of a very interesting conversation he overheard at his house on Friday night – a conversation between you and Mr. Laborero which sounded very much like extortion amidst threats to reveal dangerous facts. There was talk of people ‘getting their cards’. Mr. Vere thought this might have something to do with you divesting yourself of some business interests, but I believe that he got hold of the wrong end of the stick. I think we’re talking about an entirely different set of cards. Cards which were discovered in the house of Mr. Connor, among Miss Glass’s possessions.”

  “And quite how am I supposed to be responsible for something you have found in X-Pat’s house?” Ewan refused to be perturbed. “You’ve got nothing, inspector. You’re just fishing.”

  “I will tell you exactly, Mr. Husami. And it’s very amusing that you should say that.” Constable did not sound in the least amused. “These cards are Spanish identity cards. The sort of cards which are essential if a person is going to live and work in Spain. The sort of cards which might very well pass as genuine, were it not for one small give-away detail which would possibly never be picked up unless they were seen together. That detail being that they had different photographs, but each one bore the same number and the same name – Ali Husami. So tell me, Mr. Husami, exactly how many Moroccan cousins called Ali have you got? Exactly how many of them have you brought into San Pablo at the end of those lengthy ‘fishing trips’ which Mr. Torrance so helpfully told us about? And did those trips perhaps involve a rendezvous with a vessel whose home port isn’t Spanish?”

  The confidence drained from Ewan’s expression, and he sat up and reached in his pocket, producing a mobile phone. “I think, if you don’t mind, I will make that phone call to my lawyer before I say anything else.”

  “There will be no telephone calls,” rapped Alfredo. The raised tone brought a swift reaction from the Spanish officers waiting outside, one of whom opened the door and looked enquiringly at the captain. Alfredo waved him away with a murmured word of reassurance.

  “Thank you, Captain,” resumed Constable. “I’m sure Mr. Husami would be well advised to seek legal advice, but perhaps not just yet. And perhaps his lawyer will be able to advise him just how many supposed ‘cousins’ would be enough to get him deported to Morocco once the authorities find out the facts. Once he has served any prison sentence in one of those Spanish prisons we’ve already mentioned, of course. Now that’s all quite a problem for a man who so clearly loves the cushy life in Spain. So did the obvious and easy solution, to do away with Juan Manuel, present itself before the authorities got to hear all the damning facts?”

  “And you think
the Spanish authorities have nothing better to do than go looking into a few petty allegations based on nothing at all? They have much more important worries than that at the moment.” Ewan’s tone was mocking. “And I think you’ll find I have a few friends who would have something to say about it if you try to divert them away from consideration of more serious matters.”

  “And I think you will find that you do not have as many friends as you think,” replied Alfredo silkily. “Not everything is for sale, Mr. Husami.” The two stared at each other until Ewan’s eyes fell.

  “Forgive me for repeating myself, inspector,” said Liza Lott, her poise regained, “but all you’ve been doing is floating wild ideas as to why each of us in turn might have killed Juan. I’m assuming you don’t think we all did it. So is there any danger of you coming to the point?”

  “Of course, Miss Lott. I apologise if you think I’m being long-winded. But I believe it’s important to consider all the possible reasons why the death of Juan Manuel Laborero might have occurred. But yet, for me, somehow all these various reasons don’t of themselves seem to provide a strong enough motive for this murder. So is there something else? Well, yes, there is, and we’ve heard it mentioned by several witnesses. In fact, it was something that I was very well aware of, but it was only a chance remark by Sergeant Copper here that drew my attention back to it. He made me realise – it can take a death to explain a death.”

  Copper looked up in surprise. ‘What did I do?’ was the sentiment clearly etched on his face.

  “It’s a question of identity,” continued Constable. He hopped off the desk and began to pace. “Who and what you are. Now, X-Pat Connor has built up his business over a period of time, as has Liza Lott. All right, perhaps those businesses may not be as flourishing now as in better times, but they have put a great deal of their personal effort into them. Ewan Husami has so many business ventures that it seems he has trouble keeping track of them all. It’s a highly complex web, and surely deserves investigating, but again it’s a web of his own creation. Tim Berman is a trained and skilled craftsman, whatever his business morals may be. Likewise Walter Torrance, although in his case I don’t have any qualms about his morality anyway. And on the subject of morality, there’s many a young lady like Philippa Glass who has done very well for herself out of a close relationship with a man with money. But Roxanne Stone? Your case is a little different, isn’t it, Mrs. Stone? Because you’re only where you are because of the untimely death of your late husband, Ed Stone.”