He stepped out into the sunshine and within seconds began to sweat, but it did not occur to him to remove either his coat or his tie.
He walked down the steps and towards his hired car, parked under a pine tree.
‘Hey! Hang on, old man … Breeden, hang on there.’
He stopped and turned and stared at Willis, who was puffing along the pavement. His immediate thought was that it was a pity an Englishman should so lose his self-respect as to wear a crumpled shirt outside creased trousers and a pair of very battered flip-flops on his feet. Further, a moustache the size of Willis’s was pure affectation.
Willis came up to where he stood. ‘How the hell you can go around dressed up like this was St James’s in November beats me.’
Those red-veined cheeks, thought Breeden, spoke of a long-standing devotion to alcohol.
‘It’s like a bloody oven today. As I said to the lady wife, it’s going to be a real scorcher.’
‘Did you wish to speak to me?’ asked Breeden, happily unaware of the fatuousness of his question.
Willis took a large yellow handkerchief from his pocket and mopped some of the sweat from his forehead and neck. ‘It’s like this, old man. When I woke up, the lady wife went for me all ends up and said I’d been a right royal, stupid bastard.’
Breeden tried not to show his dislike of swearing, especially unnecessary swearing.
‘She said I was so rude to you she was embarrassed.’
Remembering the horsy, gravel-voiced woman, Breeden decided it was unlikely anything had ever embarrassed her.
‘She said I must apologize to you and, by Jove! she was dead right. I’m very sorry, old man, but I do tend to get a little enthusiastic at times. Especially when a tikkins-wallah comes … ’ He stopped abruptly.
A taxi came up to the pavement and stopped and two passengers climbed out. Breeden took one pace towards his car.
‘You can’t rush off, old man.’
‘I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry, Mr Willis, and … ’
‘But I’ve got to apologize.’
‘You have.’
‘Without a liquid chotahazri to wash away the memories? Never. Rather my right arm dropped off. About turn and into the hotel bar, even if the bloody thieves do charge twice as much as Café Juma down the road.’
Breeden looked at his watch. ‘It’s only half past ten.’
‘A bit late for the first one, I know, but we’ll make up for it!’ Willis laughed with explosive good humour as he made a grab for Breeden’s suitcase and wrested it out of his hand, nearly knocking him to the ground. Willis hurried along to the steps and climbed them.
‘I really haven’t the time …’ Breeden became silent as Willis reached the top of the steps and hurried to the doorway.
The main bar was to the right of the foyer. A group of newly arrived guests were milling round near the entrance, as they waited for the promised champagne cocktails, but the far half of the room was empty. Willis chose a table by one of the windows. ‘What’ll it be, then? One of the Willis specials? A Boomslinger — that’s brandy with palo. Guaranteed to make the hairs grow.’
‘Tomato juice, thank you.’
‘What? God’s grief, old man, you ought to have more respect for your liver. What about a Scorpion — rum and amontillado?’
‘I really only want a tomato juice, thank you.’
Willis looked at him with ill-concealed scorn and then crossed to the bar. He returned with two glasses, one of which he passed across with distaste. ‘My old quack had the right idea. “Keep the kidneys flushed out,” he used to say, “and you’ll never hear the stones clinking.”’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to the next one, old man. Now as I was saying, my lady wife says I owe you a real apology. Told me I was bloody rude. No argument. Plain bloody rude. But you didn’t take offence, did you? It never worried me to be called a stupid bastard — that’s the way you speak to your friends, after all. Still, I suppose I could’ve been a little less … Trouble is, when I meet a tikkins-wallah … ’ He stopped.
‘I’m not quite certain what you mean?’
‘Just an expression, old man, means nothing. The fact is, I got just a little hot under the collar when you told me you were in the overseas investigation department of the Bank of England and had come out to the island to check on people who’d brought a few pennies out of England without paying the bloody premium. What I say is this. Suppose people do do that? So what? It’s their money they’ve brought out, no one else’s. Who in the hell has the right to stop ’em?’
‘The Bank of England.’
‘I was talking about a moral right. Not some goddamn iniquitous Gestapo law …’
‘The Exchange Act, nineteen forty-seven. Under section … ’
‘Stuff the section!’ Willis twirled each end of his moustache with thumb and forefinger, then lifted up his glass and drank it dry. ‘Clauses, sections, acts, statutes … They give me gas. Stuff ’em, that’s what I say.’
‘Unfortunately, it seems that rather a lot of people on this island are of a similar persuasion.’
‘Good. Why shouldn’t they be?’
‘The law is very clear, Mr Willis. Each family unit is allowed — if the senior member is under sixty-five years of age — to bring out of the country five thousand pounds free of dollar premium. Any sum beyond that amount must be applied for through the Bank of England … ’
‘Red tape. Bureaucracy gone mad, jobs for the bloody boys. If I had my way, there’d be gallows lining the roads from Downing Street to the Houses of Parliament … Drink up. It’s time for the next one.’
‘I never have more than one, thank you.’
‘You’ll have to watch it, or you’ll end up dehydrated, like a bloody prune, what?’ Willis stood up, picked up his glass, and crossed to the bar. He ordered two large brandies and when he was served emptied one glass into the other and carried the full glass back to the table. He produced a pack of Chesterfields. ‘Have a gasper?’
‘Thank you, but I do not smoke.’
‘No smoking, no drinking? What’s your hobby? Little girls?’
Breeden was shocked.
‘I want you to understand, old man, no offence intended last night. It’s just that I got a bit excited at one stage. But when a bloke starts talking about some goddamn stupid law just because of something happening …’
‘I feel I must make the position quite clear. Under sub-section G of section forty, Mr Willis, as amended under the ’fifty-nine act which amended the ’fifty-one amended act, any person found guilty of illegally exporting sterling beyond the United Kingdom (within this context, of course, United Kingdom means for the sake of convenience the United Kingdom, the Isle of Man, and the Channel Islands) may be fined up to three times the sum of the premium avoided. And under sub-section six of section fifty-three, as amended under the ’sixty-two act, any assets remaining in the United Kingdom may be called upon to meet the sum due. Assets, under sub-section eight of the same section, include a life interest in a trust.’
‘It’s immoral.’
‘It is the law.’
Willis finished his brandy. ‘Stuff the law.’
‘Proof of illegal export of sterling can often be obtained by reference to documents signed by the person concerned and submitted by him to the Bank of England. It is an unfortunate fact that experience has taught us that hitherto honest persons are prepared to perjure themselves in order to avoid paying the premium … ’
‘Thank God there are some free men left.’
‘… One of the more common forms of perjury, regrettably carried out with the aid of foreign solicitors, is to declare the value of the house bought as very much less than, in fact, it is, thereby obscuring the illegal exportation of sterling.’
‘Shows initiative.’
‘However, as has been said, “To those who would suppress it, truth may verily become a hydra.”’
‘What are you getting at now, for God’s sake?’
> ‘The mythological water-monster, Mr Willis, whose many heads grew again whenever they were cut off.’
‘What’s that to do with buying a house? If you tikkins-wallahs could only speak English instead of choking yourselves on sections and sub-sections and water-monsters, it’d be a hell of a lot easier for us.’
Breeden’s briefcase was on his lap. He began to tap on it with the fingers of his right hand. ‘If I remember correctly, Mr Willis, when your application for permission to buy a house on this island reached us, the purchase price was given as one million two hundred and fifty thousand pesetas.’
Willis finished his drink.
‘You bought it just over eighteen months ago and paid the premium on the difference between five thousand pounds and ten thousand three hundred pounds which was the value of a million and a quarter pesetas at one hundred and twenty point three … ’
‘So I paid the premium.’
‘Mr Willis, I am not an estate agent and so have no specialized knowledge of house values, but having seen much of your very nice home — you may remember that for a time last night I became a trifle apprehensive for my own safety and entered several of the rooms in a hurry — I should imagine that the property cost you considerably more than a million and a quarter pesetas.’
‘You were bloody snooping.’
‘I wonder if ten million pesetas would be a more accurate reflection of the purchase price?’
Willis became very red in the face.
‘The difference between the true value and the declared value of your house, with a rate of sixty-two per cent actually payable, would possibly attract a premium of fifty-four thousand seven hundred and five pounds. If the maximum fine were levied, you would owe one hundred and thirty-four thousand one hundred and sixteen pounds. A sum which, I fear, would consume all the capital you presently hold invested in Government stock, together with the large proportion of your life interest, commuted (under sub-section thirteen), in the trust set up under the will of your late aunt.’
Willis stared with shocked horror at Breeden, unable to comprehend such passionless malignancy, then went over to the bar and ordered another two brandies. He drank them before returning to the table.
Breeden cleared his throat and for the first time was less than certain in manner. ‘Mr Willis, I should like at this stage of our discussion to … Perhaps I can best put the matter in this way. We of the overseas investigation branch are ready, when circumstances warrant, to take a pragmatic attitude. Do you understand what I mean?’
‘No.’
‘There are times in any job when the results may become more important than the means used to attain them. Do you now follow me?’
‘No.’
Breeden began to tap his fingers more rapidly on the briefcase. ‘Information given by a person who has contravened the regulations may, in certain circumstances — for instance, when he has helped us uncover the means by which the money has been illegally exported — lead to his offence being viewed in a more lenient light than would otherwise be the case.’
Willis looked up and his face was flushed. ‘Are you trying to say that if I tell you what I know, you’ll go easy on any fine?’
‘We make no promises, but we do … ’
‘Stuff your promises. You’re just a creeping tikkins-wallah.’
Breeden suffered no angry resentment. Indeed, if anything, he almost welcomed such abuse since it enabled him to be magnanimous. ‘Naturally, the decision is peculiar to each individual and his case.’
‘You can take a running jump.’
Breeden coughed. ‘I admire your courage, if not your wisdom. Your style of living is plainly high and it takes courage to undertake a course of action in the name of principle which must lead to a sharp diminution of that style.’
There was a long silence. ‘What exactly do you want?’ Willis finally demanded hoarsely.
‘The details of how you were able to move the money from England to here.’
‘I … If I tell you what happened, I’m not going to name names.’
‘I am afraid names are rather important.’
‘I’m not giving any, no matter what. I’m no informer.’
Breeden nodded, as if sympathetic towards such sentiments. ‘Perhaps it will not be strictly necessary — we in the overseas investigation branch are neither as blind nor as deaf as people would like to believe. I will mention names — you can acknowledge whether they hold any special significance for you. By no stretch of the imagination can that be considered informing on your part.’
Willis picked up his glass and went over to the bar.
It was interesting, Breeden reflected with a sense of moral superiority, how most men’s sense of honour was proportionally related to their financial status. He undid the two straps of the briefcase, opened it, and brought out a sheet of paper. The first name on the short list of names was that of John Calvin.
CHAPTER III
Brenda Calvin was, to use her own words, Avrilesque — she meant Junoesque. She often jokingly said that Raphael would have been glad to have her as a model — she meant Rubens. Being full of bubbling good humour, and ever ready to laugh at herself, she didn’t give a damn if her bodily measurements were no longer what they had been a few years before.
She moved in the bed until she could reach across to the chair and bring out of her handbag a cheque-book. ‘What’s up?’ asked Steven Adamson.
‘I wondered if I’d any money left in the bank.’
‘What a hell of a time to worry about that.’
‘I always worry about something afterwards: I had a pet of a psychiatrist once who told me that it’s because of my fear of pregnancy. But since I don’t dare think in terms of pregnancy, in case that should start something, I worry about something else.’
‘Surely to God you’re taking the pill?’
‘Of course I am. When I can remember to.’ She sat upright and opened the cheque-book. She had curly blonde hair, a round, cheerful face with welcoming brown eyes, a nose which almost turned up, and very full lips. Her skin was beautifully tanned, including her breasts and hips since she sun-bathed nude on the flat roof of her flat, despite the fact that this was overlooked by the end rooms on the two upper floors of the nearby hotel. ‘Hell’s teeth!’ she exclaimed.
‘Now what’s the matter?’
‘They’re bound to be wrong, aren’t they? The banks always get things wrong. According to what they told me the other day, I’m now down to my last two thousand pesetas.’ She stared at the cheque-book, then shrugged her smooth, well filled shoulders. ‘What the hell! The bank will bounce the cheques if there isn’t enough in the account to meet ’em.’
He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘You know something? You’re immoral.’ He was younger than she. He was handsome, in a hard, self-confident manner. Yet there was something about his mouth which hinted at a weakness.
She replaced the cheque-book in her handbag, then lay back. After a while she said: ‘I’m not really.’
‘Not really what?’
‘Immoral. It’s just that things happen when I’m not ready for them. Like seeing that red coat and wanting it so badly.’
‘You could’ve worked out you couldn’t afford it.’
‘Then someone else would have bought it. Don’t be such a spoilsport.’
‘At least you’d have had some money left in the bank.’
‘It never seems to stay in the bank, whether I see a red coat or not. John was always going on and on at me for spending, but as I said to him, I can’t help it. Some people are born like that. It used to get him so furious because he’s really a miser.’
He folded his arms above and behind him so that he could rest his head in the palms. ‘Have you seen him recently?’
‘The other day, when I asked him for some money.’ She laughed. ‘That hurt and he started trying to tell me how poor he’d become. I told him, pack up spending money on other people’s wives.’
&nbs
p; ‘How did he react to that?’
‘Got quite shirty for some reason and told me to stop looking for motes. When I got back here I looked the word up and found out what he was getting at. I think.’
‘You reckon he knows about us?’
‘God’s grief, of course he does! And so does everyone else. You can’t sneeze once in this place without everyone else knowing you’ve got a cold. By the way, did you know Daphne’s having a bomb with Basil?’
He ignored the question. ‘What was his attitude?’
‘Basil’s?’
‘Can’t you ever stick to one subject?’
‘Not if it’s a boring one.’ She stood up and walked across to the window.
When she opened the shutters, he said angrily: ‘Come away from there, you’ve nothing on.’
‘No one can see me and even if they can, what the hell? I look just like everyone else. Why do men always rush to look at women in the nude anyway? They know exactly what they’re going to see.’ She stared out through the open window. Beyond the road, which was often very busy during the season, was a short stretch of sand and then the sea. Today the sea had three different shades of blue, the darkest where the bottom was covered with a heavy growth of seaweed: she often studied the patterns of colour and tried to conjure pictures out of them. Beyond the western pier of the harbour, to her left, a sailing boat had just hoisted a red and white spinnaker which was now billowing because it was not correctly set, and the moving colours excited her. ‘Steve, come here and look. It’s so pretty.’
‘What is?’
‘A boat with an enormous red and white striped sail.’
‘That’s probably Alan. Doesn’t know the bows from the stern — talk about a bloody waste, having a yacht like that.’
As she watched, the spinnaker suddenly collapsed and trailed in the water. ‘It’s dead now and it’s all your fault.’
Two-Faced Death (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 1) Page 2
