Skinner's Trail (14 page)

`You've never killed anyone, Arturo. Though you carry a gun, you've never used it. I can tell. Because it marks you, you see. You carry it with you like a piece of luggage you can't throw away, and when you meet someone with a matching piece, you can tell. You know you both belong to the same club . . . the AES, the Authorised Executioners' Society. My best friend's a member. He'll never get over his initiation. It's a club I hope you never join. So yes, Commandante, I have seen too much of death. And yes, I care. Thank Christ, I care. It's the caring that makes the difference between the likes of my friend Andy and me, and the guys on the other side of the argument. That's why, in the end, I get so angry with people like Alberni. When you've had to take life yourself, and know the hellish taste of it, the selfishness and the waste and the sheer bloody un
-
necessariness of suicide just makes you mad.'

He smashed his right fist into his left palm. Beside him, Pujol, struck silent by his friend's confession, jumped at the explosive sound.

‘B
ut life goes on, and all that. I've got a wife and son I want to see soon, so let's do what has to be done here, and I'll take Gloria away with me.' He held up the key. 'This opens Alberni's safe. Your guys still haven't found a note anywhere?' Pujol shook his head. 'Okay, let's you and I take a look and see if it's upstairs. Come on.'

He led the way up the curving, tiled staircase to the upper floor of the house, and into the Albernis' bedroom. The safe was where Senora Alberni had said it would be, but it was bolted to the floor. Skinner knelt beside it and unlocked it with the small golden key. Even with the doors of the wardrobe wide open, it was dark inside and difficult to see. He felt inside the safe, and lifted out two boxes, its only contents. He carried them across to the dressing table and set them down. One was a jewel box, secured by a clasp. Skinner flicked it open, and found not jewels but an assortment of documents. Pujol examined them one by one. 'Marriage certificate, bi
rt
h certificates, life insurance, household insurance; all of these are personal documents. I see no letter from Alberni.'

`And no family jewels either. Maybe they kept them in the cigar box.' Skinner lifted the wooden lid of the second box. Pujol gasped with surprise, and muttered a Spanish imprecation. Skinner's reaction was confined to a slight raising of the eyebrows.

The cigar box was stuffed with Spanish banknotes. Pujol picked up a handful and flicked through it — then another, then another. 'It is in notes from one thousand pesetas to ten thousand.'

`How much d'you reckon is there?'

Pujol did not answer at once. Instead, he took out all of the cash from the box and arranged it in separate piles of one-thousand, two-thousand, five-thousand and ten-thousand peseta notes. He picked each bundle up in turn, flicking through it with his thumb, nodding continuously as he did, as if keeping count. Eventually he put the last bundle down. 'I'd say that there is a little over five million pesetas there.'

`In sterling,' said Skinner, 'that's twenty-five grand.'

'So Senor Alberni did not have the money problems of which we were told.'

`Maybe having all this money was his problem. It all fits together, Arturo. Alberni's a thief. He does Pitkeathly, then word gets to him on the L'Escala grapevine that a Scottish copper's in town and looking for him. He panics — so much so that this morning he goes up the rope.'

`Who would know you were going to see him? I did not tell anyone.'

`You wouldn't have to. Scotland does a check on Alberni through your police national computer. A copy comes in for you. You come to see me. And you have to leave word with your office where you are. Yes?' Pujol nodded in confirmation.

`Okay, you run a police force, and police forces, regrettably, run on gossip.' Pujol smiled a wry smile of agreement. 'By yesterday afternoon it's bar talk wherever your people drink, maybe in that bar up in Avinguda Girona, that there's a problem with Alberni, and that a guy's come all the way from Scotland to see him, a guy so heavy that the Commandante goes to visit him. A friend of Alberni hears this and passes it on. Or maybe Alberni has a source in your building: someone who feeds him information. Don't be offended; corruption happens in many places, and stupidity is universal.

`Professionally I hate easy answers. But this one is so fucking obvious that even I can't ignore it. We have to ask the lady
about this cash. I'll do it. She'd probably still be frightened by that green uniform of yours.'

`Si, please do that. You take the money. I will lock the safe.'

Skinner picked up the box and went downstairs at a trot. Gloria Alberni had finished the
phone call to her father, and had resumed her seat. She was dabbing her eyes with a small white handkerchief. Skinner guessed that the first aftershock was heading her way.

`Senora, what can you tell us about this?' He showed her the box, and raised its lid.

The woman's tear-filled eyes opened wide with surprise. `Where did you find that?'

`It was in your husband's safe.'

`I have never seen that before. How much money is there?'

‘P
ujol reckons five million pesetas.'

`Five million,' she gasped. 'What was Santi doing with five million in his safe?'

`Could it have been cash he was holding for a client?'

`No way. Santi always banked clients' cash as soon as he received it. He banked with Banca Catalana, here in L'Escala.

I know he had a special arrangement with them, so that he could make deposits even when the bank was closed.'

‘P
ujol will want to find out where it came from. You understand?'

`Si. I want to know where it came from! Five million pesetas! Almost under my bed!'

Thirty

‘
B
oss! What can I do for you?' Brian had been expecting a call from a friend to confirm a golf tie. Instead he heard Skinner's voice, crystal-clear, via satellite.

`You can listen and do what I ask. It'll keep my phone bill down if it's arranged at your end. I want you to contact Paul Ainscow and get him on the first plane out here. He's needed here now to go through the accounts of InterCosta. But you'll have to break some bad news to him. His partner Alberni hanged himself this morning. We found twenty-five grand's worth of used notes in his safe. It looks as if Pitkeathly's just the tip of the iceberg.'

Brian Mackie whistled. 'Tough on Ainscow. Is there anything else you want me to tell him?'

`No — other than that he should probably have legal advice handy, and a good accountant. We'll want to go through those books with a fine-tooth comb.'

`That's twice you've said "we", boss. Are you helping out there?'

`Yes. Arturo Pujol's asked me to give him a hand because of the UK interest. Sort of unofficial liaison.'

What's Sarah saying to that?'

Skinner laughed. 'He's cute, my friend Arturo. He invited her to observe their pathologist at work on Monday, knowing
she'd jump at the chance. So she can hardly dig me up. Anyway, we're both keen that this is cleared up as quickly as possible, for the sake of Alberni's widow. Nice woman. Sarah's looking after her now. She's given her a sedative from the
farmacia
. . . sorry, Brian, that's chemist to you! Okay, go on, get a hold of Ainscow. Tell him first available flight tomorrow, without fail! Tell him to let me know, through you, what flight he's on, and I'll have the Guardia pick him up from the airport. So long.

He hung up and went out to join Sarah on the terrace. He found her in a bikini, walking Jazz up and down in her arms. He was awake and as bright as the day, taking a greater interest than ever in
his surroundings, and in the things going on about him. Sarah had dressed him in a pale-blue sun-suit, and a wide brimmed sunhat fastened under his chin.

`Here, gimme a shot,' said Bob. Sarah passed the wriggling baby to him and sat down on a cushioned sun-bed. She unclipped her bikini top, picked up a yellow bottle of Delial factor four, and stretched out on her back to prepare herself for the sun.

Shielding him from the sun with his body, Bob turned the baby to face the Bay of Rosas. The bite-shaped expanse of blue water seemed to be alive with windsurfers. 'Fancy some of that, Jazz boy?' The baby wriggled and gurgled in his arms. 'Never done any myself, but I'm sure it'll become second nature to you.'

He felt the wriggling subside. 'Time to go back to the buggy, is it? Come on, then.' He laid the unprotesting baby in his mobile crib and, stripping off his shirt, settled on a recliner alongside Sarah.

`Is Gloria out for the count?' he asked.

`Yes. I found a good strong sedative down there. It isn't really over-the-counter stuff, even here, but I flashed my stethoscope and ID at him, and used Arturo's name to back them up. He came across without an argument.'

`How long will she be out?'

`Let's see. It's three now. I'd say till seven, anyway. I've got some Librium for when she wakes up. When did she think her father would get here?'

`She hoped he'd make it for eight. Where will they stay?'

`At her place. I asked her if she wanted them to be booked into the Bonaire or the Nieves Mar, but she said no. I suspect she was worried about cost, but she didn't say so — just that she'd have to face it some time, and it might as well be now.'

`She's a brave lady.'

A thought struck Sarah. 'God, I wasn't in the house, but didn't you say that it looked as if a bomb had hit it. I really hate the thought of her going back to the debris of last night's party with Santi and their friends and all.

`No, that won't happen. Arturo set half a dozen of his finest to making the place look spotless. I told him he should have used the Policia for that, but he said he didn't want any breakages.'

'Yes! That man with the hat, wasn't he awful! Gloria told me about the stretcher. She said she thought you were going to hit him.'

The thought did cross my mind. Arturo's too. What a bollocking he gave the guy — Chief of Police or not.'

`You'd better not park on any yellow lines in L'Escala for a while!'

Bob laughed. The only line I'd like to park on is the one round that pillock's hat.' He propped himself up on an elbow,
and picked up the sun cream. 'Want your back done?'

Nope. It's not too comfortable lying face-down right now. The D cups are still pretty tender, thanks to the milk monster over there!'

Thirty-one

‘
I
must say, Mr Skinner, the thought of an airport welcome by the Guardia Civil had me worried all the way across. It was quite a relief when their driver turned out to be in plain clothes!'

Skinner smiled. 'Even the Guardia have men in suits, Mr Ainscow.'

The two Scots shook hands on the pavement of the Passeig Maritim, outside the office of InterCosta. Ainscow thanked his driver, and the black car which had delivered him pulled away from the kerb and headed off in the direction of L'Escala's old town. It was 4:30 p.m., and even on a Sunday the few shops along the Passeig were in the process of reopening after their afternoon break, in the hope of gathering in a few more pesetas from the weekend visitors.

`You made good time,' said Skinner.

`Yes, I took the quickest option available: Air France from Edinburgh and on to Barcelona from Charles de Gaulle. Bloody expensive, though. Not the way I'd choose to travel. I take charters to Girona from Glasgow when I can, and look for deals on schedules to Barcelona in the winter months, when Girona's shut. How do you come down?'

`Varies. Quite often, like on this trip, I drive down. Look, shall we go inside?'

Ainscow nodded. Skinner pushed open the door of the small office, and the two stepped inside. Ainscow dropped his flight bag on the floor and placed his briefcase on one of three desks in the room.

`That's the desk you use normally, when you're here?' Skinner asked.

`Yes. That's ... that was Santi's over there, and the other's used by a part-time secretary.'

`Right. Nothing's been touched here since yesterday. Everything is exactly as it was the last time Alberni locked up. What I want you to do, or more precisely what the Guardia want, is to go through the books of the business, and try to locate all the funds transferred under that crazy blank-cheque system of yours. Have you called the InterCosta accountant?'

Ainscow looked at him a shade sheepishly. 'We don't have one. We have a book-keeper over here, and I have one in the UK. We operate as a partnership, so there's no need for filing of accounts anywhere. However, I have located an independent accountant in Girona. She'll be here tomorrow.'

`Good. What about a lawyer?'

`I'll call one if and when I need one. There's a bloke in Torroella that I've used in the past. But I've got nothing to hide. It was Santi who had the five million in his safe, not me. Do you want me to begin today?'

`No. Wait till your accountant gets here — and the Guardia man. They're sending someone up from their fraud department.

`Have you met Pujol, the local Commandante?'

`No.'

'Didn't think you would. Not too many people seek out the company of the Guardia. He's coming down here this
afternoon to meet you.' Skinner looked out of the window, peering through a chink in the mass of posters which covered most of its surface and darkened the room. 'In fact, here he is now.'

As he spoke, Pujol, out of uniform, appeared in the doorway. Skinner made the formal introductions.

`I am glad to see you here, Senor,' said the Commandante. `I think that there are matters with your company which have to be looked into: things that happened here in Spain.'

Ainscow broke in. 'Look, I want you to know that apart from this Pitkeathly business, and let's hope that still turns out to have been a mistake, there has never been a single complaint
to me in Scotland by any client about any transaction. Ask
around town and you will find nothing but satisfied people.'

`We shall ask, Senor. In fact we are asking already. Tell me, how long have you been in business with Senor Alberni.'

`Nearly ten years. I was in the estate-agency business back home. I built up a chain in central Scotland, then sold to an insurance company at the height of the boom. I did well — well enough to buy my place in Punta Montgo, and to spend some quality time out here. That's when I got to know Santi. He was working as a salesman for a big promoter-developer. He had sold me a couple of apartments as investments. I was looking for a
manager
and the thought shuck me: why not set up Santi in a business of his own, combining estate agency with property management, and all the other add-ons that brings? Then I thought that a business like that should have a UK
outlet on the estate agency side. I looked at the restrictive covenant attached to my sale, and discovered that I was clear
to deal in overseas property. So InterCosta opened in Scotland as well. Initially I ran it from our house, but when the Stirling

Business Centre was built, I liked it and moved in there. Gives clients a better impression, you understand.'

`You said you were partners,' said Skinner. 'What was the profit split?'

`I put up the development capital, so I had seventy-five per cent. Santi had twenty-five, but he still had a good package, by Spanish standards.'

`Has the business been profitable?' asked Pujol.

`It's washed its face, I'd say. If I were to be completely frank, I'd have to say that it's under-performing. It's always made a profit, but somehow it's never come up to business-plan forecasts. Some years the profit has been so low that I've given Santi a fifty-per cent share just so that he'd have something worth having.'

`Where has the problem been? Sales?' Skinner quizzed.

Not really. The way the thing is structured, we're not dependent on the market. Property management — and by that I mean looking after villas and apartments and providing a rental service — that's always given us a second income stream. The problem has always been that the overhead at the Spanish end was way over budget.'

`Why didn't you crack down on it? Put in an accountant?'

`In a business like this, it's not that easy to pin down the overhead. There are always things that you didn't budget for. Things like putting clients up in a hotel for a night or two because the maid forgot to renew the gas bottle in their apartment and you can't get one till Monday, unexpected trips to the airport with clients, people taking inspection flights over and ripping you off by buying from someone else. Loads of wee things like that can cut into your costs. I've always reckoned I'd just have to live 'with that. As I said to you in Scotland, Mr

Skinner, I've been feeling a bit uneasy lately, but until Pitkeathly there's been nothing to go on. Now there's this five million.'

`How often did you see Santi Alberni?' Pujol asked.

I'm over here about half a dozen times a year, in some years more. When I'm here, even apart from on business, I see Santi a lot. And Gloria, of course.'

`Are you married, Senor?'

Was once — not now.'

Pujol sighed. '
Ah
, yes. I can say the same. And so could Bob here, until recently. Now he has a wife and a new family to go home to, so we should let him do that. Senor, I shall drive you to your villa, and tomorrow we will begin the search for the origin of Santi Alberni's five million.'