Skinner's Trail (15 page)

Thirty-two

Gloria and her father called in while you were gone. To thank us for yesterday.'

`I hope you told them it was
de nada
.'

`Of course.'

`How's she bearing up?'

`Pretty well. She's got guts — and her father being here's helping her a lot too. Arturo's told her that he'll release the body tomorrow straight after the autopsy, all being well. They're fixing the funeral for Wednesday. Gloria asked if we'd go. I said yes, if Kathleen could find us a babysitter.'

`Wait and see: Kathleen'll do it herself. There'll be no stopping her.'

`Then she'll be Jazz's first official sitter. It's just too bad about the reason we need one.'

`Yes. Here, try this theory for size. Apparently Ainscow's footloose and fancy free. No current missus. Arturo was wondering if he and Gloria might have been having it off, then Santi found out and couldn't take it. What d'you think?'

`No way. She's a well-brought-up Spanish lady. She wouldn't do that. And Santi was a Spanish guy, remember. If Arturo's idea was right, Santi would have been more likely to kill her, and Ainscow, than himself. No way, no way, no way.'

`Yes, that's more or less what I said to Arturo as well.'

They were dining at home, on their wide terrace. The air had cleared with the cooling of the day, and the jagged skyline of the Pyrenees was etched sharply on the horizon. The sun had just fallen and the sky along the mountains had taken on the pinkish tinge that they knew would darken and turn purple with the breakthrough of the earliest of the evening stars.

Sarah raised her glass of Fonter towards the Pyrenees in a toast. 'To my big mountain. It's a dream here; Bob, isn't it?'

He looked at her and smiled; a smile from the eyes, a smile from the heart. 'Because of you, Professor Sarah, all because of you. The best night I ever had in this town was the night you said you'd marry me. I still dream about that — here and in Scotland.'

She smiled back at him. Their eyes locked, and the air between them seemed to grow warmer, in defiance of the gathering -dusk. 'Ask me again,' she whispered.

He gave a tiny shake of his head. 'No. You might give me a
different answer.'

`No chance of that, copper. You're stuck with me.'

He reached across the table and took her hand. 'Well, in
that case . His smile widened again into a grin which had
, only one meaning.

And then the telephone rang.

'Bugger.' Bob walked into the villa and picked it up.
'Nola.
'

`Hi,
hombre
. How goes it with you, and how's my kid brother?' Alex's timing has always been accidentally impeccable, Bob thought.

`It goes great with us all, and your kid brother is unstoppable. Eats, sleeps, shits and smiles; that just about sums him up. He doesn't stint on any of them, either.'

`Buy him a drink for me, then.'

Bob laughed at his daughter's obvious delight in her new sibling. 'Aye, I'll do that.'

`I hear you're busy out there, Pops. Andy said you'd fallen on some police work.'

`Andy said?'

`Yes. I'm at his place just now.' Before he could comment, she added, `I'm staying at Fairyhouse Avenue tonight.'

`Yes, fine. How are the finals?'

`One to go, on Tuesday. Studying's over, though. You could say that quiet confidence is flowing down the telephone line.'

`Good. Keep your mind on Tuesday, and let's hope that confidence is not misplaced.'

`So what is this thing you're caught up in?'

`It's a mess, but we'll sort it out in the next couple of days, I reckon. Now go and give Andy's phone bill a break. I'll call you after your last exam.'

`Don't make it Tuesday evening, then. Andy's taking me out to celebrate. Bye.'

He went back to the terrace, and to Sarah. She looked at him, enquiring with her eyes.

`Alex. Asking after Jazz. She's at Andy's.'

`Mmm.' Sarah smiled a quiet smile.

Bob reached his hand across the table once more. 'Now Professor, as I was saying ..

And then, through the baby intercom, came the strident sound of Jazz's first waking cry.

Bob shook his head and laughed. 'That does it. I'm going to have a beer. I know whose needs come first in this house!'

Thirty-three

‘
My God, Bob, I'm cooked. Stand back, man, and let me
get out of this shirt. Why did I choose to wear this spring gear? Why didn't I just put on a blouse and shorts, like every sensible woman I've seen today?'

`How's Jazz?'

'Fine
,
Good as gold. What does a Spanish postmortem look
like then?'

'Messy, just like everywhere else. Dr Martinez, the
pathologist, was first-class, though. We could use one or two
like him back home. Nothing unnecessary. Straight to the
point . . . Back in a minute.' She ran off towards the bedroom
to change. When she reappeared in the kitchen a few minutes
later, she was wearing a Lycra swimsuit and shorts.

Bob handed her a coffee. 'What's the verdict, then?'

‘
Exactly as you'd
ex
pect. Death by asphyxiation, due to
hanging. All vital organs okay, brain normal. Santi was as
healthy as a horse, so you can rule out terminal illness as a
motive. Slight alcohol level in the blood, but no more than
you'd find from three or four beers the night before, No
unusual marks on the body, apart from horizontal bruising on
each upper arm. The pathologist suggested — and it's as good
an explanation as I can think of — that the short sleeves of his
shirt tightened on him as he struggled, after kicking the chair
away. There was an oily mark on the chair by the way, and oil on the sole of Santi's left shoe.'

`How do you know he struggled?'

`Martinez found yellow hemp fibres from the rope under his fingernails. His proposition was that, after Santi kicked the chair away, he thought better of it and clawed at the rope. That fits too. It's a common finding in autopsies on hanging suicides.'

`So that's it then. Suicide officially.'

Sarah nodded. 'Yes. Arturo said he's completely satisfied. He's going to put the papers before a magistrate, but that's what they'll say, and that's what the magistrate will rule.' She paused, looking suddenly gloomy. 'I wish it was otherwise, for Gloria's sake. I looked in to see her on the way back, to let her know what had happened. She still
refuses
to believe that her husband could have done something like that. You couldn't do some clever detecting and prove otherwise, could you?'

A wry expression twisted Bob's face for a second. 'Much as I'd like to help the lady, and much as I hate pat answers, there are times when a responsible investigator has to accept the obvious and leave it at that. You know me. I've been gnawing away at the scene in my mind, looking for something that might argue against the suicide explanation. But if there is anything, I'm stuffed if I can see it. Anyway, that's enough shop for today. I phoned Ainscow. He won't be through until tomorrow, he reckons. He, Arturo and I are meeting in the afternoon. Also, while you were out, I managed to begin work on this great treatise on detecting that I came down here to write. But that is it. Enough, the sun is calling. So why don't we attend to Jazz's needs, and then we can all go out for lunch. Between you and me, my love, there's quite a lot I'd do for a pizza!'

Thirty-four

It looked more like a business meeting over coffee by the beach, in true Costa style, than the culmination of a criminal investigation.

The three men sat around a table on the pavement outside La Caravel, Skinner with a cortado — a Spanish version of espresso with a little milk — Pujol and Ainscow with café con leche. Just across the way, the pocket-sized town beach was thronged with its usual late-afternoon mixture of mothers, infants and shoppers gathered together in a summer ritual of sunbathing and gossip. Some, from the bags which they carried, had come straight from the Maxor supermarket, less than two hundred metres away in one of the old town's narrow streets.

Pujol sampled his coffee, replaced the small white cup in its saucer, and picked up his briefcase. He opened it and withdrew a neatly typed document, which he placed in the centre of the table.

He looked at Skinner then at Ainscow. Finally, he said, That is a report prepared by my agent, after going through the accounts of InterCosta with Senor Ainscow's accountant. It is of course in Spanish, and I have not had the opportunity to have it translated. However I will summarise it for you. It seems that, for some time, amounts of money have been disappearing

from the company account. They have been between three hundred thousand and two million pesetas. Each, shall we say, withdrawal has related to a sales transaction. It has not come from the property management side. That has been going on for years. It will take much time to identify every one of the thefts, but my
hombre
and yours, Senor Ainscow, they are agreed that the total missing could be as much as two hundred million pesetas.'

'A million sterling!' said Skinner in surprise. Ainscow said nothing, but looked grim.

'Si.
Over a number of years, but it is still a lot of money.' `So how was it done?'

`Very simply. Senor Ainscow has told you of the way in which money was moved from Scotland to
Espana
. I know that you may think it irresponsible, Bob, but in fact it is quite a common practice in our property business. The banks have only themselves to blame. It is very expensive to move money from country to country by official transfer. Because of this, many people use blank cheques made out for cash, drawn on accounts in foreign countries. It is as effective as official transfer, it is often quicker, and it is not expensive.

What has happened with InterCosta is that some of those cheques have been diverted. Senor Ainscow's records in Scotland show that they have been completed and honoured, but they have not all been paid into the InterCosta account in Banca Catalana. Some have been cashed somewhere else, with money-changers. Many of them here will accept ordinary cheques for a higher commission.

`It is so simple. The theft was not from the client. It was from the company itself, from the profits of InterCosta.'

`Yes,' said Skinner, 'I understand. I assume that, every time,
the sum stolen was always within the level of commission due on that sale.'

`
Exactamente
! The sellers of the properties concerned were always paid in full. The buyers, they pay their money, they get their apartment, everybody is happy. The only person who does not get his money is Senor Ainscow. It seems that Alberni's great mistake was to forget, until it was too late, that Senor Pitkeathly's apartment was to be sold without commission being charged.'

Skinner looked across the table at Pujol. 'The InterCosta records confirm Alberni's guilt?'

`Bob, the cheques are cashed in
Espana
. The theft is of the profits from the company. Senor Ainscow here is entitled to seventy-five per cent of these profits. Why would he steal from himself?'

Skinner nodded in acceptance of the point. 'Yes, why indeed.' He looked at the other man. 'Seems like you've been stuffed all right, Mr Ainscow. What are you going to do about it all, Arturo?'

The
Cormandante
shrugged his shoulders. `God, he knows. We have asked all the banks. Alberni has very little cash in his personal account. There is no trace of any other among his papers. He has simply made it disappear. There are many things he could have done here. For example, he could have set up dummy companies, with other people as administrators, and used them to buy property. That would be untraceable. Or he could have buried it in his garden. Or he could have given it all to the casinos. Many Spanish people, even more so if they are Catalan, are big gamblers.'

`What action will you take?'

`I have been giving that much thought, and I have spoken
to Senor Ainscow about it. What I intend to do is . . . nothing. There will be no hearing. What would that achieve? Gloria Alberni knew nothing of this: of that we are both certain. She will have to live in L'Escala. It will be kinder if it is without disgrace. There is another reason too. What I have done so far is more or less unofficial. If I do any more, it will mean a full-scale investigation, by other people, of the company's business. If that happened, then our Ministerio de Hacienda — our taxman, you would say — might decide to look also at some of the declarations which have been made to the Notary of the prices paid for properties on which the tax is calculated. You know, Bob, that often the price which is declared is not the real price. It is much less. If our tax authorities took an interest, it could be catastrophic for many clients of InterCosta. And maybe not only InterCosta, too. They might then decide to investigate other companies in L'Escala.

`If that were to happen, how would it be for relations between the town and the Guardia Civil? My people live here. I live in Albons, not far away. We would be outcasts .. .
leprosos
! It is unthinkable. So if you agree, and Senor Ainscow agrees, I will do no more. I will bury this business with Santiago Alberni.'

Skinner shrugged his shoulders. 'It's your investigation, Arturo, I've got no problem with that outcome. Pitkeathly might, but then he's got to live here too.'

Ainscow broke in. 'I'll take care of Pitkeathly, Mr Skinner, don't you worry. That twenty-five grand in Santi's safe belongs to the company, clearly. I'll have that back, and I'll pay the Pitkeathly
’
s this missing half million pesetas from it.'

`That's fair,' said Skinner. 'What will you do about the business?'

Now that I see how profitable it could be, I'll probably look for new people out here. Two probably: one Spanish, one British. I'll let them buy in for twenty per cent each, in profits. That way they'll be watching each other. And from now on my accountant will be looking out for me.' For the first time that afternoon, Ainscow smiled. 'How about it, Mr Skinner, fancy staying here as a partner in InterCosta?'

Skinner, leaning back in his chair and finishing his
cortado,
smiled too. 'Bugger off!'