Beyond Reach (24 page)

‘How is Señor Mackenzie?’

‘He’s fine. You’ve talked to him?’

‘Last night. He told me which plane to meet. I drove down this morning.’

‘Why?’

‘He didn’t tell you?’

‘No.’

‘No kidding?’

‘No.’

Riquelme began to laugh. He opened the doors of the Renault. Winter got in. When Riquelme gunned the engine and checked round for the exit Winter reached across and removed the keys.

‘Tell me where we’re going,’ he said. ‘And why.’

Riquelme wanted the keys back. Winter held his gaze.

‘Last time we met you thought I was a cop,’ he said.

‘You tell me I was wrong?’

‘No.’ Winter shook his head. ‘I’m asking you what you think now.’

‘Now I know you work for Señor Mackenzie.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Of course, my friend. Otherwise I’d leave them to do their business with you.’

‘Who? The police?’

‘
Sí.
’

‘Why would they bother with me?’

‘You don’t know? You don’t remember last year? Rincon de la Vittoria? Las Puertas de Paraiso?’

Winter said nothing. The temptation was to step out of the car, retrieve his bag, go back to the terminal, and get the next plane out. Bazza must have known, he told himself. This man, or maybe someone else, must have told him. Don’t set foot in Spain for a while. Or maybe ever.

‘Who told you about last year?’

‘I have good contacts in the police. They have a watch list at all our airports. Your name is on the list, my friend. You were lucky to get through.’

Lucky to get through.
Winter shut his eyes. Bazza
had
known, he told himself again. He’d definitely fucking known.

‘So what happens next?’

‘We go to Baiona. You do your business. Señor Mackenzie asks me to look after you. That way -’ he shrugged ‘-
no problema
.’

‘And you know what happened last year? The way it went?’

‘
Sí. Una lástima, verdad?’

Winter shrugged. He hadn’t a clue what this man was saying but he’d caught the tiny ironic inflection in his voice. Westie and his new girlfriend blown away in an unfinished bar in the hills behind the coast. Two more bodies heading for the foundations of the latest Costa del Sol development. An event like that, profoundly shocking, will always come back to haunt you. Always.

They were out on the main road now, heading south. To the right, beyond the advertising hoardings and the odd stand of trees, Winter caught sight of the blueness of the sea.

‘Esme?’ he queried.

‘She’s at the hotel.’

‘And a man called Garfield?’

‘He hasn’t come.’

‘He was due?’

‘Yesterday. He comes here many times. You know about Señor Garfield?’

‘No. Tell me.’

Riquelme said nothing, dropping a gear and easing the Megane past a huge petrol tanker. According to Mackenzie, Riquelme controlled a sizeable chunk of the Colombian toot shipping into Spain’s Atlantic coastline. If anyone knew the workings of the cocaine business in these parts it would be Rikki.

‘Señor Garfield buys from people, friends of mine. He pays a good price. We like his business. But he takes risks. Risks give you trouble. Risks give everybody trouble. This we don’t like.’

‘So why hasn’t he turned up?’

‘
Qué?
’

‘Why isn’t he here? Doing more business with Esme?’

‘
No sé?
You don’t know?’ The smile again.

‘No. So just fucking tell me, OK?’ Winter knew he was beginning to lose it. Most Sundays he stayed in bed late, read the
Telegraph
, took a leisurely stroll with Misty if she was in the mood, tucked into a roast at one of the Gunwharf eateries. Now he was fleeing the Spanish police and trying to head off a London gangster who’d evidently taken one risk too many.

‘He’s been arrested. Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘
Qué?
’

‘Arrested. Crashed and burned. Gone. Potted. Off the plot.’

‘
Sí.
By your police.’

‘Where?’

‘In London. Two days ago.’

‘Does Mackenzie know that?’

‘Sure. He tells me on the phone. He checks up that I’m meeting you. He tells me to keep you safe. He says for me to take you to Baiona, to the hotel, to his daughter. A pleasure, my friend.’

‘Why the drama? If Garfield’s not coming?’

‘His wife is here. She arrive last night at the airport. She comes to see Esme.’

‘Why?’

‘
No sé.
’

‘You don’t know?’

‘No.’

‘Mackenzie didn’t tell you?’

‘No. Like I say he tells me to look after you. He tells me to keep you safe. I have men in Baiona. Esme?’ He glanced across. ‘She speaks Spanish?’

‘Yeah.’

‘
Bueno.
’ He nodded. ‘Good.’

 

The last person Esme expected to see was Winter. She was sitting in the sunshine on the hotel’s terrace. The hotel itself was a wonderful confection of wrought-iron balconies and peeling wooden shutters. A Spanish flag fluttered over the ornate entrance and the fading pink of the stucco was streaked with seagull shit. The terrace formed part of the restaurant and the remains of a meal for three had yet to be cleared away. Winter eyed the mountain of discarded oyster shells and crab claws. There were two wine bottles upended in the ice bucket and a folded copy of the
Financial Times
lying on one of the empty seats. Esme’s guests had clearly gone.

He stood behind her, wondering where Madison fitted into all this.

‘Some kind of celebration, Ez?’

She looked up. She was wearing a pair of Ralph Lauren sunglasses and must have spent most of last week on the tanning bed but nothing could hide the fact that she was pissed.

‘You,’ she said.

‘Me,’ Winter agreed. ‘Your dad sends his best. Hopes you’re having a nice time. Where’s lover boy?’

Esme looked at him for a long time then tried to get to her feet. Winter pushed her gently back.

‘I want you to meet a couple of friends of mine,’ he said. ‘This is Juan. The other guy’s name I didn’t catch. They’re mates of a guy called Riquelme, big fan of your dad. Problem is, they don’t speak English.’

He waved the two Spaniards into the empty chairs and requisitioned a fourth from a neighbouring table. Esme was looking from one face to the other, clearly lost. Riquelme, after the lightest of handshakes, had disappeared back to Cambados.

‘So …’ Winter nodded at the debris on the table. ‘Who had the pleasure?’

‘Of what?’

‘Your company, Ez. One of them, I assume, was Madison. The other?’

Esme gazed at him a moment then shook her head.

‘This is none of your business.’

‘Wrong, love. It
is
my business. And you know why? Because it’s also your dad’s business. And just now you’re in fucking disgrace. How do I know that? Because he told me.’

Esme’s shoulder bag lay beside her chair. Winter bent quickly and retrieved it. The two Spaniards were watching his every move.

‘Tell them it’s cool, Ez.’ Winter was going through the bag. ‘What’s the Spanish for damage limitation?’

Esme tried to seize the bag. Winter pushed her off. Then the edge of his shoe found her shin under the table. She swore and pushed her chair back. She was wearing a short cotton skirt. Her legs were as tanned as the rest of her. She began to rub the hurt, still cursing.

‘Put ice cubes on it, Ez.’ Winter nodded at the bucket. ‘Brings out the bruising.’

He’d found what he was looking for. He cleared a space on the table, mopped it with a napkin and laid the document flat. It was in English. It appeared to be a contract for the sale of the hotel. There were ten pages, each initialled at the bottom. Three signatures, one belonging to Ezzie.

‘So who are these people?’ Winter tapped the other signatures.

Esme took off her sunglasses. Pain appeared to have sobered her up.

‘One of them’s the owner.’

‘Fresnada?’

‘Yeah. He signed first thing this morning.’

‘And the other?’ Winter peered closer at the name.

‘That’s our partner.’ She frowned. ‘Dad’s partner.’

‘You mean his wife.’

‘Yeah. How did you know that?’

Winter ignored the question. He’d turned to the final page. Each of the signatures had been separately witnessed. Damage limitation had ceased to be a joke.

‘Who did you get as a witness, Ez?’

Something in Winter’s tone of voice had caught her full attention. She’d never seen him this businesslike.

‘A local guy. Dad and me met him last time we were down here. He’s a
notario,
a lawyer. He’s handling our side of the deal.’

‘And Mrs Garfield?’

‘She brought her own, a London guy, Christopher someone.’

‘He was here? At the table?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So where are they now?’

‘En route back to the airport.’

‘With the contracts?’

‘Of course.’

‘Shit.’ He nodded at the Spaniards. ‘Ask these guys if they have wheels.’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t fuck around, Ez. Just trust me. Just do it.’

She turned to them and said something in Spanish. Juan, the older of the two men, nodded.

Winter asked her what time Garfield’s flight went. She frowned. She thought early evening. It was a direct flight back to Gatwick. They had some call or other to make in Vigo first. Winter reached for her bag. Her mobile was at the bottom. He passed it across the table and told her to check the flight’s departure time.

She stared at the mobile, not knowing what to do.

‘Ask at reception,’ he told her. ‘They’ll have a number.’

She got to her feet and limped inside. The younger of the two Spaniards couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

‘
Guapa
,’ he muttered.

Winter had returned to the contract. As far as he could make out, Bazza had just parted with two million euros for the hotel. Garfield was in for a million. His wife’s signature was indecipherable.

Esme had reappeared at his elbow.

‘The flight goes at seven forty-five local.’ She appeared to be getting a grip at last. ‘They’d have to be there at half six.’

Winter checked his watch. Just gone four. The airport was an hour away, max.

‘Do we know what they’re driving?’

‘It’ll be in the hotel register. They had a hire car.’

‘You know which company?’

‘Hertz. I saw the key fob.’

‘Good girl.’ Hertz was allocated spaces for hire cars in the airport car park. He’d seen them this morning. This was getting better. He nodded at Juan. ‘Tell our man we need to get back to the airport.’ He grinned at her for the first time. ‘
Pronto
.’

 

Winter could tell that Esme wasn’t keen on joining them for the trip to the airport. When he accused her of hiding Madison upstairs she took him to her room. Only one of the twin beds had been slept in and there was no sign of any other luggage but her own. She’d flown down here, she insisted, to complete the deal that she and her dad had been negotiating for months. None of that had anything to do with Perry Madison.

‘But you want to move out here. Is that right?’

‘Who told you that?’

‘It doesn’t matter, love. Just tell me whether it’s true or not.’

She shrugged. Spain was nice. She’d always liked it. This particular area was wonderful, so green and unspoiled after all the crappy developments along the Mediterranean coast, and yes she could see herself spending a bit of time out here. As far as the hotel was concerned, her dad was right. She’d fallen in love with the place at first sight and nothing that had happened since would change that.

‘Not even Madison?’

‘Fuck off, Paul. Perry’s my affair, not yours.’

‘Wrong again, Ez. Shagging coppers is a crap idea. Especially in our line of business.’

‘He’s a human being not a copper. Why can’t men see that?’

‘Because you’re potty about him. Because he might be more devious than you think. And because you’ve just put your dad in bed with a cocaine dealer.’

The latter news brought Esme to a halt. She was standing by the window, enjoying the sun on her face.

‘A what?’

‘A drug baron. A toot peddler. A bugle merchant. This guy’s money is dirty. And now some of it will soon be sharing an account with your dad’s. You’re a lawyer, Ez. You know the way POCA works.’

‘The Proceeds of Crime Act?’

‘Yeah. Garfield’s money taints everything. Including us. Where is he, as a matter of interest?’

‘Garfield?’

‘Yeah.’

‘In the States. On business.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘His wife.’

‘Great. You want the bad news or the bad news? Number one, his wife’s lying. Number two, Garfield was arrested a couple of days ago on supply charges. We’re talking millions and millions of quid, Ez. I checked with your dad on the way down from the airport. He’s put some calls in. The Met don’t do these things lightly. They wouldn’t touch a face like Garfield unless they were sure of a result. Once that happens, your dad is history. And so are you.’

‘Shit.’

‘Exactly.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘Why the fuck not? You’re a lawyer, Ez. You’re supposed to understand all this money-laundering bollocks. It’s your job to check out Garfield’s stake. It’s there in the legislation. In fact it’s your responsibility. You can go down for this, easily. So why didn’t you look? Why didn’t you start asking questions?’

‘Dad said there was no problem.’

‘Dad was wrong.’

‘Yeah, but -’ she shrugged ‘- Dad’s Dad.’