Blood Red (16 page)

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Authors: Quintin Jardine

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Scotland

BOOK: Blood Red
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Honest to God . . . an appropriate expression? . . . I had not considered that scenario until that very moment. I was stuck for an answer. For a while, all I could do was frown. ‘Well,’ I began, eventually, ‘I want him to be happy. But if I’m to be honest, and admit to a bit of selfishness, I suppose I do want to be a granny one day.’ I could have been more specific; I could have said that I want my son to live a full life, in every way, including the sensual aspect, and that having done pretty well in that department, especially in my thirties, I felt sorry for anyone who’d missed out. Sure, I could have said that, but it would have been cruel to Gerard.
He bailed me out. ‘I would not worry about that, Senor Blackstone,’ he said. ‘There’s a requirement for the taking of holy orders, and Tom doesn’t pass the test.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked, ready to defend my boy against all charges.
‘We’re required to believe in God. Tom doesn’t, and I don’t expect he ever will.’
‘How do you know that?’
He looked me in the eye. ‘Simple, I asked him.’
‘It’s more than I’ve ever done,’ I retorted. Quite out of the blue, I was angry. ‘Don’t you think you should have asked me before quizzing my son about his religious belief? He’s only eight, Gerard! How can you expect him to have a mature view on the existence of bloody deities?’
‘It’s my job,’ he shot back at me. ‘I’m a diviner of faith in people. It’s usual for me to begin a dialogue with those as young as Tom, to test their attitudes. His is already formed. If there was a God, he told me, he would not have let his father die. Now I agree that he isn’t old enough to grasp the concept that life is full of misfortunes and imperfections, and that only God Himself is perfect, and I didn’t try to explore that with him, but in my view he will be implacable. He will never be able to accept the existence of God.’
‘Then why do you let him help you in church?’ I snapped.
‘Because he’s very good at it.’
‘You mean you’re using him? Well, that’s at an end.’
‘Hey,’ he snapped. Our voices were raised; I was aware, vaguely, that a few people were looking at us but I didn’t give a damn. We were having a full-blown argument, our first ever. ‘You don’t believe in Him any more than Tom does, yet you were quite willing to stand in church alongside Alex Guinart and Gloria and promise to take responsibility for the religious upbringing of little Marte.’
I had moved closer to him; we were no more than two feet apart, eyeball to eyeball. ‘I’m an adult,’ I shouted. ‘That was my choice and it was acceptable to Alex. Tom’s a child, and you’re letting him play a part, probably in the hope of winning him over to your team. But not any more you aren’t. So bugger off!’
‘Primavera,’ Mac exclaimed, ‘calm down. Listen, when Oz was a kid he had a paper round, but that didn’t mean he believed in Robert Maxwell.’
I stared at him; Gerard simply blinked and looked confused, having never heard of the notorious press baron or of his watery fate. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ I challenged.
‘Fuck all,’ he admitted cheerfully, ‘but somebody’s got to get between you two at this point.’ He took me by the elbow, and I allowed him to steer me gently towards the house. ‘Good to meet you, Gerard,’ he said, over his shoulder, ‘but you’ve got a lot to learn about coming between a tigress and her cub.’
Twenty-six
‘
T
hat should squash the gossip,’ I growled, bitterly.
We were sitting at the kitchen table, our hands wrapped round mugs of tea, which Mac had insisted on making. ‘Nothing better than a cup of hot tea to cool you down.’
‘You reckon?’ I paused. ‘An up and downer between me and the priest in front of half the village? Word will get around, bank on it.’
‘But what will that word be? Honest to Christ, lass, watching you two, it really took me back. In all our marriage Flora and I never argued much, but when we did, they were belters. That’s what you and young Gerard reminded me of out there, and I reckon that a few people will have similar thoughts.’ He grinned. ‘And before you ask, I always got the worst of it too.’
I had to smile. ‘What did you fight about?’
‘Mostly it was about our daughter. Ellen was a handful, even when she was Tom’s age. She had a reputation as the toughest kid in the playground. One day a mother brought her lad into the surgery with a loosened back tooth. His jaw was swollen round it. When I asked him what had happened he said that a boy had hit him. “Don’t tell lies,” said his mum. “It wasn’t a boy.” No, it wasn’t,’ he laughed, ‘it was our Ellie that did it. The idiot child had tried to force her to give him her apple.’
Knowing Ellie, I had no trouble believing the story. ‘Did you ever argue about Oz?’ I asked him.
He shook his head. ‘Never had cause. Osbert was a paragon; well behaved, good at his lessons, and nobody ever tried to take his apple . . . any more than they will with his son.’
That was true, I realised. I’d never heard a whisper of Tom being in a scrap.
‘What are you going to do about it?’ Mac asked, quietly.
‘About what?’
‘Wee Tom, and the church.’
‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘What would you do?’
‘Nothing.’ He paused. ‘I must apologise to you, Primavera; it was me who kicked that argument off with that provocative question.’
‘No, it was Gerard who caused it, with his to Tom.’
‘Maybe, but I can see his side of the case. He’s in the soul business; it’s his job to see that everyone’s in good shape, from an early age. And,’ he pointed out, ‘it’s yours too, as a godmother.’
‘Maybe I should resign then, for I’m not qualified.’
‘I can’t think of anyone who’s better qualified. You’ve seen the pitfalls and you know how to avoid them.’
‘So you’re saying I should let Tom carry on helping Gerard?’
‘I’m not sure you’ve got the right not to, if that’s what the lad wants to do.’
‘So should I go next door and eat humble pie?’
‘Hell no! Arguments aren’t best solved by one side giving in.’
‘But what if Gerard says he can’t be a server any more?’
‘He won’t do that. He’s a good guy.’
‘How do you know that? You’ve only just met him, and not in the best of circumstances.’
‘Nonetheless, he is. Plus he would do anything for you and your son.’ He drained his tea. ‘Now,’ he exclaimed, ‘I must go and call Matthew Reid, to see if it’s all right to pay them a visit.’
I stayed in the kitchen as he went to find a phone; for some reason the cordless that’s usually there had been left in the TV room. I had just put our mugs in the dishwasher when he returned.
‘Fixed up?’ I asked.
He shook his head, frowning. ‘No. I only caught them by a couple of minutes. Matthew said that he’s so pissed off by the incident with the police that he and his wife have decided to go back to Scotland ahead of schedule. I said to him that after that apology from the top banana, I’d have thought it was all behind him, but he said it was best if he went, so as not to draw any more attention to himself.’ He scratched his chin. ‘I suspect that the thing’s scared him more than he’s prepared to admit. Who’s going to pay undue attention to a retired PR man?’
‘I can’t imagine,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine at all.’
Twenty-seven
I
could, of course, By going to the consulate, Matthew had done what any Brit should do in the circumstances, but he couldn’t have foreseen the consequences. From the level at which the apology had been offered, I guessed that his military record had been disclosed to someone higher up the pecking order in the Catalan government than a mere chief of police, and that buttons had been pushed. Chances were that Gomez had been told who and what he had hauled into his nick, and that he had decided to get out of town before the locals started calling him ‘Brigadier Reid’, which would not have been good.
We were halfway through lunch when I was proved right. The phone rang; I answered to find Alex on the other end. ‘What do you know about Ben’s stepfather?’ he asked.
‘Enough,’ I replied, ‘but I was told in confidence. Is the intendant still smarting?’
‘He’s in a filthy mood, so I wouldn’t let it slip any time soon that you could have warned us about the guy.’
‘Honest, I didn’t know myself until you’d put your feet in it. Honest.’
‘I believe you.’
‘How’s the whore quest going?’
‘Badly. I’ve visited most of the houses of horizontal refreshment in the area. None of them had ever heard of Planas, far less recognising him as a client. I’ve still got a few to interview, but I’m not hopeful of success. Gomez is insisting that I do it, though, even though we’ve checked the calls made from the old man’s mobile and his landline, and can find nothing that links to any of these places.’
‘What about the murder weapon?’
‘Nothing on that yet . . . at least nothing that I’ve heard, having spent most of the morning interviewing madams.’ He sighed. ‘Ah well, back to the grind, so to speak.’
I smiled as I hung up, yet I was intrigued, too. Planas wasn’t a whore-monger, but who had been deemed worthy enough to service him?
‘What are we doing this afternoon?’ Mac asked as I came back into the kitchen.
‘What would you like to do? The world is your oyster; or anchovy, or mussel or clam, or whatever sea creature you prefer.’
In the end he settled for a round of golf, not on the big tracks of Pals or Emporda where you’re going to take a minimum four hours to get round, but on the par three course at Gualta, which we could fit into the length of Tom’s school afternoon. I’d have taken Charlie, but as I wasn’t sure he’d be welcomed, I left him with Ben, and his two chums.
Mac still plays tidy golf, and I’m not bad, but for all that we found the little course more difficult than it looked, and each of us contributed a couple of balls to the water hazards before we were done. Afterwards, we had a cool drink in the bar before heading back to St Martí to pick up Charlie and to be in time for Tom getting home from school.
I was on my way up back from Ben’s shop, with the dog trotting ahead of me when I saw a Mossos vehicle parked in front of my house; it hadn’t been there when I’d stepped out of the gate five minutes before. My first guess was that Alex had stopped off to blag a coffee, after a weary day spent chasing whores, until I realised that the car was a saloon, and not the off-roader he usually drove.
Intendant Gomez was waiting in the garden when I let myself in; Mac was with him, but nothing was being said, not least because neither spoke the other’s language to any significant degree. ‘Good afternoon,’ I greeted him, in Catalan. Mac looked bewildered, shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the front door, to indicate that he was going inside.
‘Good afternoon to you, Primavera,’ Gomez replied. I was surprised; he’d never been so familiar before.
‘Yes, it is,’ I continued, ‘but now we’ve got that over with, why the visit?’
‘It’s a courtesy call, no more. I understand that Inspector Guinart let you in on the results of the second autopsy. I don’t mind that at all. In fact, since it seems that you have friends with friends in high places . . .’ there was more than a hint of irony in his tone, ‘. . . I thought I’d let you know the latest. Alex’s tour of the clubs is over; it’s left him a little disgusted, and us none the wiser . . . although we do have some potentially useful information about their client lists. However, we have determined the murder weapon.’
‘Have you indeed? A wooden club, Alex said.’
‘Not quite. It was a chair, from Senor Planas’s patio set. It seems that he and his nocturnal visitor had some sort of a disagreement, he turned his back on her and she picked up the chair and swung it at him.’
‘I see.’ From what I remembered of the furniture in question, it had been solid enough to do the job. ‘Alex also told me that you had DNA samples from Planas’s clothing that would identify the woman. Any luck there?’
‘Not yet. We’ve eliminated someone, though.’ He laughed. ‘Actually we’ve eliminated five people; two of our female officers, Senora Michels, you, of course, and Senor Planas’s housekeeper.’
‘Was she a suspect?’ I asked.
‘Potentially . . . and if not her, then her husband, the gardener. The lady was well paid by the dead man, and we wondered whether that might have covered more than the usual domestic services. They were our principal suspects, in fact, even before we knew of the sexual aspect; we’ve been questioning them since Sunday.’
‘But now they’re off the hook?’
‘For the moment, although we haven’t excluded them completely. The son remains suspicious of them; he’s never liked them much.’
‘Angel? That reminds me. Do you know when the funeral will be?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Gomez replied, ‘as he had hoped. It will be a burial. As you may know, cremation is becoming more popular in Spain, but you will appreciate that in the circumstances I couldn’t allow that.’
‘No, I can see why.’

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