Under Suspicion (15 page)

Tssssss
. Brunhilda’s angry spitting hiss was pretty
convincing.

Gorgonzola obviously thought so too. There was an answering
Tssssss
from the direction of the French doors. G stood silhouetted against the sun, eyes narrowed, tufty coat bristling.
Tssssss
. Slowly, deliberately, she advanced, stiff-legged and menacing.

Jason was standing open-mouthed. I was the first to break the stunned silence.

‘Gosh, look, Jase, it’s like a rerun of the standoff in
High Noon.’

He rallied. ‘Better get hold of that mog of yours prontissimo, Debs. Brunhilda’ll zap her one and polish her off.’

He could be right. I’d half-risen when Gorgonzola sprang forward with an ear-piercing yowl. A blur of movement, a savage swipe of her paw, and Brunhilda clattered onto her side and slid along the floor.
Whirrrr
. There was an ominous grinding and the acrid smell of overheated circuit boards. The four metal legs waved feebly, and were still.

Another howl, this time from Jason. ‘That scruffy brute of yours has trashed Brunhilda.’ He jabbed desperately at buttons on the control. ‘I’ll never forgive you, Debs.’

I didn’t think it politic to remind him that
he
had invited
me
over. An odd growling came from G’s throat as she circled the prostrate heap of metal. I scooped up my still-spitting bundle of fur and fled. At least this little incident had erased from his
memory that rash promise of mine.

‘
Two
kisses. What an escape, G,’ I muttered into her moth-eaten ear.

Gerry’s debriefing session was scheduled for 5 p.m. I just had time to deposit Gorgonzola back home and make a quick call at Exclusive’s offices to inform Monique about Rudyard Scott and Millie Prentice. Had Vanheusen confided in her? Was she in any way involved? Her reaction to the news should tell me.

‘
Dead
?’ There was no doubt that Monique’s surprise was genuine.

‘I’m afraid so,’ I said. ‘Mr Scott died of a heart attack, it seems. The maid found him in his room on New Year’s Eve.’

She crumpled up a piece of paper and tossed it into the bin. ‘Well,
really
.
Most
unfortunate.’

It was unclear whether she was expressing regret for the untimely demise of a fellow human being, or for the loss to Exclusive’s coffers from the considerable expenditure on discounted flights and hotel accommodation. I watched as she opened a file on the computer and deleted Rudyard Scott’s name from the current list of clients.

I cleared my throat. ‘Er, I’m afraid there’s more bad news.’

She frowned irritably. ‘What
next
?’

‘Millie Prentice has—’

‘A born troublemaker!’ she snapped. ‘Don’t tell me
she’s upset Mr Wainwright with that pushy manner and those tiresome questions of hers?’

‘She’s packed her bags and gone.’

‘I
knew
she wasn’t really interested in purchasing! Just in it for the free holiday. Some people have no scruples. No scruples at all.’

Monique tapped savagely at the keyboard. Millie joined Rudyard Finbar Scott in the electronic graveyard of the recycle bin.

I timed my arrival at the Extreme Travel office precisely, not late for the follow-up briefing, but the last to arrive. That way I calculated that I could choose a chair as far as possible from any murderous glances cast by the owner of the deceased Brunhilda.

Gerry glanced pointedly at his watch. ‘There you are, Deborah. We’re about to start.’

‘Sorry, Gerry. I had to get treatment for Gorgonzola.’ ‘Treatment’ was sufficiently vague to cover all sorts of medical intervention on G’s behalf – including the actual one of Jesús sitting amongst his geraniums wailing his soothing
madrelena
.

‘Treatment?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘She’s out of sorts. Nervous prostration.’ I subsided into the only vacant chair.

A snort came from immediately behind me, and Jason’s voice muttered in my ear, ‘Not as prostrated as Brunhilda. You owe me, DJ.’

Did he mean the two kisses or the 2000 euros he’d
no doubt paid for Robocat? Either way, tough. ‘No way, Jason!’ I hissed. ‘What about G’s therapy bills? She’s still quite traumatised by that—’

‘
If
I could have your attention?’ Rebuke administered, Gerry powered up the computer. Steve’s chubby face smiled out at us from the plasma screen. ‘I think we all know Steve Jenks of
The Saucy
Nancy
.’ Dissolve to man in pinstripe suit pointing at the brass nameplate of the villa. ‘And now, Señor José Gálvez with an address in Madrid, proud owner of El Paraíso. Comments?’

There was a moment or two of silence before audience reaction on the lines of ‘Definitely the same guy’.

Simultaneously, a whistle of surprise from Jason. ‘Hey, that’s Jenks.’

Gerry leant back in his chair. ‘I think we’ve established one spurious purchaser. And if one is a sham, I think we can assume there will be others.’ He jabbed the keyboard. In quick succession, up came the pics of El Sueño, Elysium, La Paz, Mon Repos, Shangri-la, Spanish Idyll and Valhalla, their owners smiling broadly for the camera. ‘Thoughts on any of these?’

General murmurs, but this time, no observations.

I mentally flicked through the photos. ‘Could you bring up Shangri-la again, Gerry.’

In front of the villa stood a couple, the man’s arm encircling the woman’s shoulders as if claiming
possession of her as well as the house. I stared at her face, trying to visualise it without the sunglasses. Most people take them off for a photo. Maybe she’d just forgotten, or perhaps she wanted to conceal her identity…

‘I think…’ I said slowly. ‘I’m not sure…but she
could
be…Monique’s cousin, Ashley.’

‘Well, I think we are on the right lines there.’ Gerry made a note on his pad. ‘I’ll get some mugshots made up. You’ll find them in your pigeon-hole tomorrow, Jason. Check them out against Vanheusen’s known associates.’

He tapped a key, and El Sueño materialised on the wall-screen. ‘Would you like to say something, Deborah?’

‘Not much to add to my report, I’m afraid. I didn’t find out anything more on my nocturnal visit to the office, but…’ For the benefit of the others I recapped on the story of Mrs Knight and the Reservation Contract.

‘I think we can assume there is no Reservation Contract. Now, what we have to ask ourselves is: why is it worth more than £1.5 million to keep this particular villa off the market?’ Gerry’s gaze swept our faces. ‘Any ideas?’

An invitation to exercise our brains. Much furrowing of brows, stroking of chins, chewing of lips.

Jayne cleared her throat. ‘Can we see the other properties again?’

El Paraíso, Elysium, La Paz, Mon Repos, Shangri-la, Spanish Idyll, Valhalla paraded before us once more.

She narrowed her eyes, appraising. ‘It’s just struck me that all these photos are taken from
exactly
the same elevation and viewpoint. Reminds me of the backdrop of a photographic studio…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Same place, just the props changed?’ said a voice from behind me. ‘That urn of geraniums exchanged for the classical statue? The door colours and styles are different, but it’s easy enough to replace a door.’

‘Even easier to alter things digitally.’ Jason always went for the high-tech angle.

I leant forward. ‘Zoom in on the nameplate, Gerry.’

‘We know
they’re
different.’ Jason, still ruffled, was having a dig.

I ignored him. ‘That top screw on the right-hand side. The dome cap’s missing. I caught my sleeve on it.’

Flick to Elysium. Missing dome cap, same position.

Gerry pressed more keys. ‘We’ll just check the other nameplates… Ye-es, conclusive, I think.’ He clasped his hands behind his head and stretched back in his chair. ‘Thank you everyone. A very productive session. We’ve just sussed out
how
he’s laundering the money – by fictitious sales of the same villa. Now
all we’ve got to do is to connect that money to drug trafficking.’

As I prepared to leave the meeting I was on a high. My little piece of nightwork had moved things on considerably. Even Jason managed to summon up half-hearted congratulations before he rushed off – presumably to resurrect Robocat. The high lasted for all of thirty seconds. Just as I had my hand on the interconnecting door to the outer office, Gerry ambushed me.

‘A moment, Deborah. You’ll have the plans in place to gatecrash Mansell and Monique’s little tête-à-tête at the barbecue on Saturday?’

Truth to tell, I was feeling quite nervous about the matter. It hadn’t been easy to come up with a strategy to break through Vanheusen’s tight security. Even a palm tree would have to present its invitation for scrutiny by hard-eyed men.

‘Oh, yes. I’ve a
date
with Destiny,’ I said enigmatically.

With some pleasure I saw a tightening of his teeth on the plastic of his glasses. He liked to be the cryptic one. He chewed an earpiece thoughtfully. Then, ‘Action Plan to me by 10 a.m. Friday.’

Monique splayed out her fingers on the polished surface of her desk and studied the long, glittering nail extensions. ‘Good, aren’t they?’ she said. Little sparks of refracted light shimmered and danced with every movement of her fingers.

Well, whatever they were good for, it certainly wasn’t for picking up telephone receivers or pressing buttons. Was that why I had been summoned from my desk in the outer office?

‘Wow, they’re wonderful,’ I said and meant it. ‘Flutter your fingers again.’ Silvery light twinkled and flashed. I must be careful not to betray any knowledge of the Snow Queen costume. ‘Is this something to do with your outfit for the barbecue tonight?’

This was greeted with a cagey smile. ‘You’ll have to wait and see – oh, but of course, you won’t be there.’

Oh, but I
would
. Eavesdropping, hoping to find out why Vanheusen rated her assignation with Jonathan Mansell important enough to be kept under
wraps. Perhaps too, I’d suss out how deeply Monique herself was involved in the money-laundering scheme. She was probably just a minor cog, as I was sure she’d been kept in the dark about this week’s two murders. I hadn’t made up my mind about Mansell, either. Innocent dupe of Vanheusen’s mob, or fellow-criminal?

‘Well, is it yes or no?’ She was waiting impatiently with raised eyebrows for a reply to some question I hadn’t heard.

‘Er…yes,’ I hazarded.

She frowned. That hadn’t been the right answer.

‘I mean no. Definitely not.’

‘Well, you’ve taken it better than I expected.’ She sounded surprised. What
had
she said? What
had
I agreed to?

With a metaphorical bow and scrape in my tone, I asked, ‘Monique, could I possibly ask you to repeat—’

Buzz Buzz…Buzz Buzz…

Her icicled fingers hovered for a moment over the telephone on her desk. With a
tut
of annoyance, she motioned for me to press the loudspeaker button. ‘Mr Vanheusen’s office.’

The tinny whine was unmistakable. ‘I understand Mr Vanheusen is holding a costume barbecue tonight. I’ve checked with the desk clerk but no invite’s been left under the name of Wainwright. I’m not one to bellyache, but it seems that somebody’s goofed.’

Her tone was soothing and sympathetic. ‘I’m
so
sorry, Mr Wainwright, if you’ve been misinformed.’ She shot me an acid glance. ‘You see, the barbecue is for employees and business associates only. It’s Mr Vanheusen’s expression of appreciation for the service they’ve given in the past year.’

A spluttering bleat signalled Wainwright dissatisfaction.

‘It’s disappointing, I know, Mr Wainwright. I quite understand. I’ll instruct Deborah to arrange a complimentary dinner with a bottle of cava. If you—’

A querulous, ‘Where?’ spiralled from the handset.

‘At an establishment of your choice, of course, Mr Wainright.’ Again her tone was sweetness and light, her expression thunderous.

The Grouch grumbled acquiescence.

She disconnected and leant back in her chair. ‘I think I dealt with that screw-up of yours rather well, don’t you?’

I nodded. Whoever had screwed-up it hadn’t been me, but I certainly wasn’t going to make things worse by arguing. ‘You handled that expertly, Monique.’ Praise where praise was due, after all.

Her frown of censure faded. I took advantage of the moment.

‘Er, would you mind going over what we were discussing. It’ll help me to understand it all a little better.’

Instant frost descended. With the tip of one of the
nail extensions, she flicked shut her desk diary and pushed back her chair.

‘There’s
nothing
to understand,’ she snapped. ‘To deal with any emergencies, you are on duty tonight
and
tomorrow. You had Christmas off so you can’t expect the Three Kings festival as well. Especially as, when I asked you a moment ago, you said you had
definitely
not made any arrangements for that period.’ She seized her handbag. ‘So that’s settled then. I don’t expect to hear any more about it. Now, I’m off to have a bath. Then it’s the hairdresser. And I’ll need
at least
an hour to fit my costume before the limousine comes.’ She swept out. ‘Don’t forget that reservation for Mr Wainwright,’ drifted back along the corridor.

On duty tonight. Stuck here in the office.

How the hell could I do my little eavesdropping act if I was tied to my post for the duration of the Three Kings celebrations? I stared blankly at the empty doorway. As Shakespeare put it:

That is a step

On which I must fall down, or else o’er-leap

For in my way it lies…

I did as I was told. Virtuously I stayed on duty at my desk planning the next Outing. But only till 7 p.m. And I didn’t forget about that reservation for The Grouch. In the end, he grudgingly took up my suggestion to dine at one of the small, exclusive and prohibitively expensive eating establishments in Las Américas.

At a few minutes to seven I finished setting up the answering machine and pressed Play.
I’m sorry. The Exclusive office is closed for the holiday. If your call is urgent, please telephone Carmella at Viajes Extreme, Las Américas 922…

Carmella, alias the resourceful Jayne. I’d have to erase that message before Monique arrived at the office in the morning or I’d be fired. And that would spell the end of Operation Canary Creeper.

Darkness was already falling as I shut the office door quietly behind me. Ten minutes later the yellow lights of the distant marina winked conspiratorially as I drew up in the darkest corner of the car park on the cliff-top promenade. No other cars were parked nearby as yet, but snatches of conversation and laughter drifted across from the brightly illuminated steps to the beach two hundred metres away.

I bundled the unwieldy palm tree costume under my arm and headed for an unlit path zigzagging steeply down to the beach. Even in the dark the start of this unofficial shortcut was easy enough to find, marked as it was by a clump of straggly bushes silhouetted against the paler night sky. I stopped and listened… Only the
frrusssh
of waves breaking gently on the beach below.

Vroo-oo vroo-oo-ooom
. The hollow din of an engine with a holed exhaust blasted into fragments the peace of the warm night air. Misaligned headlights swept the arc of the sky, mini-searchlights probing for
enemy stars. A vehicle was bumping across the uneven ground between the car park and the shortcut path. I threw myself flat among the euphorbia bushes and peered through the tangle of branches. With a crunch of gears and a metallic squeal, the car came to a halt. The doors opened and two figures scrambled out.

‘I thought I saw someone over there, Jay.’ The voice was young, female and apprehensive.

A muttered, ‘Shhh, Cath. Just another freeloader like ourselves. C’mon, path’s this way.’

The two figures crossed the gritty volcanic soil towards me. I buried my face in the soft folds of my palm tree bundle. The crunching footsteps were very close now.

‘What if we’re rumbled, Jay?’

‘God, Cath, what a wimp! There’ll be hundreds mobbing the place. Just think of all that free booze.’

Jason’s voice.
I should have remembered that Belt-and-Braces Gerry
always
had back-up for a plan. The fact that Jason was at the barbecue with the same mission as myself showed just how important Gerry thought it was to find out more about the link between Vanheusen and Mansell. Cautiously I moved a branch aside and risked a look. Silhouetted against the pale night sky were baggy trousers and clown-style wigs.

‘Put your arm round me, Jay. I’m afraid of heights,’ Cath giggled.

The two figures morphed into one. I suppose Jason
would call it ‘getting into the role’.

I sniggered into the palm fronds. I’d pick my time and…

‘Come on, Cath. Let’s get down there and party.’ Scuffling and giggling, they disappeared from view.

Lugging my palm tree costume, I followed in their wake. Sliding one foot carefully in front of the other, I made my way slowly down. By the time I reached the beach, my fellow party-crashers were well ahead. I watched their silhouettes break into a lurching run. As they approached the nearest marquee, flares set on iron posts in the sand elongated their shadows into cavorting and capering Giacometti figures. I took a tighter grip of the fake palm tree costume and ducked into a clump of the Real McCoy handily close to the end of the path. It wouldn’t do for someone to come along while I was transforming myself into a tree.

When I’d spotted the costume in the hire shop, I’d been sure it was perfect for my mission. And I was still sure, though it was a bit of a hassle to put on – as I’d already found in a trial run in front of my bedroom mirror. It had taken a good ten minutes to wriggle into the narrow tube of the trunk, pull up the long, concealed zip and arrange the realistic fronds. This time I didn’t have Gorgonzola playfully using my trunk as a scratching post, but with my legs imprisoned in a cylinder of material tighter than the tightest hobble skirt, it was going to take God knows how long to shuffle the couple of hundred metres
across the sand to the marquee area.
Shit. Shit. Shit.

I’d just set out on my marathon shuffle, when a foot scraped against stone on the cliff path above. I inched back among the trees, one phoney trunk amid five genuine. Party-crashers? Security, judging from the flash of torches and no attempt at concealment. Two dark shapes loomed.
Keep going, guys
. But sod’s law, they stopped a few metres away. A match scraped, a cigarette end glowed.

‘Well, that’s the path closed now,’ the bulkier shape grunted. ‘No drunken bum’ll get past Felipe at the top. And quit bellyaching about being on duty on a holiday. The boss is paying us treble rates, isn’t he?’

‘Think he’ll want us again on the 25
^th
?’

‘Sure to.
And
every night till then. Now that the arty-farty sculpture’s finished, he wouldn’t want anyone making off with it before The Big Do, would he?’

Silence. Then, ‘Beats me how anyone can go overboard like that for a cat. Spends thousands of euros on it. A nut case, that’s what he is. Talks about it as if it’s an effing human.’

‘Sodding right, Eduardo.’ A snort of derision. ‘Heard he’s arranging a
wedding ceremony
for it.’

At the earthy comments that followed, a more refined palm tree would have turned pink with embarrassment, but
palm tree vulgaris
, that’s me. Anyway, I had more on my mind than maiden blushes. Vanheusen holding a wedding ceremony for his cat… I didn’t like the sound of that at all.

Eduardo’s radio emitted a tinny squawk.

‘
Shit
. That’s the last chance of a smoke we’ll have till this thing’s over.’

A tossed butt came dangerously close to lodging in my floppy headgear. I flinched. My fronds rustled and swayed.

‘Wind’s got up.’ They moved off.

As I’d thought, it took me ages to shuffle across the couple of hundred metres of sand over which the clowns had so lightly skipped. I don’t recommend palm tree attire in any situation where quick action might be on the agenda. At last I put down roots, strategically positioning myself in front of the marquee to waylay the waiter emerging with a tray of drinks.

‘Excuse me.’ I whipped out a frond-covered arm and relieved him of a slim glass of bubbly cava.

As I sipped, I studied the surrounding throng. There were Father Christmases and clowns aplenty, and even a Christmas tree or two, but I could spot no other palm trees of the artificial kind. And no sign of the Snow Queen, or of Jonathan Mansell, either. Not a problem: when the Snow Queen arrived, she’d home in on him like a bee to a honey pot.

‘How do palms reproduce, Jay?’ a female voice slurred behind me.

I feigned deafness. Jason could be a damn nuisance, but he
was
a professional. He’d never have come near me if Gerry had put him fully in the picture. Gerry and his
bloody
‘need-to-know’.

‘They make a
date
, Cath.’

Cath howled with mirth. I maintained a lofty silence and moved away.

Sticking to my repertoire of nod, grunt and glass clinking, I circulated. When I located the Snow Queen, I’d—

And there she was.

Thoroughly enjoying the sensation she was causing, Monique was shimmering down the steps from the car park, every movement sending forth flashes of cold, glittering light. She acknowledged the burst of spontaneous applause, her fingernails erupting in a burst of crystalline fireworks. I watched as Jonathan Mansell in the flowing white robes and corded headdress of a desert sheikh greeted her and ushered her to some tables set a little apart from the rest beside a clump of dwarf palms. Ideal for eavesdropping. Who’d notice one more tree, after all?

It took five minutes to get into position in the clump of palm trees. Rough bark snagged at my outfit as I parted fronds, not my own this time, to give me a clear view of their table. Her high-pitched laugh tinkled on the warm night breeze, but frustration, oh frustration, that’s all I could hear. I hadn’t bargained on the party buzz drowning out everything else. Without warning, they pushed their chairs back and rose to their feet. At a racing snail’s pace I shuffled along in their wake.

The Snow Queen’s tiara flashed from near the
water’s edge. There were fewer people in that direction but, unlike the barbecue area, that strip of beach was dark, illuminated only by the phosphorescence of the breaking waves – and that concealed my stealthy approach. Against the backdrop of moonlit sky and sea, Mansell was a ghostly shadow in his pale robes alongside the flashing, sparkling Monique. They strolled to and fro along the sand, an advertising copywriter’s cliché – two figures silhouetted against a sea silvered by moonlight…

Each time they turned their backs I took the chance to shuffle forward a couple of metres. After my third shuffle, they passed within range of my eavesdropping fronds.

‘…I’ve one big reservation about that, Monique. Criminal elements could—’

‘Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Ambrose will be in complete control. He’s got a lot of experience in that field, and, of course, as you will be one of the directors, you’ll…’