Inhuman Remains

Thirty-five

I stayed with Susie and the family for two days, until Sunday. Both mornings, I went on-line and checked for developments in the search, but there were none reported. I studied the London media too. The story hadn’t gone unnoticed: I found it on the BBC website, and in the Telegraph and the Guardian, but without names to go on it wasn’t front-page news.

Tom was fine about the idea of extending his visit, especially when I promised to take him to America in August, to see his aunt Dawn and his cousins, Bruce and Eilidh. He hadn’t asked me any more questions about Adrienne or Frank; I was pleased about that.

I headed off after breakfast, but I didn’t drive home. Instead, I went to Nice Airport, where I parked the Jeep and caught a flight that I’d booked the day before, to Edinburgh, via London. My dad was waiting for me at Arrivals, as arranged. I could have hired a car, but as usual he wouldn’t hear of it. Since Mum went, he’s seized every excuse to get out of the great big house in which he still lives, having refused to sell it, despite suggestions, entreaties and downright bullying from my sister and me.

I spent a lovely, peaceful evening with him, and later, in my old bed, managed a night’s sleep that was, as far as I can recall, free of dreams of any sort. I didn’t raise the subject of Adrienne’s visit, but he did, over breakfast. ‘I had your aunt on the phone,’ he said casually. ‘Has she been in touch?’

‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘She invited herself, stayed for a couple of days, then buggered off without as much as a thank-you.’

His eyebrows rose; that’s about as dramatic as he gets. ‘That’s fairly typical of her, I’m afraid. Adrienne always was a law unto herself. She has the odd beliefs that flamboyance entitles you to be rude, and that unacceptable behaviour can be explained as eccentricity. The arrival of her son was a classic example of that.’

‘She isn’t all bad.’

‘Nobody is, my dear. She was a damned good agent for your mother when she started to write her children’s stories.’ He smiled. ‘The trouble is, the woman still sends me a copy of every book published by every one of her clients. They’re filling up my damn shelves. Take some of them when you leave, please, Primavera, for Tom, and yourself.’

I promised that I would. We finished breakfast, and I did the dishes, while he went off to work. He’s a craftsman carpenter, designing, carving and painting chess sets, and other pieces, like the cuckoo clock he gave to Tom and me.

When I was done. . Dad doesn’t have a dish-washer because it never occurred to Mum and him to buy one. . I called Fanette, in Adrienne’s office. She became a bit standoffish when she realised it was me, not having forgiven me for ripping strips off her in our previous discussion, but eventually she told me that, no, she hadn’t heard from Adrienne and, yes, she had been expecting her back in the office that morning. Of course, without her, she was terribly busy, so if I’d excuse her. . I did, with a private vow that I would sort her out when I had time.

I’d brought my aunt’s mobile with me from Spain, as a temporary replacement for my own. I used it to send texts to my number and to Frank’s, a pointless gesture, as I neither expected nor received replies, but one that I felt I had to make.

Dad doesn’t have a computer either, but he does have the Courier, the Herald and the Scotsman delivered every morning. I read through their news pages, but none of them was keeping tabs on the story of two missing English tourists. (If they had been from Dundee, Glasgow, or Edinburgh, that would have been another matter.)

I felt helpless after that, frustrated that there was nothing more I could do. I kept it from Dad, though, as I devoted myself to looking after him, not that he needs much. My mother was a formidable cook, and after her death, I’d had recurring visions of poor old widowed David living on a diet of Tesco ready-meals and Wall’s ice-cream. Those notions were banished in the spell when Tom and I lived with him, before moving to Spain. I discovered that he had taken over Mum’s mantle: the vegetable garden and the fruit bushes were as well tended and productive as ever, and in fact he was cooking so damn much that every so often he’d have to deplete the stock in the freezer by catering for a church evening function.

The main way in which I cared for him was simply by listening to him as we sat together over meals, or in the garden, providing a ready ear, and an alternative viewpoint when I disagreed with him. That was how he and Mum had lived out their lives, and that was what he missed most of all. As we talked, I discovered he was not as solitary a figure as I had thought. He and Mac Blackstone, Oz’s retired dentist father and Tom’s other granddad, kept in touch, and visited each other frequently. It didn’t surprise me when he told me, for Mac’s a good man, but I was delighted to hear it.

It wasn’t until the third day of my visit that I thought about Mark Kravitz, and realised I owed him a call. I rang his land-line. As always he was brisk and business-like when he answered.

‘Mark, it’s Primavera. I’m in Scotland, at my dad’s.’

‘You’re safe?’ he exclaimed. ‘Thank Christ for that.’

‘Didn’t Susie tell you I was?’

‘Yes, but it didn’t stop me worrying, especially when I saw a report in the Telegraph on Saturday morning about a missing English couple. Them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it as bad as it read?’

‘Yes. They haven’t found any bodies yet, but I’m having trouble looking on the bright side.’ I paused. ‘Mark, are you still up for checking a couple of things for me?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then would you please look into a French mining company called Energi, and find out what you can about its ultimate ownership, and its finances, especially about a twenty-million-euro investment in Hotel Casino d’Amuseo. Also, find out, if you can, whether there is any money still held in the company bank account in Luxembourg.’

‘Will do.’

‘Thanks. Hey,’ I added, ‘remember Lidia Bromberg?’

‘Yes. You didn’t go to meet her, did you?’

‘I didn’t have to. The bitch tried to kidnap me in Sevilla, her and Councillor Caballero.’

‘I’m not going to say I told you so,’ he murmured, after a few seconds’ silence. ‘Oh, hell, I am. How did you get away?’

‘Frank rescued me.’

‘Frank?’

‘Yes. He and Hermann Gresch were planted in the operation by Interpol. He was recruited in prison by MI5.’

‘You what?’ he gasped.

‘Does that surprise you?’

‘Prim, nothing about those people surprises me. Mind you. .’

‘In that case here’s another for you: someone on the inside sold them out. Frank reported back to his controller and he was betrayed.’

‘With seventy-seven million euros in the pot that doesn’t stun me either. Leave all that with me, Prim. I’ll make those checks.’ He paused. ‘But tell me: what are you going to do with this information when you get it?’

‘I don’t know for sure, but one way or another it’s going to help me get even with whoever did this to my aunt and my cousin.’