A Coffin For Two

47

I wakened that morning with what the psychologists would call a feeling of closure. We had gone as far as we could with Gavin Scott’s commission. We had found the real Ronnie Starr, linked him to the picture, and established … for we both believed Reis Sonas … that he had not painted it. What we couldn’t tell our client for sure was whether the picture was a fake or not.

Since that was why he had hired us in the first place, all we had to report were our suspicions and our failure.

So the only thing on the agenda for the first part of the day was a call to Gavin Scott, to tell him that we had found Ronnie Starr, that Trevor was dead and that his pal Foy, who had after all, set him up to buy the Toreador of the Apocalypse, was on our list of candidates for the post of killer, and might wind up on the list of the Guardia as well.

And with that thought, it came to me suddenly, half way through my morning run in fact, that I was knee-deep in ordure.

All of a sudden the next sequence of events fell into place. If Prim and I had been able to identify Ronnie Starr, trace him back to La Pera and Reis Sonas, then so, beyond doubt, would the very capable Captain Fortunato. From that he would make the connection to Trevor Eames, and from that he would discover that we had beaten him to it, asking questions about Ronnie Starr, and about a certain picture.

Fortunato might have come across as a nice guy, but not as a softy. I had no doubt what he would do after that. There are certain circumstances in which I would be prepared to go to jail to protect a client; but they don’t extend to include a situation where said client has broken the law, still less to one in which Prim might end up in the next cell.

As soon as I was back in St Marti, rather than cooling out in front of the church as usual, I pounded up the stairs to the apartment. Prim looked at me from the balcony with a degree of disapproval as I sweated my way out to join her.

‘Jan called,’ she said. ‘She’s doing our invoices today. She wants a note of hours and expenses for Gavin Scott.’

‘Does she indeed. How did she sound?’

‘All right, as far as I could tell. Mind you, she didn’t say much. I asked her how Noosh is doing, she just mumbled, “Fine,” and hung up.’

‘Okay. Look I’ll call her back later. Meantime there’s something I have to talk to you about. We’ve been so stupid I can hardly believe it. All this playing boy and girl detective could land us in jail. We have to go to see Fortunato, and tell him everything.’

‘Why? What’s brought this on all of a sudden?’

‘My idiocy in telling the guy at the farmhouse to call him, rather than the local plods. I’ve engineered it so that he’s investigating the murder of Trevor Eames, and he’s trying to identify Ronnie Starr. He’ll do that within a couple of days, just like we found him, by tracing the watch. Then he’ll follow the same trail we did. As soon as he speaks to Reis, we’re in the shit.’

Primavera’s eyes were like saucers. ‘Oh,’ she said, theatrically. ‘I rather think we are. What are we going to do?’

‘I’ve just told you; we’re going to the Guardia Civil.’

‘But what about Scott? Don’t we have some sort of an obligation to him?’

She had a point. If the problems over VAT and import duties hadn’t occurred to me when Scott offered us the task, then they should have. Even if they had, I couldn’t put my hand on my heart and say that I’d have turned down the job because of them.

‘Tell you what,’ I said. ‘Fortunato can’t make progress until tomorrow, until the shops open in the UK. We’ll call Scott first, tell him the score and give him twenty-four hours to sort himself out with the Customs and Excise. If he pays them some duty, he should be in the clear.’

‘Give him forty-eight hours,’ she said.

‘Yes, okay. There’s no problem until our man the captain actually traces Starr’s movements in Spain, and it could be a few days before he does that.’

We called Scott all day, without success. I rang his home, his office and his mobile, but none of them answered. I even called Jan and asked her to drive out to see him.

‘What’s the sudden panic, Oz?’ she asked. ‘Are you in trouble?’ She sounded concerned. I felt a pang of pleasure.

‘Potentially. Look, love, I’ll tell you all about it when we come over for the wedding. For now, please, if you can, do us this favour.’

‘Okay,’ she said, with a faint chuckle. ‘It’ll cost you, mind.’

‘Name your price. How are you doing, by the way?’

She was terse once more. ‘Fine, thank you.’ The line went dead.

She called back ninety minutes later. ‘The house is locked up, Oz,’ she said. ‘Tight as a fish’s ring. I met one of the neighbours, though. The Scotts are away for a long weekend at some bloody horse show down in England. The daughter’s competing, apparently. Either Gavin’s forgotten his mobile or he has to switch it off around the horses.’

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’ I cursed. ‘He would pick this weekend. But thanks, love. At least we know now.’

‘My pleasure. Incidentally, when I spoke to Prim this morning, I gathered that you haven’t told her about Noosh and me.’

‘True,’ I said, with a glance at Prim, who was sitting on the other side of the terrace.

‘Well, you bloody should have. I was taken aback this morning when she asked about her. The longer you delay, Oz, the stranger she’ll think it is.’

‘I’ll attend to it. See you, and thanks again.’

‘Attend to what?’ Primavera asked, casually.

‘That list of time and costs for the Scott invoice.’

I tried the mobile number once more, just before it was time to leave for dinner with Davidoff, but it still came up with a smug, irritating voice telling me that it might respond if I tried later. ‘I’ve been trying all effing day,’ I growled back, leaving our client to his fate, until next morning at least.