As Easy as Murder

Twelve

Jonny was home by the time we got there, and he was fretting, poor boy.

‘Please, Auntie P,’ he exclaimed, as soon as we’d climbed the stairs from the garage, ‘please don’t do that to me again. I’ve been worried sick. I thought you’d been in a smash or something. Your friend Ben just dropped the dog off. When he said he didn’t know where you were, I’d decided to call the police.’ He held up a book, my English-Spanish dictionary. ‘I wasn’t sure of the words for “traffic accident”. Then you walked in.’

I was hit by an immediate guilt wave; the biggest day of the lad’s life, and I’d put a damper on it. ‘Sorry, Jonny,’ I pleaded. ‘Something came up and I had to deal with it.’

‘Mr Cowling’s run away from Shirley,’ Tom volunteered.

‘No he hasn’t,’ I contradicted him. ‘He’s. .’ Then I stopped, for he was right.

My nephew’s frown melted into a grin. ‘Not up to the job, eh?’ he chuckled.

‘Nothing like that,’ I replied. ‘I’m sure he had his reasons.’ And I’m going to find out what they are, I added, mentally.

‘Then good luck to him,’ Jonny said, dismissively. ‘Where do you want to eat?’

I told him. ‘Can Roura, in the square. Tom’s going to watch Barcelona in Esculapi; we’ll be next door.’ I checked my watch; it showed seven fifty-five. ‘You go across there and book a table on the terrace, and I’ll begin the ever more laborious business of getting ready.’

I ran up the stairs to my room, heading for the shower, but with a call to make before I got there. I kept in touch with Mark Kravitz, as you did with an old friend, but we hadn’t spoken for a few months. When Patterson had dropped his name into conversation a few days before, he’d been making a point of saying that their orbits had never cut across each other. I’d been a little dubious about that at the time, since there are damn few people in the intelligence community that Mark didn’t know about, but it hadn’t occurred to me to check it out.

I don’t make Skype video calls very often, but I used it with Mark, because I liked to see for myself how he was doing. He’d been an MS sufferer for at least three years, but the disease was still in the primary stage, with lapses and then periods of remission. He put himself forward as a guinea pig for new treatments as they were developed, and they seemed to be giving him extended periods of stability, but if he was in a wheelchair when I called him on camera, I knew he was having a relapse. When he came on screen I was pleased to see that he looked okay, a little greyer, but no worse than he has done for the last couple of years.

‘Hey, girl,’ he greeted me, with a smile. ‘How’s your life?’

‘Interesting. How’s yours?’

‘Better than it’s been for a while. I’m on a new drug combination and it’s working. I’m more mobile than I’ve been in three years.’

‘That’s great,’ I said.

‘For now; they’re warning me that in six months or so the disease may have worked out a way round it and I’ll be back in my chair. But I’ll deal with that when it happens. What about you? Are you calling with the good news that your ex-priest’s coming back from Ireland to sweep you off your feet?’

‘No, the good news is that he isn’t. I’d gone off him anyway, and Tom’s made it clear that he isn’t desperate for a new dad.’

‘But he does accept that the original isn’t coming back, yes?’

‘Oh yes. He’s reconciled to it. But we do have a new man about the house.’

‘Ah,’ he laughed. ‘I thought you were even twinklier than usual.’

That was news to me. ‘Not in that way,’ I told him, firmly, then explained about Jonny’s arrival.

I’d bounced some serious stuff off Mark, in the course of our acquaintance, but I’d never seen him surprised before. ‘You’re kidding!’ he exclaimed. ‘I watched him win a golf tournament this afternoon; I’d no idea he was Oz’s nephew.’

‘Then you must have switched off before the presentation; he gave him a namecheck at the end of it. But he’s just one of the things that have happened to me in the last week.’

He winced; at first I thought it was a spasm of pain, but I was wrong. ‘Oh dear,’ he lamented. ‘I knew your life had been too quiet of late. What the hell’s up?’

‘Lots of stuff; my friend Alex, the Mossos d’Esquadra detective, is in charge of a very nasty double murder investigation, and I’ve been helping him, sort of. I was able to identify his victims, but that’s as far as I expect to be involved. No, it’s not my crisis this time; it’s my friend Shirley who’s been upset. She’s been led up the garden path by someone I thought was a gentleman, and I’m not about to let him get away with it.’

‘Then God help him,’ Mark said, cheerfully. ‘Who is he?’

‘Does the name Patterson Cowling mean anything to you?’

‘Should it? Is he the wrong-doer, the love rat?’

‘That’s him.’

‘Then I’m sorry; can’t help. Never heard of him. But what made you think I would have?’

I told him about my call to John Dale, and about his emphatic ‘Do not disturb!’ warning.

‘In which case,’ he said, slowly, ‘don’t you think you should take it to heart?’

‘The hell I will! Shirley’s hurt. The guy got up and left her, without a word, right in the middle of the golf tournament. He went back to her place, packed his gear, and walked out, leaving her nothing but a pathetic little note. I’m not going to let him get away with that; I’m going to find him and make him apologise properly.’

‘Are you sure you’re only annoyed for your friend?’ A shrewd question, by someone who knew me well.

‘Maybe not,’ I conceded. ‘I liked the man, Mark. I feel like he’s made a fool of me as well.’

He frowned, and scratched his chin. I noticed that his hand trembled a little. ‘Be that as it may, Primavera. This man seems to be a retired spook, and you’ve been warned off by his masters. How are you planning to find him? I tell you now, I will be of limited help; security service records ain’t covered by Freedom of Information.’

‘He has two daughters,’ I said. ‘One’s called Ivy; she’s married with a couple of kids and I don’t know what her new name is. But the other’s an army surgeon, Major Cowling, first name Fleur. She shouldn’t be at all hard to find, so I was wondering. .’

‘No, she shouldn’t be,’ he agreed. ‘I have contacts in the Ministry of Defence who can tell me whether she’s UK-based or in Afghanistan. But suppose I do find her for you? What are you going to do after that?’

‘I’ll get in touch with her and tell her I’m looking for her dad, and why. She should know what a shit he’s been.’

Mark smiled into his webcam. ‘If this was anyone but you, I wouldn’t touch it with a very long bargepole, but what the hell? From the sound of things Mr Cowling deserves what’s coming to him. Give me a day or so.’

We said our farewells, and I headed for my long-overdue appointment with the shower, and with my slinkiest black dress, some very expensive cosmetics, and the kind of jewellery I keep in the safe. Half an hour later, I judged myself not half bad, and went downstairs to meet my date. His eyebrows rose, and I realised with not a little satisfaction that he shared my opinion. I have to say that Jonny looked pretty sharp too, in Lacoste jeans, a muscle-tight white vest and a soft black leather jerkin. He was freshly shaved, and he looked as if somehow he’d managed to fit in a visit to the haircut shop at some point during the week. He looked different, fulfilled, as if his afternoon triumph was sitting easily on him and had moved him on to a new level of maturity. He might have been only twenty-two years old, but he was a dish. Yup, I reckoned, if the chattering classes were out and about. . and in St Martí, it only takes one. . the rumour mill would have some new material to grind. About time too, I thought wickedly; a couple of years had gone by since the main topic of British conversation was Primavera Blackstone shagging the priest. . not that she ever did, I declare emphatically.

‘Where’s Tom?’ I asked.

‘One of his pals came to fetch him,’ Jonny told me. ‘The teams were lining up, he said.’

‘Damn, I meant to give him some money. Never mind, we’ll look in there on the way.’

‘No need, Auntie P. Board boys get paid; he’s flush.’

‘Who pays them?’

‘The tournament director.’

‘Nice to know they’re not being exploited. . even though Tom would probably have paid himself to do the job. Now, one other thing. How about you stop calling me Auntie P. . just for tonight if that’s what you want? I do not get dolled up in my Dolce and Gabbana number and my Jimmy Choo shoes to be made to feel middle-aged.’

He smiled, his perfect teeth befitting the grandson of a dentist. ‘If it makes you happy, Primavera. God, that sounds funny.’ He stopped, raising an eyebrow. ‘But no way do you look middle-aged.’

I took his arm as we walked through the square, taking our time over the fifty metres from my front door to the restaurant, if only because the pathway isn’t paved there, and I had to be cautious in the designer shoes. Even in that short way, I discovered that my nephew was famous; word of his profession had spread through the village since he’d moved in with me, and news of his victory had travelled even faster. St Martí has never boasted a resident celebrity; that night, as people called out congratulations to him, mostly in English but one or two in Castellano, it seemed to have found one.

The interior terrace was empty when we arrived; nine o’clock is seen there as an early booking, but there was a reserved sign on a table for four. I chose the one furthest away from it. ‘Champagne?’ Jonny asked.

‘On this special occasion,’ I told him, ‘I reckon you’re entitled.’ I wasn’t certain that any would be available in cava country, but it was, Lanson Black Label, which was fair enough by me. ‘I’m surprised you don’t fizz it around the place like a racing driver,’ I said, as the waiter opened it.

‘I’m my mother’s son,’ he laughed. ‘Every time she sees that done on telly she goes on about the waste.’

‘Are you going home to see her?’ I asked. ‘I know she’s gutted that she couldn’t be here.’

‘She couldn’t be here for that very reason,’ he pointed out, with a smile. ‘They say that hysterectomy isn’t as severe surgically as it used to be, but it’s still pretty radical. I saw her after she had the op, before Brush got me a sponsor’s invitation to Girona. Depending on how my schedule works out now, I might wait till she’s fit to travel and then take her for a convalescent trip somewhere. Maybe she could come with me to a tournament.’

‘That would be nice,’ I agreed. ‘How many tournaments will you get into for the rest of the year?’

‘All of them; automatically, as a tour winner. I need to decide which ones I’m actually going to play. Brush and I need to talk that through, and we will tomorrow.’

I looked him in the eye, over my glass. ‘You know, I still think the set-up’s weird, having a manager you’ve never met, but I’ll say this for the guy: he’s done a brilliant job for you simply by getting you this chance to prove yourself. At the same time, though,’ I added, ‘you’ve done the job for him, by taking it. What you’ve achieved this weekend, it’s just beginning to sink in. To win your first event; it’s fantastic.’

I reached out and squeezed his hand. He held on to mine for a while, gently. I felt a tingle, in my fingertips. ‘It is, isn’t it,’ he whispered. ‘Fuck! When I think of that last shot I played. . I’ll bet you thought I was crazy, Primavera. But did you know that I was actually trying to hole it?’

‘My darling boy,’ I replied, ‘I was too busy trying not to pee my pants to be aware of much of the detail of the moment. But now you mention it, no, you didn’t seem to show any doubt at all.’

‘I didn’t feel any, honestly. Like I said to Uche, I could see it in my mind; play the parachute shot, land it softer than Cormac did his, from higher, and let it take the slope as slow as possible. The only thing I didn’t plan for was getting a nick off his marker.’

He raised his glass and grinned. ‘Thank you, Mr Toibin,’ he chuckled. ‘I’m sure you’ll do it to me many a time in the future.’ He winked at me. ‘Truth is, he’s a better player than me, by a street; I do what I can do, nothing more, every shot is the one with the best percentage chance of success. I’m good, but I know my limitations, and this week I was mentally strong enough to play within them. Cormac’s a genius; I don’t think he has any limits. He’ll be the number one player in the world for years; I never will.’

‘Jonny,’ I protested, ‘don’t sell yourself short. You’ve just beaten him.’

‘By playing what will probably turn out, when my career’s over, to have been the shot of my life.’

‘Come on, you’re twenty-two,’ I reminded him. ‘Stop sounding as if this is the pinnacle. Be excited, dream some dreams, be a kid for a bit longer.’

He shook his head. ‘No, I’ll be a realist; it doesn’t hurt as much. You should know that.’

His remark took me by surprise. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked him.

‘Nothing,’ he said, too quickly.

‘No, not nothing; go on,’ I insisted.

‘No, this is supposed to be a celebration. I don’t want to upset you.’

‘There is no chance of that. Now please, tell me what I should know.’

He sighed, deeply. ‘Okay, if you insist. My Uncle Oz was the greatest man in the world. When I was young, mid-teens, I got myself into a bad situation, way over my head. It could have ruined my life, finished it even, but he made it all go away, and then he looked after me until I understood fully that although what I’d done was bad, it wasn’t evil, and that I should spend the rest of my life atoning for it by making the most of the second chance I’d been given.’

I couldn’t say a word, I couldn’t show any expression, for I knew what Jonny had done; close to the end, when the badness between us was over and Oz and I became lovers again, we were closer than ever before, and we kept no secrets from each other.

‘It was him that made me a pro golfer. Mum wanted me to be a lawyer like Harvey; I might have too, and with him behind me my career would have been assured. But Uncle Oz knew what I really wanted. He made me admit it, and when I did I was embarrassed. He saw that and asked why. I told him that I didn’t imagine I was anywhere near good enough. He just laughed, and said, “Son, I’m not the best actor in the fucking world either, but I know what I can do and I know what I can’t, and that’s how I play every part. You’re at least as good a golfer as I am an actor, so what’s to hold you back?” Then he went to see Mum and he talked her into believing in me. When she was onside he fixed the place at Arizona for me. And he had no sooner done that than he upped and fucking died.’ He had to pause for a few seconds; I was glad of it. ‘I had this dream, Primavera, that he’d be greenside at my first event, at my first win, the first time I made the cut in a major and so on. But he isn’t, and he never will be. So I don’t dream any more; I try to control my feelings for others. I wall myself up within my comfort zone, my safety zone, and I keep myself mentally strong enough to do what I can within it, and never ever to expose myself to hurt or disappointment again.’ He looked into my eyes, and suddenly I had the wildest feeling that through him, someone else, a ghost, was speaking to me. ‘And that’s what you’ve done too, Primavera; you’ve built a fortress here for you and Tom. You’ll probably keep him in it for as long as you can, and you’ll never leave it yourself. Sure, you took that job in the consulate. . Grandpa Blackstone was dead chuffed when you did, by the way. . but how long did that last? A couple of years and you withdrew again. But I’m not blaming you, understand; I’m saying you’re right. Don’t expose yourself to the unexpected and it’s less likely to find you and bite you on the arse.’ He refilled my glass: I hadn’t realised that it was empty. ‘If I’m wrong and that’s not true, I apologise, but if it is, then good luck to you.’

I smiled at him, at least I think I did. ‘I’ve never thought of it that way,’ I whispered. ‘But I can’t argue with your analysis. I can feel sorry for you, though, since Oz’s death has affected you that badly.’

‘I don’t think it has. I reckon it’s made me stronger.’

‘And sad, and lonely.’

‘Like you. . or at least like the part of you that isn’t a parent.’

‘A consolation which you do not have,’ I observed, ‘and won’t, if you continue to isolate yourself. Yes, I’ll always mourn, but you, you shouldn’t and I won’t let you. Come here,’ I murmured, drawing him towards me and meeting him halfway. I kissed him, full on, for quite some time, flicking his teeth apart with my tongue and probing further.

Then, while I still could, I broke off, smoothed his hair and stroked his cheek, and said to him, ‘That is how you should be celebrating tonight, with a hot and loving girlfriend, not by sharing a sombre conversation with a woman twice your age. If I thought it would have any long-term benefit for either of us, I’d happily take you home right now and fuck your brains out, but even though I’m sure it would be a fine, energetic shag, and for you probably educational, I’d feel monstrously guilty afterwards and so would most of you. The part that didn’t, the part that isn’t connected to your brain, would want to do it again, and since that couldn’t be, pretty soon you’d move out. I wouldn’t want that to happen because Tom and I really do like having you around, so I won’t put it at risk, especially. . and this is why you and I are not the same. . since there has only ever been one person I’ve wanted to sleep with, and it ain’t you, Jonny boy.’

He looked at the tabletop for a few seconds; when his eyes came up to meet mine once more, they were twinkling. ‘Know any women, then?’ he laughed.

‘Only their mothers and even their grandmothers, I fear. Uche’s a better source than me, I’m sure.’

‘Jesus,’ he snorted. ‘Auntie Primavera. . I’m going back to calling you that ’cos it’s safer. . I would not go near a girl he recommended. Quality control is not Uche’s strong point; he can line up my putts, but nothing else.’

‘What about Kalu? Maybe he could help. He seems like a smoooooth individual.’

‘I wouldn’t know. I’d never met the man before today, and Uche hardly ever talks about him.’

‘What happened to his wife, Uche’s mother?’

‘Again, I don’t know. The only time I ever asked him about her, he said, “She’s not around any more.” I didn’t press further.’

‘Poor boy,’ I said. ‘Here, now that you’re a full tour member and don’t need those sponsor invitations, maybe Brush could pass them on to him.’

‘That’s not quite how it works. I had a track record as an amateur, Uche doesn’t. The fact is, Auntie P, he’s got no chance of making the Tour. He’s a decent golfer, but that’s all. He didn’t get to Arizona on a scholarship; he paid his own way, or his father did. He said he was a track athlete, a sprinter, when we were freshmen, but he had a knee injury that stopped him competing, so he’d switched to golf. But he didn’t get near the college team. I’m helping him as much as I can, and Lena’s given him all the swing advice she has, but it isn’t working. He’ll never make it, and he knows it. He hasn’t even entered the first stage of Q school.’

‘So he’s just a spoiled rich kid, eh. Did he graduate?’

‘He did enough, that was all. He missed enough classes to get any other guy cut, but he always seemed to get away with it, and he squeezed through in the end. Mostly he studied the football cheerleaders, or any skanky tart that looked in his direction; that’s his specialist subject, not business administration.’

‘So what’s he going to do with his life? Caddie for you permanently?’

‘Brush isn’t too keen on that idea. Neither is Clive Tate; he collared me this afternoon and told me that I need to replace him with someone who actually knows the courses I’ll be playing on from now on. I won’t rush into anything, though. In fact I’m hoping that his dad and he are having a heart-to-heart about career options over dinner tonight. Kalu has all sorts of businesses: oil, manufacturing, import-export. He’s bound to want Uche to get involved at some point.’

The arrival of the waiter to take our orders slipped a natural break into our conversation. When he’d gone, I changed the subject. ‘Going back to what you said before, there’s one thing I must put you right about. It’s impossible to hide from the unexpected. Even here my arse has been well bitten, I can tell you. Huh,’ I snorted. ‘Never more so than today, as you were having your finest hour.’

‘How?’ He paused. ‘Ah, Shirley’s man doing a runner.’

‘That’s the least of it. Remember last Wednesday, when I was called away from Pals by my policeman friend Alex?’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘He came and showed Tom a drawing later; it was the man who tried to pick Patterson’s pocket. Nasty. Have they identified him? Is that’s what’s bitten you?’

‘No, but fast forward to the scene you walked in on the next day: me dealing with Christine McGuigan, that sneaky woman I caught trying to take pictures of Tom. She was found dead this morning. Alex asked me to look at her as well.’

‘Bloody hell! Why did he do that?’

‘Because she was killed in much the same way as him, her face blown away with a shotgun.’

He stared at me. ‘My God,’ he exclaimed. ‘What do the police think?’

‘The assumption is that they were killed by the same person, but that’s as far as it goes.’

‘What? Even with. . Auntie P, there’s an obvious connection.’

‘Sure, me! Happily I was able to alibi myself for the times of both killings.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ he countered. ‘Think back, did you actually catch the woman taking pictures of Tom?’

I did as he asked. ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘Not exactly. But she didn’t deny it, and anyway, what else could she have been doing? What are you getting at, Jonny?’

‘Who else had just arrived at your house?’ he asked. ‘You went out there to give Tom and me the hurry-up because we were late.’

‘Patterson and Shirley.’

‘Correct. The first victim, the guy, he tried to steal Patterson’s wallet but he failed. What if this McGuigan woman wasn’t interested in Tom at all? Isn’t it just as likely that Patterson was her target?’

‘Then why did she target me with her video camera at the course?’

He frowned. ‘Good question.’ As he thought about it our starters arrived. I was adding croutons to my vichyssoise when he came up with an answer. ‘You’d been speaking to them earlier, hadn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ I had a vivid recollection. ‘And I said to them they should be at my place at seven thirty.’

‘Then that ties it. She had no reason to approach them in her journalist guise, had she?’

‘But she did,’ I exclaimed as I remembered what Shirley had said. ‘Only Patterson didn’t want to be on camera, so he avoided her. Then Shirl got rid of her by turning her loose on me.’

Jonny nodded, his thinking confirmed. ‘And that gave her an excuse to find out who you were, and in the process to lead you up the garden path by winding you up about Tom. To get to Patterson through you. Doesn’t that fit?’

I was on his wavelength. ‘She was probably trying to find out where I lived, when Alex intervened and told her to bugger off.’

‘Right, so she went to Plan B and followed you home, so she could be waiting there when Patterson and Shirley arrived.’

‘She was photographing someone, that’s for sure. If only. .’ And then I surprised him by laughing. ‘But I do! I do know who it was. After I decked her I took the memory card from her camera. I’ve still got it. When I got home, I stuck it in my purse, then forgot all about it.’ My bag was at my feet, and my purse was in it. I dug it out and found the tiny card. ‘There you are,’ I said, soundly pleased with myself.

Jonny held out a hand. ‘Let me see it.’ I gave it to him. He took a small camera from a pocket in his jerkin, removed an identical device from its slot, and replaced it with mine. He pressed a couple of buttons, then grinned. ‘Look,’ he said. He turned the camera so that I could see its tiny LCD screen and ran through its contents.

The first seven photographs were all of Patterson, but he was hidden by Shirl in four of them. Those in which he was recognisable had him in profile, none of them full face. Those had all been taken as he and Shirley approached my house, but as Jonny scrolled back I saw that she’d taken a couple at the golf course as well. They’d been shot from a distance, probably with a different lens, and he was in them all as well, in the stand at the practice ground. Patterson’s mother wouldn’t have known him in those. . but given the life he’d led maybe she wouldn’t have recognised him anywhere any more.

‘There’s your link, Auntie P,’ Jonny declared. ‘The pickpocket was sent to steal Patterson’s wallet. He failed, and he’s dead. Christine McGuigan was sent to photograph him. She failed and now she’s dead too. “Sorry, I tried my best” doesn’t cut any ice with whoever sent them. What I don’t understand is why they wanted to identify him. What’s that all about?’

‘A blast from the past,’ I murmured.

‘Eh?’

‘Mr Cowling wasn’t your run-of-the-mill public servant,’ I told him. ‘As I understand it he was the sort who might have made a few enemies in his career. He’s been rumbled by someone, that’s for sure. That’s why he got off his mark; no cover story for Shirl, no tearful farewell. He just waited until she turned her back on him, literally, and he ran for it.’

‘Bloody hell!’

‘Indeed. I had him down as a man who’d lost his bottle. I was planning to find him and give him a piece of my mind for messing up my pal’s life. But this connection that you’ve made, that changes everything.’ It occurred to me at that point that I should call Mark, to tell him not to bother tracing Major Fleur, but I decided that could wait till morning. He wouldn’t do anything until then anyway, and my vichyssoise was getting warm.