Blood Red

Nineteen

Life is like a round of golf. If you drop a shot at one hole, you do your damnedest to get it back at the next, and it gives you real momentum when you do. So it is with days.

The sun woke me next morning, rising beautifully out of the sea and into a cloudless sky. You can’t beat perfection. My moody Monday was a distant memory, and I could see a terrific Tuesday ahead.

Tom was in an upbeat mood too; I’d told him the night before that I’d be picking him up at five o’clock (a long day for the kids, but with long summer holidays as a compensation) and taking him on an errand. He’d quizzed me, but ‘mystery tour’ was all I would say. He was up by seven thirty and wanted to go for a swim before school, so we all did, he and I, and Charlie. You’re not really supposed to take dogs on the beaches in the summer, unless they’re designated, but at that time of the morning you can get away with it. Anyway, Charlie’s good; he knows not to dump on the sand.

Once we’d finished breakfast I drove Tom to L’Escala, leaving Charlie in his garden kingdom, and parked outside the town’s leisure complex. I watched Tom walk the last hundred metres or so, then took my gym bag inside. I was restless, and I knew why. I’ve always coped with my recent state well enough, but I’m a woman in my prime, and from time to time I get horny. So it was that morning. When you’re celibate, and you get that way. . well, I find that the best thing to do is to put on a pair of trainers and run like hell. I flashed my membership card at the entrance, changed, and went up to the fitness suite. It was busy, but there was a treadmill free. I switched it on, starting at a modest ten kilometres per hour, winding it up to twelve once I was warmed up. One of the nice things about our town gym is that there are no mirrors; people go there to exercise, not to admire their six-packs. Instead of looking at yourself sweating, as you pound out the distance, there’s nice views of the pool below and of the clay tennis courts outside. That morning I saw only one swimmer, but the three courts were all in use, even though the sun had only reached one of them.

I’d done six kilometres of the ten I’d set for myself, when I was aware of a figure climbing on to the static bike next to me. ‘Good morning, Senora Primavera,’ said the newcomer. I glanced to the side and saw Angel Planas.

I was running smoothly; I can go faster than the pace I’d chosen, so I had the breath to reply. ‘And to you,’ I replied. He had spoken Spanish, as we had in our previous encounters, but I chose to reply in Catalan. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’

He switched languages. ‘Normally, I come during my afternoon break, but I’ve closed the shop until after the funeral.’

‘As a mark of respect?’

‘Of course. It wouldn’t have been seemly to do otherwise. Besides, my father may have been at odds with me, but. .’

‘He was still your dad. I understand. Has Gomez given you any indication about the funeral?’

He set himself a programme, and started to pedal slowly. ‘He’s told me that after the examination this morning, he will ask the public prosecutor for authority to release the body. Unless something unexpected comes up, that will happen tomorrow, so it will be on Thursday morning.’

‘Doesn’t give you much time to let people know.’

‘We have a very good informal system for spreading the word. We put the details on notices in shop windows and on lamp posts, all through the old town. It works.’

‘What about the other parts of L’Escala?’

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a smile on his face. ‘To my father, the modern areas barely existed.’

He set to pedalling, and I cranked up my speed a little, putting further discourse beyond either of us. I finished my programme with a sprint, then wound down for a couple of minutes, before stepping off the treadmill. As my heart rate settled back to normal I did some stretching exercises, until finally I reckoned I had burned off most of my raging hormones. I waved goodbye to Angel and went back to the changing room.

By the time I made it back to L’Escala, looking presentable and fit for the day. . I tend to use very little make-up, just Garnier sun cream as a base and a little lippie, and keep my hair shortish and spiky, the straight from the shower look. . I had worked off breakfast and was fairly hungry. It was still well shy of eleven, but Meson del Conde’s tables were out and ready for the day, so Charlie and I sat down and I asked Cisco for a cortado. . a café solo with milk. . a bottle of Vichy Catalan, a croissant and a dish of water for the dog.

I had just killed the coffee and was tucking into the crab-like roll when Ben Simmers came into the square, looking neither right nor left but heading straight for my house, his distinctive gait so brisk that it was almost a trot.

‘Hey!’ I called to him, between bites. ‘If you’re looking for me, try here.’

He spun round, saw me and came across to my table.

‘Want a coffee?’ I asked.

‘No, no time.’

He seemed more than a little agitated. ‘OK,’ I said, ‘quit acting like the white fucking rabbit and tell me what’s up.’

‘My mum,’ he blurted out. ‘She’s down at the shop, and she’s in a hell of a state. Can you come?’

‘Of course.’ I picked up the bottled water, stuffed the rest of the croissant into my mouth, tossed a ten on the table for Cisco, and followed him. Charlie wasn’t best pleased, but he came too, perking up at once when he realised that he was going to see his pals.

Ingrid Reid was standing beside Ben’s counter when I got there. As soon as I was inside, her son closed the door and flipped the sign round to read ‘Shut’ in three languages. I looked at her; her eyes were red, and she was chewing at her bottom lip.

‘What is it?’ I asked again.

‘It’s Matt,’ she replied in a quiet, scared voice. ‘He’s been arrested.’

‘What? When?’

‘Half an hour ago. They arrived at the house, demanded to see him and told him, not asked, mind you, to come with them. He asked them what it was about, but they wouldn’t tell him. I asked if I could come, but they said no.’

‘Which police, Ingrid, the Mossos or the locals?’

‘The Mossos; the serious ones.’

‘Can you describe them?’

‘Both dark-haired. The older one, the one who did the talking, he was in his early forties, I’d have said, quite bulky. The other one was younger and slimmer. He at least had the good grace to say “Sorry” to me as they took him away.’

She had described Gomez and Alex. ‘What language did they speak?’

‘Spanish. I understood some of it.’

‘Did they tell you where they were taking him?’

‘No.’

Ben stared at me. ‘It has to be connected,’ he murmured.

I nodded. ‘Must be.’

‘Connected with what?’ Ingrid wailed.

‘Planas.’

‘Who?’

‘The man Matthew and I went to see on Friday; José-Luis Planas.’

‘Him? Matthew was livid when he got back from that meeting. He was muttering about going back down there to sort him out; Matt has a temper on him, you know.’

I let out a great, gasping breath. ‘Jesus, Ingrid, don’t ever say that to anyone else.’

‘Why not?’ she retorted, crossly. ‘What’s this man done that the police have arrested Matt?’

‘You don’t know?’ Ben asked.

‘No, we’ve hardly been out of the house since Saturday. Matt had a bit of a head in the morning. He went out with a pal on Friday night.’

‘When did he get in, Mum?’

‘God knows. I was asleep by that time. He confessed that they wound up in JoJo’s bar. But forget about that. What about this man Planas?’

‘He’s dead, Ingrid,’ I said, trying to sound as calm as possible. ‘He was murdered.’ I paused. ‘Matt didn’t go back to see him on Friday, did he?’

‘No. I talked him down. He was still angry, though.’

‘Too much information, Mum.’

She glared at him. ‘Don’t be silly.’ Then the centivo dropped, and her mouth fell open with it. ‘They don’t think he. . Oh my God, that’s ridiculous.’

‘Don’t let’s go that far,’ I said. ‘I know these people. They’re formal, but they’re very correct.’

‘But what can we do? He’s in there all alone. His Spanish is OK, but he’ll be vulnerable if they question him.’ She looked at me, hopefully. ‘Primavera, could you go and ask if you can translate for him?’

I sighed. ‘I don’t think they’d let me. I was in the room with him when he met Planas.’ I thought about the situation. She was right, and I was kicking myself. He did need somebody in there, and I’d probably made it worse by neglecting to tell Gomez that he’d come with me to the Planas meeting. Through a detective’s rheumy and jaundiced eye, I might be seen to have been covering up for him.

‘Do you know any lawyers?’ Ingrid asked.

‘Not this kind,’ I admitted, ‘and anyway, he might not be entitled to one under Spanish law.’ Then an idea hit me. ‘But there is someone they’d have difficulty keeping out of there.’