As I thought of him, I remembered my promise to call him when I arrived. I went back out on to the patio, switched on the mobile he’d given me, unlocked it, then called the lone number that was programmed into its memory. An overly friendly Spanish lady told me that the phone I was dialling was switched off, but invited me to leave a message. As she spoke I checked my watch. Five minutes past twelve, Sunday, idiot; he’d be in church.
‘Hi,’ I said, after the beep, ‘it’s me and I’m in your lovely house. When I think of the other place I could be right now, it makes me realise how lucky I am to have you looking after me. I’m tired, but I’m not going to sleep until you’ve called me back.’
I checked the charge on the phone; it was full. I put it in my pocket and went back inside, to resume my exploration. The second door of the living area led to a stairway and down to a lower floor, with two bedrooms, one of them en suite, with a door that led into the garden, and a second bathroom, with a full-sized bath and shower above. Like the kitchen, the bedroom furniture was contemporary. I got nosy and looked in the wardrobes. The one in the second bedroom was empty, but there were clothes hung in the other, jeans, a pretty respectable suit, a couple of shirts and two jackets, one winter weight; again, Gerard-style gear.
I didn’t look anywhere else; I had a sudden feeling that I was invading his privacy. Instead I went into the bathroom. . not his, the other one. . relieved myself, and ran a bath. As it filled, I searched for towels and soap, and was first time lucky when I found them in the unit that housed the basin, white fluffy cotton and Dove cream, plus, unexpectedly, foam crystals. I was about to shut the door when my eye caught something else, a box, tucked away behind a couple of aerosols and a bottle of Nivea sun cream. I took it out; it had been opened, it bore a dealer’s stamp on the end flap, ‘Farmacia Xaloc’, and all but two of its original contents were gone. I blinked, hard, as if it would look different on second inspection. But it didn’t. ‘Oh no,’ I moaned, out loud. What the hell would a priest be doing with Tampax? Personally, nothing, but. .
Thirty-four
As I lay soaking, I made myself think logically. I knew that there was, or had been an aunt. Aunts beget cousins. Gerard had a cousin, a female cousin around his own age or younger who has a key for the family home and who uses it occasionally, but who’s been told to keep clear for now. That was it. And if it wasn’t? If his annual retreat involved him getting his leg over a nice Andalusian girl, what business is it of yours, Primavera Blackstone, you who have made it very clear to him that your interest is in his companionship, and not in his body? None at all. If he can square it with God, he can shag who he likes, for you are definitely not interested in such transactions any more.
When the mobile rang I had managed to put my find in perspective. I’d fixed on the cousin theory as the likeliest. But still, it’s unsettling to suspect that your idol’s feet might be even a wee bit crumbly. ‘You made it,’ he said. ‘Are you comfortable?’
‘Couldn’t be more so, although you might be upset if you could see me.’
‘Why?’ He sounded puzzled.
‘Because I’m naked, lolling in your guest bath, blowing bubbles all around the room.’
‘In that case the bubbles will preserve your modesty.’
‘That’s why I’m blowing them away. Does this phone shoot video? If it does I might send you some footage.’
‘Primavera, please. Have you been drinking?’
‘No. I’m just feeling crazy, that’s all.’
‘Understandable.’
‘Was Tom at church?’ I asked him, to break my mood.
‘Yes, he was. He was very good, as usual. Mac came to see him at work; he said he was very impressed.’
‘Him in a Catholic church? He’ll have to report that to his minister when he gets home. The roof didn’t fall in, did it?’
He laughed; at once I felt better, and sorry for winding him up. No, those tampons couldn’t have had anything to do with him. ‘It’s stood solid for a few hundred years,’ he said. ‘I think it will take more than one heretic to bring it down.’
‘How’s my boy?’ I whispered.
‘He’s okay. Mac told him that something had happened, and that you had to go away for a few days. But there are whispers around town, and I’d rather he didn’t hear them. Mac and I have spoken about this and since there’s so little time left in the term, we wonder whether it might be better keeping him off school.’
‘That’s vetoed,’ I told him firmly. ‘If you do that you’ll have to confiscate his mobile too, for his pals are always sending him texts. I’m innocent; if he goes into seclusion it’ll make me look guilty. I know his teachers; they’ll look out for him. And I know his friends too; they’re good kids.’
‘Very well, if you say so.’
‘You say there’s talk in town. Does that mean they’ve released my mug shot?’
‘No, and this is interesting. They haven’t released your name either. All they’re saying is that they have a suspect and that a hunt is under way.’
‘Uh? Why would they want to keep my identity confidential?’
‘You can thank your connections to famous people, or so Alex tells me. Public prosecutor’s orders, he says. He’s terrified that if word gets out that Dawn Phillips’s sister, Miles Grayson’s sister-in-law, Oz Blackstone’s former wife is a murder suspect, and that the police have let her get away, the story will become global, and his job will be on the line.’
My sister, I thought. We usually speak online at weekends. ‘Does Dawn know?’
‘Maybe,’ he replied. ‘That will depend on your father. Mac felt that he was honour bound to advise him of what had happened. It’s for him to decide whether to tell her.’
That would be a tricky one for Dad, I reckoned. Our Kid can be a bit of a flake. The last thing I wanted was her air-dropping into St Martí in a flood of celebrity.
‘We’ve got to get this sorted, Gerard,’ I exclaimed. ‘I’d rather be here than banged up, don’t get me wrong, but I’m feeling isolated, exposed, and it’s got nothing to do with having no clothes on.’
‘Don’t feel that way. I told you, you’re being watched over.’
‘That’s nice of God,’ I retorted, ‘but I’d rather He was looking over Hector Gomez’s shoulder and pointing him in the direction of who really did those murders.’ He laughed and started to say something else, but I talked right over him. ‘Have there been any other developments that you know of, any results from the Dolores autopsy?’
‘Alex told me that they’ve established that she was killed early on Friday morning. They found fibres from the shawl that strangled her. .’
‘My shawl,’ I interposed.
‘. . in her mouth, and believe that it was used to gag her while she was held captive. They say she’d have been pretty weak by the time she died; she’d been starved for a week.’ He hesitated, in the manner of someone who has nothing good to tell. ‘They found something else too, in the storeroom: a bag containing her make-up pouch, a wine glass, with her fingerprints on it, and traces of red wine.’
‘Eh?’ There are times when my brain works pretty fast; instantly I knew where this was going, and a bizarre picture formed in my mind. ‘That’s clever,’ I exclaimed, ‘really fucking clever. The next thing you’re going to tell me is that they’ve identified the wine and it’s Faustino One.’