‘What did you say to her?’
‘Nothing you’d want to hear.’
‘And what did she say to you?’
‘That it was all her fault, that it began by her taking shameless advantage of you, and that it all got out of hand after that.’
‘That’s not true. It wasn’t all her fault.’
‘I know that, for God’s sake,’ she snapped.
‘Listen to me,’ I said. ‘I am truly sorry that I’ve hurt you, and so is Susie. But there’s someone else to blame, to an extent.’
‘You mean me?’
‘No, I do not. I mean the person who took those photos and sent them to you. If it hadn’t been for him, you’d never have been any the wiser, Susie and I would have had our little secret and that would have been that.’
She gasped. ‘Oz, you incredible bastard! I don’t blame him at all. I blame you and Susie Gantry; end of story. If you’ve made someone mad enough at you to do that, then it’s down to you. Who do you think it was anyway?’
‘I thought it was Miller, but I don’t any more.’
She let out a small sound; it could have been a yelp. ‘Oz, you didn’t …’
‘No, at least not much. He convinced me that he didn’t do it.’
‘So who do you think did?’
‘I don’t know, Prim,’ I told her. ‘But I’m certain it has something to do with this house. You maybe don’t believe that someone broke in and chucked Susie downstairs, but it happened. Then today, after you’d gone and while I was off questioning Mr Miller, he broke in again: this time he searched the place.’
‘Are you serious? Or is this some story you’ve cooked up to make me feel sorry for you.’
‘I don’t give a shit whether you feel sorry for me or not, my love. It’s the truth. There is something in or about this house, and someone wants it.’
There was silence between us for a while. I could sense that she was working herself up to say, or ask something. It turned out to be both. ‘Oz,’ she exclaimed, finally, ‘I don’t think that me sitting down here brooding for a week is going to do either of us any good. Do you want me to come back?’
‘Frankly,’ I told her, ‘I’d rather you stayed in Barcelona. Until I’ve got to the bottom of what’s happening here, I’m not sure this place is safe. Give me a few days to sort it out.’
‘Is that the real reason you want me to stay away?’
‘Sure it is.’ Actually I wasn’t sure at all, but it was certainly a reason.
‘Okay then; a few days. I’ll stay for the five I’ve booked. If it gets too scary up there, you can always come down and join me.’
‘Honey, the mood I’m in, it’s me that’s scary. I’m going to catch this bastard.’
‘Why don’t you tell Ramon? Ask for his help.’
I had to laugh at that one. ‘First, unless it was in my interests, I wouldn’t ask him for the time if he had an armful of Rolexes. Second, I’m not entirely certain that he isn’t the guy I’m after.’
‘Ramon?’
‘Think about it. This guy has to have kept me under pretty close observation for the past few days. Who’s more capable of that than a policeman?’
‘No,’ she protested, ‘he wouldn’t have attacked Susie. I don’t believe it.’
‘Why not? He fucked you over badly enough, and that’s for sure. Or are you still in love with him just a bit?’
‘No.’ Her answer wasn’t quite quick enough for my liking. ‘But Oz, I know him too well to believe that of him.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ I asked her. ‘If there’s one thing we’ve both learned over the past few days it’s that we never know anyone as well as we think; sometimes, not even ourselves. Your ex might not be at the top of my list, but believe me, he’s on it.’
We called it quits at that, before we got angry with each other again.
30
It took a few minutes, but after Prim had hung up, I started to feel lonely. I gave some thought to what Susie had told me to do, and for a while I thought about getting into the car and driving down to Barcelona after all, leaving the bloody house to my mystery visitor.
I got over that urge by reminding myself that there was someone out there who had tried to kill Susie, and frame me for it. That got me sufficiently mad once more for me to forget everything else.
No way, I decided, was I going to be held a prisoner in my own home. Equally, if the bugger did come back, he was going to be warned off.
I had precious few leads, only one in fact, so I set out to run it down. But before I went out I took a couple of simple steps, just in case. First, I took the brown manila envelope and turned it over, found a marker pen on the drawer, and wrote on it, ‘I am not a mug, but you do owe me one.’ Then I went upstairs to our en suite bathroom and picked up a tin of talcum powder that Prim had left behind.
I left the note in the kitchen, on a work-surface, then headed for the back door. I didn’t bother to set the alarm, instead I uncapped the powder and sprinkled it liberally on to the floor of the short entry corridor, backing towards the exit as I did so, to avoid marking my trap with my own footprints. When I was finished, I put the lid back on the tin and chucked it back inside.
That done, I locked up and headed into L’Escala to kill time by grabbing something to eat before JoJo opened her glass door at around ten thirty. I found a table in La Taverna de la Sal, just up from the town beach. It wasn’t difficult; there was no one else in the place.
I had a Catalan salad and a steak, glancing up, as I ate, at a television above the bar. The Spanish football season was back in full swing after its holiday break, and one of the local channels was showing a review of all the weekend’s matches. The presenter and the pundits were all speaking Catalan, but football is a universal language, so I understood what was going on.
Just about the only thing I miss about Edinburgh, apart from my loft, and the fun times I had there during my days as a swinging single bent on building up a track record, is the weekly kickabout which I had with a bunch of like-minded pals, including the unforgettable Ali the Grocer, who has to be the most foul-mouthed shopkeeper in Scotland.
My meal and the programme finished virtually simultaneously. There were a few minutes left until Jo’s standard opening time but, rather than have another coffee, I paid my bill and strolled out on to the small beach-front. The night air was as sharp as you would expect in the second week in January, but there was no wind and the skies were as clear as they had been forty-eight hours earlier when I had stood not far from there with Susie.
The place was deserted; the Cafe del Mar was doing a little business, but its neighbour, La Caravel, seemed to be closed for winter refurbishment. I sat on the wall, looking out to sea and wondering what the fuck I was doing there, and how I had got myself into this mess. My cell phone sounded and I answered it, a touch impatiently.
It was Susie. ‘Hello again. You don’t mind me phoning, do you? If you can’t talk just disconnect.’
‘Oh, I can talk all right,’ I assured her. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’
‘Prim’s still in Barcelona then?’
‘Yes, and I’m sitting on the beach in L’Escala, staying angry with the bastard who’s been setting me up for all this grief.’ I told her about the missing mug, and the second break-in.
‘Hey,’ I asked her, as soon as the thought occurred to me, ‘tell me something, if you can. Think back to last Thursday night when we were in the bar.’
‘Okay.’
‘Now tell me, can you remember anything about the drinks you had? How many, for openers?’
‘Two brandies; big ones.’
‘Did they both taste all right?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Now you mention it. .’ she murmured, slowly. ‘The first one was fine, very smooth in fact, like very good Cognac even though it was Spanish. But the second, when I sipped it, tasted just a wee bit sharp; which was odd, since the lady poured it from the same bottle as the first.
‘That’s it, though. My next memory, apart from you taking my boots off, is lying at the foot of the stairs in the buff, looking up at your baby blues.’