Shielding him from the sun with his body, Bob turned the baby to face the Bay of Rosas. The bite-shaped expanse of blue water seemed to be alive with windsurfers. 'Fancy some of that, Jazz boy?' The baby wriggled and gurgled in his arms. 'Never done any myself, but I'm sure it'll become second nature to you.'
He felt the wriggling subside. 'Time to go back to the buggy, is it? Come on, then.' He laid the unprotesting baby in his mobile crib and, stripping off his shirt, settled on a recliner alongside Sarah.
`Is Gloria out for the count?' he asked.
`Yes. I found a good strong sedative down there. It isn't really over-the-counter stuff, even here, but I flashed my stethoscope and ID at him, and used Arturo's name to back them up. He came across without an argument.'
`How long will she be out?'
`Let's see. It's three now. I'd say till seven, anyway. I've got some Librium for when she wakes up. When did she think her father would get here?'
`She hoped he'd make it for eight. Where will they stay?'
`At her place. I asked her if she wanted them to be booked into the Bonaire or the Nieves Mar, but she said no. I suspect she was worried about cost, but she didn't say so — just that she'd have to face it some time, and it might as well be now.'
`She's a brave lady.'
A thought struck Sarah. 'God, I wasn't in the house, but didn't you say that it looked as if a bomb had hit it. I really hate the thought of her going back to the debris of last night's party with Santi and their friends and all.
`No, that won't happen. Arturo set half a dozen of his finest to making the place look spotless. I told him he should have used the Policia for that, but he said he didn't want any breakages.'
'Yes! That man with the hat, wasn't he awful! Gloria told me about the stretcher. She said she thought you were going to hit him.'
The thought did cross my mind. Arturo's too. What a bollocking he gave the guy — Chief of Police or not.'
`You'd better not park on any yellow lines in L'Escala for a while!'
Bob laughed. The only line I'd like to park on is the one round that pillock's hat.' He propped himself up on an elbow, and picked up the sun cream. 'Want your back done?'
Nope. It's not too comfortable lying face-down right now. The D cups are still pretty tender, thanks to the milk monster over there!'
Thirty-one
‘I must say, Mr Skinner, the thought of an airport welcome by the Guardia Civil had me worried all the way across. It was quite a relief when their driver turned out to be in plain clothes!'
Skinner smiled. 'Even the Guardia have men in suits, Mr Ainscow.'
The two Scots shook hands on the pavement of the Passeig Maritim, outside the office of InterCosta. Ainscow thanked his driver, and the black car which had delivered him pulled away from the kerb and headed off in the direction of L'Escala's old town. It was 4:30 p.m., and even on a Sunday the few shops along the Passeig were in the process of reopening after their afternoon break, in the hope of gathering in a few more pesetas from the weekend visitors.
`You made good time,' said Skinner.
`Yes, I took the quickest option available: Air France from Edinburgh and on to Barcelona from Charles de Gaulle. Bloody expensive, though. Not the way I'd choose to travel. I take charters to Girona from Glasgow when I can, and look for deals on schedules to Barcelona in the winter months, when Girona's shut. How do you come down?'
`Varies. Quite often, like on this trip, I drive down. Look, shall we go inside?'
Ainscow nodded. Skinner pushed open the door of the small office, and the two stepped inside. Ainscow dropped his flight bag on the floor and placed his briefcase on one of three desks in the room.
`That's the desk you use normally, when you're here?' Skinner asked.
`Yes. That's … that was Santi's over there, and the other's used by a part-time secretary.'
`Right. Nothing's been touched here since yesterday. Everything is exactly as it was the last time Alberni locked up. What I want you to do, or more precisely what the Guardia want, is to go through the books of the business, and try to locate all the funds transferred under that crazy blank-cheque system of yours. Have you called the InterCosta accountant?'
Ainscow looked at him a shade sheepishly. 'We don't have one. We have a book-keeper over here, and I have one in the UK. We operate as a partnership, so there's no need for filing of accounts anywhere. However, I have located an independent accountant in Girona. She'll be here tomorrow.'
`Good. What about a lawyer?'
`I'll call one if and when I need one. There's a bloke in Torroella that I've used in the past. But I've got nothing to hide. It was Santi who had the five million in his safe, not me. Do you want me to begin today?'
`No. Wait till your accountant gets here — and the Guardia man. They're sending someone up from their fraud department.
`Have you met Pujol, the local Commandante?'
`No.'
'Didn't think you would. Not too many people seek out the company of the Guardia. He's coming down here this afternoon to meet you.' Skinner looked out of the window, peering through a chink in the mass of posters which covered most of its surface and darkened the room. 'In fact, here he is now.'
As he spoke, Pujol, out of uniform, appeared in the doorway. Skinner made the formal introductions.
`I am glad to see you here, Senor,' said the Commandante. `I think that there are matters with your company which have to be looked into: things that happened here in Spain.'
Ainscow broke in. 'Look, I want you to know that apart from this Pitkeathly business, and let's hope that still turns out to have been a mistake, there has never been a single complaint to me in Scotland by any client about any transaction. Ask around town and you will find nothing but satisfied people.'
`We shall ask, Senor. In fact we are asking already. Tell me, how long have you been in business with Senor Alberni.'
`Nearly ten years. I was in the estate-agency business back home. I built up a chain in central Scotland, then sold to an insurance company at the height of the boom. I did well — well enough to buy my place in Punta Montgo, and to spend some quality time out here. That's when I got to know Santi. He was working as a salesman for a big promoter-developer. He had sold me a couple of apartments as investments. I was looking for a manager and the thought shuck me: why not set up Santi in a business of his own, combining estate agency with property management, and all the other add-ons that brings? Then I thought that a business like that should have a UK outlet on the estate agency side. I looked at the restrictive covenant attached to my sale, and discovered that I was clear to deal in overseas property. So InterCosta opened in Scotland as well. Initially I ran it from our house, but when the Stirling
Business Centre was built, I liked it and moved in there. Gives clients a better impression, you understand.'
`You said you were partners,' said Skinner. 'What was the profit split?'
`I put up the development capital, so I had seventy-five per cent. Santi had twenty-five, but he still had a good package, by Spanish standards.'
`Has the business been profitable?' asked Pujol.
`It's washed its face, I'd say. If I were to be completely frank, I'd have to say that it's under-performing. It's always made a profit, but somehow it's never come up to business-plan forecasts. Some years the profit has been so low that I've given Santi a fifty-per cent share just so that he'd have something worth having.'
`Where has the problem been? Sales?' Skinner quizzed.
Not really. The way the thing is structured, we're not dependent on the market. Property management — and by that I mean looking after villas and apartments and providing a rental service — that's always given us a second income stream. The problem has always been that the overhead at the Spanish end was way over budget.'