Skinner nodded. 'Maybe, but some people have long arms.'
'Not me, my friend.' Vaudan looked him coolly, disturbingly, in the eye as he spoke. 'If you think that someone killed Alberni, you'd better look some place else. I didn't do it. That is my word on it, and you can take it to the bank. Now I have no more to say to you. Ever.'
Skinner stood up. `I'm all talked out too, Vaudan. There is just one other thing, though.' He picked up his beer which lay untouched on the table. 'A poor public servant like me couldn't be seen taking a drink from a guy like you. Corruption is all too easily alleged.' With a flick of the wrist, he emptied the contents of the glass into Vaudan's lap.
The man started from his seat, his expression suddenly twisted into one of anger. He seemed ready to spring.
`Yes?' Skinner hissed the word as he stood waiting for him, a smile on his face and an invitation in his eyes; an invitation which Vaudan decided it would be much better not to accept. Lazily Skinner reached out with his left hand and pushed him back into his chair. 'Stay cool, Nick. And, by the way, if you ever make a pass at my wife again, your interest in sex will become academic, very suddenly. See you again.'
Forty-four
‘Brian? Skinner here. I've got a job for you. I want you to run a check with the French police on a man named Nicolas Vaudan.' He spelled out the name. 'He lives on the Riviera with his wife. They also own an apartment in Rome, possibly in her name. He's in the boat business. Deals in high-value yachts and cruisers, and also runs charters. I want to know everything about him and about his business. Has he any convictions, has he ever been arrested, has he ever been investigated for any crime, does he pay his parking tickets quickly. .? Everything they can dig up on him. I want to know about his business too. Ask them to check all filed accounts, and to look in particular at his tax affairs.'
He paused to listen. 'Yes, the Guardia could do this, Brian, but they have their reasons for not wanting to get involved. So you use your international contacts to get it moving, and fax me a report as soon as you can. . Yes, I said fax. The way things are going here, it'll be an asset. I'm taking Sarah and the baby to Girona this afternoon to buy one.'
`Bob?' Sarah's voice sounded from the living room as Skinner replaced the phone in the hall.
`Yes, honey, it's me.'
`I didn't hear you come in. I was dozing on the terrace. Who were you talking to? What were you saying about a fax?
What's the time? God, you've been ages.'
`Question one, Brian Mackie — and question two, get ready for Hipercort. We're going shopping.'
`Okay, but first tell me what you've been up to. Did you see Arturo?'
`Yes, and then I had a long talk with your admirer, Vaudan. Smart bastard — or he thinks he is.'
Quickly he related Vaudan's account of Santi's involvement with Montgo SA, and of the missing letters.
`He's a cute operator, is our Nick. And very confident. I need to talk to Gloria about that document.'
`Then you'll get your chance tonight. You and I are going to La Clota for dinner, a deux, and Gloria's baby-sitting. Now, if we're going to Girona, let's get ready.'
Forty-five
The Panasonic tele/fax with integral answerphone was installed and tested by eight p.m. when Gloria arrived to baby-sit. It stood, white and gleaming, on a table in the living room. Gloria looked at it in surprise.
`Keeps me in touch with the office,' offered Bob. 'Come on through, why don't you.' He led the way through the living room to the terrace. 'Sarah's got the wee fella plugged in, in the bedroom. He's all groomed and ready for bed, so with a touch of luck you won't see any action. Have a seat. While we’re waiting, there are a couple of things I'd like to ask you.'
Gloria turned a chair round to face the sun, and sat down. It was just after seven-thirty. The customary evening clouds were building on the horizon, but the day was still warm. Bob handed his guest a glass of white wine from a bottle in the ice-bucket and offered her olives from a wide, flat dish.
`I went to see Nick Vaudan today. Gloria, did you ever have any reason to believe that Santi might have had a stake in Montgo SA, or that he might have been the beneficial owner of the company, with Vaudan as a nominee shareholder?'
She looked at him, incredulous. 'Whoever told you that?'
`That's Vaudan's story. He says that the Montgo property portfolio was bought with cash stripped out of InterCosta by Santi.'
`That's crazy. Santi died with hardly a peseta to his name'
`What about the five million in the safe? According to Vaudan's story, that could have been his share of the profit from Montgo.'
Gloria lowered her eyes, bit her lip and shook her head.
`All right,' said Skinner gently. 'Let me ask you, when you went through Santi's papers, did you find a letter referring to Vaudan, or to Montgo, the company? It would probably have been drafted by a lawyer and would have been on his stationery.'
`No. Nothing like that.'
Did Santi ever talk to you at all about Montgo SA.'
The woman's face brightened. 'Yes. Yes, he did once. He told me that he understood from Vaudan that the money which he used to buy those properties came in cash from boat sales in Spain. It was so that he would not have to pay tax anywhere. He said that when he sold Nick the site for his villa, then found him a builder, that was how he paid.'
`Yes,' said Skinner, 'that at least squares with Vaudan's account. When Santi told you this, did you feel that he believed it to be true?'
Gloria looked hurt. 'Bob, Santi never told me a lie in his life. Of course he believed it. Santi trusted people. If someone told him something, he would naturally accept it as true.'
`Okay. Let me ask you something else. Have you ever heard Santi mention a man named Inch.'
Que?'
`Inch. I-N-C-H. From Torroella?'
No, never.'
`Or a company called Torroella Locals?'
She shook her head. 'Never.'
Just then Sarah emerged from the villa. 'Hi, Gloria. Junior's just dropped off to sleep. He should stay under till we get back. If you do need us, the number's on the pinboard in the kitchen. We'll be as quick as we can.'
Gloria stood up from her chair. 'No, no, no, you enjoy. Jazz will be fine with me.'
As Bob and Sarah turned to go, Gloria called after them. `Bob. What I told you, does that help?'
'I hope so, Gloria. But to be honest, even assuming that Santi has been framed, it's been bloody well done. Vaudan won't crack, that's for sure. It's about time for a touch of luck.'
Forty-six
At La Clota they were shown to their customary table under the awning, to the front of the terrace. Skinner looked across the roadway to Club Nautic. Vaudan was seated among a group scattered around the tables of the outdoor bar. Bob caught his eye, smiled and waved. The Frenchman, grim-faced, turned his chair around and set his back towards them.
`What went on between you two this morning?' Sarah asked. 'I thought you just had a chat with him. He looked at you there as if he'd like to kill you.'
`He probably would, but he's much too smart to try.' `You didn't say anything about. .?'
Bob flashed her a sly smile. 'Who, me?'
They chose, as a starter, piping hot onion soup with an egg poached in its liquor, finally deciding on roast duck as a main course, in spite of the counter-attractions of the chef's special fidua — delicious but laden with garlic.
Bob was mopping up the last of his orange sauce with bread when Sarah asked him about his discussion with Gloria. `How does it look?'
`To tell you the truth, love, it looks bloody awful. Vaudan's a smooth, opportunistic bastard, but his story is very plausible. Santi rips off InterCosta and washes the dough through Montgo SA, and through this other company. The twenty-five grand we found in Santi's safe could have been part of the profit split from one of those. Originally the idea is that Vaudan acts as a front, no questions asked, but now he finds himself in the box seat, with Santi gone, as the legal owner of a hundred million peseta property company. The thing that would prove it would be Santi's copy of the letter Vaudan talked about: the one confirming his ownership. But there's no trace of that and, of course, Vaudan says he's trashed his copy. . as he would. More than that, if the letter existed — and if Vaudan's story is true — it's a cert that he's got hold of Santi's copy too, or he'd never have mentioned it.'