Forcing himself to the business at hand, Pujol coughed, and introduced first himself, then Skinner. She nodded to each in turn, not appearing flustered in the slightest. 'Veronica Chaumont,' she responded, offering each a chair.
`You are Belgian, yes?' Pujol asked, as he sat down. She nodded her head. `Oui’
'How-long have you worked for Senor Vaudan?'
She shrugged. 'Since the company was started.'
`This company, Montgo SA?'
`Yes. I do not work for any other.'
`No?' Pujol paused and looked at her a little less kindly than before. 'Are you not involved also with a company called Torroella Locals?'
She shook her head. 'No, I am not. I know of it, of course, but I don't work for it.'
`But we know that you have made payments into its bank account.'
She paused. 'Yes, that is true, but only on the instructions of Nicolas.'
`Can you describe how the payments were made?'
`Yes. Every little while, Nicolas would give me a number of blank cheques. They were made out for cash, and they were for a bank in Scotland. It was called the Clydesdale.' She pronounced the name slowly and with difficulty.
Skinner spoke for the first time. 'Do you remember the name of the account?'
Veronica nodded. 'Yes, it was InterCosta UK.'
`Were you told when to pay each one in?'
`Yes. Nicolas would call me and give me instructions. He would tell me the amount in sterling that the cheque should be made out for, and where it should be paid.'
`Where?' said Pujol, surprised.
`Yes. Sometimes I would pay into the Torroella Locals account; and other times into our own account here.' Did the cheques always have the same signature?' `Yes. Mr Paul Ainscow.'
`Never Santi Alberni?' asked Skinner.
It was Veronica's turn to look surprised. `Santi? No never. Why would he sign? He only worked for InterCosta, didn't he? That's what Nick said.'
Skinner shook his head. 'No, he had a piece of it. How well did you know Santi Alberni?'
`Not very well. He was a friend of Nick's. Occasionally the three of us would have coffee in the Cafe Navili, but other than that he didn't come around here much.'
Did you know much about him as a businessman?'
`He was a great salesman. The best in L'Escala, everyone said. InterCosta did very well, thanks to him. Sold a lot of properties, and some of them were very big ones. But he used to make jokes about how bad he was with money. I remember him saying once that it was just as well that he did not have to do the accounts for InterCosta, otherwise they would be in trouble.'
`Were you surprised when he killed himself?'
`I couldn't believe it. He never seemed like a sad guy.' `What about Paul Ainscow? Did he come around here much?'
`Never. I have never met Mr Ainscow. I have never even spoken to him on the telephone.'
`Have you ever seen him at all, with Nick Vaudan for example?'
`No. I often think that it is odd. Sometimes I wonder if he exists.'
`Is there any correspondence anywhere between him and Vaudan.'
Again, Veronica shook her head. 'No, there is nothing I can think of. The only time I have ever seen Mr Ainscow's signature is on those blank cheques.'
`Tell me, senorita,' said Pujol. Did it not strike you as strange, to be paying this money from one company to others in this way?'
`Why should it? Many things much stranger than that happen in Spain, as you must know, Commandante. Nicolas told me that Paul Ainscow wished to invest money in two businesses: Montgo SA and Torroella Locals. He had agreed to run Montgo, and that Alan Inch — poor man — was looking after the other one. He said that Ainscow was never quite sure until the last moment how much each investment would be, and that blank cheques were the simplest way of going about it.'
`Were you surprised by the amounts of money being transferred?'
`Not when I saw how good a salesman Santi Alberni was. The other parts of the business — property management and holiday rentals — seemed to do well also.'
Skinner shifted in his chair. The Montgo properties, Miss Chaumont. Do you know where the deeds are?'
`The escrituras? Nicolas keeps them himself. I never see them. There is no need. My job is to collect the rents, fix the problems, keep the books, and make sure that everyone is happy. That's all.
Pujol coughed again. 'Senorita Veronica, there is one other thing I must ask you. Your relationship with Nicolas Vaudan. Is it purely one of business?'
A light pink flush showed beneath the girl's tan. 'Certainly! Senor Commandante, you must know that Nicolas is a happily married man.' She stared boldly across the desk, a sparkle still in the pale eyes and a smile toying with the corners of her mouth. 'So what possible reason could you have for asking me such a question?'
Beneath his tan, Arturo Pujol blushed bright red.
Sixty
‘What do I think? I think you fancy your chances with Mamselle Veronica, that's what I bloody think!'
Pujol smiled, replacing his beer on the Cafe Navili's marble-topped table. 'You know what I mean. Did you believe her?'
`Implicitly. Every word she said was true, or at least she believed it was. That girl has never told a lie in her life. There, does that satisfy you?'
`Si. I am glad to hear you say it.'
`Think of it. What purpose would there be in getting her involved? Wide-eyed, totally honest, totally innocent. Her job, as she says, is to keep everybody happy — and who could be better at it? She's perfect. And, yes, for what it's worth, I think you might have scored there.'
Pujol grinned even more broadly. 'Do you think she will keep her word not to say anything to Vaudan about our visit?'
`I hope so. Let's just keep our fingers crossed that he doesn't ask her a direct question. I wouldn't like that to be her first lie. With any luck at all, though, Vaudan still thinks that his thing with the brick worked, and that I'm off the pitch. I'm bloody sure Garcia would do as he was told, and report mission accomplished. He'd better. He's got his testicles in a sling as it is. If he crosses me on this one, he'll have them for paperweights!'
Skinner reached into the left breast pocket of his shirt, and produced two folded sheets of fax paper. ‘But enough of him. I've got serious news on the Ainscow front. Take a look at this. You should be able to understand Edinburgh police jargon!' He handed over Mackie's fax.
Pujol scanned it quickly, then reread the second Section, his eyes widening.
`But this is incredible. You are watching this man Cocozza, and all this happens.'
`Yeah. We clock these three big dealers, then Ainscow walks slap bang into the middle of it. Arturo, if I'm reading this right, we haven't just got our link between Ainscow and Vaudan through those cheques. We know why they've been building up their cash mountain over the years. It's a bankroll for one of the biggest drugs buys ever made in Europe, enough to keep four cities high for years, and to make some people very, very rich. This is a classic deal. A straightforward supply chain leading from manufacturer to customer. Those three hooligans in the sauna, and Cocozza who'd like to be one of them, they’re the retailers. Ainscow, he and Vaudan, they're the wholesalers. And somewhere, if they haven't done it already, they're going to touch base with the manufacturers. And I don't need to tell you what the product is.'
Skinner's eyes gleamed with excitement. 'If I can find out from the man in Amsterdam where that money is, and keep a track of it, wherever it goes, then follow what it buys to its destination, then there's a chance that we can wrap up the whole supply chain in one go. And that would be some outcome, from a minor property fraud.
I wish I was going to Amsterdam first tomorrow. Fuck it, I wish I was going today!' `Can't you change your plans?'