Quintin Jardine - On Honeymoon With Death

‘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.

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.’

‘After Jo poured it, did you drink it straightaway, or did you let it lie on the bar?’ I felt as if I was back at my old job, interviewing witnesses for lawyer clients.

‘No, it lay there for a bit. I know, because. . That’s right, one of the pool players, the younger one, came in to pay JoJo for his drinks. He got out his wallet and all his cards and stuff fell on the floor. I helped him pick them up.’

‘Aye, and while you were doing that, he slipped something into your drink.’

‘You think so?’ Susie exclaimed.

‘I’m bloody certain. Either he or the other guy did. Given the amount you’d had to drink, a simple sleeping powder would have done you in.’

‘Well, it couldn’t have been the older bloke. He was just coming through from the back room when the other fellow dropped his stuff. I remember seeing his feet when I was picking it up.’

‘This first guy. What did he look like?’

‘Let me think; tall, but then most men look tall to me, clean-shaven, wore glasses, dark hair, around thirty maybe.’

‘Nationality?’

‘I don’t know. JoJo spoke Spanish to him, but he never said a word; not even thanks to me, just a wee nod when I handed him his stuff. Then he put a note on the bar and left without waiting for his change, as if he was in a hurry.’

‘I guess he was.’ Maybe because he didn’t want me to see him.

‘Wait a minute, Oz. If this guy spiked my drink, then broke in and tried to do me, and it was all planned and everything, how did he know we’d be at JoJo’s in the first place?’

‘Who says he did? He might just have seen his chance and taken it. But no; I think he must have spotted us together earlier on and followed us there. I think his real aim was to get rid of me, not you.’

‘How?’

‘By having me huckled off by the police for doing you in, or at least for trying to.’

The breath she took was so deep I heard it clearly down the phone.

‘Oz. Get out of there now, please. You’re starting to worry me. Go and patch it up with Prim in Barcelona; come to me, even, if that’s what you want, but do something. ’

‘You think I’m cracking up?’ I laughed.

‘No, of course not, but you have had a hell of a time. I don’t like the thought of you being there on your own.’

‘It’s the way I want it, and don’t worry about me. Now, how are you?’

‘I’m all right. I phoned Prim and she tore me to ribbons, but when we were finished, I sort of had the impression that she would go back home in a couple of days, once you’ve had time to stew in it.’