Quintin Jardine: On Honeymoon With Death

Fortunato looked at me, as if he was glad of an excuse to escape his wife’s withering gaze. ‘What does she mean?’

I tossed him Capulet’s key-ring. ‘That’s what they’ve been after. His set of keys to his treasure house; his sister has the others, but she doesn’t know where the boxes are.

‘I was told that your wife and the Frenchman had a relationship once, so it occurred to me that she could have an idea about where they might be hidden. She did.’

He nodded. ‘Very good, my dear. Very good, Oz. But I don’t suppose she could tell you who “They” are. . or “Him”, at least.’

‘She didn’t have to.’ I picked up my dad’s Hogmanay snapshot and handed it to him.

He stared at it, pop-eyed, taking in the face below the ‘X’. ‘The son of Senora Gash? What makes you say that?’

‘My father showed that picture to Susie Gantry. She identified him as the man in JoJo’s; the guy who spiked her drink. I sold him Capulet’s old car; to be broken into parts, I thought, and shipped to Russia. He tore it apart looking for those keys, and the paper that goes with them, pointing the way to all his safe-deposit hoard.’

I paused. ‘Have you had that photo from Interpol yet?’ I asked him.

‘Of Lucille Capulet? Yes.’

‘Right. So take a look at John’s girlfriend and picture her with glasses and darker hair.’

His pop-eyes went narrow. ‘ Puta ,’ he whispered.

‘Shirley thinks they went home last week, only they didn’t. They hung around, trying everything they could to clear me out of this house.’ I laughed. ‘They should just have killed me. . No fucking way you’d have caught them, if you’d even tried.’

He ignored the crack. ‘Are you saying they are still here?’

‘I don’t know, chum. They may have cut and run after I found Capulet’s body; but they may be hanging around for one last shot at the goodies, after I go back to Scotland.’

‘But where could they hide? L’Escala in the winter is a small place, in terms of people at least.’

‘Exactly. There are thousands of empty properties here; they could have broken into any one of them, and be using it as a hide-out.’

The captain shook his head. ‘That could be risky. They would need to know for sure that the owner didn’t employ a caretaker.’

He had a point there. And then a light flashed on and off, off and on, in my head, directing me to the obvious hiding place for John Gash. ‘Shirley’s old house,’ I exclaimed. ‘What’s the betting that it’s empty right now? She sold it to an Aussie; it’s their summer and they’re playing a test match at the moment.’

‘I know where it is,’ he said. ‘But it has an alarm system. Again, too risky.’

‘Don’t you believe it, mate. There’s a summerhouse there, with everything they’d need in a hide-out. And last time I saw it, it wasn’t alarmed.’

‘It’s worth a look. I’ll go up there now. Thank you, Oz. Vero, you can go home now.’

‘Hold on a minute,’ I told him. ‘I’m coming too.’

‘You can’t,’ he exclaimed, as he picked up Capulet’s list, folded it and put it in his pocket. ‘This is a police matter. I’ll go alone; if I have to break into the property and there’s no one there, I don’t want any of my men to see.’

I looked at him even harder than his wife had. ‘It is also a personal matter, Ramon. This lad could have killed my wee pal Susie. He probably took a shot at my car when I had my nephews in it. I want at least one good pop at him before you cart him off to the nick.

‘On top of that, he’s killed a couple of people so far. No way will I let you go up there on your own.’

He gave in more easily than I’d expected. I guessed that my last point had hit the mark.

I realised that Veronique was staring at us, from one to the other. ‘You have your gun, Ramon?’ she asked. He flicked aside his jacket to show her a revolver in a hip holster. It looked like a Colt 38. I’d used one as a prop in my first movie. I hoped that Ramon’s wasn’t loaded with blanks.

‘Be careful, still,’ she said; but she was looking at me when she spoke.

She left as we did, driving off in her Ford Ka, and we climbed into the policeman’s Seat Cordoba.

Shirley’s old house was on the other side of town, in a place called Puig Sec by the locals, and Millionaires’ Row by the ex-pats. It took us ten minutes to get there. I knew the layout better than Fortunato; he would have parked at the main entrance, but I directed him round to a street at the back. The night was clear and moonlit; I looked at the silhouette of the villa and realised that the Aussie had knocked it around a bit. A structure not unlike the lookout tower of a prison had been added to the upper floor.

I tried the back gate; it was unlocked. We slipped inside, relieved that the hinges didn’t squeak. A silver Ford Cougar sat on a paved area inside; I recognised it. It had British plates, and the last time I’d seen it, it had been parked in Shirley’s drive.

I nodded to Fortunato and led him down the sloping path, towards the garden. All the windows of the summerhouse look out on to the villa’s big swimming pool, so I knew there was no chance of us being seen; not at that point, anyway.

The summerhouse was actually meant by the architect to be a glorified barbecue, but somewhere along the way a couple of bedrooms were added and it was turned into a guest bungalow. But the main living area was open to the elements, enclosed by two big wooden doors. As we drew close, I could see that at least one of them was open. A little light spilled out, although it was almost overwhelmed by the moonlight reflected by the pool.

I held up a hand. The captain took the signal and stopped beside me. We stood stock-still and listened. We couldn’t make out the words, but we heard voices, one male, one female; the fragments of conversation which did drift out to us were in English.

Fortunato drew his gun and pointed; I followed him as he stepped round the door.

John Gash and Lucille Capulet were sitting on plastic seats on either side of a black butane gas heater. They gasped in harmony as they saw us, then John jumped to his feet. He was close enough so I hit him, a lot harder than I had hit Steve Miller, bang on the temple, right on the spot you should aim for if you really want to lay someone as broad as they’re long.

He dropped like a stone, spark out for at least as long as it would have taken a referee to count to ten, even in a wrestling ring. Liam would have been proud of that one , I thought.

Lucille didn’t say a word; she just gave us a cold killer stare, and I knew right then who had shot Sayeed and put a cleaver through her brother’s head.

John started to come round, but his eyes were still glazed as the policeman waved him to his feet with the Colt. He struggled upright on shaky legs.

‘Go on,’ Fortunato barked, pointing to an open door which led to one of the bedrooms. ‘In there.’

They did as they were ordered, the two of us following, Ramon closing the door behind us all. The room had a double bed and a small dressing table. . on which lay eight long keys.

‘You know what those are, Oz, don’t you?’ he said.

I smiled, and nodded. And then he shot them, both of them; Lucille first, John second. No messing, right in the head. Bang! Bang! One shot each, no more needed. I’d been wrong. He did have the cojones to pull the trigger, after all.

The sound in that small room almost deafened me, but the nearest neighbours were a long way off. I looked down at the two of them, stunned. Lucille was still, with her right eye gone. John had a hole in the middle of his forehead; he twitched for a second or two, then stopped.