Quintin Jardine - A Coffin For Two

It worked. Almost. The skeleton moved in one piece. The skull stayed where it was, grinning at us as wickedly as one of those bloody monkfish. That almost did me in. Just for a second, I thought that the fish was going to make a return appearance. But I mastered the rising sensation at the back of my throat, as Miguel reached down and pulled the skull into the sheet, then wrapped it fully round the body.

We lifted it out, holding either end taut like a sack, and carried it down to the Minana pick-up. A long crate lay in the back. ‘In there,’ said Miguel. Very gently we laid our pal in his new, temporary, coffin.

Carefully, we smoothed out the marks where he had laid within the stone box, checking to make sure that not as much as a toenail was left behind. We replaced the lid, ajar like Jordi had found it, and putting some of the earth which he had removed back inside for luck. Then we dismantled our screen and smoothed out our footprints.

‘Come.’ Miguel signalled me to follow. He was in full command now, as we climbed into the Toyota truck. He allowed it to run down the slope, away from the village before switching on the engine and engaging gear. We drove quietly through the wooded track, then out on to the road and away from the village.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

‘Not far, but far enough. To the woods behind L’Escala.’

The journey took less than five minutes. He headed towards the town, but instead of going in, swung round past the hypermarket and on, up towards an area called Riells de D’Alt, where Prim and I had never ventured. He simply drove until the road ran out, then a bit further, into the edge of a wood, running the truck between the first few trees so that it was out of sight. Eventually he drew to a halt and reached for the torch.

He jumped out of the car, surprisingly nimbly and shone the torch on a deep ditch at the edge of the tree-line. It might have been intended for drainage, or as a firebreak, or both. ‘Over there,’ he said. Following his lead, I helped him unload the crate from the back of the truck and carry it across to the long trench. Together we lifted out the black sheet, and its contents, then lowered it into its new resting place.

‘Okay,’ said a coolly efficient Miguel I had not known before that night. ‘Now pull.’ Together we tugged the shroud, and the skeleton rolled out. We arranged the bones carefully, to avoid any suspicions that the body might have been moved.

‘That’s good enough. Now, some wood.’ He plunged back into the wood, with me on his tail. As quickly as we could we gathered fallen branches and other debris and placed them over the bones in a makeshift cover.

At last, Miguel stood up and beamed: a sardonic smile of satisfaction. ‘There, Oz. Now they can find the poor man, any time they like. And tomorrow before the men from the town hall came to work, I will call the mayor and tell him that my son has found a body from the Romans. All will be as it should.’

He looked at me. ‘We work hard. You want to go for a drink now.’ As I looked at him in astonishment he reached behind the driver’s seat of the truck and produced a flask and two clean glasses. In the moonlight he filled each with strong, smooth new red wine. We looked east as we drank, at the first intimation of the new day, away out on the edge of the sea.

We finished the flask in half an hour. Miguel spent the time telling me of his national service. He had served his time in the Spanish navy. Towards the end, his ship had been ordered to North Africa, to help in rescue and recovery following a Moroccan earthquake.

‘After that, my friend, tonight’s work was, as you might say, a slice of cake.’ He threw the last drops of his wine on the ground, as if to bless the poor sod we had just reburied.

‘Come, or the Senora Prim and the Senora Maria will think we went to the place beside the go-karts.’

‘What the hell is the place beside the go-karts?’

His smile lit up the dying night. ‘Ah, Senor Oz! I see there are things you still have to learn about L’Escala!’

I was aware, but only dimly, of a nose, buried in my chest and sniffing.

‘Badedas,’ said Prim, approvingly. ‘So you did have a shower before you got back in here.’

‘Course,’ I murmured, and rolled over.

‘I love the smell of Badedas,’ she said, following me. ‘It turns me on.’

‘What doesn’t?’ I whispered in her ear, as I settled on my back, far too tired for any serious exertion, but far too interested to stay asleep.

Afterwards, I knew I was really in the good books when she brought me breakfast in bed. Sliced tomatoes, and a baguette, bought as dough in a batch and baked in our own oven. We ate together, sitting up, looking out of the open terrace door across the sun-washed bay, with our naked backs cool against the wooden headboard.

‘It went all right, then?’ asked Prim, at last.

‘Mmm,’ I said, wiping a sliver of tomato from my chin. ‘He’s gone, the poor bugger, and St Marti is saved for tourism, saved from the attentions of the coppers and the tax inspectors.’

She looked up at me. ‘Er, where did you put him?’

‘Up behind Riells, in the back of beyond.’

‘Are you sure you’ll be able to find him again, in the daylight?’

‘Sure. In a couple of days we’ll be able to go for a walk, like we agreed, and just sort of accidentally stumble over the poor bugger.’ If the dogs haven’t found him first, came as an afterthought, but stayed unspoken.

‘Can’t we go today?’

I shook my head. ‘No, we should give him a couple of days to … settle into his new surroundings. Anyway, I’ve got something else to do today.’ I glanced at the time. It was five minutes past midday. ‘Scratch today; make it tomorrow.’

We had been so busy cooking and enjoying the monkfish the night before that I hadn’t told Prim about my conversation with Ellie. She listened as I explained about my sister’s decision, her husband’s ultimatum, and my decision to involve myself.

‘You don’t mind me driving up to Lyon, do you?’

She squeezed my arm and rubbed her forehead against it. ‘Course not. Any sister of yours is a sister of mine. Allan’s a prat and a boor, and he needs to be told so. Let him know too that if it does get to court, he needn’t think he can rely on outspending her.’

I smiled. That was what I’d hoped she’d say. Then a mischievous thought struck me, and I nudged her. ‘Hey, what you said about sisters. If Dad and Auntie Mary get hitched, will that apply to Jan too?’

She looked at me, sideways. ‘Given Jan’s circumstances,’ she said at last, with a grin, ‘I think it can.’

All at once she stretched herself, as only Prim can, a real stre-e-e-etch, arms straight above her head, back arched, breasts thrust out, and looked around the room. ‘Ugh!’ she shouted, suddenly enough to startle me, and pointed towards the doorway to the living room. ‘Those!’ My sweatshirt, jeans, socks and jockeys lay where I had dropped them before taking my Badedas shower. ‘My God, think where they’ve been. Oz, they’re for the wash right now.’

She jumped out of bed, pulling on her towelling robe, and trotted around to my pile of discards. Gingerly, she picked them up, patted the pockets of the jeans to check for change and keys. She paused, then reached into the right hand pocket. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, holding it up.

Right at that moment, I had no conscious memory of how the watch had got into my pocket. But I knew at once what it was, and from the look on my face, Prim guessed in the same second where I had found it.

‘Euchh!’ she cried, and tossed it away from her, on to the bed. ‘Horrible! Clean it up for God’s sake. Better still, get rid of it.’Without waiting for my reaction she disappeared towards the kitchen, carrying my clothes.