I considered the request for a while. ‘Okay,’ I agreed, eventually. ‘You can do that. But you better come up with a cover story, a reason why you’re asking him to do it, other than the real one. I don’t want him even thinking about this mess.’
‘Understood. I’ll tell him that the man’s been found, that’s all, just found, and that rather than have Tom look at a line-up, all we need is for him to confirm that the scar matches what he saw.’
‘I can live with that; technically, it’s the truth, even if it does have holes in it. Get it under way and come to see us this evening.’
‘Will do.’
I was still a wee bit doubtful. ‘Alex,’ I ventured, ‘this wider search. It’ll be pretty futile, won’t it?’
‘Not necessarily. We’ll run the image against all Spanish nationals within a certain age group, looking for a match; also all the white male ex-pats we have on our criminal records. We won’t rule any nationality out,’ he chuckled, ‘for all our boy’s certainty that his man wasn’t any of the usual. We’ll also try immigration if we have to, in the hope that if he is foreign, he arrived in Spain by air. If so, our government will have a record of his passport information.’
‘I have a vision of a whole stack of haystacks and a very small needle,’ I told him, ‘but good luck to you.’
‘We are lucky sometimes.’ Alex grinned, ruefully. ‘Primavera, there’s one other thing,’ he continued. ‘This friend of Shirley’s, the man who asked you not to call us. We should speak to him; the only question is whether we should use discretion. What do you think?’
I stared at him. ‘Why are you asking me?’
‘Because I value your opinion.’
‘That’s flattering; it’s also bullshit. Why should you want to speak to him at all?’
He shrugged. ‘A man tried to rob him, failed, but got away. A couple of days later that man is found dead, killed in a cold and professional way. We have no reports of the guy trying to rob anyone else, so. . Mr Cowling is of interest to us, it’s clear.’
‘What would you do normally?’
‘I’d pick him up.’
‘Then why do differently in his case?’
‘That’s what I’m asking you.’
I decided to be difficult; I was doing Alex a big favour, and I wasn’t having him go all coy on me. ‘Why?’ I persisted.
He paused, as if he was having trouble explaining his motivation, even to himself. ‘I suppose it’s the fact that you went along, even for a little while, with his wish that you didn’t report the incident. You’re my close friend and you know that what he asked you was irregular. You hardly know this man, and yet he persuaded you to go against what I know to be your instincts. That makes me wonder whether there’s more to him than it appears. So, do you know something about him?’
I was boxed in, firmly; I couldn’t prevaricate any longer, even suppose it had been Hector Gomez who’d been quizzing me, rather than Alex. ‘Honest answer, no,’ I told him. ‘He told me the first time we met that he’s a retired British civil servant.’
‘But. .?’
‘No buts. That’s what he is.’
He grinned at me. ‘So you checked. I knew you would.’ He paused. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll start smoking again myself if I have to spend much longer in this man’s company.’
We slipped out of the tent, back into the clearing. Magda had gone, leaving only a couple of crime scene officers, who appeared to be searching the area, square centimetre by square centimetre, looking for … anything that didn’t belong there, I supposed. I looked around and saw Hector Gomez, leaning against a tree, taking a long drag on what would not have been his first cigarette.
‘So,’ Alex continued, his tone questioning, once more, ‘I can tell the boss we should pick up Mr Cowling and interview him formally? That’s what you think?’
Bugger! was actually what I thought. Not what I said, though. ‘I think that Patterson was a victim of an attempted crime,’ I replied, a little testily. ‘I don’t see what you’d gain by interviewing him other than ticking a couple of boxes.’
‘Oh, I dunno,’ he countered. ‘There is that connection between him and the victim, and Shirley’s house is no more than a couple of kilometres from here.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Alex,’ I exclaimed. ‘That’s ridiculous. Quite apart from being a pleasant, peaceable human being, the man is portly and pushing seventy. He’s not Daniel bloody Craig or Jason bloody Statham.’
‘You don’t have to be, to rip someone open with a shotgun.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ I snapped in English, even more exasperated. ‘Go ahead then, pick him up and clamp electrodes to his testicles, or whatever it is that you guys do. But you’ll still get no more good from it than those same ticked boxes. On the other hand, you have no idea of the shit you might bring down on yourself!’
As soon as I’d said it, I knew that I’d underestimated my friend. He didn’t need to electrify people to get results. All he needed was quiet, indirect cross-examination for them to eventually tell him everything they knew. . or in the case of me and Patterson Cowling, didn’t know.
‘Indeed?’ he murmured. ‘And where would that fall from?’
‘Look, Alex,’ I sighed. ‘I’m not going to spell it out to you, because nobody spelled it out to me. You do what you believe you have to do, or whatever Hector orders you to do, but look out for yourself at the same time.’
‘We will,’ he promised. ‘Hector doesn’t even know about Mr Cowling’s connection with the dead man. All I told him was that the scar and the gold tooth made me think of your report and Tom’s description. From what you say, there’ll be no harm done to anyone if I leave it that way.’
‘Good.’ I glanced at my watch. Time was getting tight; I had to pick Jonny up from Pals and get back to L’Escala for five. ‘Can I go now?’
‘Sure. Thanks for your help, for all of it. There’s an artist I know who lives near here and isn’t squeamish. I’ll ask him to do a sketch from a photograph and bring it round for Tom to look at. We should go too; we need to get as much manpower as we can to organise a wider search of the area in case the dead man’s clothing, and maybe even the murder weapon, was dumped somewhere near.’
‘Do you think that’s likely?’
‘Not at all. But I need to get Hector out of here as well. He’s not as tough as he pretends, and at the rate he’s smoking, he’s liable to set the forest on fire.’
Six
The boys were on the clubhouse terrace when I returned, each drinking what I hoped were only colas, and not Cuba Libres. Bacardi hangovers are not recommended on the morning of the biggest day of your life. I’d barely sat down before a spritzer arrived, in a tall glass, with ice and a slice of lemon. The barman there knows how I like them.
‘How did you do?’ I asked.
‘I finished five under,’ Jonny replied. He smiled. ‘When you left, Auntie, you took my competitive edge with you.’
‘Just as well I did,’ I said, cheerfully. ‘It wouldn’t have done you any good, the day before a tournament, to have your ass whupped by a middle-aged woman.’
‘Never happen,’ he drawled, ‘and you’re not middle-aged.’
‘Don’t you believe it. Five years ago, you’d never have got to four up on me.’
His eyes gleamed, and I saw a flash of his uncle. ‘Five years ago, I’d have been giving you a lot fewer shots.’
‘There is that,’ I conceded.
‘What did the cops want?’ Uche asked, boldly. For an instant, I registered annoyance in Jonny’s eyes, as if he’d known that I’d have told them in my own time, without being pushed. . or not, if that was my choice.
‘They had something they weren’t quite sure about,’ I said, carefully, ‘and they thought that I might be able to help.’