Medusa (15 page)

‘No, of course not. I do not insist.' He bowed politely as she took her cue and left the office. ‘May I use your telephone please?' He lifted the receiver and when he got through he spoke to somebody who was obviously his superior, reporting that he had discovered nothing new and telling him that they were on their way now to search the boat. ‘
Si, Jefe
. Señor Steele will be accompanying us.'

It took them a good hour to search the boat, and when they had finished, having failed to find what they were looking for, they settled themselves at the saloon table, the inspector taking out a notebook and beginning to scribble a report. Knowing from the phone call he had made in the office that they would stay here until their chief, an
inspector jefe,
arrived, I asked them whether they would like a drink. The inspector hesitated, then declined somewhat reluctantly. I told him I had work to do and would he excuse me, but he shook his head, becoming suddenly quite excited and making it very clear that I was to stay here on board.

‘For how long?' I asked him.

‘As long as is necessary.'

‘And if I go ashore now?'

‘I shall be forced to stop you.' He used the word
detentión
.

I went up on deck then and gave Carp a hand. He needed to go up the mast to reeve a new spinnaker halyard and wanted somebody else besides Luis on the winch. It was while we were hoisting him up in the bo's'n's chair that the
Inspector Jefe
arrived. As soon as Carp was at the top, we made the hoist fast and I went aft to welcome him.

‘Garcia Menendez.' He gave a little bow as we shook hands, his manner polite, but at the same time assertive, his sharp eyes, almost black in the sunlight, staring at me full of alert curiosity. ‘Inspector Molina, is he still here? … Good. Then we go inside where there are no distractions.' He made a gesture with his hand that seemed to embrace the sunshine, the water, all the movement of Mahon harbour at noon on a fine spring day. He had an engineer with him. He did not introduce him to me, but he did ask my permission before telling him to go ahead with a search of the engine compartments.

We went below and I offered him a drink. He shook his head, taking the inspector's place on the banquette and waving me to a position opposite him. The engineer was already slipping into a pair of white overalls. I watched him as he folded back the steps to the starb'd hull accommodation and probed the interior of the engine compartment with his torch. I felt slightly sick, knowing that somebody must have told them where to look. ‘Some questions please,' the
jefe
said. ‘Matters that have arisen in the course of our investigation. First, the ownership of this yacht which arrive here from Marseilles. There is a passenger on board. You know him?'

‘No.' And I explained about the deal Evans and I had agreed on, all the time conscious of the engineer working his way into the afterpart of the engine compartment. Like
so many engineers he was not a small man and I could hear him grunting with the effort of squeezing his way to a point where he could check the whole length of the prop shaft and the bilge cavity below it. There was no doubt about it – they had been told exactly where to look. If I hadn't got there before them … i would like to see the documents please.' Menendez's words, sharp and official, cut across my thoughts. ‘The documents of exchange,' he added. ‘You have exchanged a fishing boat and an uncompleted villa on Punta Codolar, you say, for this big catamaran yacht. Who is your lawyer?'

‘Martin Lopez.'

‘Ah
si
. And he has the documents I suppose?'

‘He is drawing them up,' I told him. ‘It was all done in rather a hurry.'

‘The ship's papers then. I would like to see the Certificate of Registry. Or are they also being prepared by your lawyer?'

That was when I realised how complete the trap had been, how cleverly prepared, for I couldn't produce the ship's papers, and all I could tell him was that I had seen them, but Evans had told me he had had to lodge them with the Banca Espagñol as security for a small overdraft he had requested after opening an account with them. ‘He is arranging for a copy to be sent to my lawyer.'

‘I have already spoken to Señor Lopez and he does not have it. He has sent it to England for the boat to be registered in your name.'

The engineer had emerged from the engine compartment, his overalls no longer white. He was breathing heavily and reported he had found nothing. ‘Then it is in the
other
engine,' Menendez said. The engineer nodded and crossed to the port side of the saloon beyond the chart table and lifted the steps that covered that engine. Menendez watched me, waiting for some sign of panic. ‘Also,' he said, speaking slowly, ‘there is some problem about the exchange document.'

‘What problem?' I asked him. It was the first I'd heard that there was any difficulty over the paperwork and from what he was saying it was obvious he had known every detail of the arrangement between Evans and myself before coming on board and asking me questions. But then in a place like Mahon, where everyone of importance knew everyone else, I suppose it is inevitable, particularly as I was an
extranjero
. ‘That's the first I've heard that there's any difficulty over the papers,' I told him. ‘Did you gather what the trouble was?'

‘Only that Señor Lopez was unable to contact this man Evans.'

‘He is away fishing. That's why he wanted the
Santa Maria
in a hurry, so that he could earn some money fishing.'

The
Jefe
nodded. ‘Of course. He is a
pescador
.' And then looking straight at me – ‘Do you think he is a good one?' The thick lips under the hooked nose gave me a little crooked smile.

‘I've no idea.'

‘But you let him go off with your boat, the
Santa Maria
, and with no proper security. You are a businessman, Seóor Steele. Does it surprise you that I find that a little strange?' He stared at me a moment, then switched his gaze to the torch-lit cavity of the open engine compartment, waiting for his engineer to report that he had found what they were looking for. ‘It is a question of dates,' he added, his eyes still fixed on the starb'd side, the fingers of his right hand tapping impatiently at the table top. ‘The precise date when you take over this boat.'

I sat there, feeling numb, the trap springing shut, and seeing the way they had planned it, the devilish simplicity of it. He was watching me again now, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. He offered me one, and when I said I only smoked a pipe, he laughed, and then in the act of lighting his own, quite casually, he said, ‘The
Cruz Rojo
. You remember? And after, when the fireworks are over, where
do you go then?' And when I didn't say anything, wondering what his question was leading up to, he went on, ‘It was the night of the gala Manuela Renato arrange in the Quarries above Figuera. We were both there. Remember?'

I nodded, wondering what Petra had said, or Soo, talking to the sisters, babbling under anaesthetic? Had they dreamed up a scenario in which I was involved in running contraband into the island?

‘No,' he said. ‘You don't forget because in the early hours of the morning your wife gives birth prematurely and your baby is dead.'

‘Have you found the men?' I asked him. ‘The two men who pushed her down the slope in their haste to get out of that cave?'

He shook his head. ‘No. I don't think we ever will. They are not Menorquin and we think they almost certainly leave the island very soon after.' And he added, ‘Unless they go to the mainland of Spain, it is very difficult for us to trace their movements. Even in Barcelona, if they take the ferry, it is simple for them to disappear across the French border. No,' he said again, ‘we do not know anything about them. What we do know, however, is that the night before there is a boat in Cales Coves and it is tied up against the rocks below the cave you were in that night. We have a description of that boat, a description that is indicative of a single mast and two hulls. We have checked with the harbour authorities and there is no boat of such description in either Mahon or Ciudadela, not in Fornells either – only this one.'

‘So,' I said. ‘What is the significance of that?' But I knew bloody well what was in his mind.

He was smiling now. ‘Did you know there is a landward exit from that cave?' And when I explained we had been solely concerned with the two men who had rushed out from that passage, he nodded. ‘Of course. And it is unfortunate about the father of Senorita Callis, that she is not here to answer some questions.'

‘You're checking, I suppose, that her father really does exist, that his car accident did happen?'

‘Of course. It takes time, and meanwhile you are here to answer all our questions. Let us suppose,' he said, his eyes almost closed. ‘It is just a thought, eh? Suppose it is this yacht that is in Cales Coves the night before she take you to that cave. What do you think it might be doing there?'

‘Sheltering, I suppose.'

‘Why? Why Cales Coves and not Mahon or Ciudadela?'

‘If they'd had a longish passage, from Mallorca or Corsica –'

‘Or Tunis,' he said softly. ‘Somewhere along the shores of North Africa.'

‘If there'd been a passage like that,' I told him, ‘with poor weather conditions you can get awfully tired, even in a stable boat like this. Then you just put in to the first shelter you find, head down and lights out.'

He nodded, still with that little smile. ‘Of course. I understand. But no navigation lights when coming in. Also there is a light in that cave mouth for a full hour before the boat appear. That is what attracted the attention of this witness we interview.' He paused, watching me. ‘The boat has no lights all the time it was tied up under the cliffs, and there is no light any longer in the cave mouth. But there is the occasional flash of torches. There was a moon, you see, and some cloud in the sky.' He sat back, suddenly relaxed. ‘Well now, you are a businessman, Seóor Steele, you have a position in Menorca, Spanish friends. But it was not always like that, eh? Before you come to Menorca, before your marriage. So, what does the description I have given you of what our witness saw suggest to you?'

If I said it suggested smuggling, he would think I was involved. If I said it didn't suggest a damn thing, he'd know I was lying and be even more suspicious.

‘You don't say anything?'

I shrugged, stretching my face into a smile. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.'

‘You have been to Bisley?' The question took me by surprise. But of course, somebody would have told him about the cups. The inspector might have taken a note of them and reported. ‘You are a good shot I think.' He was smiling again, the eyes bright like a bird that has seen a particularly succulent snail.

I nodded. ‘Why? What's that got to do with it?'

He sat there, smiling still, and not answering, everything so quiet I could hear the distant chime of the cathedral clock. ‘Look, for God's sake! I was there, right beside Jorge Martinez, sitting in front of a whole crowd of people. However good a shot I was at Bisley, there's no way I could have done it.'

‘No. But there is somebody else. Antonio Barriago. You know him? A Spaniard who live in Algiers.'

Barriago! We stared at each other. Had he been the passenger that American yachtsman had said was on
Thunderflash
when she arrived in Mahon? Had Evans sailed the boat from a North African port, merely calling in at Marseilles on the way? ‘What about him?' I asked. Barriago had been in the final shoot-off for the Oporto Cup, which was almost the last event I had taken part in.

‘You don't know him?' It was put subtly, an invitation to deny all knowledge.

‘No, I don't
know
him,' I said, ‘I've shot against him. That was three years ago and I haven't seen him since. Why?' And when he didn't say anything, just sat there staring at me, I asked him why he was searching the boat.

For a moment I thought he wasn't going to tell me that, but in the end he gave a little shrug and said, ‘Suppose it is Barriago who kill the Alcalde. And suppose – just suppose, Seóor Steele – he has been on board this boat –'

But I stopped him there. ‘I tell you, I haven't seen the man for three years.'

‘All right then. Suppose he is on board when Señor Evans
is the owner of it.' He nodded at the engineer's protruding feet. ‘That is why we are searching your boat. It has been in your possession since more than two weeks before the Alcalde is killed and we have been advised where is the most safe place for him to have hidden it.'

‘Who advised you?' I asked him.

But he had turned away, watching the engineer again as he began to wriggle backwards. ‘Now I think we know whether you are involved or not. ‘
Bueno?
' he asked.

The engineer grunted something unintelligible, and when he finally emerged, switching off his torch and standing there, wiping his hands and face on a bit of cotton waste, Menendez repeated his question, his voice sharp and urgent – ‘
Bueno y bueno, qué has encontrado
?'

‘
Nada
.' The engineer pulled up the steps, slamming the engine compartment shut. It was clear he had had enough of clambering round in the confined space of the yacht's engines.

Menendez turned to the inspector, checking the details of their earlier search. Then he gave a little shrug. ‘
Eh bueno
, it seems this boat is now clean.' He was staring at me, a hard look in his eyes as he emphasised the word
now
.

‘Barriago,' I said. ‘Why do you think he killed Jorge Martinez?'

‘You do not know?' Still that hard stare as he waited for an answer. ‘A man answering his description, but with a different name, took an Aviaco flight out of here for Mallorca less than two hours after the shooting. At Palma he changed planes and flew on to Tunisia. The police in Tunis are endeavouring to trace him for us.'