'Cakebread.'
He turned to give an enquiring glance to the lieutenant, but he shook his head.
'Cakebread, did you say? Is that a common name in England?'
'No, sir, it's very unusual.'
He thought for a few seconds, then asked: 'This Cakebread; what did you intend to do if you saw him?'
I'd wondered about that myself. My brain did what passes for racing to think of a plausible course of action. The results impressed me. 'We think he may be involved in drug smuggling. I had information that he was due back in England on Thursday, but I didn't know whether it was last Thursday or next. If he's still here, it must be next.'
'When you say: 'We think he may be involved in drug smuggling,' who do you mean?'
'Just myself, sir. My evidence is only hearsay, and I really am here on holiday. I'm acting completely without authority and apologise for the problems I've caused you.' I shrugged my shoulders and risked a smile. 'It's the only way I know to enjoy myself.'
He didn't return my smile, but he said: 'Yes, Inspector Priest, I know what you mean.'
I wondered if I'd be able to make myself a coffee if I killed them both, but decided against it I was in enough trouble. I said: 'There is one other thing, Captain Diaz.'
He raised an eyebrow that invited me to enlighten him.
'Cakebread had a colleague called Truscott. Truscott supposedly died in a fire, but the body was unrecognisable. I think he may be alive, possibly living in Spain. I'd hoped I might see him.'
He stood up and walked over to the window. He looked out for a few seconds, then resumed his seat. 'Inspector Priest,' he began, 'it is a sad fact that there are many international gangsters living on the Costa del Sol. But not everyone who is wealthy is a thief. Well, not according to the law.' He gave a wry smile. 'We have many influential people visiting Puerto, very influential indeed. We are constantly alert for would-be terrorists and kidnappers. You were seen behaving suspiciously. That is why you were arrested. I apologise if my men were rough with you, but I am sure you understand that you were not in order. I am told you were quite rough with one of them.' He gave another hint of a smile.
'Yes, sir. Sorry about that. Is he all right?'
'He's not at work this morning. He was too close to you; I'm sure he will learn his lesson. When are you leaving Spain?'
I had a choice? I'd expected to be run out of town on a pole. 'In four days, if that's all right.'
'That's all right. Please leave word of where you are staying, and I would be grateful to receive a report and information on Mr…'
'Cakebread,' I offered.
'Yes, Mr. Cakebread. You are free to go, Inspector, but I would appreciate it if you spent the rest of your holiday sightseeing. The Alhambra is very beautiful.'
'Thank you, I'll take your advice, and you'll have the reports as soon as possible. One small problem: I don't know where I am.'
'Don't worry, Ramon will take you back to your car.' He turned to the lieutenant and gave him some instructions, adding: 'Goodbye, Inspector.'
The surly Ramon dropped me off on the quay. He made no attempt to communicate in the car, so I busied myself rethreading my trainers. The Jag was where I'd left it. I fished my watch out of the envelope; there was time to make it back to the hotel, have a shower and catch the end of breakfast. I'd had a lucky escape. I left Puerto Banus without casting a glance in the direction of the Pelican.
I hung the 'Do not disturb' notice on the door handle and crashed out on the bed. Around lunchtime I had a walk round a few shops and bought an exercise book so that I could map out a report for Captain Diaz. I had coffee and a pastry and went back to the room to do the report.
Then I dossed on the bed again until it was time to start getting ready for my appointment with George and the paella. I was ready for it.
Seven thirty sharp I walked on to the end of the Carahuela. George was already there, standing alongside his car. He looked pleased to see me.
'Charlie! How are you? Glad you could make it. I was a little early, so I had a look round for your car. Couldn't see it anywhere. Thought perhaps you'd gone off again for the day and not got back.'
'Hello, George,' I said. 'I'm fine, thanks. They let me put it round the back of the hotel, away from sticky fingers and lager louts. Where do you fancy eating?'
'Anywhere, I think most of these places are the same. How about this one?'
We'd walked past the first restaurant and were standing outside the next one. It had already attracted several evening diners, and a waiter was going round lighting the lanterns on the tables. It looked tempting and businesslike. He saw us hovering and came over.
'A table for two, gentlemen?' he asked in English.
I wondered if it was my Marks and Spencer, or George's Country Life look that gave us away. We sat down so that George had the view out to sea, while I could watch the four women at the next table. A perfect arrangement. No messing about with the menu: it was a carafe of the local red and the house speciality paella. I also ordered some water in deference to my recent brain operation.
Being with an attractive woman would have made it perfect. Sharing the evening with Annabelle Wilberforce would have been riches beyond my dreams. But in any company, quaffing soft red wine as the sun sinks behind you, eating passable food and sharing anecdotes makes a reasonable approximation of what heaven must be like. George was good company. Eventually, tongue loosened by the grape, I confessed that I was a policeman off duty, of course and we swapped service stories well into the night. We discovered that men in uniform have similar ways of relieving the tension or boredom of their chosen professions. Ways that were always funny, and usually vulgar.
Our laughter was echoed by the women at the next table. They were having a good time, too. I kept exchanging glances with the dark-haired one in the red dress. Every time George rocked his head back to give one of his guffaws, I gave her a smile. She smiled back.
I had a feeling that I'd seen her in the Cala d'Or, but it could have been desire triumphing over reality.
George said he was okay to drive. He'd only had coffee over the last couple of hours, so he was probably right. He gave me his card and I promised to ring him before I went home. I meant it, too. We stood up and shook hands. It was an extended, jovial goodbye. George said something to the ladies at the table behind him, then noticed that we had a drop of wine left. He shared it amongst them with a flourish. As he walked to his car I caught the waiter's eye and gestured for another coffee. I sat down in the seat George had left, near the lady in red, and half facing her.
'Your friend enjoyed himself,' she said.
'Yes, I hope he did,' I replied, adding: 'I'm having quite a pleasant evening myself.'
I watched him reverse out of his parking place, then the long bonnet swung round and the Jaguar slid up the hill out of sight. There was a junction in about fifty yards where he would have to stop. As he pulled away a scooter engine burst into noisy life in the shadows just beyond him. Two youths were on it, and they followed George up the hill. The waiter arrived with my coffee. He put it down near me, but on the ladies' table; he was a professional.
'Would anyone…' I began.
There were two loud cracks, from what sounded like a heavy-calibre pistol. I sat, frozen, for half a second that felt like an eternity, then I was up and running.
I jumped on to the low wall that separated us from the first restaurant, stepped in the middle of someone's table, scattering food and crockery, and cleared the wall at the other side. I was in the street. George's car was at the junction, the scooter alongside it.
The scooter rider had messed up his getaway; he'd dropped the clutch too quickly and nearly stalled the engine. It was pop-popping and throwing up a cloud of blue smoke. I could catch him. I could catch the bastard and screw his fucking head off. Ten yards. The engine burst into full song. Four yards; he was screaming the engine, determined not to make the same mistake again. My outstretched fingers clutched for the collar of the passenger's jacket.
I grabbed a bunch of leather just below the collar, but I couldn't hold on to it. As they pulled away my
