a note anywhere?' Pujol shook his head. 'Okay, let's you and I take a look and see if it's upstairs. Come on.'
He led the way up the curving, tiled staircase to the upper floor of the house, and into the Albernis' bedroom. The safe was where Senora Alberni had said it would be, but it was bolted to the floor. Skinner knelt beside it and unlocked it with the small golden key. Even with the doors of the wardrobe wide open, it was dark inside and difficult to see. He felt inside the safe, and lifted out two boxes, its only contents. He carried them across to the dressing table and set them down. One was a jewel box, secured by a clasp. Skinner flicked it open, and found not jewels but an assortment of documents. Pujol examined them one by one. 'Marriage certificate, birth certificates, life insurance, household insurance; all of these are personal documents. I see no letter from Alberni.'
`And no family jewels either. Maybe they kept them in the cigar box.' Skinner lifted the wooden lid of the second box. Pujol gasped with surprise, and muttered a Spanish imprecation. Skinner's reaction was confined to a slight raising of the eyebrows.
The cigar box was stuffed with Spanish banknotes. Pujol picked up a handful and flicked through it — then another, then another. 'It is in notes from one thousand pesetas to ten thousand.'
`How much d'you reckon is there?'
Pujol did not answer at once. Instead, he took out all of the cash from the box and arranged it in separate piles of one-thousand, two-thousand, five-thousand and ten-thousand peseta notes. He picked each bundle up in turn, flicking through it with his thumb, nodding continuously as he did, as if keeping count. Eventually he put the last bundle down. 'I'd say that there is a little over five million pesetas there.'
`In sterling,' said Skinner, 'that's twenty-five grand.'
'So Senor Alberni did not have the money problems of which we were told.'
`Maybe having all this money was his problem. It all fits together, Arturo. Alberni's a thief. He does Pitkeathly, then word gets to him on the L'Escala grapevine that a Scottish copper's in town and looking for him. He panics — so much so that this morning he goes up the rope.'
`Who would know you were going to see him? I did not tell anyone.'
`You wouldn't have to. Scotland does a check on Alberni through your police national computer. A copy comes in for you. You come to see me. And you have to leave word with your office where you are. Yes?' Pujol nodded in confirmation.
`Okay, you run a police force, and police forces, regrettably, run on gossip.' Pujol smiled a wry smile of agreement. 'By yesterday afternoon it's bar talk wherever your people drink, maybe in that bar up in Avinguda Girona, that there's a problem with Alberni, and that a guy's come all the way from Scotland to see him, a guy so heavy that the Commandante goes to visit him. A friend of Alberni hears this and passes it on. Or maybe Alberni has a source in your building: someone who feeds him information. Don't be offended; corruption happens in many places, and stupidity is universal.
`Professionally I hate easy answers. But this one is so fucking obvious that even I can't ignore it. We have to ask the lady about this cash. I'll do it. She'd probably still be frightened by that green uniform of yours.'
`Si, please do that. You take the money. I will lock the safe.'
Skinner picked up the box and went downstairs at a trot. Gloria Alberni had finished the phone call to her father, and had resumed her seat. She was dabbing her eyes with a small white handkerchief. Skinner guessed that the first aftershock was heading her way.
`Senora, what can you tell us about this?' He showed her the box, and raised its lid.
The woman's tear-filled eyes opened wide with surprise. `Where did you find that?'
`It was in your husband's safe.'
`I have never seen that before. How much money is there?'
‘Pujol reckons five million pesetas.'
`Five million,' she gasped. 'What was Santi doing with five million in his safe?'
`Could it have been cash he was holding for a client?'
`No way. Santi always banked clients' cash as soon as he received it. He banked with Banca Catalana, here in L'Escala.
I know he had a special arrangement with them, so that he could make deposits even when the bank was closed.'
‘Pujol will want to find out where it came from. You understand?'
`Si. I want to know where it came from! Five million pesetas! Almost under my bed!'
Thirty
‘Boss! What can I do for you?' Brian had been expecting a call from a friend to confirm a golf tie. Instead he heard Skinner's voice, crystal-clear, via satellite.
`You can listen and do what I ask. It'll keep my phone bill down if it's arranged at your end. I want you to contact Paul Ainscow and get him on the first plane out here. He's needed here now to go through the accounts of InterCosta. But you'll have to break some bad news to him. His partner Alberni hanged himself this morning. We found twenty-five grand's worth of used notes in his safe. It looks as if Pitkeathly's just the tip of the iceberg.'
Brian Mackie whistled. 'Tough on Ainscow. Is there anything else you want me to tell him?'
`No — other than that he should probably have legal advice handy, and a good accountant. We'll want to go through those books with a fine-tooth comb.'
`That's twice you've said 'we', boss. Are you helping out there?'
`Yes. Arturo Pujol's asked me to give him a hand because of the UK interest. Sort of unofficial liaison.'
What's Sarah saying to that?'
Skinner laughed. 'He's cute, my friend Arturo. He invited her to observe their pathologist at work on Monday, knowing she'd jump at the chance. So she can hardly dig me up. Anyway, we're both keen that this is cleared up as quickly as possible, for the sake of Alberni's widow. Nice woman. Sarah's looking after her now. She's given her a sedative from the
He hung up and went out to join Sarah on the terrace. He found her in a bikini, walking Jazz up and down in her arms. He was awake and as bright as the day, taking a greater interest than ever in his surroundings, and in the things going on about him. Sarah had dressed him in a pale-blue sun-suit, and a wide brimmed sunhat fastened under his chin.
`Here, gimme a shot,' said Bob. Sarah passed the wriggling baby to him and sat down on a cushioned sun- bed. She unclipped her bikini top, picked up a yellow bottle of Delial factor four, and stretched out on her back to prepare herself for the sun.
Shielding him from the sun with his body, Bob turned the baby to face the Bay of Rosas. The bite-shaped expanse of blue water seemed to be alive with windsurfers. 'Fancy some of that, Jazz boy?' The baby wriggled and gurgled in his arms. 'Never done any myself, but I'm sure it'll become second nature to you.'
He felt the wriggling subside. 'Time to go back to the buggy, is it? Come on, then.' He laid the unprotesting baby in his mobile crib and, stripping off his shirt, settled on a recliner alongside Sarah.
`Is Gloria out for the count?' he asked.
`Yes. I found a good strong sedative down there. It isn't really over-the-counter stuff, even here, but I flashed my stethoscope and ID at him, and used Arturo's name to back them up. He came across without an argument.'
`How long will she be out?'
`Let's see. It's three now. I'd say till seven, anyway. I've got some Librium for when she wakes up. When did she think her father would get here?'
`She hoped he'd make it for eight. Where will they stay?'
`At her place. I asked her if she wanted them to be booked into the Bonaire or the Nieves Mar, but she said no. I suspect she was worried about cost, but she didn't say so — just that she'd have to face it some time, and it might as well be now.'
`She's a brave lady.'
