Philip Kerr 9 страница

‘Have you met the police here in Attica, Mr Haak? ’

‘No, I can’t say that I have. ’

‘The way I see it, Mr Haak, I can do one of two things in a situation like this. I can look to see if I can do anything, anything at all to help sort it out; or I can do nothing. I’m generally the kind of person who likes to do something, even if that something turns out to be not very much. For all I know that might push me into the category of manager you don’t like, the kind who fucks things up. But, you know, I never mind fucking up just as long as I learn something. In that respect at least I’m just like the police. They fuck up all the time and it never seems to deter them. ’

‘Good for you, ’ he said. ‘And now because I’m a Dutchman, let’s talk about something more important. Let’s talk football. ’

Back at the Grande Bretagne I had a light dinner on my own in the Winter Garden restaurant next to Alexander’s Bar and contemplated my next move. The only people calling or texting me were journalists and someone called Anna Loverdos from the Hellenic Football Federation – the Greek equivalent of the FA – offering her assistance, as well as several other managers sympathising with London City’s plight, including José Mourinho, which struck me as a little out of character.

I watched a guy talking to a girl in the bar at the same table where I’d first met Valentina and after a while I knew I recognised the barman serving them as the same one who’d served us. After I charged my dinner to Vik’s suite, I went and sat at the bar under the sceptical eye of Alexander the Great who knew a thing or two about murder himself having connived at the death of his own father, Philip.

The guy with the girl at my old table was working hard to seem like a regular sort; he was from Australia, one of those impeccably casual, sockless types, with stubble that never seems to grow beyond a certain uniform length. But I figured he was on the wrong side of five feet six inches and while he was doing his best to seem relaxed, he wasn’t. Short guys are always bustling around like terriers to make up for their lack of inches; it’s fine if you’re Messi or Maradona but for most guys it’s a problem. Especially when they’re with a girl as tall as this one was; she looked like a Trojan prince’s wet dream with beanstalk legs, plenty of big black hair, and a bow mouth that was probably too big for Cupid but looked just right for me.

The barman came over and I ordered a Macallan 1973. At three hundred and ten euros a glass that got his attention; and it was his attention I wanted more than I wanted the Scotch. When he brought the bill, I put four crisp one hundred euro bills into the maroon leather folder and told him to keep the change. As he reached for the folder I covered it with my hand.

‘Maybe you remember me? ’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir, I don’t. ’

‘I was here a few weeks ago when Olympiacos played the German side, Hertha FC. I was in here with a girl. A Russian girl. Blonde. She wore a tweed minidress and Louboutin high heels. Her name is Valentina and I got the feeling you certainly remembered her from another time. On the Richter scale I would say she was at least an eight point nine. The kind of girl that causes major structural damage, even to earthquake‑ resistant wallets and credit cards. You remember her? ’

I removed my hand from the folder, sat back on the stool and sipped some of the Scotch. The barman was looking at the folder and trying to work out if a ninety euro tip was more than he was making in salary that evening; we both knew it was.

‘Come on. Aloysius Alzheimer would remember a girl like that. ’

With a pimp moustache, a dinner‑ plate waist and a Derby winner’s teeth, the barman looked like Freddy Mercury. He took the folder and laid it under the counter. ‘Valentina? Yes. I remember her. I wouldn’t say she’s a regular in this bar, but maybe once or twice a month she comes in here. ’

‘With a different guy? ’

‘Not every time. But always with someone like you. A foreigner with plenty of money. ’

‘A working girl. ’

He shrugged. ‘This is Greece, sir. Any work is good work, nowadays. Who can afford to be proud about such things? Look at me: I used to be a university lecturer, in Chemistry. Now I mix cocktails for fifteen hundred euros a month. For fifteen hundred euros a night, who knows what I would do? But a poutá na she was not. The doorman would never have allowed her in here. Excuse me for one minute, please. ’

He went away to make some drinks for a few minutes and then came back.

‘Did you ever see her with Bekim Develi, the footballer? ’

‘I liked him, ’ said the barman. ‘And now that he’s dead I wouldn’t like to cause his family any distress. He was almost as good a tipper as you are. ’

‘I’m his family, ’ I said. ‘As good as. I’m the manager of London City. My boss, Viktor Sokolnikov, is renting the royal suite. You might say we’re trying to do a bit of damage limitation. Damage to Bekim’s reputation, that is. The whole team is stuck in Athens until the police have satisfied themselves that there’s no connection between Bekim and the death of another working girl. ’

‘This was in the newspaper, yes, I know. ’

‘We don’t know this girl’s name, yet. But perhaps she was a friend of Valentina’s. That’s what I’m trying to find out. Another hair‑ salon blonde with a labyrinth tattoo on her shoulder. I figure the best way of us getting home is to prove that Bekim had nothing to do with her death, but we can only do that if we can identify her. And to do that I need to find Valentina. Valentina and the dead girl – they both had Bekim in common, you see. ’

‘I understand, sir. I’m prasinos, myself. Green through and through. I have no love for Olympiacos. The way that bastard Hristos Trikoupis behaved after the game was a disgrace to this country. I’m surprised you didn’t hit him. So I would enjoy it very much if you beat those bastards when next you play them. I tell you, it was the best moment of my life when the Greek Football Federation stripped the gavroi of all those points and took the championship away from them. So, I will tell you what I know.

‘Valentina – I don’t know her surname – but this was a nice woman, for a Russian. She always left me good tips, you know? Her Greek was very good. As was her English. She liked going to art galleries and museums. And she always carried a book, which is unusual. Also I think maybe she lived close to this hotel because one time when I was going home on my scooter I saw her walking in the street. She looked like she was also going home. Where was this now? Around the corner. Somewhere between Akademias and Skoufas. ’

‘Why do you think she was going home? ’

‘The streets are very steep there and she had her shoes off. The way women do when they’ve finished for the evening. Like they don’t mind if they get their feet dirty. ’

I nodded. ‘Fair enough. ’

‘In here I never seen her with any other guy I recognised. But I did see her with another girl. Not a girl with a labyrinth tattoo on her shoulder. Another girl. ’

‘Do you have a name for this other girl? ’

‘No. But I can tell you who this girl is. I can even tell you where to find her. ’ He looked across my shoulder and nodded at the girl with the beanstalk legs who even now was leaving the Alexander bar with her diminutive friend. ‘It was her. I’m sure of it. This girl was a friend of Valentina’s. She’s Russian, too. ’

I finished my Scotch and was about to follow them when the barman took me by the arm.

‘The guy with her is staying in the hotel. And I expect they’re going upstairs to his room. You wait there, and I’ll make sure. ’

He followed them out of the bar and was gone for a couple of minutes. When he came back he collected the leather folder and the bill off the table where the girl with the legs had been seated.

‘Mr Overton went up to room 327 with her. ’

‘How do you know? ’

The bar man grinned and flipped open the folder to reveal the bill with the Australian’s name and room number written there by him.

‘I followed them to the elevator, ’ he said. ‘Now all you have to do is wait for her to come down again. ’

I looked at my watch; it was just eight thirty. ‘It’s kind of early, ’ I said. ‘They could be a while, don’t you think? ’

The barman shook his head. ‘A girl like that costs a lot of money, ’ he said. ‘My guess is that she’ll be back down here in the lobby just before ten. You can set your watch by some of these girls. Tell you what: I’ll speak to the concierge and get him to send her up to your room when she’s through with the other guy. Until then, relax. Have another drink. ’

I ordered a beer. The Macallan 1973 was good, but it wasn’t worth three hundred and ten euros a glass. Nothing is.

My iPhone rang in the royal suite. It was Peter Scriven, the team’s travel manager.

‘The hotel manager is already asking me how long I think we’re going to be here. He’s got other guests who are arriving at the weekend. The Ministry of Culture is trying to find us another hotel but it’s high season and things are tight. ’

‘They can’t have it both ways. They can’t forcibly detain us in their country and throw us out of our fucking hotel. Can they? ’

‘I wouldn’t put it past them, boss. This is Greece. From what I’ve read about us in the papers we should count ourselves lucky they’re not demanding the Elgin marbles back before they let us go. ’

The doorbell rang.

‘I’ve got to go, Pete. Talk to you later. ’

The girl standing at the front door smiled broadly when she saw that the occupant of the royal suite didn’t actually look like a royal and said, ‘Hi, I’m Jasmine. Panos said you were looking for company. ’

‘Panos? ’

‘The barman downstairs. ’

‘Yes, of course. Come in, come in. ‘

‘Thank you. ’

‘I’m Scott, ’ I said, closing the door behind her. ‘Pleased to meet you, Jasmine. ’

‘Are you here on business? ’

‘In a way. ’

She stalked slowly around the suite like a girl holding the round card for a fight at the MGM Grand. In the wine cellar she squealed; and in the dining room she let out a gasp. Then, for a moment, she stood up on tiptoe by the fifth‑ floor window, looking one way and the other, like a beautiful meerkat.

‘Great view, ’ she said.

‘It is from where I’m standing, ’ I muttered, then added, ‘This suite is a little fancy for my taste, but then I’m not royal. ’

‘Oh, I like it. I like it a lot. ’ She sat down on one of the many sofas and arranged her legs, carefully, which is to say what I was now looking at was a perfect geometry of flesh and high‑ heels that Euclid never dreamed of – for which the only algebraic formula could be S=EX².

I offered her a drink from the extensive bar. She asked for a Coke. I fetched us both one from the fridge and sat down beside her on the sofa. Her hair was nicely combed and she smelt lightly of scent; it was hard to believe that she’d just come from another guy’s bed. But then some of these girls can scrub up in less time than it takes for a scally to steal a car.

‘Can we get the business out of the way first of all? ’ I asked, like a real John.

‘I’m glad you mentioned that, ’ she said. ‘It’s five hundred for an hour. Eight for two. And two thousand for the whole night. Nice suite like this. Be a shame to waste it sleeping. ’

I took out my wallet and counted four new one hundred Euro notes onto the coffee table. ‘Listen, Jasmine. All I want to do is talk. ’

‘All right, ’ she said. ‘What do you want to talk about, Scott? ’

‘Jasmine, ’ I said. ‘You’re Russian, right? ’

She nodded, suspiciously. ‘You’re not a cop, are you? ’

‘This is the royal suite, not police headquarters. And that’s cash on the table, not a bailout from the European Central Bank. Really, I’m not a cop. I hate the cops. ’

Jasmine shrugged. ‘Some of them aren’t so bad. ’

‘Do you know a girl called Valentina, Jasmine? And please don’t say, no, because I know you do. Your friend Panos told me. All I really want from you is some information about her. You tell me what you know about her, you take the money and then you go. Simple as that. ’

‘Is she in trouble? ’

‘No. Not yet. As a matter of fact that’s what I’m trying to save her from. It’s important that I speak to her before the cops do. Really, you’d be doing her a favour. Nobody wants cops in their life. Not if they can help it. I had a brush with them once, in London, and it’s left me badly scarred. Cops are like herpes: once you’ve had them, they always come back. ’

‘You want her phone number? Her email? I can give you this. For free. ’

She opened her bag and took out a little notebook and after consulting it for a minute or so, she wrote a number and email on a piece of paper.

I glanced at it. I knew the number by heart, I’d already called it so many times; and her email was almost as familiar.

‘Any other contact numbers? A postal address? A Skype address, perhaps? Only I’ve been ringing this number all day and she hasn’t called back. ’

Jasmine shook her head. ‘That’s all I have. Sorry. ’

‘Pity. ’

I didn’t suppose for a minute that Jasmine was this girl’s real name; I imagined she’d chosen it because she thought the name made her seem more alluring; it didn’t. I was doing my best to be brisk and businesslike, but it wasn’t working very well, at least not for me. She couldn’t have seemed more alluring to me if I’d been tied to the mast of the Argo.

‘All right. Let’s try something different. Did you ever work together? You know, for a client who wanted to see two girls. That kind of thing? ’

It was a pleasant thought; and one that would have been all too easy to have made a reality.

‘I asked her to do this once. But she said no. She preferred to work alone. Without an agency. And to pick and choose who her clients were. She could have made much more money than she did, I think. Have you met her? ’

‘Yes. ’

‘Then you know what I’m talking about. She’s so beautiful. And clever, too. ’

‘What else can you tell me about her? ’

‘She is from Moscow. A graduate in Russian literature. She likes going to art galleries and museums. She’s into sculpture, I think. ’

‘How did you meet? ’

‘In the bathroom downstairs. She spoke to me. I guess I looked a bit more obvious than she did back then. She gave me a few tips on how to tone it down a bit so I wouldn’t get thrown out of places like this. Once or twice I saw her in here, at the Intercontinental, or the St George. We would say hello and sometimes have a drink if we were waiting for someone. I liked her. ’

‘Can you think of anyone else who knew her? Other girls, perhaps? ’

‘No. Like I said, she didn’t work through an agency or from a website. She relied on word of mouth. ’

‘What about a girl with a tattoo on her shoulder? A tattoo of a labyrinth. ’

Jasmine frowned. ‘I’ve seen a girl like that talking to Valentina, perhaps. But I didn’t know her name. ’

‘Was she Russian, too? ’

‘I think so. A lot of the girls working in Athens are Russians these days. ’

I decided to level with Jasmine in the hope that what I told her would jog her memory, or even scare her into remembering something.

‘The reason I’m asking is this, Jasmine: the girl with the labyrinth tattoo was found drowned in the harbour at Marina Zea sometime yesterday morning. As yet she hasn’t been identified. All I know is that she might have known Valentina and that Valentina might be able to identify her. ’

‘But why? You said you weren’t a cop. ’

‘I’m not. When did you last see Valentina? ’

‘Not for a while. ’ She shrugged. ‘There are so many girls doing this kind of thing in Greece since the recession that it’s hard to keep track of anyone. People drop out of the business all the time. But there’s no shortage of girls to take their place. ’

‘One last question. Valentina’s clients. Did you ever see her with one? ’

‘Maybe. But it’s not the kind of thing you talk about. ’

‘Come on, Jasmine. It’s important. ’

‘All right. I saw her with two clients. One was at a restaurant here in Athens called Spondi, with that footballer who died the other night: Bekim Develi. The other time she was getting into a man’s car. Outside here, as it happens. A nice car. A new black Maserati. ’

‘Expensive. ’

She shrugged. ‘Believe me, this guy – he can afford it. ’

‘You recognised him? The client? ’

Jasmine hesitated. Her eyes were on the money. ‘If I tell you who it was, you won’t say it was me who told you. ’

I placed another fifty on the table. ‘Not a word. ’

‘It was Hristos Trikoupis, ’ she said.

‘The Olympiacos manager? ’

She nodded.

‘Are you sure it was Hristos Trikoupis? ’

‘Yes, ’ she sneered. ‘It was him all right. ’

‘You’re not a fan then? ’

‘Of Olympiacos? No. ’

‘Why? Because you support Panathinaikos? ’

‘No, ’ she said. ‘My boyfriend supports PAOK. He’s from Thessaloniki. Believe me, they hate Olympiacos just as much as those bastards from Panathinaikos. ’

‘Football, ’ I said. ‘Ninety minutes of sport and a Trajan’s Column of hatred and resentment. ’

‘Is it any different in England? ’

‘No. ’

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. ’

‘No, you’ve helped me a lot. Really, you have. You can take your money and go if you like. ’

She gathered up the money and left.

The next morning I was outside the hotel at seven o’clock to find several journalists and TV crews waiting for me on what was left of the hotel’s marble steps. These looked as if someone had attacked them with a hammer.

‘What happened here? ’ I asked the doorman.

‘Some people decided to throw some rocks at parliament last night, ’ he explained. ‘So they used bits of our steps. ’

‘You’re never getting the Elgin Marbles back. All right? ’

I pushed my way through the scrum of microphones and cameras to where Charilaos was parked in the black Range Rover Sport, without giving any of the comments that first sprang into my mind.

‘Morning, Charilaos, ’ I said. ‘It looks like the press have tracked me down again. ’

‘Where are we going? ’ he asked as I closed the door.

‘Apilion, ’ I said. ‘Training session. Then Laiko General Hospital. Then back here at twelve for a meeting with Chief Inspector Varouxis. ’

‘Okay, sir. And call me Charlie. Everyone does. ’

We drove off. In the back seat were some of the Greek newspapers and on most of the front pages was a likeness of the dead girl as drawn by a police artist. He or she had managed to make her look like the princess from a Disney cartoon and it was hard to imagine that a member of the public seeing this sketch would be prompted to call the police – except to recommend another artist.

I tossed the Greek papers aside and, for a while, read The Times I’d downloaded onto my iPad. There were plenty of column inches about City’s plight in Athens. And now that UEFA had agreed for us to play our home match against Olympiacos at the ground of Panathinaikos, the story held even more interest that it had before.

‘Will you need me this afternoon, sir? ’ asked Charlie.

‘I’m afraid so. I thought I’d go and see my opposite number. Hristos Trikoupis. To discuss next week’s match. I don’t suppose you’d know where I could find him this afternoon. ’

‘You could always ring him up and ask, ’ suggested Charlie.

‘I’d prefer him not to know I was coming. ’

‘Olympiacos have a match on Sunday evening. Against Aris. Right now he’s probably at their training centre, in Rentis. You’ll find it’s very different from Apilion. Those red bastards have much more money. ’

‘You’re not a fan, then, of Olympiacos. ’

‘No, sir. I’ve been always been Panathinaikos. Ever since I was a kid. ’

‘I envy you that, Charlie. You lose that devotion to just one team when you enter the world of professional football. Once you start playing for money you’re a gun for hire and it’s never the same again. Sometimes I think it would be nice just to follow a team; to be able to go and watch a game and be like everyone else, you know? ’

‘Right now it looks like it’s us being followed, sir. ’

I turned around in my seat.

‘That silver Skoda Octavia, ’ he said. ‘It was parked outside the hotel when I arrived this morning. And I’ve been around the block twice just to make sure. ’

‘Fucking journalists, ’ I said. ‘When there’s a piece of shit around there’s always one of them there to peck at it. ’

‘More like cops, ’ said Charlie.

I turned around again.

‘How do you work that out? ’

‘Because no one else in Athens wants to drive the same shitty car as the Hellenic Police. And because there are just two of them. ’

‘If they’re cops, why the fuck are they following me? ’

‘Without wanting to alarm you, it’s probably for your protection, sir. Now that it’s been announced in the newspapers that you’re playing the next leg against those red malakes in our stadium, there will be plenty of them who think you’ve made common cause with their most mortal enemies: the Greens. You might actually be in danger of being attacked yourself. ’

‘That’s a comforting thought. ’

Ten or fifteen minutes later we saw Mount Hymettus. The only clouds in the otherwise blue sky were collected on the undulating summit as if to shield the gods from the importunate eyes of men. I could have wished for such privacy; the press were also in full force outside the training ground and Charlie was obliged to slow the car to a crawl as we approached the gate.

The training session was already in progress; and Simon Page’s voice carried across the playing fields like a Yorkshire zephyr. No matter how many times I heard him explaining the purpose of a particular training exercise he always made me smile; this was no exception:

‘It was Edson Arantes do Nascimento, more usefully known to us as Pelé, who first described football as the beautiful game. Now in Brazilian football the sole of the foot is used to control the ball much more often than in England. Like this. Left to right. To left, to right. If it feels odd to you that’s good; that’s why we’re practising this. You can pass with the sole, you can dribble with the sole, you can check the ball with the sole. Most of what you see from Cristiano Ronaldo involves the sole of the boot. That boy can do more with the underneath of his foot than a fucking chimpanzee. So what I want to see now is you passing the ball from one sole to another, left to right to left. Slowly at first with one leg planted on the floor, and then, running on the spot, left to right to left. Nice and wide. Okay. Off you go. Don’t look at the fucking ball, Gary. Keep your heads up. If this was a fucking game you’d be looking for someone to pass to. Even a greedy bugger like you, Jimmy. ’

Seeing me, Simon walked over to the touchline and with arms folded watched our players as they continued with their technical training.

‘If you can get Gary Ferguson to play like a Brazilian I’ll eat your England cap, ’ I said. ‘He’s got the ball skills of Douglas fucking Bader. ’

‘Aye, but he’s got the best eye for the ball of any centre back I’ve seen. Not to mention shin bones like a couple of crowbars. Gary could take the legs off a bloody dining table. ’

‘He’s certainly a fearsome‑ looking figure. Especially with his plate out. He always gives a new meaning to the phrase “man marking”. ’

For a moment we were silent as we watched the players.

‘Prometheus is probably the most gifted player on the park right now, ’ said Simon. ‘Everything he does comes naturally. ’

‘Including being a cunt. ’

‘True. Although he’s not been nearly so arrogant of late. Maybe it was Bekim’s death. Or maybe it’s just this place. ’ Simon took a deep euphoric breath of air and nodded. ‘Smashing here, isn’t it? ’

‘Apparently this training ground is named after a Greek poet. ’

‘Aye, well, that’s easy to understand. If I had to look at that view every day I might write a poem myself. ’

‘I think I’d like to read a poem by you, ’ I said, wondering how many rhymes you could get for ‘fuck’ and ‘cunt’ which were, after all, the most frequent words in Simon’s Yorkshire vocabulary. ‘What’s the mood like without Bekim? ’

‘Aye, well, that’s a question. ’

He went back on the pitch for a minute, organised another exercise and then came back.

‘Now that we’ve lost our team Jesus, ’ I said, ‘the other disciples are going to need inspiration. ’

‘You what, boss? ’

‘All teams need their own Jesus. Someone who can turn water into fucking wine, cure lepers and the blind, and raise the team from the dead when we’re having a mare. Bekim was ours. So, who’s the new team Jesus? That’s the real question, Simon. Gary is a good captain, but he’s not an inspiring figure. He’s a discipline. And as last lines of defence go, he’s the best. But he’s not someone who can look you in the eye and persuade you that he’s the answer to your prayers. ’

Simon hummed and hawed an answer but in truth I already knew the answer to my own question. Before the pre‑ season window closed on 31 August I was going to have to persuade Vik to pay top money for the Hertha team captain, Hö rst Daxenberger. With his long blond hair, blue eyes and beard, Daxenberger was the nearest thing to Jesus I’d seen outside a crappy Hollywood movie. But to get him to come to City we were going to have to beat Olympiacos and qualify for Champions League; if we could do that, it’d be the one thing we could offer him that Hertha couldn’t.

After the session was over I gathered the team and the playing staff around me in the warm sunshine and spoke to them.

‘I know you all miss your families so let me say right away that Vik’s lawyers haven’t given up trying to persuade the police to change their minds about keeping us here in Athens. But unless a miracle happens it looks like we’re remaining here for now. And let’s face it, things could be a lot worse. The lads from Panathinaikos couldn’t be more helpful and let’s make sure they always know how grateful we are to them. Meanwhile, the sun’s shining, the food is good and there’s a nice beach at the hotel. I suggest you get a nice tan, download a book, use the gym and lay off the duty‑ free because we have the small matter of a Champions League match next week. Not to mention a three‑ goal deficit.

‘So, I’ll tell you what we know and then I’d like to invite anyone who can shed some light on any aspect of this sad affair to speak up – without fear of discipline or me grassing them up to the local filth. I promise you there will be no fines and no bollockings for anyone who can add to the store of what we know. Because I believe our best chance of getting out of here is to approach this like a team. To pool any information that we might have. I know the cops have already asked you about this and I don’t know what you’ve told them, but I imagine it’s not much. Bekim was your team mate and you’re still looking out for him. I respect that. So am I. But this is me asking the questions now, not the cops. I want some answers. ’

‘Are you planning to play the amateur sleuth again, boss? ’ asked Gary. ‘Like at Silvertown Dock when you helped find out who killed Zarco? ’

‘That’s one idea. The cops are still trying to find their arseholes right now, so why not? It can’t do any harm, can it? Now, as I’m sure you all know, Bekim rented girls like other people rent Boris bikes. Against team orders he had a girl back to his bungalow on Monday night, before the match. He fucked her six ways to Sunday, and the next day she was found at the bottom of the harbour with a kettlebell roped to her ankles. That’s why we’re being held here. The cops still don’t know who she was. The question is, do any of you? Did he offer to spit‑ roast her with you? Did you hear anything? Did you see anything? As far as I can see she was a blonde, with a blue dress, and a tattoo of a labyrinth on her shoulder. Russian probably. Liked footballers, fuck knows why. ’

‘He told me he had a girl coming over to his bungalow, ’ said Xavier Pepe. ‘And that she was something special. That she was Attica’s best‑ kept secret and the most beautiful woman in Athens. ’

‘He actually used that phrase? ’

Xavier nodded.

It was how Bekim had described Valentina before I had gone to Athens to see Hertha play Olympiacos.

‘Can you remember what time it was when he said this? ’

‘It was after dinner, ’ said Xavier. ‘About nine thirty. ’

I took out my notebook and wrote this down, calculating that Bekim might actually have been expecting Valentina right up until the very moment when the other girl showed up – according to Chief Inspector Varouxis – at eleven o’clock.

‘I think I might even have reminded him that his bungalow was next to yours, boss. And that he’d better be careful or you’d have his bollocks for breakfast. ’

‘And I would have done. So be warned. Anyone who thinks he might like a bit of local legover while we’re here had better think again. Local cunt is definitely off menu until this thing is resolved. ’ I paused. ‘Is that it, Xavi? ’