The heat hit them immediately they got off the plane on Saturday afternoon. Mallorca in July was like walking into a furnace. Rafferty felt his neck sweating and his face becoming prickly. He glanced across at Llewellyn to see if he was suffering a similar discomfort. But Llewellyn, in his ultra-lightweight suit, looked debonair, calm, cool and collected. Rafferty sighed, and gazed about him.
The sky here was a brilliant blue compared to a dull grey back home, and the temperature was in the thirties, according to the pilot. The airport was a surprise. Last time he’d holidayed in Spain, years ago, it had been a small affair, with hardly any trolleys, and no shops that he could recall. But now, shops were everywhere, and they all looked expensive.
He spotted his name held up and walked over. He was pleased that there was a car waiting for them, with driver, courtesy of Inspector Herrera. Air conditioned, too. Rafferty smiled as they climbed in and the air-conditioning calmed his prickly heat. ‘This is the life, hey, Dafyd?’
‘You sound like one of those Costa Criminals the Spanish police complain about.’
Rafferty lost his smile. Llewellyn’s words were too close for comfort with his family. He’d managed to sort his brothers’ little criminal enterprise in May and he thought they’d taken the warning to heart. But he always had to be on his toes. No doubt Ma would be at it next, buying dodgy gear again.
He watched as the Spanish countryside rolled past the car window, and sighed faintly. It was arid and dusty-looking at this time of year, but they were soon enough surrounded by bougainvillaea, and large, whitewashed villas, some with armed guards.
‘Puerto Banus,’ said the driver, who must have been instructed by Herrera to drive around this way especially so Rafferty could see what the Spanish police were up against.
Presumably, this was where the Costa Criminals lived. More like resided. Very large, very plush and, very well-guarded. Likely they had to be, as there had been a few cases in the papers in recent years of gangsters being shot, knifed, or put to death in some other efficient fashion over here. It wasn’t quite the Paradise he’d imagined in which they spent their ill-gotten gains.
His smile made a reappearance. Wasn’t quite the Paradise they’d imagined, either, he thought. They certainly looked very well entrenched. He presumed the late Joey Briggs had worked for one of them. Perhaps he’d blotted his copy book with one of the Mr Bigs and paid the ultimate penalty. It seemed only too plausible when they were surrounded by such luxury, though why they’d take him all the way to England to kill him… Still, men who’d fought their way up to a villa with five bedrooms en-suite, Olympic-size swimming pool, and the staff necessary to run it all, didn’t scruple to turn on the nasty. He’d met plenty of criminals like these men; all charm until you crossed them, then watch their gaze change from warm to ice in a split second.
He tried to make conversation with the driver, but his English was poor so he soon gave up. He turned to Llewellyn instead. ‘We’ll pay a courtesy call on Inspector Herrera, collect whichever tame copper he’s lumbered us with, and then ask around bars near Briggs’ apartment. That’s the quickest way of getting at any information that’s going.’
He’d expected a protest from Llewellyn about the bars, and he was surprised when one didn’t appear. ‘That all right with you, then?’
‘Of course. Criminals invariably spend a lot of their time in bars. I’m resigned to it.’
‘I won’t be drinking. Well, perhaps a half just to be sociable. After all, we’re here to work. We’ve only got two days, so we need to make the most of them.’
The main police station for Marbella was situated near the airport at Malaga. It was white, two storeys, and looked very modern. They left their bags in the car, as the driver said when questioned, ‘Si Marbella, after.’
It had a reception staffed by a very pretty senorita. Rafferty decided to try out his meagre Spanish on her. ‘Hola! Yo Inspector Rafferty, de Angleterre. Para see Inspector Herrera.’
Naturally, she was fluent in English, and made his efforts at her language look pathetic. He sensed Llewellyn wince. It was quite embarrassing. And he began to wish he’d paid more attention during language lessons at school. Not that he’d have done any better if he had. Strictly French, and strictly limited, as he remembered them.
‘Of course, Inspector. Would you like to take a seat? I’ll let Inspector Herrera know you’re here. I’m sure he’ll be down directly.’
‘Remind me not to try that again,’ Rafferty murmured as they took seats in the waiting area.
‘I wouldn’t have thought you would need any reminder. When you spoke to Inspector Herrera on the telephone, you rather mangled it.’
‘All right. I know. No need to rub it in. Is it my fault if the only language teaching you got at our school was of the cat sat on the mat variety, rivalled only by another sure winner at your next cocktail party of, la plume de ma tante? Plug them into the conversation and see how far they get you. Spanish wasn’t offered at all, or German, or Serbo-Croat, come to that. You learnt – joke – La Langue Français, or nothing at all. We were bloody lucky to be taught English.’
‘Inspector Rafferty?’
Rafferty looked up. ‘Inspector Herrera?’
‘Si. Yes. Come to my office, if it pleases you.’
They followed him up to the first floor. Rafferty was gratified to see Herrera’s office was every bit as untidy as his own: files piled on top of his desk; files piled on top of the filing cabinets; even piles on the floor, where he promptly fell over them. Just like at home.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s my fault. So untidy, always. My wife, she complains, my mother she complains, even my sergeant, he complains.’
‘Join the club.’
‘Perdón?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Sit. Sit. You don’t want to make this room untidier,’ Herrera joked. ‘You saw all the mansions that your violento criminals live in?’
‘Yes. Very plush. The proceeds of crime are as lucrative as ever. I thought your government and mine got together to end the Costa Criminals’ days in the sun.’
‘Si. Operation Captura. But always there is too much, how you say? Backhands?’
‘Backhanders.’
‘Si. Backhanders. Into the pockets of other powerful men. It is the same thing, always. What can you do? Now, I have made the arrangements for one of my men to, how you say, shadow you, while you are in my country. Very good officer. Speaks good English. But I am not hospitable. You will take a coffee with me?’
For politeness sake, Rafferty said yes. Though really, he was gasping for a cup of tea. They’d booked a cheap flight, and the tea on airplanes was always swill, so he hadn’t bothered. Thank God he’d remembered to pack a few teabags in his case.
When the coffee was served, Herrera told them of some problems they’d had with British criminals in recent years, from drug-running, to prostitution, to people smuggling. ‘Always, we at the bottom have to deal with it as best we can, while the men in power just take their bribes and look the other way.’
‘Well, at least you have one less criminal to deal with. Joey Briggs is dead. Did I tell you?’ Rafferty admitted to himself that he might have forgotten that little detail on the phone, while he grappled with the lingo.
‘Your Sergeant Mary Carmody, she tell me.’ He paused, then said, ‘You don’t think a criminal in England is responsible for his murder?’
Rafferty shrugged. ‘Don’t know. We’re checking all avenues. Did his wife ever come here?’
‘Not that I heard. Joey Briggs he work for Charles Carver. He’s a very big criminal.’
‘Could you let us have his address?’
‘Si. He lives on a large estate in Puerto Banus, about 6k down the coast from Marbella. Any taxi driver will know it.’
‘What did he do for Carver?’
‘Joey Briggs was not important man. Just run errands. Deliver drugs. Usual small things for a small criminal. You know Senor Briggs’ apartment?’
Rafferty nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve got the address. Now we better get out of your hair, and leave you to catch some crooks.’
‘Si. Welcome to Espania. It is a beautiful country, too much built up, now. So many of the little fishing villages overrun with concrete. Still, there are nice places, when you escape the concrete. It is a shame you are not to remain for longer, or I would take you to see the real Espania.’
Herrera shook their hands. ‘I am called Luis.’
‘He’s Dafyd and I’m Joe.’
Oh, si. Like your dead criminal.’
Rafferty gave a crooked smile. Luis took them back down to reception, introduced them to Constable Suarez, and left them.
‘So, where would you like to go first?’ asked Constable Suarez?
‘First our hotel.’ He gave Constable Suarez its name. ‘And next I thought the bars around Joey Briggs’ apartment. Could get some useful information.’
‘Okay. Follow me.’ He made for the front of the building, where Rafferty could see parked blue and white police vehicles, and opened the door of the car they had arrived in. He had a quick word in Spanish with their driver. The man climbed out of the car, and Suarez climbed in.
They got in, and Suarez started the car. ‘You saw where the criminals live?’
‘Yes. Cheeky buggers.’
‘They are all cheeky buggers, the way they live amongst us and flaunt their wealth and their criminal activities. And then bring on their smart lawyers if we threaten to move against them.’
‘Yes, Inspector Herrera was telling me about that. We have plenty of the same thing at home. That man was right when he said, “First we kill all the lawyers.”’
‘Ah, if only.’
They chatted about crime in their respective counties during the thirty-minute drive. Rafferty saw when they arrived at Marbella. He was in no doubt about it, because there was an enormous town name supported on a bridge across the road.
A short time later, Suarez said. ‘Your hotel. I’ll wait here while you freshen up and get changed.’
They retrieved their bags from the boot, told Suarez they’d be fifteen minutes, and went inside. It was a nice enough hotel, reasonably-priced. They found their rooms. A quick shower, a quick change, and they went out to where Suarez had parked to wait for them. But Suarez told them they wouldn’t need the car. He got out and locked it.
’I better leave you. You will learn nothing if I’m with you. I’ll wait for you in the café across the way. You will find the English Pub just around the corner.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
The English Pub was round the next corner as Constable Suarez had said. And in case they couldn’t read, there were Union Jacks hanging from the walls. They went in. Their eyes took a while to adjust after the brightness outside. By now it was late afternoon or early evening, depending on your point of view, and the bar was starting to fill up after a good day’s criminality.
Rafferty had changed into union jack shorts and an England t-shirt. Even Llewellyn had managed not to look like an off-duty policeman in his white slacks and a joke t-shirt. Only, as the joke was in Latin, it was rendered rather pointless as it was likely nobody but Llewellyn would “get” it. He’d warned Llewellyn before they left the police station that he wasn’t to “get” it either, and he was just to reply ‘no idea’ when asked to explain it.
‘Two halves of your best bitter, please, mate. I’m so parched, my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.’
‘Yeah, it’s hot out there.’
‘Nice and cool in here though. I suppose you’ve got aircon?’
‘Too right. Couldn’t live in this climate else. How they existed without it in the old days, God knows.’
‘They all died young, didn’t they, to get somewhere cooler.’
The barman laughed. ‘Yeah. Probably from sweatin’ so much, their bodies ran out of juice. That’ll kill you, right enough.’
He took Rafferty’s euro note and gave him his change. ‘Yes, mate. What can I get you?’ The barman moved along the bar to serve another customer and Rafferty turned to Llewellyn. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a familiar face. He turned quickly so he had his back to the man.
‘Don’t look now,’ he muttered to Llewellyn, ‘but the bloke in the palm tree shorts. I’ve put him away. Armed robber name of Harry Hobbs. Reckon he’s clocked me and is coming over?’
‘No,’ murmured Llewellyn. ‘He’s sitting down. He’s got his back to you, so he can’t see you.’
‘Thank Christ for that. If he’d clocked me, not only would we not get any gossip, but I might end up with my throat slit.’
Llewellyn raised his eyebrows.
‘It’s true. Threatened me just before they took him down last time.’
‘Surely—’
‘There’s no “surely” about it. Hadn’t you heard? It’s pretty lawless out here if you’ve got influence, and believe me, an armed robber like Hobbs gets respect. Besides, he wouldn’t have to do it himself. He’d just ask one of the hangers-on that want to be in his gang and make a fortune. Job done.’
‘Perhaps we should leave and find another pub?’
‘Stuff that. I was here first. Anyway, we’re only here for a couple of days, so I should be safe enough.’
The barman came back and Rafferty ordered another two half-pints. Have one yourself.’
‘Cheers, mate. I’ll have it later, if that’s okay?’
‘Sure.’ Rafferty paused, then said, ‘I hoped to run into my old mate Joey Briggs. Only, stupid bastard, I’ve only left home without his bloody address. Forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.’
‘Ain’t you got anybody at home you could ring?’
‘No. My girlfriend buggered off and nobody else has a key. Oh, blimey, I’d better get the locks changed, as she’s still got a key or she’ll slash all my designer suits.’ He laughed. ‘That mad bitch is capable of anything.’ He took a deep gulp of his bitter. ‘Ah, that’s better. I don’t suppose you know him? No, stupid to ask. Forget it.’
‘Joey Briggs, did you say?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, if you’re looking for the Joey Briggs who worked for Charlie Carver, he buggered off back to England.’ He laughed. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if his boss isn’t chasing right behind him after he nicked—well never mind what he nicked. Carver’s a wee bit sensitive about it.’ Rafferty’s ears pricked up, but it was clear the barman was saying nothing more. Instead, he said, ‘Joey lives with a woman here. Name of Jude Kelly. Feisty lady and stacked, you know?’
Rafferty laughed. ‘Sounds like Joey. He always liked ‘em with a decent cleavage. But ain’t that just my luck to have missed him? Have you got the address? I don’t know his girlfriend, but I do know that if Joey hears I came to Marbella and didn’t look him up, my name’ll be crap.’
‘Yeah, sure. It’s the apartment behind the pub. The lemon-coloured one with a picture of Che Guevara on the side. You can’t miss it. Number seventeen.’
‘Cheers, mate. I owe you one.’
‘Buy me another pint next time you’re in and we’ll be square.’
Rafferty smiled. ‘You’re on.’
As the barman moved off again to serve another customer, Llewellyn looked curiously at him. ‘Why did you ask the barman for Mr Briggs’s address when Inspector Herrera has already given it to us?’
‘Best policy, if you want info—act like you don’t know something and blame your own congenital idiocy for the failure. People will feel sorry for you, while also congratulating themselves on their own innate superiority, and supply you with more info than you need. Surely, your psychology at university taught you that? After all, the info is in the public domain, so what difference does it make? Answer – none at all – apart from to the poor bloody coppers sniffing for info. Now we learn, not only that Joey Briggs had a live-in girlfriend in Jude Kelly, but we get a motive for Charlie Carver in that Joey nicked—who knows?’ Rafferty grinned. ‘Result. Drink up, we’ve a lady to visit.’ He noted Llewellyn looking aghast at his practically two full halves that stood on the bar. ‘Give them here.’ He swiftly downed one and reached for the second.
Llewellyn raised his eyebrows. ‘Only half a pint?’
‘I don’t want to lose my juices, do I? Kill you in this heat.’