At La Clota they were shown to their customary table under the awning, to the front of the terrace. Skinner looked across the roadway to Club Nautic. Vaudan was seated among a group scattered around the tables of the outdoor bar. Bob caught his eye, smiled and waved. The Frenchman, grim-faced, turned his chair around and set his back towards them.
`What went on between you two this morning?' Sarah asked. 'I thought you just had a chat with him. He looked at you there as if he'd like to kill you.'
`He probably would, but he's much too smart to try.' `You didn't say anything about. .?'
Bob flashed her a sly smile. 'Who, me?'
They chose, as a starter, piping hot onion soup with an egg poached in its liquor, finally deciding on roast duck as a main course, in spite of the counter-attractions of the chef's special fidua — delicious but laden with garlic.
Bob was mopping up the last of his orange sauce with bread when Sarah asked him about his discussion with Gloria. `How does it look?'
`To tell you the truth, love, it looks bloody awful. Vaudan's a smooth, opportunistic bastard, but his story is very plausible. Santi rips off InterCosta and washes the dough through Montgo SA, and through this other company. The twenty-five grand we found in Santi's safe could have been part of the profit split from one of those. Originally the idea is that Vaudan acts as a front, no questions asked, but now he finds himself in the box seat, with Santi gone, as the legal owner of a hundred million peseta property company. The thing that would prove it would be Santi's copy of the letter Vaudan talked about: the one confirming his ownership. But there's no trace of that and, of course, Vaudan says he's trashed his copy. . as he would. More than that, if the letter existed — and if Vaudan's story is true — it's a cert that he's got hold of Santi's copy too, or he'd never have mentioned it.'
`Could Vaudan have. .?'
Skinner shook his head. 'NO. He's got some sheikh as an alibi. I'm afraid that Santi, guilty or innocent, is well in the frame, and I can't see a way round it.'
Sarah sat silent for a while, while Bob ordered coffee. As the waiter disappeared back into the restaurant, she reached across the table and grasped her husband's hand. 'No, Bob. He didn't do it. Look, who understands a man better than his wife? Know what Gloria said to me about Santi? She said, "He was a great salesman, one of the best, but as a book-keeper, one of the worst." She looked after all the household accounts, and their family banking. Santi handled it when they were first married, but he was hopeless. Their affairs were a shambles. Does that sound like a clever and devious fraudster to you?'
`Depends how clever and devious he was. All that could have been an act — part of an elaborate cover.'
`Come on! You think that, you've been out in the sun too long. Santi was not a thief, and if he wasn't who was?'
`Paul Ainscow. But there's one big hole in that proposition. Ainscow had seventy-five per cent of the action. Why would he steal from himself? Also there's no link between Vaudan and Ainscow; there is between Vaudan and Santi. Sorry.'
`Ahh!' Sarah threw up her hands in exasperation. 'Look, I know Santi was murdered. Your heart tells you that's so. Maybe there is a link between Vaudan and Ainscow. Maybe Ainscow had a reason to steal from himself. You're the detective, so find out. Go the extra mile, Bob!'
He smiled at her persistence. 'Okay. But not the extra mile, the extra Inch. Alan Inch to be exact, of Torroella Locals. Tomorrow I'll pay him a visit. Let's see if he can help the cause.'