The tall yellow Guardia Civil barracks seemed to reflect the early afternoon sunshine as Skinner walked towards it. The day was even hotter than its predecessor, and there was a heaviness in the air which hinted that somewhere, maybe still a day or two distant but with gathering strength, a storm was brewing.
He turned into the building. At first the officer on desk duty looked sternly at the tall figure in T-shirt and shorts framed as a black shadow in the light of the doorway. But when the shadow said, `Commandante por favor,' recognition dawned and the man sprang to his feet, snapping a salute.
The officer left his post to advise Pujol of his visitor, and returned a few seconds later to escort Skinner through to the small office.
`Buenas tardes, Bob,' said Pujol, rising. 'How are your conversations going? Is your "dog theory" any nearer proof?'
Skinner said nothing, but took from his bumbag, which was slung over his left shoulder, his fax to Brian Mackie of the day before, and the DCI's response, received three hours later, confirming that all arrangements were in place.
Pujol's eyebrows climbed skywards on his forehead as he read. 'You seem to be covering quite a bit of ground. When I see that you can sit in your villa and call up the resources of Interpol, I have to say that not even I realised how long is your arm. It frightens me a little. You are so sure that Alberni was murdered, and that he was innocent?'
Skinner lowered himself into a chair facing the Commandante. He nodded. let me tell you why.'
He recounted in every detail his conversation with Vaudan and Inch, describing the latter's panic when murder had been added to the agenda of the investigation. 'Can you tell when someone is lying to you, Arturo? Course you can, you're a good copper. So take it from me, Santi was innocent. I believe that he was killed to prevent him finding out about something that's been going on under his nose for years, and to me it's inconceivable that Paul Ainscow wasn't involved. I've taken care of Scotland and France. I'd like you to look after this end. I don't care whether it's formal or not. I want Inch watched round the clock. If you can manage it, I want his phones tapped, office and home. Stick as close to him as possible.'
He looked across the desk. Pujol was smiling, but his eyes were heavy with irony. At once, Skinner was gripped by a sense of foreboding.
'I am ahead of you, Bob. I have Inch under close surveillance already. As close as it could be. Come and I will show you' He led the way from the small room, and along the corridor. At its end, an officer stood guard over a heavy brown-stained wooden door. He stood aside as Pujol and Skinner approached. In the centre of the small, windowless, air-conditioned room stood a narrow table. Something lay on it. Something covered by a white sheet. Something — Skinner guessed — that was around five feet six from end to end, with a walnut tan.
Pujol drew back one end of the sheet.
`Shit!' Skinner spat the word out. 'Son of a bitch!'
Inch's face was unmarked, but his tan had taken on an odd yellowish tinge as death had drained the blood from beneath the skin. His head lay at an odd angle on his shoulders, and Skinner knew without asking that his neck had been broken. Another death, he thought. How many more?
`What happened?' he asked, wearily.
`Senor Inch lived in L'Escala,' said Pujol, 'which makes it even less likely that he did not know Ainscow. He was a keen windsurfer. It was his sport. Every Monday — you know, Bob, that the property people all take Monday as their holiday — you would find him in Riells Bay, usually far out from the beach. It was the same today. Only today, at around eleven this morning, a man in a Sunseeker power-boat stolen from the marina, a man who appeared to be drunk, ran him down at full speed. He was killed instantly.'
`Where is the man now?'
`I have just sent men to take him to prison in Barcelona. He will be interrogated there and charged, no doubt, with everything we can think of.'
`Who is he?'
`I do not yet know. As I said, he seemed to be drunk. He wouldn't tell us anything, other than what we could do with our mothers. But he did tell us in German.'
`When can I see him?'
`Too soon to say, Bob. But I'll try to arrange a visit for us both as quickly as I can. And,' he added, with emphasis, 'I will arrange for the investigation of Torroella Locals. The Guardia is involved now. . whether I like it or not!'