Obsession, p.13
Obsession, page 13
A sigh. ‘Yeah.’
‘That doesn’t sound too positive.’
‘It’s not that. It’s fine.’
‘You’re sure you’re okay?’
‘Yeah. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow then?’
‘I hope so.’
The call ended.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PETE
He’d never been so embarrassed in his life. And that poor woman…
Fifty-three though? He was genuinely shocked at that. She looked hot.
‘Mate, you should have seen your face,’ John cackled.
‘You are ridiculously out of practice,’ Kenny continued.
‘Chalk it up to experience,’ Tom said, slapping his hand onto Pete’s shoulder. ‘You’ve taken the first step. Only a thousand more needed before you actually have a shot at maybe getting a drink with someone.’
They all burst out laughing again.
‘Yeah, hilarious,’ Pete said, turning away from them and glancing back over to Amy.
She smiled then looked to her Kindle.
Had she actually quite liked him? She said she was married but… No. It really was dumb to think like that. But he had to look for the positives somewhere. He hadn’t wanted to go over to her. Had felt like a nervous teenager, asking a girl if she wanted to go out with him. He was forty bloody two. It’s not what men his age did. Yet his friends had pushed him. And pushed him. Not just today but for weeks, months.
Okay, he got it. He’d been single for over three years, since he and Beth had split. At some point he needed to take the leap and start dating again.
But how?
Apparently not by approaching fifty-three-year-old married women by the pool in Spain.
‘I reckon she’s loaded too,’ John said. ‘I wouldn’t mind a sugar momma.’
‘Yeah, and I’m sure Ria would be pleased to see the back of you,’ Kenny said.
‘Ouch,’ Tom added.
‘Seriously, though,’ John said. ‘What do you reckon? Everyone here is loaded. Doesn’t always have to be the guy that’s the rich one, does it?’
‘You’re such a progressive,’ Tom said mockingly.
‘Could be true though. Maybe she’s like a CEO of some big finance company.’
‘Nah,’ Kenny said. ‘I saw her yesterday. There’s a group of them. Her husband’s some old guy. Reckon he’s the one with the dough.’
‘Wait?’ Pete said. ‘You saw her with her husband yesterday, and you still made me go up to her?’
They all laughed again. Pete tried his best not to, but ended up smiling. They’d well and truly screwed him. He’d get them back at some point.
‘I’m not kidding though,’ John said. ‘There’s a lot of cash floating about this place. You know that’s Jake Grayson over there, right?’
Pete did. He’d spotted him earlier, trying to be discreet, but it was pretty obvious. He was one of the most recognisable footballers in the world.
‘Jake the Ace. Except he was pretty shit for England, wasn’t he?’
‘Shh,’ Pete said, as if worried the superstar would hear, and do… what?
‘Rumours had it Liverpool were after him,’ Kenny said.
‘Doubt it,’ John said. ‘At this rate he won’t even be starting for West Ham.’
‘Probably right,’ Tom said. ‘Look at him. He cares more about his tan than getting fit and working hard.’
‘Typical modern-day footballer. They get it too easy. Too much cash, too little responsibility.’
‘Like you two would know about hard work,’ Pete said to them.
Tom laughed. ‘Is that all you’ve got Petey-boy?’
‘And we wouldn’t be here without me,’ John added.
Which was true enough. None of them would have been able to afford to holiday in a place like this. John had won the holiday. He worked on the lines in a car factory and the execs had put on a massive Christmas raffle. First prize was a top-of-the-range SUV. Second prize was a week’s holiday for four in Sotogrande. Apparently one of the board members had a stake in the hotel company that owned it and was a regular.
At one point John had intended on taking his other half and Kenny and his wife, but that was before he’d realised Ria was pregnant. Again. She’d given birth a month ago and apparently wasn’t interested in taking the baby to Spain in the heat of the summer. Win–win, he’d called it. A week away from a screaming baby. A week away from his nagging wife. His words. Instead, he’d opted for a week with the boys. Boys? They were all in their thirties and forties, all but Kenny had kids, and except for Pete all were still married – all first wives too. They hadn’t all been away together in well over a decade. They were definitely acting like kids a lot of the time though.
A few beers by the pool later and they headed up to their rooms – two between four of them – to shower and change before their night out. Pete was sharing with Tom, Kenny and John next door. They only had ‘standard’ rooms, but they were bigger and nicer than pretty much anywhere Pete had stayed before.
‘You alright, mate?’ Tom asked as Pete sat down on the edge of the king-sized bed, which Tom had kindly given to him for the week while he’d taken the sofa.
‘Yeah.’
‘I know what tomorrow is,’ he said.
Pete looked at his friend and held his eye. He was a little surprised Tom had remembered. Pete hadn’t mentioned the upcoming date to any of them.
‘But that was three years ago,’ Tom said.
‘I know.’
‘You’ve got a long life ahead of you still. Don’t spend it all beating yourself up.’
‘Beating myself up? Jesus, Tom, someone died. Because of me.’
‘No. She didn’t. It was an accident. And you were bloody lucky not to be a-goner too. Every day should be a fucking bonus to you now. Live like there’s no tomorrow or whatever they say.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘I say it is. And look where we are.’ Tom scanned around the room. ‘If you’re not going to relax and enjoy yourself and have fun in a place like this, then where? When?’
Perhaps he had a fair point there.
‘And you can be damn sure that Beth is enjoying herself.’
Well, yeah, Pete knew that for sure. She’d been seeing her new bloke for well over a year. She’d well and truly moved on.
But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure he ever would.
Not after what he’d done.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NATASHA
Autumn
Did I feel sneaky for what I was about to do? A little. But I had to know. As friendly and charming and sincere as I found Gus, at times at least, he was also one of the few people I knew who’d known Anya here. Everyone was a suspect to me unless I could rule them out.
I had to wait in the police station for nearly an hour before Sargento Garcia came through the doors. He clocked me a couple of steps later. Didn’t look particularly pleased to see me.
‘Natasha,’ he said.
‘Can we speak privately?’ I asked, indicating to the young uniformed man next to him. ‘I have something important.’
Garcia rattled off some words in Spanish to the young man. A couple of minutes later and the Sargento and I were back in the same interview room as before. ‘How can I help?’ Garcia said, his tone not as amenable as the words.
I dug in my pocket and unwrapped the napkin and laid it out on the table, the spoon on top.
‘A present. How nice.’
I didn’t respond to the joke. ‘There’re fingerprints on there. They belong to Gus Patterson.’
Garcia glared at me.
‘Gus Patterson was in a sexual relationship with Anya. He told me so himself. He’s also got a sketchy at best alibi for the night Anya was killed.’
A raised eyebrow.
‘Please,’ I said. ‘You told me yourself that you had several sets of fingerprints taken from Anya’s apartment, but you hadn’t identified who they all belonged to.’
‘Yes, but this isn’t how we carry out our procedures.’
‘I know. I understand that. And I’m not expecting… this spoon to be the smoking gun evidence you need. But… just check. Run the prints and see if they match anything you took from Anya’s apartment. At least then we know.’
He glared at me still but said nothing.
‘What do you have to lose?’ I asked.
‘Apart from my job?’
‘It won’t come to that. You’re trying to do the right thing.’
Another silent stand-off, before Garcia reached forward and tugged on the napkin to pull the spoon closer to him. The next moment he’d pulled out an evidence bag. He folded the napkin and put it and the spoon inside the bag.
‘How long will it take?’ I asked.
‘I’ll do it today.’
‘Thank you. One more thing.’ I took out my phone. ‘I have his number too. Perhaps… you could see if Anya had any calls or messages with him that night.’
Garcia looked confused.
‘What?’ I said.
‘We found no phone in Anya’s apartment.’
I slumped. ‘Oh.’
‘I thought you knew that.’
Had I been told before? I really couldn’t remember.
‘Someone had taken it, do you think?’
He shrugged. ‘We can only presume she had one at all. She had no contract.’
And I’d certainly not had a number for her in Spain.
‘But you’ll look into the fingerprints.’
‘I will. But, Natasha… I don’t want you coming back here every few hours with more… spoons. Please. I’ll look into this, but next time–’
‘I get it. Thank you.’ I got up from my chair. Better to quit while I was ahead. Though I wasn’t so sure I’d keep to his request. Gus was only one person who’d known Anya. The low hanging fruit, in a way.
I was only just getting started.
I wandered down the now well-worn track to the marina. I felt a little on edge, but only because those memories of the night before burned so vividly. Even though this place now felt increasingly familiar, would that same eerie feeling return with darkness?
I went to Ziyad’s apartment. I’d taken steps to rule out Gus; I needed to do the same with his friend. After that I’d move onto the harder subjects: Wes’s associates. Whoever the hell they were.
Ziyad wasn’t in. At least, I got no response on the intercom.
As with the night before, my brain rumbled with thoughts of trying to break in. Once inside I could easily lift a used glass or something similar and hotfoot it out of there and back to the police station to see Garcia. The Sargento wouldn’t be best pleased, but still.
I didn’t. I struggled to take that next step. I wasn’t ready yet. Instead, frustration taking over, I walked away from the marina, heading back to the hotel. A few hours’ rest would do me good. I’d be back out on my search soon enough. Perhaps by then, I’d even have the results from Garcia on Gus.
Okay, so my earlier question was answered pretty quickly. Would I still feel uneasy walking these streets at night? Abso-bloody-lutely. Because apparently I felt uneasy walking them in the day time still. This time at least. Even though I saw no one behind me, following me, I felt sure I was being watched.
I didn’t detour from the most direct route. Not after what had happened last night. The hotel was soon in my sights. But it wasn’t the hotel my eyes fixed on as I approached, but the van across the street. The same van that’d been there last night. That I’d stared at who knew how many times when I should have been sleeping, convincing myself that someone was lurking behind it.
I went to race across the road, eyes still mostly focused on the van. There was no one there. Surely there was no one there. I’d have seen them.
Honk!
Screeching tyres followed and I froze as the car came to a rocking halt right in front of me, the bonnet close enough to touch. The male driver hurled abuse my way. I dashed the rest of the way across the road.
Another glance over my shoulder to the van.
‘Whoah!’
I ran straight into a man.
No time to react, to go for the spray.
‘It’s okay!’ he said, putting his hands up in defence as if reading my mind. ‘It’s okay, Natasha.’
The use of my name caused me to pause. I looked him over. Older than me, but not old. Studious – like a hermit professor – with his beige clothes, light brown hair, stubbly face.
I didn’t know him.
‘I think we need to talk,’ he said. Definitely English.
‘Who are you?’
He held out his hand. I didn’t take it. ‘Graham Evans, private investigator. I’ve had my eye on you since–’
‘A PI? Investigating…’ Anya. Of course. ‘Who hired you?’
He looked around himself, a little nervously. ‘Shall we talk somewhere?’
‘Damn right we should.’
He stared at me like he expected me to say something else.
‘How about we go and talk at the police station,’ I said. ‘You can explain to them why you’ve been following me.’
He frowned. ‘I haven’t been following you. Well, not exactly.’
‘Not exactly?’
‘Natasha, I think I can help you. I want to help you.’
I had so many questions, but I didn’t know what to say.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he asked.
‘No.’
He sighed. Looked around again. ‘We really should go somewhere private.’
‘Not a chance. Not until you’ve explained who you are, what you’re doing here. How you know me.’
‘Let’s go inside,’ he said, indicating to the hotel. ‘The lobby is quiet. There’re chairs in the corner opposite the reception desk.’
I didn’t say anything as my brain whirred.
‘If you really think I’m a threat to you, all you’d have to do is scream. I’m sure Sergio would jump to your rescue.’ He smiled. I wasn’t sure why.
‘Fine,’ I said.
We went inside. To the far corner. Two arm chairs, a small coffee table. I sat facing the lobby, Sergio in my sight. Evans sat facing me.
‘So come on, explain,’ I said.
He sighed. ‘I have to say, Natasha, I wasn’t expecting this hostility from you. From what I’ve seen you’ve been very keen to speak to all and sundry in Sotogrande.’
I cringed. ‘But that’s the point, isn’t it,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen me. You’ve been watching me.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But perhaps not in the way you think.’ He reached into his pocket. I tensed, but all he took out was his phone. He tapped on the screen before turning the device toward me. I looked at the still image of myself. A corridor. Outside Anya’s apartment.
‘What the hell?’
‘I was brought here to investigate Anya’s murder,’ Evans said.
‘By who.’
He screwed up his face in a strange way, almost like a tic, although I felt it was simply in answer to my question. Or, at least, his way of saying he wouldn’t answer.
But who could it be? Someone who cared. My dad? Gus?
‘You’ve got access to CCTV in her building?’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘No. This is my own equipment.’
I frowned. ‘Is that legal–’
‘No. But I trust you enough to tell you, because I know why you came here.’
‘Who hired you?’ I asked again.
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m sorry, that’s just the way it is.’
‘You’ve been here… how long?’
‘I flew in today.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘My client… I’ll be honest with you, Natasha. The relationship between me and my client has soured, in that I haven’t been paid what I’m owed. I’ve been back in England for several weeks, case on hold.’
‘He wasn’t happy with your work?’
‘I didn’t say my client was a he.’
‘Okay. She?’
‘Let’s say they.’
‘They weren’t happy?’
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that.’
‘So explain.’
‘Natasha, I’m very experienced at what I do. I’m very discreet, and I’m willing to do what is necessary to get results for my clients.’
‘Like breaking the law by installing cameras on other people’s property?’
He glared at me, but he struggled to pull the angry look off. ‘Such services come at a premium. Higher risk, higher price.’
‘Okay. So?’
‘My client owes me money. I’ve paused my work. Or, I had. I went back to England, but I left my… equipment here. It takes time and effort setting these things up. It’d waste my time having to tear it all down too if I’m not getting paid to do it.’
‘How many cameras do you have here?’
‘Six. Two outside your sister’s apartment. Two outside the apartment of Wesley Pino. One inside each of the apartments. I wouldn’t say it’s standard procedure to do that, but in a case like this, I wanted to widen my pool of people of interest.’
I tried to take in his words while at the same time picturing the corridors of both apartment buildings. I had no clue where Evans had hidden his devices. Air-con grates? Light fittings?
‘You really flew out here just to tell me this?’
‘No. I may do this job for the money, but I like to think I do the right thing too. Your sister deserves justice.’
‘Do you know who killed her?’
‘I don’t. But I’m very sure I know more than the police do.’
‘And you’ve just been sitting on evidence, watching cameras day in day out, waiting for someone like me to turn up?’
He glared at me again. Like I’d insulted him. Questioned his professionalism perhaps.
We sat in silence for a few moments, and in that time a niggling thought grew bigger. If Evans was telling the truth, and he’d only flown out to Spain this morning, who had been following me before now?
