A Silent Death by Peter May (book recommendations website txt) 📕

Reilly raised his hands in submission. ‘Look, okay.’ He glanced nervously along the rows of computers and lowered his voice. ‘But this is strictly unofficial. My business is dependent on confidentiality.’ He turned to a board on the wall behind him. It was hung with rows of keys, each with its own tab. He selected one and handed it to Mackenzie. ‘Number one-two-seven.’

An entire wall beyond the counter was lined with numbered mailboxes. Reilly busied himself, pretending to ignore them, as they found and opened the mailbox Cleland had rented in the name of Templeton. There were five envelopes inside it. One contained an advertising circular from a wine store in Puerto Banus, another a quarterly subscription reminder from a gymnasium here in the port. The other three were bank statements.

Mackenzie opened them with a sense of anticipation. Three accounts. Three different banks. A cumulative total of nearly two million euros. He heard Cristina’s tiny gasp at his side. He turned towards her. ‘We can have this money seized. It’ll hurt him. Maybe cut off his source of ready cash. But it’s not all of it, that’s for sure.’ He lifted the subscription reminder. ‘Let’s go see who he pumped iron with.’

*

Condesa Fitness was accessed from the rear of the port, stairs leading up to a large fitness room with floor-to-ceiling windows giving on to the most spectacular view across the puerto and its marina. Sunshine angled in through smoked glass, and lay in strips across a carpeted floor that absorbed the grunts and strains of the half-dozen customers lifting weights and performing curls. The perfume of stale sweat hung in the air, along with discordant notes of cheap aftershave and supermarket deodorant.

They were approached by a tanned, muscular young instructor wearing a black singlet and shorts. He eyed them warily.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked in Spanish.

Cristina showed him the photograph of Cleland. Mackenzie said, ‘A customer of yours, we believe. Behind in his subscription.’

Muscle man looked at the picture and shrugged. ‘So?’

‘You recognize him?’

‘Of course. Señor Ian.’

‘He was a regular?’

‘Two, three times a week maybe.’ He cocked one eyebrow. ‘Very fit.’

‘Did he come in with anyone else?’

‘No. Always alone. Nice guy. Great calf muscles.’ He glanced ruefully at his own. ‘I asked him how he managed to get muscles like that. He laughed and told me it was genetic. Me? I could work those muscles for years and never have calves that good.’

‘It’s a Scottish thing,’ Mackenzie said. ‘You need good calves if you’re going to wear a kilt.’

The young man looked at him quizzically. ‘You are Scottish?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you wear the kilt?’ It was Cristina this time. She couldn’t keep the curiosity from her voice.

Mackenzie shuffled uncomfortably. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t have the legs for it.’

The gym instructor nodded, as if he suspected it all along. ‘So what’s this guy done?’

‘Killed a lot of people,’ Mackenzie said. ‘So if you can think of anything about him, anything at all that might help us track him down, you let us know.’

The young man was clearly shocked. He shook his head. ‘Honestly señor, I couldn’t tell you the first thing about him. We would chat, you know, just blah. He told me he liked to sail. But I could have guessed that from his tan. You don’t get to be that colour from lying on a beach.’

‘Well if anything else comes to mind, give my colleague here a call.’ He turned expectantly towards Cristina. It took a moment for her to realize he was waiting on her to hand over a business card. She fumbled through the pockets of her uniform before finally finding a dog-eared card for the Policía Local, Marviña, which she thrust at the instructor.

As they went back down the stairs Mackenzie said, ‘So already we’re getting a sense of this guy. He likes designer clothes, eats out a lot, but likes to keep himself fit. He goes sailing, buys expensive wine in Puerto Banus, and has two million stashed away in secret bank accounts.’

He patted the pocket into which he had folded the bank statements.

‘We want to get these to your financial people as quickly as possible. The sooner we shut down his access to cash the sooner we start putting pressure on him. He can’t use Templeton’s credit cards, or cards from these accounts now either. So where’s he going to stay? With friends? How many of Templeton’s friends knew he was really Cleland? And I can’t see him shacking up in some drug dealer’s seedy apartment. He’s red-hot untouchable right now. Let’s squeeze him.’ He paused. ‘But above all, please, can we get something to eat?’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The light faded rapidly on the drive back up to Marviña. The sky beyond the mountains to the west glowed a deep crimson along a jagged horizon, the moon already visible in a deepening blue. Mackenzie looked back towards the sea that spread itself out below. It lay in narrow bands of blue and grey and green. There was not a hint of wind to ruffle the surface of the gentlest of swells, the Mediterranean slow-breathing in preparation for sleep at the end of a long day.

Mackenzie realized he was tired as well as hungry. The first rush of adrenalin which had accompanied his initial attempts to pick up Cleland’s spoor had passed, leaving him hollow and depressed. Right now he should have been listening to Sophia singing to an audience of appreciative parents. He was very probably the only dad not to be there.

As they were leaving the port, Cristina took a call on her mobile, then told him that the Jefe had booked him into a small hotel in the newly pedestrianized Marviña main street. She would, she said, take him there once she had faxed the contents of Cleland’s mailbox at Condesa to the Juez de Instrucción who was coordinating the search for the fugitive from Estepona. He