59 Minutes (22 page)

The notice on the office said it was closed
from half past
one to five
thirty
- siesta time. At just
after
one thirty
Maria emerged, locked up and headed away
from me. I crossed the road and tried to keep her in sight. There was no need
to play the super spy role, as she had no reason to suspect someone was
watching her.

She nearly had me lost in the maze of back
streets that make up the centre of the town but, at last, she stopped at a
front door, took out a set of keys and then she was gone. I did a walk by.
There were six flats in the block. I checked the names and there was a M Lopez Tavez.
None of the rest had an M for first name. She was on the second floor.

I spent the afternoon wandering. There was
nothing else to do. I hung around for an hour to see if Maria emerged but this
was a non-commercial area and there were no cafés or shops to hide in. All I
was doing was making myself look suspicious so I left.

At just before five I was back at Maria’s
door. Fifteen minutes later she emerged and I followed her back to Mallorca
Security. Maria took out keys and opened up. I crossed the street and watched
her through the window as she entered a code into an alarm box.

I could try and lift her keys but, from
what I had seen on the blueprints, this wouldn’t get me half way to where I
needed to be. Anyway without the alarm code I was stuffed - given the set up it
would most definitely be linked to the police - or worse.

There was no one else in the shop so I
entered. I was conscious of the CCTV camera but if I was going to get Dupree I
needed to take a few risks. I approached the counter and Maria smiled at me.
Not half pretty.

I enquired after a security box and she responded
in perfect English before handing me a small A5 flyer. It detailed the prices
and the security precautions. I signed up for a box at twenty Euros a week.

To my left there was a door and I knew,
from the blueprints, that both the safe and the security boxes sat behind it.
On the wall next to the door was a keypad. Maria told me that when I visited I
simply punch in the key number from my receipt and that would let me in to the
room. She took me in to have a look.

This was way beyond the credit union set up
back in
Glasgow
.

She entered a number on the door keypad and
the door clicked. She pushed it open and we entered a room with three curtained
booths. Beyond this was a second door and another keypad. She tapped in another
code and led me through the door.

There was yet another door on my left and I
knew that led to the safe. On my right was a bank of boxes of varying sizes. I
chose one of the smaller boxes, sitting on the second row up from the ground
near the far wall.

Each box had a keypad and a small handle. I
was required to choose my own five digit code and set the box. I looked at my
receipt and noted that my account number had five digits. Maybe the 13214 from
Spencer’s original sheet was both the account number and the access code - it would
certainly be an easy way to remember it. Stupid but easy.

Maria stood in the room as I extracted my
box. She escorted me back to the room with the booths, and told me to press the
red button when I was ready to go back into the box room. She left me alone.

I took the box in to the nearest cubicle
and dropped in a five euro note, closed it and pressed the red button. Maria
appeared and escorted me into the box room and watched me replace the box.
There was no opportunity to check out the other boxes.

Back in the main office I smiled at her.

I left and waited until she closed up at
eight o’clock
. No one else came to help. She seemed to run the late
shift on her own. I followed her back to her flat and then I headed back to my
hotel.

Today was a dead day. The shop was closed
and Maria was nowhere to be seen. In frustration I drove to
Palma
to look at the other Mallorca Security shop.

If anything it looks a harder nut to crack.
It sits in the shadow of
Palma
’s cathedral or as it’s known ‘La Seo’; a
building that had its foundation stone laid in 1229, was not finished until
1601 and was still undergoing alterations as late as 1904. I have known a few
builders like that in my time.

The Mallorca Security building lies on the Paseo
de Born - a street dominated by a central walkway. The store is wedged between
a fashion boutique and a bank. I tried to get round to the rear but as far as I
could tell there seems to be no back entrance.

The day was proving to be a washout and,
even though I had only been on the island three days, I was getting nervous. My
flight was on Friday and come hell or high water I had to be on it.

I retired to a café and was making my
nerves worse with more coffee when I caught sight of a man walking down the
centre of the street. Well dressed, he had a tall slim woman hanging from his
arm.

It was really the woman who caught my
attention. I’m sure in
Spain
six feet women, dressed to kill, are the
norm but even so she was a stunner. What was more intriguing was that that I
knew those legs well. I caught a glimpse of the man as he turned his head to
say something to her. The coffee cup in my hand froze mid air. I knew him!

I jumped up, threw a pile of Euros on the
table, sprinted across the road and onto the walkway. I dropped in behind the
couple and followed them as they wandered across the road and up towards the
cathedral.

The stairs up to the cathedral were busy
with tourists coming and going and I had to sprint the last dozen or so as my
quarry turned right and out of sight. I rounded the corner into a short street
that led to a square that fronted the main entrance to the cathedral. The
couple jumped into one of the many horse drawn buggies that queued up outside
the entrance catching the tourist euro.

I assumed they would return at some point.

The man’s face played in my head. I knew it
well. He was one of the two that I thought I had known from the photo back in
Inca and I now knew who he was. As soon as I saw him with the long limbed
beauty, two and two made four.

I had met him before and not in
Spain
.

On my wanderings from the hostel in
Glasgow
I often took a turn past a Spanish tapas bar that sat
on
Renfield Street
. There was no way I could afford to eat
there but the pair of legs that had just walked away from me in
Palma
, belonged to one of the waitresses in the tapas bar.
It was the main reason I tortured myself with the smell of good food. I had
nicknamed her Eleven - as in legs eleven - for lack of anything more
imaginative.

After I moved in with Martin I discovered
that the bar was one of his regular haunts. I asked if he knew Eleven. He said
vaguely. That surprised me. You could hardly see those legs and vaguely
remember them - not unless you were dead or not into women.

The man that I had just lost was a regular
customer at the restaurant. Me in the rain, him sitting in the comfort of a dry
restaurant sipping wine, chatting to Eleven and nibbling on plates of hot food.
The other guy in the photo was his mate. What in the hell was Eleven doing here
with one of them?

Martin is holding back. I can’t believe
that he hasn’t seen the men in the restaurant.

I wandered for a few more hours but there
was no sign of Eleven and her man. It was getting late and I gave in and drove
back to Inca.

Another day gone.

What a fucking day.

I waited for Maria at the shop and, when she went home
for lunch, I followed her. I had made up my mind to approach her before she got
back to the flat: after spending the night trying to figure a way to beat the
system.

I had visited the shop twice in the morning, once when
it was busy and once when it was quiet. On both occasions Maria escorted me
into the box room. Short of mugging her I was at a loss as to how to check out
the code from the envelope.

On the way home she stopped at a corner store. I
couldn’t see what she was buying but when she emerged I walked up to her and
put on my best smile. She offered a polite but wary ola. I explained that I was
on my way to the shop and had caught sight of her. I apologised for approaching
her in the street.

‘Do you fancy a cup of coffee? I have a little favour
to ask.’

I expected to be blanked but she surprised me.

‘There is a small café around the corner. Ten minutes
and then I need to go.’

I smiled.

When we got in the café we sat at the only free table
and she ordered an espresso. I doubled on that.

‘So how can I help?’

‘I have a small issue to do with a friend of mine,’ I
started. ‘He is a customer of yours and, when he heard I was coming to
Mallorca
, he
asked me to pick up something from his security box.’

‘And your friend’s name is…?’

‘Well there it gets a little more awkward. You see the
account is not his. Well not strictly his. It belongs to a friend who passed
away sometime ago.’

‘And their name is…?’

‘Eh? Well. Awkward. My friend won’t tell me but I have
the code for the box.’

‘So let me get this straight. A friend of yours has an
account with us. Rather a friend of a friend of yours does. Your friend wants
the contents and gives you the code but you don’t know what this friend’s friend’s
name is.’

I nodded.

‘Senor,
I cannot help you.’

‘Look I know it sounds fishy but here’s the bottom
line. I’ll give you the code. Go and check for yourself. I’m not sure the
bloody thing exists. I’ve spent enough time on this already. I’m supposed to be
on holiday.’

“So why did you open an account?”

“I wanted to check that it was possible. That’s why I
came in twice this morning. I mean it sounds daft to me and I wanted to check
that the code I have might be genuine. My account and the friend’s account
numbers have the same number of digits‘.

‘I still cannot help.’

‘Look all I’m asking for is a little help.’

‘But I cannot open someone’s box.’

‘Why not?’

‘You are not the box’s owner so I cannot help.’

She drained her coffee. This was not going anywhere so
I changed tack.

‘Do you enjoy your job?’

‘Si.’

‘It seems strange that you work on your own all the
time. Don’t you have any help?’

‘It is the way my boss likes to run things.’

‘What do you do on your days off?’

She said nothing.

‘You do get days off.’

She went to stand up. I reached out and put my hand on
hers.

‘Look I’m not an ogre and I’m not trying to chat you
up. I just said I would pick up the contents for a friend and I like to keep my
word.’

The chat up line was weak but to my surprise she sat
back down.

 
‘Where are you from?’ I asked.

She opened up a little. Mainly small chat but she
didn’t seem in a hurry to get away once she got chatting.

She was from
Barcelona
, although she had spent ten years working in
London
. This
explained her excellent English. She had been working in hotels. Mostly
cleaning. She knew she had no future in the
UK
and was tired of businessmen hitting on her. It
seemed that some of the guests thought that the maid was a complimentary extra.
Her sister lived in
Palma
and had told her that a friend of her husband’s was
looking for someone who knew the
UK
, to manage one of his stores.

Maria had jumped at the chance and for a year she had
managed the
Palma
branch of Mallorca Security.

Most of the customers were British and to her dismay
the customers took it for granted she was on the game. Mallorca Security turned
out to have a far sleazier clientele than even the worst hotels had exposed her
to. She had complained to her boss who had moved her to the Inca branch.

Things were better in Inca. The new job was much like
the old one, only quieter. At first there had been three of them working the
shop but, earlier that year, this had been reduced to two and for the last
three weeks she had been on her own. She worked six days a week.

‘I need to go now.’

I stood up to let her leave. She looked at me.

‘Come to the shop at
six o’clock
and I will see if I
can help.’