Concrete Evidence (35 page)

Years earlier, the owner of ‘Excavadora’ had rented heavy plant vehicles to the construction industry making millions during the hotel building boom. Later it branched out into renting cars, campers and even motorboats to tourists before going bust when the recession hit and construction ground to a halt. The building that had stood there had been demolished so that the plot could be sold on to developers. Only a concrete floor plan remained. The compound behind it was cluttered with the rusting hulks of abandoned vehicles. Jose had driven by the site everyday for over a decade. He remembered it in its heyday especially the speedboats that had sat gleaming on the forecourt. Every time that he passed, he used to think, ‘one day I’m going to buy one of those boats’. He never did but that was the way life worked. When the business folded, anything of value was repossessed and sold to clear the debts but the vehicles that needed repairs were left to rot. Other vehicles were owned by companies that had themselves gone bust in the crash and they too were left to turn into corroding carcasses. The landowners were too stingy to pay to have the vehicles removed, choosing to leave the task to whoever bought the plot. No one ever had.  

Earlier that day, a call had come through from detectives in England, who were working on a double murder case and they were reaching out for information on Spanish number plates that may be linked to their killer. One of the vehicles was found in the north of the country and one was last registered as being owned by Excavadora but it hadn’t been insured for eight years. Jose guessed that it might have been left to rot and had made an offer to check out the plate the next time he passed the site. Although it was a sticky humid night and the sea breeze was warm, he felt a shiver run down his spine as he entered the compound.

CHAPTER 40

              Becky opened her eyes and let out a deep breath. Fatigue was slowing her movement and the thought of stepping out of her nice warm car into the cold wet night didn’t appeal. She steeled herself to the task at hand using the lure of her cosy bed as her motivation. She grabbed her handbag from the passenger seat and opened her door before climbing out. An icy cold drop of water fell from the carport and landed on the nape of her neck. She shivered as it trickled down her exposed skin and she pulled her coat tightly to her. She closed the door and locked it with the remote. The wind blew noisily and she tucked her hands into her pockets as she walked around the car to the back door of her home. She cursed the security light for not working. Finding the right key for the lock would be fun in the pitch darkness. She reached into her handbag for her Blackberry and used the screen light to illuminate the bunch of keys in her hand. As her tired eyes focused on them, she heard a shuffle behind her.

              She turned quickly and stared into the shadows. Her eyes were adjusting quickly but she could only see blurred shapes beyond the carport. Dark shadows loomed against an even darker backdrop. The trees creaked in the wind, bare spindly branches tapped against the roof beams of the carport. Twigs trembled like skeletal fingers reaching out to grab her but she couldn’t see what had made the noise. Her eyes narrowed as she looked towards the road. The streetlights twinkled through the trees casting moving shadows onto her driveway and the sound of traffic drifted to her from the distance. A scratching sound from above made her jump. She took a sharp intake of breath and looked upwards.

              Tree branches tapped against the carport. Tap, tap, tap. Was that what she had heard? It had sounded more like a dull splash. Maybe a footstep on the wet concrete. She slipped the keys between her knuckles to act as an improvised knuckleduster and walked to the front of the car. She peered around it.

Nothing.

The branches scratched against the Perspex roof to the rear. Another one closer tapped again. Tap, tap, tap. She stepped out of the carport and walked level with the front of the house. Staring into the blackness, she couldn’t see anything to worry about. She heard a splash to her left beneath the trees and held her breath to listen harder. Splash, splash, splash. The wind blew again and the splashing noises increased in frequency. She smiled in the darkness and listened to the rain dripping from the trees into puddles below. It was an orchestra of drips and drops, some close to her and some further away in the bushes.

Becky shook her head and sighed. It was late. She was tired and the case had made her jumpy. She looked around 90 degrees but couldn’t see anything to be concerned about. A cold blast of wind cut through her clothes and chilled her to the bone. The need to get inside increased in intensity. Satisfied that all she could hear was the rain finding its way to earth, she walked back into the carport to the back door. She looked down at the keys again and switched on the Blackberry screen to help her to find the right one. She fumbled through them until she saw the familiar markings on the key. She clutched it between her fingers and thumb and lifted it to the keyhole. As she inserted the key into the door, she felt a blow to her neck and fifty thousand volts surged through her nervous system shutting her brain down in an instant.   

********************

Jose Peres walked slowly through the compound using the flashlight to guide him. He had called home to his wife, said goodnight to his three little girls and promised to bring home some Chinese takeaway. Both he and his wife needed to lose a few kilos but the truth was that they loved eating. Jose heard his stomach rumble as he picked his way through the spiked vegetation. Some of the cacti had grown taller than he was. Their shapes cast shadows on the orange dirt making them look like deformed humans. A rusting hulk loomed to his left, the remains of an earth moving truck. The windscreen was encrusted with salt and sand and the peeling green paint had faded in patches. He aimed the torch along its shape from top to bottom. The huge tyres were white with dust and flat against the dirt. The rubber was warped and degraded by time, wire protruded through the tyre walls. Its number plate was corroded but readable. Jose checked it but it wasn’t the one that he was looking for. He thought about what to eat from the Chinese and moved on deeper into the compound.

A few yards further on to his left, there were three small saloon cars parked in a row. When they had left the production line, they had been crystal white but now they appeared to be rusty orange. Auto scavengers had all but stripped them of anything that could be removed. The wheels, tyres, bonnet, seats and engines had all been salvaged. Only the rusting carcasses remained. The corroded registration plates were in sequence with each other but didn’t resemble the one in his notebook. He began to think that he was wasting his time but moved on regardless. The torchlight picked up a larger vehicle a few yards on. It was a transit type vehicle but its state of decay made it difficult to identify which manufacturer had made it.

Jose shone the light across it. The windscreen was cracked and the wipers had been pulled forward. All four tyres were flat to the floor and weeds had grown through holes in the rusty sills. He walked closer and aimed the torch at the front grill. The number plate was missing. Jose sighed and walked around to the driver’s door and shone the torch inside. The stereo had been ripped out at some point and a thick thistle was growing from the handbrake rubber. The seats had been removed and the bulkhead had been marked with black aerosol paint. A painted skull and crossbones grinned at him. He walked around the back and tugged at the rear doors, opening them with a loud squeal. A rat scurried from beneath the van and ran across his feet startling him. He jumped back and nearly dropped the torch. He cursed beneath his breath and felt sweat forming on his back. His shirt was beginning to stick to him.

Catching his breath, he scanned the light inside. There was an old sleeping bag and some blankets laid out on the floor and some old colouring books were stacked in the corner nearest to the door. He stepped closer and inspected them smiling as he recognised the characters on the front cover. His children loved to colour and it was a cheap way of keeping them quiet for a few hours. The covers were spotted with mould and the pages were curled at the corners. He poked at the sleeping bag and blankets with his torch. They had been well used at one time but they were caked in dust. If a vagrant had used it for shelter, they had moved on a long time ago. He slammed the door closed and shone the beam around the compound. To his left, he could make out an agricultural tractor but he could see no point in looking at it. Looming against the night sky behind the tractor was the remains of a JCB digger, its arm was extended at right angles to the ground and the rear wheels were missing. It reminded him of a huge child’s toy that had been discarded by its owner in favour of something shiny and new. To his right a hundred metres away, the beam picked out a bulky rectangular vehicle that he couldn’t identify immediately. Cacti and vegetation made it difficult to make out what it was from a distance so he decided to take a closer look.

Jose picked his way across the weed strewn compound until he reached the vehicle. It was an odd shape but as he neared, he understood why he had been confused. It was a pickup truck that had been converted into a campervan. The living area bolted to the back looked out of place. Although it was factory built, the camping quarters looked far too big for the vehicle which carried it. He approached it from the front and shone the torch onto the number plate. It was rusty but he could read it. He took out his notebook and compared them and shook his head in disbelief. After checking it a second time, he was happy with himself. He chuckled quietly in the breeze. The registration number matched.

Jose felt a warm sense of satisfaction. His hunch had been correct but now he had two choices, take a look inside or hand the information directly to the detective ministerial department. He didn’t think that they would have the time or the inclination to investigate on behalf of the British unless there was something of substance to report. They were always snowed under with domestic crimes and they resented the influx of foreign criminals that had chosen to escape arrest in their own countries by moving to the ‘Costa Del Crime’.

They would roll their eyes and laugh at him if he went to them with what little he had. It was blindingly obvious that the camper hadn’t moved for years. What could possibly be gleaned from sending a crime team in to look at it? His inspector would give him an earful about the financial crisis, shrinking budgets and redundancies. If he had to listen to him ranting about it one more time, he would shoot him. That would save the department a hefty salary. It didn’t take him long to make up his mind. He was pleased with himself for at least making the effort and decided to take a look inside. If he didn’t take a look, he would be asked why not? If he did take a look and he found anything of substance, they would ask him why he had not come to them sooner and compromised a crime scene. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. At the end of the day, he had taken the initiative to come and follow up on the lead and now that his hunch had paid off, he actually wanted to look inside.

Despite his curiosity and excitement, he suddenly felt nervous. As he stepped closer to the camper, his hand went to the butt of his automatic instinctively. It wasn’t often the he felt the need to use his weapon. More often than not, it was there to deter rather than destroy. He wasn’t sure why he felt uneasy but the fact was that he did. Alone in this vehicle graveyard, he felt exposed and vulnerable. It was an irrational fear but it was real none the less. The British were investigating a double murderer but the fact that they were expanding the investigation meant that they suspected that their suspect had killed abroad too. Did they think that he had killed here in Benidorm? Jose didn’t know the answer but he could hazard an educated guess. He wiped perspiration from his brow and looked up at the star filled sky. Looking at the night sky away from the light pollution of the giant resort below, helped him to put things into perspective. The murderer was in custody in the UK. He was just following up on a number plate that might be linked to their case. That was all. Nothing more. Nothing less. He tried to convince himself that in this situation his caution was unnatural and unnecessary. His gut told him to proceed with care but his head told him that this was merely a fishing trip on behalf of the British. If his head was correct then why should he suddenly feel so nervous?

He took a deep breath and calmed his nerves. His hands felt sweaty on the torch. He changed hands and wiped them on his trousers before moving around to the side of the camper. The bonnet was up and the engine had been removed. A fat prickly pear cactus was growing in its compartment. The wipers had been ripped off but the windows were intact. He scraped the sand from the windscreen with the side of his hand and peered into the driver’s cab. The floor was littered with empty coffee cups and coke cans, hamburger wrappers and crisp packets. There was no way that the company would have parked up a vehicle in that state. The litter had been left by someone that had entered the campervan since the business failed. Kids? Maybe but it was more likely to have been a vagrant. He walked around to the back of the camper and the vegetation became thicker making his progress slower. Thistles poked through the material of his trousers scratching his shins. He used his torch to avoid being punctured by the marauding cacti. They seemed to be the dominant plant in nature’s fight to regain lost ground. He picked his steps carefully as he turned towards the back of the camper. The door was raised a few feet from the rear bumper at an awkward height. He reached up and pulled at the handle but it was fastened tight. Jose aimed the torch at the handle. The lock was rusted and pitted with corrosion but the keyhole was shiny silver. Someone had opened the lock recently. His concerns turned to fear in an instant.