Free Death Trick by Roderic Jeffries Page B

bright red background declared that La Portaña was the finest urbanization on the island, and stepped out on to the road. The land, which had been well wooded, sloped gently upwards from the sea in a wedge shape; it was roughly fifty hectares in all. Beyond, on either side, although this was screened by the shape of the land and narrow belts of trees, was heavily developed and so it was obvious that this land had been owned by someone who had held on to it long after the start of the building boom; equally obviously, he or she had finally decided it was impossible any longer to forgo the immense profit to be had by selling it.
    As was required by law—although often carefully forgotten—roads had been built, electric cables run to junction boxes, water pipes laid, and street lights installed, before any building had been started. Now, several houses and two blocks of flats were under construction; the houses were obviously going to be large and the blocks of flats no more than four storeys high and—most unusually—of an attractive design with flowing curves. In the centre of the urbanizacion was a public garden and this was ringed with mature palm trees, transplanted from near Valencia; there were also grass, green from generous watering, and flowerbeds bright with colour.
    Alvarez returned to the car and drove down to the wooden building which was being used as the sales office, close to the main entrance of the urbanizacion. He went inside. A narrow room ran the length of the building and in this were two desks, a counter on which were set out sales brochures and reprints of an article which had appeared in an international glossy magazine, and a frame on an easel on which was a large-scale plan of the development.
    A young man who had been seated at the desk nearer to the counter finally came to his feet. He had a spiky hairstyle and a very prominent Adam’s apple and his pink shirt did not rest comfortably with his puce slacks. He eyed Alvarez with supercilious disdain, correctly judging it unlikely a sale was in the offing.
    ‘Cuerpo general de policia.’
    The young man’s expression became watchful, though perhaps even more supercilious.
    ‘I’d like a word with whoever’s in charge.’
    Vich’s office lay behind the general room and was half the size of that. He was a small, slightly built man, with an outgoing manner. He shook hands, then moved a chair away from the wall to the front of the desk. ‘So how can I help you?’ he asked as he sat behind the desk.
    ‘I need to know who owns the urbanizacion?’
    ‘It’s a company—Andreu y Soler.’
    ‘Was Pablo Roig connected with it?’
    Vich was surprised. ‘How d’you know that?’
    ‘Shouldn’t I, then?’
    ‘Well, I’ll put it like this—it’s not a secret, but his name doesn’t appear in the general literature . . . It was one hell of a shock to hear he’d been murdered. That’s why you’re here now?’
    Alvarez nodded.
    ‘Then you reckon there may be some connection between the murder and this company?’
    ‘There’s the possibility. What I want to try and find out is if there’s a probability.’
    Vich shook his head. ‘I don’t see how there can be.’
    ‘Let’s start by you giving me a broad picture of the set-up here.’
    Vich spoke briskly, suggesting a well-informed, decisive man. Andreu y Soler had been formed specifically to buy the land and develop the urbanization of La Portaña. Roig had been the company’s legal adviser and it was he who had managed to obtain planning permission even though the land had originally been classified green belt. In addition, all the original working capital had come through his hands, although there was no suggestion that he had personally provided it.
    ‘I gather that recently finance has become a problem?’
    Vich’s expression changed. ‘What makes you say that?’
    Alvarez smiled briefly. ‘We all have our secrets. Yours is how planning permission was given, mine is the source