The Mallorcan Bookseller (The 3R International Series Book 1) Read online

  “Señor, are you lost? You are a long way off the tourist routes,” the taller of the two said to him.

  Sam cursed himself for not seeing them before. It was pretty clear that these guys were looking to turn him over and see how much money they could get from him. To them, he looked like a ‘lost’ tourist and presumably they wouldn’t be too worried at the level of violence they might need to use.

  “No, I’m not lost, but thank you for your concern,” said Sam.

  “For a fee we can help you get to where you want Señor?” said the smaller one helpfully.

  “Guys, I think you are mistaken. I don’t need your help. So best you turn around and go about your business.”

  Sam wasn’t hopeful that this tactic would work and he was right, it didn’t. The taller guy pulled a knife from behind his back.

  “We’ve warned you mister. The fee just went up. Just give us everything you’ve got and you can get out of this without getting hurt,” said the taller one.

  Sam could see that there were some people up ahead on the main street, but even after glancing into the alley and seeing that something seemed to be happening, they scurried along not wanting to get involved. ‘These guys must be doing this all the time,’ thought Sam and that wasn’t good for the tourist trade.

  “Okay, I don’t want any trouble,” said Sam.

  That said, he also wasn’t inclined to use the saying, 'Is there anything I can reasonably say or do', a well-used mantra in UK policing before officers would take pre-emptive action. After all, this was their call. They were the ones looking to pick on and rob an unsuspecting and defenceless tourist. Except he wasn’t either a tourist or defenceless.

  Yes, he was primarily now in a desk job as a DCI, but he’d been in firearms and tactical teams for long enough during his career to be able to handle himself.

  The taller one was standing to Sam’s left and was the nearer one to him. He was the one holding the knife, so was presenting the bigger threat. He had the knife in his right hand as Sam started to walk towards him, making as if to go for his wallet from his inside right pocket with his left hand. He saw them both relax, but he was particularly interested in watching the one with the knife. He saw the tip of the knife dip down as the guy relaxed his right arm. The momentum of Sam walking forwards gave him the impetus to swing his left arm out and down hard onto the man’s right forearm taking him off balance. The move had left Sam into a crouching position and he followed the forearm strike with a vicious right belly punch that dropped the tall man like a stone, sending the knife clattering to the floor. The smaller guy had been waiting for the tourist, who seemed to have given in, to just hand over his money and his brain struggled to react quickly enough to help his friend.

  “Now I don’t mind what you do now. You can pick him up and walk him away or try your luck. But don’t take too long to make up your mind,” said Sam.

  Sam recognised the dilemma the guy was having over honour and living to fight another day. His friend had been hurt and he hadn’t done anything about it. He saw the smaller guy start to go to his friend, but then he made a slight adjustment to his body, hoping Sam wouldn’t see and as he did this, he missed the fact that Sam had opened his shoulders, giving him more room in his fighting arc. As the smaller guy took a step forward, Sam’s rolling right hook caught him square on the temple and sent him flying to the floor. He tried to get up but Sam was quickly on him and picked up his right arm in a gooseneck, a police approved hold, and applied pressure onto the hand to gain compliance.

  “Now stand still and this won’t hurt. Do you understand?” said Sam, who was keeping a watch on the taller guy who was still retching on the ground after his belly punch.

  “Get off me,” screamed the smaller one.

  Sam looked towards the main street again and this time was surprised there were some people standing there watching. They weren’t making any attempt to intervene or stop what was happening, but he could see some of them were even smiling.

  “Does this happen a lot?” he shouted out, first in English and then in Spanish.

  An older man, about fifty who was carrying a small brief case and looked like he might be on his way to work, shifted forwards.

  “Si Señor, these two are always trying to catch out tourists and even some of us locals.”

  “Muchas gracias Señor,” said Sam.

  He looked at the guy whose hand he still had hold of. Sam thought the guy was being compliant, but he was still keeping an eye on the taller one, as the knife was not secure. It was still lying on the ground.

  Sam spoke to the smaller guy, “Probably best that you don’t do this for a while amigo.”

  He was about to release him, when the guy twisted sharply and tried to lash out at him. He felt the tension rising in himself. 'Why? He’d given him a bloody chance and what?' The man saw a change in Sam’s face, as it tightened and he saw Sam staring coldly at him. The man flinched. The body reacting to the imminent threat of pain. Sam still had the ‘gooseneck’ on the man’s wrist and he dipped his own wrist down and heard the man scream as his wrist snapped. Sam dropped him to the floor as he saw the taller one trying to reach the knife on the floor. He bent down, as if to help pick the taller guy up off the floor, but as he did so, he grabbed the man’s right arm at the elbow and twisted it sharply away from his body. An unnatural movement of the body that could only do one thing, break the elbow. The taller man screamed, even more than the first and ran, not waiting for his friend.

  Sam stood for a moment. He’d lost control. Again. It was like someone else could just take over his body and start lashing out. He then heard a soft voice. The man who had spoken before was still standing at the end of the alley, calling him.

  “Señor?”

  Sam walked towards him.

  “Señor Martínez isn’t it? Are you okay?” said the man.

  “Si, Señor,” said Sam, “do I know you?”

  “I am Señor Alfonso Cabrera. I work for your father and mother, or sadly should I say, I now work for your mother. I manage her business.”

  “Of course Señor, I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you, you were at my father’s funeral. Thank you for your help today and by the way it’s Sam.”

  “Sam, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine thanks,” said Sam.

  He wasn’t sure if Señor Cabrera had seen that he had seemed to lose control or not. He no doubt knew that Sam was a cop back in London and that it probably wasn’t usual practice to go breaking people’s wrists or arms, except maybe in self-defence, whereas this had been more like direct retribution.

  “It’s me who should be thanking you Sam. We have been having more and more problems from some of these gangs. We have an African community in the city, most of whom are just ordinary people trying to make a living and get by, but there are some who give them a very bad name. They can be very violent and intimidating,” said Alfonso.

  “Well, hopefully these two won’t be doing anything for a while. Alfonso, if you could not mention this to my mother, I’d appreciate it. She worries about me and I wouldn’t want to give her anything to add to her worries.”

  “Understood Sam,” said Alfonso as they started walking. “Forgive me if this is not my place, but I know your mother would like you to take over the business at some stage, so if you would like me to show you the books I would be happy to do so.”

  “Maybe sometime Alfonso. I know she does and I don’t want to let her down, but I have a career back in London, so maybe not just yet,” said Sam, who wondered how much time it took Alfonso to help in managing Sa Petita Llibreria and a couple of properties he knew his parents owned.

  They carried on walking in silence towards the bookshop. It bothered Sam that he had lost control. This was what had brought him back home to Mallorca, this losing control thing. He’d been so close to hitting his boss back in London and over what? Nothing. Well nothing of importance anyway, a slight disagreement, but he’d lost it and had his b
oss up against the wall and he’d had to be restrained by his own men.

  They had all understood, but that didn’t make it any easier for them to deal with him. He had become moody and withdrawn since Jimmy was shot. He had felt it happening. He had tried the counselling they had offered as he knew his behaviour was having a big impact on Kirsty. She had tried her best, but he just kept pushing her away until she couldn’t take it anymore. He was lucky Mike, his boss, was someone he had joined with and their careers had crossed over the years, especially as they had both specialised in firearms. So yes, he was lucky. Mike at least had an understanding of what he was going through and he was instrumental in seeing that the incident went down the road of Sam needing an extended period of sick leave, rather than any sort of disciplinary action.

  “Time for us to part our ways, but I hope to see you again soon Sam, maybe when I take you through the books?” Alfonso smiled as he left Sam standing at the front of the bookshop.

  “Was that Alfonso?” said Anna opening the door for him, “I didn’t know you knew him?”

  “We met by chance. I recognised him from Dad’s funeral and we were just chatting.”

  “About the business?” said Anna.

  Sam smiled. She wasn’t going to give up on this.

  “Well yes, he was offering to show me the books and talk me through the business.”

  Anna smiled. Alfonso had worked with them for many years and before that his father worked with Luis’s father. A good man who had been so kind in making sure the business kept running when Luis had died and she had been dealing with all of the funeral arrangements. But now wasn’t the time to press Sam on the business.

  Anna said, “Have you heard anything from the police about Bill?”

  “Not yet. I’ll ring DI Garcia now and I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Anna said, “I also heard this morning that the police are at the MacDonald’s place. A police car has been there all night and there’s a lot of activity going on. I’ve tried ringing John but he’s not picking up any of my calls. Do you think it might be connected?”

  Sam knew the MacDonald family through his parents. They had two boys, Chris and Jack who he used to see when they came out for the school holidays. He was the same age as Jack, whilst Chris was maybe four or five years older.

  He made the call and Lori Garcia picked up the phone quickly.

  “Sam, nothing happened at Señor Patterson’s villa, but we have had another high value burglary. We’re running checks on the family’s bank records for any recent transactions that may be connected with the IT scams and there’s something else,” she paused. “They killed the householder, a seventy year old British woman whose husband was away on business back in London.”

  “Lori, I appreciate this might be breaching confidentiality, but was it Sheila MacDonald?” said Sam.

  “Sam, how the hell did you know?” she trailed off. She knew this was an island and news got around like wildfire sometimes, but this had been kept really tight because of the severity of the attack. “I don’t want this getting out before I want the press to know, but there’s no easy way to tell you Sam, she was beaten to death. It was a savage attack and whoever did it, it looked like they used their bare hands.”

  Lori Garcia went quiet.

  “So how did you know Sam?”

  “My mother got a call this morning from a friend who was trying to get hold of Sheila. They’re family friends Lori. I’ve known the two sons all my life and the MacDonalds have known my parents for many years.”

  Sam turned and looked at his mother. Concern was written across her face. He didn’t know if she had heard what Lori had been saying, but she clearly knew something was seriously wrong.

  “I’m sorry for your friends’ loss Sam,” said Lori.

  “Thanks Lori,” he paused, “so what about the case? Have you got any leads?”

  “We haven’t got much to go on. There were four of them. The CCTV picked up the vehicle as it stopped at the front. It was stolen and it’s been found burnt out with no possible forensics. They wore hoods and there was no real effort to hide themselves, so we can tell that they were definitely men, but that’s about it. We’ve got feelers out with the local officers and their informants, but no one’s saying anything because this looks like una pandilla del crimen organizado. What you call OCGs, organised crime gangs.”

  Sam took in what she was telling him.

  “Yes, you’re right Lori, so if it’s an OCG operating here, then what’s your intel telling you about possible options?”

  “We’ve got a few OCGs operating across the Balearics, but nothing with this usual style or M.O,” said Garcia. “I’m seeing the MacDonald family representative later this morning and I will call you back if I have anything for Señor Patterson later, but Sam, if it was just a call centre scam with your friend Bill, I hope you appreciate that I won’t be able to do a lot more on that whilst we have a murder and these other violent high value burglaries to deal with.”

  “But surely the burglaries are linked to the call centre scams aren’t they?” said Sam.

  “I don’t know that for sure Sam and until I do, I need to focus on what I do know.”

  He could sense that she was getting irritated. He could understand why. He had been in the same position, back in London, when you get a well-meaning friend or relative to a crime victim who is a cop and they just keep firing questions at you.

  “Okay, look, I’m sorry Lori. I know you are doing all you can. I understand that, so I’ll back off and let you do your job.”

  “Muchas gracias Sam. I appreciate that and I will keep you posted, I promise.”

  As soon as he came off the phone his mother looked at him.

  “Sheila’s dead isn’t she?” said Anna.

  “I’m so sorry Mum. There’s no easy way to say this. Yes, she was murdered during the burglary, but they don’t know why yet. Here sit down for a moment.”

  “Oh Sam, how can people be so evil? And what about John and the boys?”

  She was crying now, tears flowing down her cheeks. He didn’t know how much this was because she might have been bottling things up since Dad had died, so he just sat by her, holding her hand until the tears slowed.

  “We need to get to see John and his boys and see how we can help,” said Anna.

  “Yes, of course,” said Sam.

  Even in a crisis she was thinking of someone else.

  FIVE

  Sergei held his weekly management calls via Zoom. He told himself that he wasn’t micro-managing and that it was important to keep a check on any issues going on around the organisation.

  But he also knew it put pressure on those In-Country Heads who weren’t performing, although it gave those who were doing well, an opportunity to dwell in the limelight and encourage the under-performers to set things straight. Better that he thought, than him having to take a more forceful approach with them.

  He gave them full responsibility for the operations in their region, but with that he demanded total loyalty and anyone found taking too much off the bottom line would answer to him, generally being removed, permanently, from their position.

  Today’s call was going well, with very few issues arising. There were some problems in the US, but there always were, particularly around the politics of New York, where it seemed the Governor had a particular desire to show what he was doing to tackle organised crime in the city. Andranik, the In-Country head had a tough job, but Sergei wasn’t about to tell him that in open forum. He rewarded him well and in return expected him to resolve the issues to keep the business, the extortion, drugs, prostitution and money laundering on track.

  “Okay, Andranik, these sound like excuses you are giving me. So, sort this out by the end of the month or we’ll talk again,” said Sergei.

  Andranik knew better than to try to argue.

  “Yes Boss, of course.”

  “Right, let’s move on. Sonny, what’s happening in the Balearics?�
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  Sonny was relaxed, unlike some of his colleagues. A trusted confidante to Sergei, Senichi “Sonny” Sargsyan had his trust and much to the annoyance of some of the other In-Country Heads, he was never challenged in these sessions.

  “All good here Sergei,” said Sonny, “the sun is shining and business is good.”

  Unlike the others, Sonny called Sergei by his first name, something Sonny knew annoyed his colleagues and yes, he found he enjoyed seeing them squirm during these sessions.

  “Good,” Sergei paused, “so what about this woman in the burglary?”