Hob said. “I didn’t know myself until about five hours ago when I caught a flight out of Paris.”
“So what’s up?” Harry asked, shaking a cigarette out of his blue-and-white pack of Rumbos extra largos.
“There are a couple things I’ve got to check up on,” Hob said.
“Like what?”
“I need to get a line on a man named Stanley Bower.”
“I’ve heard that name. Britisher? Lives on the island, doesn’t he?”
“That’s right. He was murdered in Paris just three days ago.”
Harry nodded. “What’s that to us? Was he a client?”
“His brother hired me to find his killer. Also, Fauchon wants me to look into it. He mentioned our license to operate in Paris.”
“Gotcha,” Harry said. “What do you need to find out about this guy?”
“It’d be nice to learn if he was doing anything here that might have got him killed in Paris. A man named Etienne Vargas, lives on the island, had an appointment to see him. Also there’s this: Minutes before Stanley was killed, he was having a drink with a man. Not Vargas. The man walked away. Stanley got it moments later.”
“What do you know about this guy he was having the drink with?”
“Very little. Middle-aged guy, brown or tanned face. Wore a ring with a big stone that looked like an emerald. They were speaking in Spanish and English, consulting a Spanish road map that might have been of Ibiza. And our informant thinks the man’s name had a rolled Spanish r in it.”
“That’s great,” Harry said. “Oughta be able to find him with no difficulty. All right, I’ll get on it. There are what? Only about a million Spanish speakers on Ibiza this summer.”
“I know it’s not much. But we can try. And there’s another matter. I need to talk to Kate about some glass bottles.”
Harry looked at Hob suspiciously. “You are referring to your ex-wife, Kate?”
Hob nodded.
“Hob, you told me you were through with the lady.”
“I am, of course. But there’s something I need to find out from her.”
“What’s that?”
“It concerns Stanley’s murder. Ever hear of a drug called soma?”
Harry thought for a while then shook his head.
“Something new,” Hob said. “International implications. It could be very big.”
“How does that tie in with Stanley Bower?”
“Look, I’ll explain everything to you tonight over dinner. Where’s Maria?”
“Over in Mallorca. Some celebration of her relatives. Hob, explain it to me now. What is this all about?”
“A little green bottle was found on Stanley’s body.”
“So what? What’s it got to do with you?”
“The French police are very interested in that bottle. There may be others like it. They’re wondering who they belonged to, who Stanley got them from.”
“Sure. But I still don’t see—”
“Harry, the bottle was filled with this soma stuff. And I’m pretty sure it’s my glass bottle.”
Harry Hamm squinted at him. “What in hell are you talking about? Are you sure this was yours?”
“I think so. I had a lot of them, and they were quite distinctive. I picked up a couple gross of them with a shipment of saris from India back when I was a supplier to hippie merchants.”
“What did you use them for?”
“Perfume. Cheap essence of jasmine from Kashmir. A good-selling item. But they were also a perfect size for hash oil in gram amounts.”
“For Christ’s sake, Hob …”
“Don’t go getting funny with me, Harry. That was a long time ago. I’ve been legitimate for twenty years. I’d forgotten all about those bottles. But there was a time when they were my trademark. I need to find out who’s been using them. Before it gets pinned on me.”
“Where did you see them last?”
“I had them stashed away in a shed in my finca.”
“What finca was that, Hob?”
“Ca’n Doro, the one Kate’s got now.”
“I guess you better discuss it with the lady,” Harry said.
2
Kate’s finca was in Santa Gertrudis. Hob left Harry’s
“So what’s up?” Harry asked, shaking a cigarette out of his blue-and-white pack of Rumbos extra largos.
“There are a couple things I’ve got to check up on,” Hob said.
“Like what?”
“I need to get a line on a man named Stanley Bower.”
“I’ve heard that name. Britisher? Lives on the island, doesn’t he?”
“That’s right. He was murdered in Paris just three days ago.”
Harry nodded. “What’s that to us? Was he a client?”
“His brother hired me to find his killer. Also, Fauchon wants me to look into it. He mentioned our license to operate in Paris.”
“Gotcha,” Harry said. “What do you need to find out about this guy?”
“It’d be nice to learn if he was doing anything here that might have got him killed in Paris. A man named Etienne Vargas, lives on the island, had an appointment to see him. Also there’s this: Minutes before Stanley was killed, he was having a drink with a man. Not Vargas. The man walked away. Stanley got it moments later.”
“What do you know about this guy he was having the drink with?”
“Very little. Middle-aged guy, brown or tanned face. Wore a ring with a big stone that looked like an emerald. They were speaking in Spanish and English, consulting a Spanish road map that might have been of Ibiza. And our informant thinks the man’s name had a rolled Spanish r in it.”
“That’s great,” Harry said. “Oughta be able to find him with no difficulty. All right, I’ll get on it. There are what? Only about a million Spanish speakers on Ibiza this summer.”
“I know it’s not much. But we can try. And there’s another matter. I need to talk to Kate about some glass bottles.”
Harry looked at Hob suspiciously. “You are referring to your ex-wife, Kate?”
Hob nodded.
“Hob, you told me you were through with the lady.”
“I am, of course. But there’s something I need to find out from her.”
“What’s that?”
“It concerns Stanley’s murder. Ever hear of a drug called soma?”
Harry thought for a while then shook his head.
“Something new,” Hob said. “International implications. It could be very big.”
“How does that tie in with Stanley Bower?”
“Look, I’ll explain everything to you tonight over dinner. Where’s Maria?”
“Over in Mallorca. Some celebration of her relatives. Hob, explain it to me now. What is this all about?”
“A little green bottle was found on Stanley’s body.”
“So what? What’s it got to do with you?”
“The French police are very interested in that bottle. There may be others like it. They’re wondering who they belonged to, who Stanley got them from.”
“Sure. But I still don’t see—”
“Harry, the bottle was filled with this soma stuff. And I’m pretty sure it’s my glass bottle.”
Harry Hamm squinted at him. “What in hell are you talking about? Are you sure this was yours?”
“I think so. I had a lot of them, and they were quite distinctive. I picked up a couple gross of them with a shipment of saris from India back when I was a supplier to hippie merchants.”
“What did you use them for?”
“Perfume. Cheap essence of jasmine from Kashmir. A good-selling item. But they were also a perfect size for hash oil in gram amounts.”
“For Christ’s sake, Hob …”
“Don’t go getting funny with me, Harry. That was a long time ago. I’ve been legitimate for twenty years. I’d forgotten all about those bottles. But there was a time when they were my trademark. I need to find out who’s been using them. Before it gets pinned on me.”
“Where did you see them last?”
“I had them stashed away in a shed in my finca.”
“What finca was that, Hob?”
“Ca’n Doro, the one Kate’s got now.”
“I guess you better discuss it with the lady,” Harry said.
2
Kate’s finca was in Santa Gertrudis. Hob left Harry’s
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