by Kathryn Lane
“I’m afraid,” Carmen said, starting to cry again as soon as Milena had left.
“Afraid of what?” Nikki asked.
“My daughter . . . my daughter may have been a pawn in a larger scheme.” Carmen wiped her tears as she detailed the news story one of the nurses had told her involving a florist in the attack, a florist who was supposed to be Paula’s friend. She wondered why he set her up.
“Evil people do terrible things, Tía.” Nikki took Carmen’s hand to try to comfort her aunt.
“Nikki, I don’t know how much you know about events in Barcelona in September of 2017. A terrorist incident took place on the Ramblas. Sixteen people were killed.”
“It was all over the news that year,” Nikki said. “Are you suggesting a connection between that incident and the one on Saturday?”
“The Ramblas attack originally included a plan to bomb Sagrada Família. The mastermind was an imam from a town near Barcelona. He accidentally set off explosives at the house where they were manufacturing bombs. Bombs intended for the basilica.”
“I remember reading about that incident. Didn’t the cleric die when the building blew up?”
“That’s right,” Carmen said. “After the imam’s death, the other terrorists settled for vehicular attacks on the Ramblas here in the city and a second assault in Cambrils, a seaside resort in southern Catalonia.”
“So are you saying Sagrada Família was saved by the accidental explosion?”
“Yes, you could say that. After the Ramblas incident, the news all over Europe reported a conspiracy between a secret faction of the Catalan police force and Muslim extremists.”
“Are you sure, Tía Carmen? A secret faction of the Catalan police conspiring with radicals? I don’t remember reading about a conspiracy.”
But then Nikki remembered Eduardo telling her about the short-term goal of both groups being the same, to form an independent nation. The Catalonian people are fiercely independent and almost half of them still want to separate from Spain. Although the long-term ambition of the radicals was to form an Islamic state within Spain, Nikki knew politics made for strange alliances.
“More than conspiring, the Catalan police may have ignored warnings, which then allowed the attack to happen. As a lesson to wake people up,” Carmen said. “That event is still being investigated.”
“And how does this relate to Paula?” Nikki asked.
Carmen grimaced and started crying again.
Nikki took Carmen’s hand and gently squeezed it to provide a little solace.
“We can talk about it later,” Nikki said, patting her aunt’s shoulder with her free hand. “No need to get upset.”
“I need to talk about it now. I’m concerned my daughter was used.”
Carmen started sobbing. Tears flowed down her face. Nikki handed her a couple of tissues to wipe the tears.
“Paula would never have participated in an abominable act like terrorism. They set her up, gained access to the church to set their explosives, killed people, and made a statement. All done by the florist she trusted.”
Nikki stared at her aunt. “Did Paula have a computer?”
When Carmen indicated that Paula’s computer was on the desk in the little office, she suggested Nikki take the keys to the condo and let herself in to retrieve it.
“In fact, why don’t you and Eduardo stay at my condo?”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”
A nurse came in and handed Carmen a pill and a glass of water with a straw. She changed the bottle of saline in the drip. When she completed the task, she turned to Nikki.
“La senyora needs to sleep now. You can visit again tomorrow.”
Nikki gave her aunt a kiss on her forehead and asked if she needed anything. Before leaving, she sent Eduardo a text.
Nikki opened the door of their suite for Floyd. After serving herself a glass of orange juice, she poured scotch for Floyd and Eduardo. The three of them sat in the small living room. Nikki had called the meeting to discuss Carmen’s thoughts on Paula’s innocence.
“Or maybe not so innocent,” Floyd said, placing a large brown envelope on the coffee table. “Sorry, Nikki, but we have to consider everyone who might be involved.”
“Eduardo and I will go to Carmen’s condo after we finish here. She gave me the keys and I’m going to retrieve Paula’s computer. Charlotte can check it.”
“Good,” Floyd said. “If the police have not already confiscated it.”
“Carmen’s take,” Nikki said, “is that the Catalan police may have resorted to this attack to retaliate against the central government in Madrid for interfering with the referendum in October 2017 when Catalonia wanted to secede from Spain.”
Eduardo’s brow furrowed. “A repeat of Catalan police ignoring radicals intending to blow up the basilica. Could there be any truth to that?” He took a sip of scotch and his brow relaxed.
“The Catalan police came under fire in 2017,” Floyd said, “for not stopping an act of terrorism. There were accusations of conspiracy at that time.”
“Rumors are easily recycled,” Eduardo said. “I’ve heard it mentioned in news reports since we’ve been here.”
“Prominent Catalonian citizens and politicians were arrested and jailed after the central government in Madrid squelched the referendum. Some are still in exile,” Floyd said. “So there is a lot of sensitivity.”
“And a few news reports claim the large Muslim population living here would benefit from an independent Catalonia. They dream of returning to the glory days of Al Andalus—the Muslim Spain,” Eduardo said.
“Even if there is a separatist conspiracy,” Nikki said, “it doesn’t explain why the man who may have detonated the bombs is also after me.”
Floyd opened the envelope he had placed on the coffee table and removed the contents. He spread nine photos over the glass surface of the table.
Nikki studied the photos and looked at Floyd. “Is there one for El Saraway?”
“No. That’s our mystery man.”
“So who do we have?” she asked.
“Top row, as you can see, are Paula, Mr. Massú, and Hassan. The middle row shows Fadi, plus the two suspects who died in the attack with Hassan. One is the guy who was riding with him, and the other was the sniper from the east park. These additional two guys were from the first car, the car that ran over the policeman,” Floyd said, pointing to the images in the third row. “Then the last one is Cristóbal Arenas, the Colombian.”
“What about Jamila, Fadi’s mother?” Eduardo asked. “And wasn’t there a suspect they took to the hospital?”
“Jamila is not a suspect at this point. The two who drove the first car were taken alive, but Javier said both died on Sunday from their wounds.”
“Let’s talk motive,” Nikki said. “Like who wants to harm me and blow up the basilica?”
Eduardo picked up the photo of Cristóbal Arenas. “He could want you dead for what you did to disrupt his and Manuel del Campo’s illegal drug exports out of Colombia. He could have provided the explosives.”
“But the coincidence for both jobs is too great,” Floyd said.
Nikki thought back to the day they arrived in Barcelona. Neither she nor Eduardo knew Paula was getting married, nor that they would attend Paula’s wedding. No one could have connected Nikki to Paula’s wedding.
Floyd looked pensive. He studied the sheets he’d printed off with the likeness of each suspect. “Paula is the link between you and the bombing,” Floyd said.
Nikki felt her stomach sink.
“Even if I accept Paula as a willing martyr in the terrorist plot, does she have a connection to Arenas?” she asked.
“The other connection is El Saraway,” Eduardo said. “El Saraway knows the Massú family and Paula too.”
“Could El Saraway be the connection to Arenas?” Nikki asked.
Eduardo shook his head and inquired if Floyd knew anything about Massú’s background, and Floyd provide
d the information Javier had given him—Massú had been a nobody.
“How did Massú make his money?” Eduardo asked.
“Plastics and polymers,” Floyd said.
“Plastics? Like in a C-4 bomb?”
“It’s possible, but for now let’s assume not,” Floyd said. “Massú’s venture started in the mid-1990s, after he met El Saraway. It became a money maker by 2000. He’d been a clerk in a hardware store. Not a job likely to finance a new business. My question is whether El Saraway provided the money. Does Massú owe El Saraway?”
“At the expense of killing his wife and son?” Eduardo asked.
“Lots of questions,” Nikki said. “And no answers.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Barcelona—Majestic Hotel
Monday Late Afternoon
“Can you tell me when Mr. El Saraway will return?” Rafael asked the young man behind the concierge desk.
“I am not his secretary. He’s a guest at the hotel and does not inform us of his comings and goings.”
“I’d like to leave him a message,” Rafael said. He ignored the mobile phone vibrating in his pocket.
“He is no longer staying with us,” the older concierge said as he approached the desk.
“When did he check out?” Rafael asked, showing his badge to the two men.
“He never checks out, merely leaves on business trips. Keeps his suite year-round.”
Rafael thanked them and walked outside. He continued down the gently sloping street until he found a coffee shop offering baked goods. Finding a seat and settling down with coffee and a chocolate-filled croissant, he pulled his phone out to listen to Alberto’s short message asking him to call.
“What’s up?”
Alberto had interviewed the owner of the flower shop, just as Rafael had requested. “Turns out,” he said, “a young woman whose name is Ussam owns it.”
Rafael interrupted him. “Do you notice anything unusual about the name?”
“Ussam?” Alberto asked over the phone. “It’s a boy’s name. This woman’s name is Sonia. She told me Ussam is her surname.” He continued explaining the woman had been very cooperative and had only good things to say about Hassan. She had expressed shock and disbelief he was capable of such a horrific act.
“That’s not what I’m pointing out about the name.”
“Ussam?” Alberto asked, sounding confused.
“It’s Massú spelled backward.” Rafael took a bite of the croissant. Not as good as his wife made, but he took another bite anyway.
Alberto mumbled he had not noticed it.
“Did you ask if any of the other suspects had worked for her?”
Alberto described Sonia’s response as a vigorous shake of her head.
“What about Hassan’s colleagues? Did they shed any light on his motivation or involvement?”
Alberto confirmed what Rafael was expecting—his coworkers were appalled by Hassan’s behavior. Nothing more.
Rafael hung up. He decided to pay Sonia Ussam a visit.
Sonia Ussam was closing her flower shop when Rafael arrived. He glanced at his watch and saw it was seven o’clock. He walked up to her and introduced himself.
“I’ve already spoken to one of your investigators.” She pulled the door shut and locked it.
“I have a few more questions.”
“Can’t you see I’m leaving for the day? I have an appointment.”
“This will only take a few minutes,” Rafael said. “Unless you prefer to go to the police station.”
Sonia opened the door. Rafael followed her inside. He admired the displays in the floral coolers, and then glanced at her.
“How long have you owned this shop?”
“Not quite two years.”
“It’s in a nice shopping area.”
“Thanks, I tried to pick a trendy part of town, to attract moneyed customers.”
“Cater to weddings?”
“Every florist does.”
Rafael asked her to talk about the shop, specifically what type of businesses purchased flowers. Sonia explained a bit about the usual customers—weddings, funerals, corporate events, and holidays. These included La Diada de Sant Jordi, or feast of Saint George, a celebration of romance and literature. Everyone in Catalonia buys books and roses for their loved ones. He remembered the red roses, wrapped in red and yellow ribbons, the colors of the Catalonian flag, he’d purchased for Lola last April. His mind snapped back to the interrogation.
“You provided the arrangements for Saturday’s wedding at Sagrada Família.”
“The other detective asked that. I answered him.”
“Now you need to respond to me. Did you provide those flowers?”
“Yes.”
“Who did you work with—the bride or the groom?”
“On the overall arrangement, with the bride, Paula Azar. We had a meeting to discuss what she wanted. And she paid me.”
“Who set up and arranged the flowers?”
“Hassan. He’s dead,” Sonia said. “He also delivered the flowers. Paula purchased her arrangements here because she knew Hassan.”
“What about an African with a heavy black beard? Did he ever come to your shop?”
Sonia looked confused. She stammered that she did not understand his question.
“Do you know a man of African descent with a beard?”
“No. The news media said there’s a person of interest fitting that description,” she said.
“What about Paula? How did you meet her?”
Sonia hesitated before answering she had met Paula and Fadi for the first time at a function at the Islamic Center. Beyond that, she informed the detective, she had seen her again when she arranged and paid for the flowers.
“Speaking of Fadi Massú, why is it your name is Ussam?”
“It’s my surname.”
“Are you aware that it’s Massú spelled backward?”
Sonia stared at Rafael. He couldn’t tell if she was surprised or angry. She held the keys to the shop in her hand and rattled them in a manner that seemed to Rafael an unconscious nervous response.
“You’re a Massú, aren’t you?” Rafael asked.
“This is all so unpleasant. Three weddings called to cancel their orders. All since the florist connection to Saturday’s attack hit the news. Not that my shop’s name has been mentioned, but customers could figure it out for themselves. I’m going to be bankrupted.”
Rafael wouldn’t let her change the subject. “Your name.”
“My family history is something I’d prefer to keep private.”
“Did you know Hassan was planning the attack at the basilica?”
“Of course not. He was a soft-spoken man who never expressed anger.”
“Did you know he frequently beat his wife?”
Sonia looked at Rafael in stunned silence. When she spoke, she did so with a hint of sarcasm. “Wasn’t she a Gypsy or something weird like that?”
“She’s a Spanish citizen and a hardworking woman,” Rafael answered.
Sonia’s eyes narrowed. She bit her lip and attempted to nod, rattling the keys again.
A woman opened the door. Sonia turned and told them she was closed for the day, but the woman didn’t budge as she appeared to check out the shop. When asked a second time to leave, she indicated she was there as a newspaper reporter. Rafael moved toward the door and suggested she leave the premises. Sonia locked the door after the woman left.
“Now, tell me what it is about your family history you don’t want made public?”
“Fine. You’ve guessed it. I’m a Massú too. When I was born, Fadi was a year old. My mother registered me under Ussam. To keep my identity secret. My father insisted on it.”
“Born to a different mother?”
Sonia nodded. “Fadi was the lucky one to be born to the legitimate wife.”
Rafael allowed a pause in hopes she would continue to talk.
“My mother was sent back to
Lebanon after my ninth birthday. Fernando Massú paid her off. He had started a business and was making money. With money came social status, and Jamila wanted exclusivity on her husband.”
“When did you return to Barcelona?”
“After my mother died five years ago. She knew she was terminally ill. So she contacted my father and demanded he pay for my college education. She threatened to make it difficult with Jamila if he did not cooperate.”
“So the threat worked?”
Sonia looked around her shop. Rafael could see the frustration his interrogation caused her. He figured the reporter had unnerved her too.
“It was the way my mother got me back to Spain where it would make it easier for me, a Muslim woman, to attend the university and work after my graduation. Plus I’m a Spanish citizen by birth.”
“When did you start your business?”
“After my graduation. It was a gift from that bastard father of mine. Not really a gift, a pay-off to keep me quiet. Gave me cash. A lot of cash and told me to get lost. He did not want either Jamila or Fadi to find out about me. Jamila knew about my mother, but I don’t think she ever knew I had been born.”
“You used the cash gift to open the shop?”
“Some of it. I bought an existing business. I’m still paying it off.” Sonia sighed.
“Could you have paid cash for the business?” he asked.
“I could have. But I did not think that was a good idea. A business should pay for itself.”
“So you banked the rest?” he asked. He mentally calculated principal and interest charges a small business like this might make to repay the loan financing the purchase.
“Banks are hardly trustworthy,” she responded.
Rafael took a minute to digest Sonia’s words. Why not pay the business off when she was apparently sitting on mounds of cash? He figured it had to do with explaining to the tax authorities or other government agencies where the money came from.
“Sounds as if you did not like Fadi or his mother.”
“Hated them. Because of them, my father wanted to get rid of me.”