Revenge in Barcelona

by Kathryn Lane

  “Hated them enough to kill them?”

  Sonia looked incensed.

  “I’d never kill anyone. No matter how much I hated them. Do you think I would have put stickers with my shop’s name on the bottom of the flowerpots if I intended to use them to kill people?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Barcelona—Carrer de Provença

  Monday Evening of Third Week

  Nikki opened the door to Carmen’s condo, and her heart raced uncontrollably. She turned to Eduardo and he wrapped his arms around her. Her initial shock expressed itself in sobs muffled by his chest.

  “My god,” Eduardo said. He blinked at the sight in front of them. “What a mess.”

  “Why?” she whispered between sobs.

  “Someone’s trying to get rid of evidence.”

  “Paula,” Nikki said, “Was she implicated?”

  “We don’t know. But I doubt it would be anything to do with Carmen.”

  “Carmen will be devastated if Paula was radicalized. All those people killed.”

  “Don’t judge yet. It’s hard for me to believe Paula was involved in the attack.”

  “She loved everything related to the Middle East,” Nikki said. “She converted without telling her mother.”

  “Unless and until proven otherwise, let’s assume her conversion was the result of soul-searching, not terrorism,” Eduardo said. “Let’s not forget that most Muslims are good people.”

  Nikki wiped her eyes. She slipped out of Eduardo’s arms and picked up a broken piece of ceramic flowerpot. The wilted and dried contents lay strewn over the floor and on overturned drawers pulled from a cabinet and a credenza. Plates and glasses had been dumped on the floor, broken testaments of the anger or desperation of the intruder searching for incriminating evidence. She headed to the office, where papers and books had been dumped on the desk and all over the floor. A three-drawer file cabinet had been overturned.

  “No computer in sight,” she said. “I’ll sort through papers while you check the rest of the house.”

  “I’ll find the point of entry,” Eduardo said.

  Nikki looked at the exit from the office, a door that opened into the common hall a few steps from the building’s emergency staircase. It could have been picked without leaving any sign. Eduardo left the room and Nikki picked up books, magazines, and documents from the floor, placing them on the desk. A small, unsealed envelope with Carmen’s name handwritten on it caught her attention. The flap was tucked inside. She walked to the living room and joined Eduardo on the balcony.

  “The sliding doors were unlocked,” he said. They came in through the balcony, bypassing the lobby guard.”

  “It’s not a burglary,” Nikki said. “They came for the computer.” She held the envelope for Eduardo to see it was unsealed. “Should I open it?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  Nikki glanced at the signature on the handwritten letter and read through it quickly. “It’s from Paula, written on the morning of the wedding. In summary, she’s sorry for being such a bitch to live with and that Fadi encouraged her to write the note apologizing for her bad moods.” Then she read the final part verbatim: I promise it will be better in the future.

  “You should take it to Carmen. Might console her a little,” he said.

  Handing the envelope to Eduardo, she walked down the hall to check the bedrooms.

  Clothes from the closets had been piled on the beds in both rooms. Contents of every drawer had been tossed on the floor. In Carmen’s room, jewelry was scattered on the dresser. Beside the dresser, a jewelry box had been dropped. She examined a couple of pieces without picking them up. To her untrained eyes, the gemstones seemed genuine and the yellow settings appeared to be high-end, fourteen-karat gold.

  Eduardo joined her. “I’ll take pictures of each room. Why don’t you look for specific items you want photographed.”

  “Start right here with all the jewelry on top of the dresser. Proves it was not a burglary.”

  Nikki was checking the laundry room when she heard voices, Eduardo’s among them. She returned to the living room.

  “I’m GEO agent Rafael González,” Rafael said, extending his hand to Nikki. He was a stocky man in his early forties. No uniform, but he must have shown Eduardo his badge. “This is special investigator Alberto Mariscal, also with the GEO. We’re here to investigate the Sagrada Família bombing. We understand this is where the bride lived.”

  “It’s my aunt’s condo. The bride moved in with her mother for a week before the wedding. I think some of her things are already in Fadi’s, the groom’s, condo.”

  “When did this happen?” Agent González asked, taking in the mess.

  “We found it this way about an hour ago. Carmen, my aunt, asked me today to check on her condo.”

  “What about the bride’s computer, mobile phones, other electronic equipment? Would those items be here or at the groom’s?”

  “Carmen told me Paula’s computer was left on the desk in the office next to the kitchen the day of the wedding. As far as a mobile phone, I have no clue. She may have had it with her at the basilica.”

  “If any of it was here, it’s gone now,” Eduardo added.

  The detective informed them that Special Investigator Mariscal would take their fingerprints to eliminate them from those they might find. And he’d take their contact data and photos of the condo.

  “Not a problem,” Eduardo said. “He can set up his fingerprint kit on the dining room table. Then we’ll leave so you can get your work done.”

  Detective González interviewed them, asking about Paula’s work with immigrants from various Middle Eastern and African countries.

  Nikki gave him the information she knew about her cousin’s responsibilities at the Institute for Globalization, Culture, and Mobility at the United Nations.”

  “And she converted to Islam,” Special Investigator Mariscal said.

  Nikki nodded.

  The interview continued and their fingerprints were taken. Before the detective dismissed them, he suggested that Nikki, now Carmen’s closest living relative, stop by the hospital the next day to support her aunt after he interviewed her.

  Nikki felt her stomach tighten. It would be so difficult for Carmen not only to face the horrific situation that had taken her daughter’s life, but also to be questioned about it. If nothing else, the fact Paula had renounced the religion of her birth and had kept it secret would hurt her mother. Carmen was committed to her Catholicism.

  Nikki felt tears forming again.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Barcelona—Eixample District

  Monday Late Evening of Third Week

  Floyd met Nikki and Eduardo in the lobby bar of the hotel. A musician sat at a grand piano. Yet it was softer than the upstairs bar with its loud beat, a sound to entice a younger crowd, a sound that inevitably became louder as the evening wore on. Floyd had purposely chosen the softer music even if the openness of the lobby bar offered less privacy. He had called the meeting to inform his colleagues about El Saraway leaving the hotel.

  When a server approached them, the two men ordered scotch while Nikki asked for a very chilled glass of cava and fresh orange juice on the side. Floyd ordered three plates of tapas to share.

  “Left the hotel?” Nikki’s voice sounded surprised. “He probably took his falcon out for a hunt.”

  “Javier’s contact from the hotel informed him the man is gone,” Floyd said. Javier had investigated where he might have gone, but so far there was no evidence of him leaving through any airport or boarding a train. Nor did it appear he had crossed into an adjacent country.

  “Unless he left under an alias or took a boat from an obscure beach,” Eduardo offered.

  “Could be. Javier indicated that El Saraway owns a house in Ibiza,” Floyd said. He had more to communicate, but Nikki interrupted him by saying Carmen’s condo had been ransacked.

  “Looking for something, were they?” Floyd
asked.

  Eduardo opened the photo app on his phone and showed him the disorder. Floyd whistled. Their server returned with their order of drinks and appetizers.

  “We did not find Paula’s computer, the main reason we went to the condo,” Nikki said, taking a sip of cava. “Even though Carmen said it was on the desk the morning of the wedding.”

  “Obviously one of the items they were looking for,” Floyd said. “But what else could they have been looking for to make such a mess?”

  Eduardo helped himself to a bit of grilled swordfish on rustic Barcelona style bread moistened with a mild sauce. He put the tapa down and pulled out the note Paula had written to her mother on the morning of her wedding and handed it to Floyd.

  “Not exactly a suicide note, but I don’t like the tone of it,” Floyd said, handing it back.

  Eduardo took a bite of the tapa, his face lighting up. “Nikki, we have to find out how to make this. It’s so good.”

  “While we were at the condo, a detective from the GEO came by. He asked me to join Carmen at the hospital tomorrow after he interviews her,” Nikki said. “After he leaves, I’ll show the note to Carmen.” Then she served herself a swordfish tapa and savored it. “You’re right, Eduardo. We must get this recipe.”

  Eduardo turned to Floyd and mentioned the detective had taken their fingerprints, mostly for elimination purposes, though he knew family members were often considered suspects.

  “Except for your prints, the place was probably wiped clean,” Floyd said. “On the note, I think it should be given to the detective. Quite honestly, you should have left it in the condo. Changing the subject, Charlotte has found a bit of interesting information I have not passed to Javier yet.”

  “What is it?”

  “In searching through El Saraway’s downloaded tablet information, she found emails from Massú to El Saraway.” Floyd tasted an appetizer.

  “And?” Nikki asked, impatient to hear what had been uncovered.

  “The emails urge El Saraway to believe in a US-led conspiracy to weaken and ultimately divide Middle Eastern countries,” Floyd said.

  Not impressed with the email discovery, Nikki inquired if Charlotte had any news on El Saraway’s bitcoin.

  Floyd indicated she had not mentioned cryptocurrency.

  “Why don’t you want to tell Javier about the email finding?” Nikki asked.

  “I didn’t tell him we downloaded El Saraway’s tablet. He’ll suspect we’ve done more without telling him.”

  “Isn’t that the same as withholding Paula’s note from the GEO?” she asked.

  Floyd gave her a sheepish glance. He noticed a hint of pleasure in Nikki’s eyes.

  Eduardo wanted to know why the emails were important.

  “Massú may not be the benevolent man he tries to portray, that’s all,” Floyd said. He then informed them Charlotte had been tracking Cristóbal Arenas and found evidence that he may have moved his gun-smuggling operations to one of the Spanish islands.

  “Ibiza?” Eduardo asked.

  “Spot on,” Floyd said.

  “Both Arenas and El Saraway in Ibiza? Sounds like Armageddon,” Nikki said, shaking her head. “The Egyptian conspiracy and the Barcelona separatists’ movement. It’s all lies and propaganda. Add in a crazy drug lord from Colombia and I could write a crime thriller.”

  Floyd steered the conversation back to serious business, sharing his discussion with Javier about Arenas operating out of Ibiza. His Interpol friend had theorized that Arenas and El Saraway could be business partners, or have some other connection, a situation not to be ignored.

  Eduardo moved nervously in his chair. “Do you suppose Arenas and El Saraway could be the same person? Especially since the Interpol database contains info on Arenas but not on El Saraway.”

  “Unless El Saraway is a suspected criminal, part of an ongoing investigation, a fugitive, or a person of interest in international criminal activity, there’s no reason for El Saraway to be flagged on Interpol,” Nikki said.

  “Dual identities are possible,” Floyd said. “But in this case, I think one is an Egyptian and the other one is Colombian. Not the same man.”

  “What’s next?” Nikki asked.

  They discussed giving Javier the information they had downloaded from El Saraway’s tablet in case Interpol considered it worth disseminating. But first they needed to confirm whether El Saraway had left the hotel. The hidden camera had shown the man leaving with the falcon on his shoulder, but that alone did not confirm he had left. Only going in again would verify if the man was gone.

  “Do you still have the passkeys to the penthouse?” Eduardo asked.

  Floyd responded affirmatively. And he dialed his colleague’s phone to make sure Javier could deactivate the security cameras on the seventeenth floor. “Let’s get ready. He said give him fifteen minutes to contact his guy in the hotel. He’ll call back to confirm.” Floyd removed the keycards from his pocket.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Barcelona—Eixample District

  Tuesday Morning

  Olani glanced at Selena as they stepped off the metro at the Carrer de Provença station. She admired her Roma friend. Not only has she taken me into her fold, she has also walked every step with me to find justice. When I set out, I had no idea what to do other than depend on Rafa. Instead Selena has shown me a world where I can depend on myself, Olani thought.

  Olani was still thinking about Selena’s friendship when a musty odor caught her attention. The stench grew overpowering. Olani suppressed the urge to throw up. Both women quickened their pace toward the stairs.

  “It gives me chills to come here again. It was so scary last Saturday. The explosion, the people, seeing Taiwo in the crowd. Worst of all was letting him get away.”

  “It’s not your fault, Morocco.”

  But Olani did blame herself. If she’d acted sooner, the police would have arrested Taiwo. They were here to find that monster by posing as beggars. She mentally reviewed Selena’s instructions about covering her face with the shawl and using the fan to signal her if she saw him.

  “Let’s make ourselves somewhat invisible as we beg. Can’t attract too much attention. Police are sure to be in the area.”

  “Invisible?” Olani asked. “With that guitar?”

  “I need to add music so I can earn money for you, Morocco.”

  “Begging is giving me a pretty good living.” Olani smiled. “I may want to make a career of it.”

  “I thought you were going to look for a job teaching school?” Selena asked.

  “That’s what I’m trained for, but begging is easy money.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Olani took a second to respond. “Maybe.”

  Selena knew the perils of panhandling, besides the fact that begging only works in good weather and during the tourist season. “Look,” she said as they stepped onto the street level, “tourists have abandoned Sagrada Família. The minute they smell trouble, they run away like scared cats.”

  “So why should we be here?” Olani asked.

  “Remember, Rafa said murderers always return to the scene of their crimes.”

  Other than a few mossos d’esquadra policing the area cordoned off with police tape, the basilica was deserted. Gone were the swarms of tourists. Absent were the aggressive vendors who vied for space on the sidewalk of Gaudí Park. They, like the tourists they depended on, had decided on better places to spend time. Gone too were the guides holding up signs or umbrellas.

  “We’ll catch Taiwo if he comes back,” Olani said, “but he’d better hurry. Nothing is stopping me from meeting my mother at the airport next week.”

  Selena smiled. “I can hardly wait to see your baby. I’ll sing lullabies to your little gadji. If you stay in Spain, I’ll teach her how to sing.”

  Olani missed her daughter terribly. And she feared Dayo would not remember her. But she reminded herself she had to get justice.

  Selena handed Olani a bag
containing her lunch and a bottle of water, and told her where to stand while she set up across the street.

  Olani watched her friend cross the pavement to the opposite corner. Strands of curly hair had fallen over Selena’s forehead. When Selena flipped them back with a sensuous toss of her head, Olani wondered why such a woman had taken her in. There are good people everywhere, Olani thought, and Selena is one of them.

  After a quiet morning, Selena put the guitar on her back and rejoined Olani.

  “How much did you make?” Selena asked.

  “Eight euros,” Olani said. “I take back what I said about easy money.”

  The women walked to a bench in the park and sat down to eat lunch.

  “We’re not having much luck finding Taiwo here,” Selena said as she unwrapped her sandwich. “Can you think of a more promising place?”

  “What about a mosque?” Olani asked.

  “Good idea. But which one? There are about three hundred places to choose from.”

  Olani’s eyes widened. “I haven’t seen a single mosque since I’ve been here.”

  “Right. I’m talking about locations for worship, called model oratories or something like that. Places where people meet to pray, but they are not formal mosques. At least not buildings with minarets.”

  “What about calling your friend Rosa. Maybe she knows where her husband went to pray while he was alive. It could be a place to start looking for that bastard murderer.”

  “That’s a great idea, Morocco. Instead of begging for a living or teaching school, you should ask Rafa about becoming a detective.”

  “If you think I’m so good, then why don’t you call Rosa?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Barcelona Hospital

  Tuesday Morning