“Well, Paul, you’re today’s big story,” she began. “I’ve already had several reporters contact me to ask what’s happening with you.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That you weren’t seriously injured and that the police are investigating.”
“Did that satisfy them?”
Godard chuckled sarcastically. “Not a bit. They wanted to know what you were doing in the middle of a riot. They seemed to think you’ve gotten involved in something sinister. A few of them also made the connection between your injuries and what happened to Colin Bothwick. After all, you have a reputation for getting mixed up in dangerous matters.”
Burke groaned, but he wasn’t surprised. He knew some smart reporters who would have instantly connected the two incidents and started poking around.
“Beyond that, I told them you’d be on the job this afternoon although in a part-time capacity,” Godard added.
“But you told me you didn’t want me in the booth,” Burke said.
“Right now, I think it’s better for everyone if you’re in there. That way, we can control access to you. As it is now, I expect you’re going to get bombarded by reporters at your hotel in the next few minutes.”
“OK.”
“But only if you feel up to the job. Do you?”
“I’ll be in the booth in an hour.”
“Make it two hours. But I definitely don’t want you pushing yourself too much.”
“I’ll take it easy.”
“Get Jules to bring you. And if any reporters track you down, you emphasize you don’t know why it happened, and that you’re leaving it to the police to investigate. End of story, goodbye. Got it?”
“Got it.”
There was a pause and then Godard said, “Paul, do you have any idea what’s really going on?”
Burke hesitated for a moment, unsure about how much to tell her. He’d confided in Tessier, but Godard was another matter. He wasn’t sure what she might do with anything he told her. After all, she had bosses who demanded a lot of her.
Godard caught his reluctance, saying, “The information is only for my ears, Paul. I just want to know what you – what we – have got ourselves involved in.”
Burke thought for a moment. And then he nodded to himself. “I think it goes back to what Bothwick saw when he left me on our ride near Oropesa.”
“And do you have any thoughts about what he might have seen?”
“I think it’s got to do with some orange material I saw in the driveway of an unused apartment building, and with a food truck that had an accident on the way to Tarragona ‒ and with Chef Andres.”
“Chef Andres? Really? You didn’t mention that before.”
“I’m thinking it now, but I have nothing to support it. It’s just a hunch.”
“And considering the knife attack on you, is the Catalan independence movement involved in any of this?”
“I don’t think so.”
They ended the call after quickly reviewing the plans for the day’s telecast and then Burke filled in the blanks for Tessier who’d been listening.
“So, it’s a working day for us after all,” Tessier said.
Before Burke could respond, there was a knock on the front door. Burke exchanged a look with Tessier who went to the door, looked through the peephole and then opened it.
Two men and a woman stood there. They identified themselves as reporters for different media operations in Girona and when they saw Burke standing farther back, they walked into the hotel room, asking Burke how he was doing as they approached.
Burke saw Tessier was ready to corral the trio and get them out. “It’s OK, Jules, I can answer a couple of questions.”
And he did, sitting on the couch and giving them just what he and Godard had agreed on. The reporters weren’t satisfied though, and kept asking questions. What was Burke doing in the middle of a riot? Was he poking around in complex matters like he’d done before in France and Austria? Was he in favour of Catalan independence? Had he engaged in any violence himself? What were the extent of his injuries? Was he co-operating with the local police?
After 10 minutes of repeating himself, Burke said he had to get ready for work and Tessier started ushering the three out of the room. The woman reporter leaned back and asked a final question: “Paul, do the police believe what happened to you here had anything to do with Colin Bothwick’s murder?”
Burke took a moment and then replied, “I have no idea what they think.”
He could see the reporter didn’t believe him. And then Tessier got them back into the hallway, closing the door behind them.
“What now?” Tessier asked.
Burke stood and went to the table where his laptop was. “I’d like to know more about Chef Andres’ various business partners, including José López.”
“If you don’t mind, why don’t I look into their business arrangements?” said Tessier, reaching for his laptop. “No insult intended, but I might be a little quicker.”
Burke agreed. He had no doubts Tessier would be faster in finding information.
“And while you’re at it, Jules, do you think you can put together a rough timeline for Chef Andres’ business dealings? Like when he bought the restaurants, when he sold his shares, when he got involved in the consortium’s real estate purchases and when he bought into the catering company.”
“That should be easy, but what will that information show?” Tessier asked.
“Maybe nothing, maybe a lot. We won’t know until we can study the information.”
“I understand.”
“And while you tackle that, I’ll check into why the Vuelta organizers wanted Chef Andres to play such a big role in the race,” Burke added. “I’ve been curious about that for the last few days.”
“Good idea. By the way, Paul, do you know that right after today’s stage, I have to go with everyone else to Figueres for tomorrow’s race?”
Burke was aware he had Tessier’s help for just a short period. He wished he could go with the French TV crew, but the Girona police seemed adamant he stay in town even though Figueres was only 45 kilometres away.
“Then let’s not waste any time,” Burke said.
Chapter 36
The minutes ticked by with the only sounds coming from the two men pecking at their keyboards. Burke wasn’t finding much he didn’t know and he sensed Tessier was also struggling. He cursed under his breath. Was this as far as he’d get?
“Want to hear something unusual?” said Tessier breaking into Burke’s sense of defeat.
“What did you find?”
“Monsieur López seems to be going through a change of life, at least in business terms.”
“What do you mean?”
Tessier turned his swivel chair and faced Burke. “López was a medium fish in a small pond for years, running a trucking company that didn’t go outside a 200-kilometre range. I found one newspaper article for Tarragona that’s about a decade old and it talks about how he was scaling down his operations, potentially even selling the business, and planning to spend his final years enjoying his grandchildren and doing some traveling.”
“Did he ever take it easy? When I’ve talked with him, he sounds busy on a number of fronts.”
“One year after that article, López announced his trucking company would be expanding and he’d be staying in charge. They’d be doing business along most of the Mediterranean coast of Spain and into France.”
“That sounds like a huge expansion and a costly one,” Burke said.
“He’s quoted as predicting the expansion would mean an extra 500 jobs, most of them full-time. He said it was all about capitalizing on how the recession has changed investment opportunities. I couldn’t find any cost associated with the expansion, but it’s got to be in the tens of millions of euros, maybe more. I thought getting involved in such an expansion was a little odd at his age. I mean, he had to kno
w how demanding the expansion would be.”
“It hardly sounds like retirement or semi-retirement.”
“I’m not finished. A year after that, López and a couple of unidentified partners bought a fleet of 40 fishing boats.”
“Fishing?”
“He said he wanted to ensure Spain retained ownership of its fishing tradition.”
“How much did he spend?”
“The estimated pricetag, including specialty licences, was 25-million euros, according to one source.”
“Where did he get all the money?”
“Patience, Paul. I’m still not finished. Six months after the fishing-boat announcement, he and Chef Andres announced they were combining forces for a catering company to operate not just along the coast of the Med but inland as well. Apparently there are a couple of silent partners involved, including that American numbered company, but Chef Andres and López are the main names associated with it, especially Chef Andres.”
“Any pricetag for the catering firm?”
“One online business site estimated the catering company would need at least 10-million euros to operate properly each year.”
“That’s a lot of money. And a lot of time he wouldn’t be spending with his grandkids.”
Tessier shrugged. “I know. So what happened? Did he start to despise his grandkids or his children? I poked around into his family background, but didn’t get far.”
“Is López married? I don’t recall him mentioning a wife,” Burke said.
“His wife died nine years ago.”
“Maybe losing his wife made him decide to re-dedicate himself to work. Jules, when you do your timeline for Chef Andres, add that new information both about him and López.”
“No problem,” Tessier said. “Just for your information, his wife was killed in a hit-and-run accident.”
“Anyone caught?”
“No. There’s something else, though.”
“What?”
“She was killed while she was riding her bicycle.”
Chapter 37
Burke was surprised to learn how Lόpez’s wife had died. It wasn’t that cycling fatalities didn’t happen – he’d almost been a victim himself a few years before when a woman and her son had deliberately tried to run him over. It was that López had never mentioned it during any of their conversations. Mostly, though, it was because Burke couldn’t imagine associating himself with a huge bike race that would provide a steady stream of painful reminders about how his spouse had died. How did López handle such memories?
Then Burke wondered if the loss of his wife hadn’t been a big deal for López. Maybe their marriage had been troubled, and, if that was the case, it might explain why López was so calm during the Vuelta.
“Paul, I know we’ve got to get going soon, but if you give me another minute or two, I can give you that timeline for Chef Andres’ business dealings.”
“That’s fast,” Burke said.
“I already had some of the information,” Tessier said. He typed furiously for a few more seconds. “There, I’ve got it.“
“So?”
“Chef Andres started small, buying off-the-beaten-path restaurants about 15 years ago, mostly in the Valencia region. When he started to make his name, he moved up in the world. Within five years, he was a partner in four fancy restaurants across the country, and double that number in another two years. He was doing well, but decided three years ago to sell his share in two of his places. Within six months, he was involved in the real-estate consortium.”
“It sounds like he needed the restaurant money to buy into the consortium,” Burke said. It was a conclusion he’d reached earlier.
“That takes us back to why a consortium would buy land that no one was interested in?” Tessier said.
“I think the consortium was going to use the properties, but didn’t want anyone watching.”
“Like they were moving stuff onto their properties?”
“Exactly.”
Tessier checked his watch. “Maybe we can talk more about that later. Anyway, a year after that, Chef Andres got into the catering operation and apparently a couple of other businesses which brings us up to date.”
“A busy man.”
“One article said he never takes a vacation,” Tessier said, closing his laptop. “We better get going, Paul. Suzanne will be expecting us any minute.”
Burke nodded. He got to his feet a little stiffly and immediately recalled his racing days when he’d often ridden with aches and pains that had made him feel decades older.
Tessier noticed. “Are you sure you’re OK to do this?”
Burke smiled. “It’ll be a few days before the stiffness goes away, but I’m fine.”
Tessier started packing his suitcase since he’d be leaving Girona after the stage for Figueres and the following day’s race.
Burke, moving slowly, changed into the blue-and-white polo shirt he and Menard wore for all the telecasts. Then he called for a taxi.
Fifteen minutes later, their taxi dropped them off by the Vuelta’s media entrance at Girona’s huge Parc de la Devesa. The area was already humming with activity as two dozen TV operations got ready for the day’s stage. The massive tent where other journalists were working was also busy.
They found their booth overlooking the 100-metre mark from the finish. Behind the booth were parked 50 massive trucks with satellite dishes atop half of them. Cables were stretched everywhere like massive snakes and tech staff were bustling about, many of them checking their phones or tablets, as they worked to bring the Vuelta to a worldwide audience.
Once more, Burke was impressed at how big a deal the Vuelta a Espaῇa was.
As he and Tessier walked toward their booth, Burke heard someone call his name. He turned and saw a few fans waving. He didn’t recognize anyone.
“How are you doing, Paul?” yelled a young man in French.
“Good,” Burke called back.
“You’re our favourite announcer,” the young man said. The half dozen others around him – four men and two women – waved and flashed thumbs-up signs.
Burke smiled and waved back, figuring they’d heard about his injuries. He was surprised by the support. And pleased as well. Sometimes when he was working before a mic, he wondered if there was anyone out there listening to him.
“You’ve got a fan club, Paul,” came Nico Menard’s voice from the entrance to the booth which was up six steps.
“It took a long time coming,” Burke replied.
He slowly climbed into the booth with Tessier on his heels. With Tessier’s and Menard’s luggage in the booth, space was even tighter with various cables and electronic gear placed on the two tables.
“It’s a perfect day for racing,” Menard said, sitting back down.
Burke took his spot beside the veteran broadcaster. “It is indeed,” he said. “I didn’t expect to be doing this today, but I don’t mind at all.”
“Good,” Menard said. “But if you start to feel unwell or tired, flash me a sign and I’ll do what I can to help you.”
Burke saw the concern behind his partner’s smile and thanked him. A minute later, Suzanne Godard, Monique Chan and the telecast’s director Robert Laboissière showed up, making it almost impossible to move in the booth.
“Paul, are you doing any better?” Godard said.
Burke said he was fine. It was nice that people cared, but he was starting to get a little tired of being asked.
Godard looked pleased at the response and Burke could see she was in her pre-telecast mode which involved equal parts of sharp commands, outbursts of impatience and suggestions that weren’t to be ignored.
She led everyone through the telecast schedule which involved planned commercial breaks, key points expected in the race and taped interviews that Menard had done and would be inserted during uneventful periods in the race. She did all the talking except for a couple of quick techn
ical instructions from Laboissière who was the anti-Godard with the kind of laid-back attitude Burke associated with people who didn’t need to hear their own voice much.
When she was finished her directions, Godard tapped her wristwatch. “Now we need to show ourselves at the VIP tent,” she said.
That was when the Vuelta’s various broadcasters would assemble with other journalists to mingle with the local elites over a spectacular buffet. It was all about schmoozing and although Burke wasn’t adept at it, he was getting used to it. Besides that, it was always interesting to talk to different people about what they did.
This time, though, no one wanted to talk much about themselves. As soon as he was inside the massive tent, Burke found himself surrounded by a dozen guests with the group expanding by the second. The questions and comments came at him in waves.
“How are you feeling, Seῇor Burke?”
“What a terrible thing to happen.”
“Except for your facial wound, you look good.”
“Have the police arrested anyone?”
“Did you see who did it?”
“Please don’t judge us by what occurred.”
Burke tried answering a couple of queries, but soon gave up and just thanked people for their concern, adding the police were trying to find who attacked him.
After a few minutes, Burke felt someone grab his elbow and direct him away. He looked and saw it was Monique Chan who explained to the group in excellent Spanish that she needed to discuss something important with Burke. She added a sparkling smile that seemed to convince everyone she needed some alone time with Burke.
“Suzanne told me to keep an eye on you,” she said once they were free. “I figured you’d reached the point where you needed to escape.”
“I had,” Burke said as she led him toward a vacant table near the back where they’d been assigned to sit.
No one was following them except Tessier. Godard and Menard were in another corner talking with others although Burke caught his producer glancing his way a couple of times.
Once they reached their table, Chan turned to Tessier, saying, “Jules, would you get us a couple of plates of food? Just vegetables for me, please. Paul, what would you like?”
Silenced in Spain Page 17