by JJ Marsh
Ana interrupted. “She can’t understand you. That’s my bodyguard and she doesn’t speak any English.”
Beatrice kept her face stony, searching for a gesture which might indicate both incomprehension and physical power. She settled for folding her arms.
“Where is she from, because I speak several ...?”
“Karel, who is it? The body they found near the reservoir.”
Karel dropped his eyes. “Ana, I can’t ...”
“I need to know who it is and how he died.” Her voice contained no hint of a polite request, just clear determination.
“We can’t even give the police cause of death with any certainty yet.”
“So you know who it is and you think you know how he died. Come on, Karel. Is it Tiago Vínculo?”
“Yes.” His mouth dragged down in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Ana. I know he was a close friend.”
Ana swallowed once but her voice remained steady. “Thank you. How? I already know it wasn’t an accident.”
Karel opened his palms. “We don’t even know that yet. His bruising is consistent with a fall. If he slipped from the top, bumping into stones and rock, it could have been the impact of any one of those that killed him. We can’t make any definitive assessments till after the examination.” He rubbed his eye, as if tired.
Beatrice should have known Ana would spot a liar’s tic.
Stepping forward so he had no choice but to look at her, Ana stood directly in front of Karel. “What else? You know more than just bruises. Tell me, Karel. I think you owe me that.”
He scrunched up his face in discomfort. “You’re a journalist. Giving you any information could get me in a lot of trouble.”
“This isn’t for the paper, it’s for me. What is it?”
He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his white coat and glanced again at Beatrice. Ana moved into his line of sight.
“Karel ...”
“She really doesn’t understand English? I mean, I’ll tell you, but I don’t know that woman and she makes me nervous.”
“She hasn’t got a clue. I promise. Look, your toilet break is starting to get suspiciously long, so do us both a favour and tell me what else you’ve found.”
Karel’s eyes flicked to the fire door. “You cannot, under any circumstances, use this in a story. OK? The body had another injury, which can’t be explained by the fall.”
“What?”
“Someone cut off his nose.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph ...”
Thankfully, Karel’s attempt to comfort Ana in an embrace meant that he didn’t see Beatrice clap a horrified hand to her mouth. By the time Ana had pushed him away and he looked back, Beatrice had regained her composure. Arms folded, chin high and eyes suspicious – she looked every inch a foreign security officer. But inside the implications hit her like a series of electric shocks.
Chapter 10
Bells rang across the courtyard, breaking into Luz’s contented doze and announcing four o’clock. Her stomach swooped with a thrill when she realised where she was. And who with. Her risk-taking was getting worse. Bringing him back to the campus, back to her room, she must have lost her mind. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t stop smiling. She nuzzled against Tunçay’s chest and closed her eyes. She refused to watch the clock digits count away her remaining moments of happiness. He slept on, no doubt exhausted by late shifts, early mornings and limited sleep in between. Selfishness and lust, greed and need, was she taking more than she gave? Her guilt surfaced and she pulled away to look at his face.
Without his glasses, he looked younger, more naïve, and his face had relaxed completely. She smiled. His chest rose and fell, dark hair converging to an arrow which pointed beneath the duvet. Luz wanted to follow that arrow with her fingertips to see where it might lead, but she had no time. Always the same story – there was never enough time.
She kissed his cheek. “Wake up. It’s past four.”
He didn’t open his eyes but breathed deeply, stretching out his arm and pulling her onto his chest.
She laughed and kissed him again. “Come on. We’ve got to get out of here. Rita will be back in less than twenty minutes.”
“No. I can’t move. I’m not going anywhere.”
She laughed again, but a quiver of panic limited her smile. She shoved him, a dead weight. The clock flicked to 16.10. Her panic morphed into anger. She wanted to shout at him, threaten him, even hurt him. Anything to make him move. He opened his eyes.
“Is that the best you can do?” he asked, his smile sleepy.
She pounced, tickling his ribs, stomach, armpit, back, neck, wherever presented itself as he writhed and pleaded under her attack. Finally he rolled off the bed, gasping.
“That’ll teach you. Come on, we have to get dressed.” She jumped off the bed and picked up her underwear. He caught her ankle.
“You won’t even give me an opportunity for revenge? Come on, I’m not going to see you again for five whole days.” He slid his hand up the inside of her leg.
“No! Tunçay, please don’t do this. We have to get dressed and get out.” She dragged on her knickers and hooked herself into her bra. “I knew it was a bad idea to come here. I can’t relax and you can’t take it seriously. We mustn’t get caught!”
All humour dropped from his face and he got to his feet. Luz looked away from his semi-erect penis and handed him his clothes. He sat on the bed to dress, his expression tired and sullen. Neither spoke until a trill emanated from Luz’s phone. She read the message and sighed with relief.
“Rita’s going for a sauna with Pilar and Mariana. She won’t be back for another hour, at least. Wait, I have to reply, she wants me to join them.”
She keyed in a swift excuse and glanced up to see Tunçay’s face unchanged. He looked as if he’d had enough. She threw the phone onto the table, sat beside him and looped her arm around his neck.
“I’m sorry for hassling you. I just get so terrified of being caught that I tend to ...”
“Caught with a Turk? Am I really that embarrassing?”
She sat back, shocked. “No! No, Tunçay, it’s not you. I told you that. My parents are incredibly strict. They have plans for me, and don’t want anything, or anyone, to get in the way.”
He stood up and pulled his cigarettes from his jacket.
“You can’t smoke here. She’ll smell it. Look, let’s go outside.”
He lit the cigarette, opened the window and blew the smoke into the cold air. “We can’t go outside. You might be seen with me. People would talk and then your family would find out and then ... then what, Luz? Would it be the end of the world?”
Luz couldn’t meet his eyes. She gazed at her fingernails and thought about his question. The end of the world? No. Only the end of hers. Her father would remove her from the university overnight, her mother would take her through the express checkout in the husband supermarket and her working womb would be the only interest she would hold. Her headlong rush towards independence, a hard-fought victory of five years’ education would disappear as if it had never existed except in her own imagination.
Tunçay squeezed the butt under the tap, took a tissue and wrapped it carefully, before dropping it in the bin. She smiled, letting him know she appreciated the gesture, even though she’d have to dig it out and dispose of it more thoroughly after he’d gone. He sat down beside her and took her hand.
“I know this isn’t easy for you. OK, your family is traditional. You could never introduce me to your parents. You, an heiress, and me, a Turkish waiter. The shame! I understand that. If you want the truth, I would also be ashamed to take you home to my family. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I think we can be honest now. I’m Muslim and to have a serious relationship with anyone outside my faith would cause ...” He shook his head. “I don’t know what it would cause and I’d never try to find out. No matter that you are the daughter of a highly successful businessman, you are still a Catholic.”
Th
e way he said it: Catholic, as if it was dirty. Luz’s eyes stung but she blinked away the tears, breathing fiercely through her nose. She sat beside him on the bed, holding his hand and wondering if this was the end of her first relationship.
“Listen to me, Luz. I feel very strongly for you and I’m happy we met. I don’t know if we can plan too far ahead. Our being together would hurt a lot of other people we love. But for me, that’s the future. What I want to know is – do we have a present?”
It hardly ever stopped at a kiss. Luz found herself tugging at his jeans almost immediately. And after such a dance alongside the abyss, she needed that physical affirmation of his need. His love. Quick, urgent and intense, they were dressed and saying farewells within twenty minutes. Luz opened all the windows, sprayed deodorant and took the bin to the waste disposal chute in the corridor. She stopped at the vending machine for two espressi – one to drink and one to soak up any odours in the room. She made her bed, spread out her books to reinforce the lie that she’d been studying and sat in the armchair staring at the ceiling.
Her eyes were in the sky but her head was in the sand. Yes, she’d won the battle to go to university, to study law. Her parents were even convinced it might be of benefit to them and their business. It had never been stated explicitly, but they’d given her five years. A long leash, but still a leash. Four years to go and then what?
Chapter 11
At the El Periódico offices, Beatrice sat in the meeting room, fidgeting. Ana had only gone downstairs to collect their guest, but unease stretched every second. Since the meeting with love-struck Karel, Beatrice was reluctant to let the girl out of her sight. Especially as the information about Tiago’s body had galvanised Ana into frenetic activity; the threat implicit in his mutilation serving as catalyst rather than check. But she insisted the news they’d received at the mortuary remained their secret. Beatrice somehow doubted she was protecting her source and more keeping her cards close to her chest.
The activity log at the paper’s server showed Ana’s computer had been accessed on Saturday morning, while Ana herself was on a bus passing Logroño. Tiago’s computer at the newspaper contained few leads, as he preferred to use his own laptop. Official tape barred entry to his apartment so the only trace of the original story remained in Ana’s memory. Fortunately, a memory of superior quality.
“The guy’s name was Miguel Saez and he worked for GFS, Gasteiz Financial Services. The company does audits, performs due diligence and generally checks the books for small to medium-sized companies. He went missing about three weeks ago, maybe more, and the police seemed to think he’d done a runner. I don’t think they closed the case but they definitely weren’t chucking resources at it either. So his girlfriend contacted the paper to try and publicise the issue. Not exactly a hot story, so our editor assigned it to Tiago. He resented being given such a dud, at first, but then he got the wind under his tail and you couldn’t hold him back. Tiago’s theory was this: Saez had accidentally found some sensitive information and was paid to disappear. Saez’s girlfriend – what was her name? Whatever. She confirmed their relationship was volatile, he had few ties here and no family. Tiago believed he’d just taken the cash and gone. The girlfriend insists he would never do that, but how well does anyone really know a partner? Word of warning, though. I suggest we tackle that subject very carefully when we meet her. She’s pretty scary. What the hell was her name?”
“Margarita Xarra.”
A curly-haired woman entered the room and stomped up to Beatrice, her bag slung across her chest and one hand thrust forward. Short and square, she wore tight jeans and a glittery blue sweatshirt which bore the words ‘Too Hot To Handle’. Beatrice estimated her to be early forties, aggressive and best given a wide berth. Ana followed her into the office and stood just inside the door, giving Beatrice a wide-eyed look of mock alarm.
Beatrice jumped to her feet, shook hands and attempted a greeting in Spanish. After that, conversation would be down to Ana.
“Buenas dias, Señora Xarra. Muchas graçias ...”
“I can speak English. You’re the London detective?” Her tone was sceptical and her eyes were hard as she took in Beatrice’s flip-flops.
“Yes. I am a detective, but I’m on holiday at the moment. My name is Beatrice Stubbs.”
She dug deeply in her bag. “I don’t care if you’re on holiday or not. If you are a detective, you can help find Miguel. I brought everything I have. Why don’t you sit down?”It wasn’t a suggestion.
She yanked out a folder stuffed with papers and plonked herself opposite Ana and Beatrice. As the woman rifled through the papers, Beatrice voiced her concern.
“Miss Xarra, if you have some evidence relating to Miguel’s disappearance, you really should give it to the police.”
Margarita’s head snapped up to face Beatrice. “I’m not stupid. The police have seen all this stuff. I tried to explain but the truth is I don’t really understand it either. I’m not an accountant, but I’m not stupid. I know Miguel hasn’t just left me, and I know whatever happened to him is connected to this.” She stabbed a forefinger at the papers in front of her.
“I’ve been through this with the police, several times. I’ve been through it with your colleague and answered every one of his questions. And now I have to do it all over again with you.”
The woman’s pugilistic attitude rankled with Beatrice. They were hardly duty-bound to find her missing boyfriend. All they could do was offer assistance. And here was this female acting as if she were under sufferance.
Margarita evidently sensed the change in atmosphere, or registered the aggression in her tone. “But if it helps Miguel, I’ll do it again and again until someone finds out what happened,” she added, looking from one to the other, her expression no less confrontational.
Beatrice conceded. “I appreciate this is difficult, especially the repetition. Could you start at the beginning and tell us as much as you can about Miguel?”
“Miguel. We’ve been together for two years, almost. He’s Galician. Not physically attractive at first glance but he has a good heart. He’s a junior accountant with GFS. Because he was new to the company, they only allowed him to assist on most jobs, doing the boring bits. I can’t give you any detail because we don’t talk about his work. Boring like you wouldn’t believe. Sends me to sleep. But a while back, around two and a half months ago, he got an opportunity to take over a job. He wouldn’t shut up about it.”
She pushed a brochure towards them. “You’ll have to make photocopies; I’m not giving you the originals. The job was at Alava Exports, which handles some of the regional wine trade. Miguel was so excited and determined to prove himself, he worked extra hours at the weekend, checking and double-checking. It really pissed me off. We argued a lot around then.”
Ana cleared her throat. “Very often, when a couple’s relationship has been through a rough patch, the police take the easy option and presume he ran off. What did you say to convince them otherwise?”
Ana’s subtle probing failed. Margarita’s eyes flashed and her voice rose.
“How can I prove something didn’t happen? Tell me! What can I say to a lazy son-of-a-bitch police officer who just wants to close the file? I know Miguel would never do that. He’s a noble, honourable man and he loved me. We planned to get engaged at Christmas, so why would he run away? He told me he was under my spell.”
Beatrice dropped her voice to a gentle reassuring pitch. “That’s very romantic. He sounds like a charming man. Margarita, the first journalist you spoke to believed Miguel was paid to disappear. Think carefully. Could he, under any circumstances, have accepted that kind of offer?”
Margarita shook her head, slowly, but with absolute conviction, a faint smile on her face. “No. For money? No. His parents died some time back and as the only son, everything came to him. He works because he loves it, not because he needs the money.”
Alarm bells rang in Beatrice’s mind. A young man, no family, madl
y in love with an older woman, vanishes completely. “Do you know if Miguel had made a will?”
The question seemed unexpected. Margarita blinked, her face smoothed into a thoughtful calm. For the first time, Beatrice could see the natural beauty previously masked by defensive hostility.
Margarita pursed her lips. “I don’t know, but I doubt it. We’ve never talked about it. We talked about a pre-nuptial agreement, though. That was my idea. He didn’t want to discuss divorce before we’d even got married. But I want to sign a piece of paper saying everything he has before he marries me, he gets to keep. I’m not interested in his money.”
So that answered that.
Forty minutes later, they said their goodbyes and Beatrice watched Margarita follow Ana out of the room. The short woman even managed to convey aggression in her walk: head down, shoulders back, like a prop forward. The pile of photocopies on the table sapped Beatrice’s energy. All the painstaking legwork would be down to her and Ana; no detective sergeants to assist, no forensic expertise to call upon, and the strong possibility that any relevant papers were long gone. Or in Spanish.
“You must be Beatrice Stubbs.”
The man resting his hands on the table wore an open-necked denim shirt, demonstrating that his tan spread further than his neck. Chestnut hair above dark, smiling eyes and a row of even white teeth flashed in her direction.
“How come everyone in this city knows who I am?” Beatrice asked.
He laughed. “I think there may be one or two who are still in ignorance. Jaime Rodriguez. I’m the editor of El Periódico. Pleased to meet you.”
Beatrice half-rose to shake his hand. “Likewise. So you’re Ana’s boss?”
He shrugged and leaned his head to one side. “The word ‘boss’ implies I have some control over what she does. That is the total opposite of the case. But as I guess you know, she’s an excellent investigative journalist, so I can live with that. She tells me you’re helping her on that missing accountant story.”