by Mark Pryor
“Sí, Señor,” she said.
“Gracias.” He rang off and looked up at Hugo and Tom. “What are you gentlemen doing here, may I ask?”
“Well,” Tom started, “we were heading out for coffee when a cop car pulled up and a couple of burly officers told us to get in.”
“I think he means Barcelona,” Hugo said. “He sent the car; he knows why we’re in his office.”
Garcia sat down. “Precisely. I would have sent something more luxurious, but those streets . . . we all have to make do with smaller cars in the Old Town.”
“No problem,” said Hugo. His mind was working overtime—he’d not planned to contact local law enforcement because he didn’t have anything to tell them. Barely a scrap of a clue and, just as important, very little time to investigate that scrap.
“So, Señor Marston, I can only assume you and Señor Green are here on vacation,” Garcia said. “If you were here on business, I’m sure you would have notified us.”
“Right,” Hugo said. “Mostly. A friend’s daughter has gone missing and we’re looking into it for him.”
“Gone missing? That sounds like official business to me.”
“It’s not. Not yet.” Hugo explained. “She’s American, been living in Paris. She’s an aspiring model and may have been offered a job here. Her father’s worried because she’s been out of contact and that’s not like her. She also missed a meeting with me.”
“What makes you think she’s in Barcelona?” Garcia asked.
“A guy she met. He offered her a job and was handing out business cards in Paris. The business card led us here.”
A knock at the door heralded the pretty young woman, now carrying a tray with three coffee cups.
“Gentleman, this is my assistant Micaela Galaviz.” He cleared a space on the desk. “Here is fine, gracias.”
She put the tray down and gave the Americans a smile. Hugo couldn’t help but notice a light come on behind Tom’s eyes, as always happened when a pretty girl smiled at him. Galaviz noticed it too and brushed a friendly hand over Tom’s shoulder. When she’d left the room, Tom said, “Nice young lady. How’s her coffee?”
“She’s a trained lawyer,” Garcia said, without smiling. “Her coffee’s good, but she does a whole lot more for me than that.”
“Beauty and brains, eh?”
“And I’d be grateful if you’d show her a little more respect. She’s not here for your entertainment.” Tom sat back in his chair, and Garcia continued. “Now, while we’re on that subject, I believe we were about to discuss Estruch Entertainment Enterprises.”
Hugo and Tom exchanged glances. “How did you know that?” Hugo asked.
“Luck. Good or bad, I suppose it depends on your point of view.” Garcia eyed both men. “We retrieved video footage from a break-in there last night. It happened to be a quiet night other than that, and I was talking to the officers investigating the crime. I have worked here a long time, and when they said they had film of the burglars, well, I figured maybe it was one of the usual suspects. Someone I’d recognize. Plus, you know, it’s always fun to watch those videos, the ones where the bumbling intruders have no idea they were being filmed.”
“Ah, yes,” Tom started. “About that—”
Garcia cut him off with a wave of the hand. “And so you see my problem. I should be arresting you, not serving you coffee, don’t you think?”
“If your coffee is anything like his,” Tom jerked a thumb at Hugo, “then feel free.”
Garcia raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised at Tom’s levity.
“Please ignore him, Chief Inspector.” Hugo shot Tom a look. “What do you want us to do to make this right?”
“I’m working on that, but I’m afraid you are not going to like the first step.”
“Which is?” Hugo asked.
Garcia took a moment to fill three cups with coffee, then waved a hand over the tray. “Help yourselves to milk and sugar.”
When they’d settled with cups in hands, Hugo prompted the chief inspector. “You were saying about the first step.”
“Yes. I’m very sorry, but the first step is being arrested.”
“Arrested?” Tom said. “You’re fucking kidding.”
“No, Señor Green, I am not.” Garcia sat forward and fixed Tom in a glare. “I am aware of my brother’s affection for and admiration of you. I am also aware that he was willing, or at least able, to look the other way when you operated outside the expected procedural boundaries. That might be Paris, but it is not Barcelona. Here we do things according to the law. Policemen do not have the right to break into people’s homes or businesses whenever they choose. Even American policemen.”
“Do you mean especially American policemen?” Tom asked.
“You think I am biased against you? You think I’d allow a German or Japanese police officer to break the law at will?”
“I know that it’d take a crapload more than a quick peek into an empty building for me to slap the cuffs on you,” Tom snapped.
Hugo put a hand on his arm. “Easy, Tom.”
“Handcuffs? I don’t expect to have to do that,” Garcia said. “In fact, I will merely ask you to stay in the building until I have decided what we need to do.”
“Are we talking hours,” Hugo asked, “or much longer?”
Garcia sighed. “I have not told my superiors. If I do, I expect it will be a couple of hours, and then you will be escorted back to the airport.”
“Then don’t damn well tell them!” Tom said.
“Tom, for crying out loud, will you shut it for long enough to hear him out?” Hugo said.
“I need to check on the progress of the investigation. Specifically, find out whether the owners of the business wish to see the burglars prosecuted. Or, in this case, thrown out of the country. I imagine it would help if there was money to pay for the broken window.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Hugo assured him.
“Yeah, mind if we pop out to an ATM?” Tom asked.
Garcia slammed his hand on the desk. “This is not a joke! If you try to leave here, you will spend the day, maybe several, in a jail cell.”
Tom leaned forward, his face reddening. “Look, pal, don’t threaten me. We have diplomatic immunity, both of us.”
“That does not give you the right to break into businesses here.”
“No, but it means we’ll get away with it,” Tom said. “So how about we skip the chest-pounding and start looking for this missing girl.”
“Show me your diplomatic paperwork, and then we can worry about her.”
Hugo stood. “Chief Inspector, please. Tom’s right in that we have immunity and arresting us will be more paperwork and red tape than you want to handle. He’s also right that we’re wasting time that should be spent looking for Amy.” Garcia opened his mouth, but Hugo continued. “But I agree with you that we have to make this right. We’ll pay for any damage and face whatever consequences you want. But not now, not today. We need to work together to find Amy Dreiss first. After that, we’re at your mercy.”
Garcia considered the two men for a moment, tenting his fingers in front of his face. “Very well, but I expect two things from you. Without reservation.”
“Certainly,” Hugo said. “What are they?”
“You will inform me before you take any further investigative actions in this case. Which means you do nothing without my permission.”
“Absolutely,” Hugo said. “What else?”
“You keep an eye on him,” Garcia said, pointing at Tom. “I’m beginning to wonder why my brother praised him so generously.”
“I grow on you,” Tom said.
“Fungus grows on people. As do warts,” Garcia allowed his smile to reach his eyes, letting them know they were back on neutral ground. “We shall see about you.”
“Trust me,” Hugo said. “Fungus and warts are a good comparison.”
“Fuck you,” Tom muttered.
Garcia scribble
d something on a piece of paper. “My cell number, feel free to poke around, but do not enter anyone’s property, with or without their permission, without calling me first.” He handed the note to Hugo. “Now then. To begin with, are you sure she’s missing? And by that I mean missing in a way that requires the police to look for her?”
“That was our hesitation in involving you in the first place,” Hugo said. “We can’t be sure.”
“She’s a grown woman,” Garcia said. “Maybe she wants a little distance from her father, is that possible?”
“She’s not that kind of girl. More to the point, she’s not the kind of girl to ignore her father’s birthday, miss a meeting with me, and leave the country without telling any of us or her friend in Paris.”
“I see.”
“At the very least,” Hugo went on, “it’s worth talking to the people at Estruch to find out whether the guy who was recruiting her works there.”
“Can’t hurt to ask,” Garcia conceded. “Although you could have done that this morning without the nighttime dramatics.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Tom chipped in.
“It wasn’t.” Garcia looked up. “What do you know about that business?”
“Not a lot,” Hugo said. “You?”
“From what my officers told me, it’s been operating for a number of years, they broker tours and also place foreign workers looking for jobs. Usually in the tourist industry.”
“Is that a euphemism?” Hugo asked.
“Euphem . . . ? I don’t know that word,” Garcia said.
“Maybe I’m being unfair,” Hugo said, “but sometimes when people say ‘tourist industry’ they mean strip clubs.”
“Ah. I don’t think we know that much about them. I have no reason to suspect they are doing anything illegal, that’s for certain. If the police do not get involved, what is your next step?”
“I’d like to talk to the people who work there, at Estruch,” Hugo said. “See if they know Amy, or have ever seen her. And I might like to check whether any of them have been to Paris recently.”
Garcia picked up his phone and dialed. “Micaela, Tiene . . . ? Bueno.” He listened for a moment more then hung up. “As ever, Micaela is a step ahead. She has a file for you. Well, she made one for me but has prepared you a copy. A little information on the four people who run and work at that business. You are welcome to take the file with you and talk to them.”
“Have they seen the video of us?” Hugo asked. “If so, they may not be too polite.”
“No, they gave it straight to the officers on scene, who brought it back here to download, so they’ve not watched it.”
“Glad to hear it,” Hugo said. “So we’re good to go?”
“There’s one more thing . . .” Garcia paused at the sound of a knock on the door. “Ah, that must be her . . .” He turned to Tom and spoke in a quiet voice, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Señor Green, the person you are about to meet. Mess with her at your own peril.”
CHAPTER TEN
The woman took three steps into Garcia’s office and stopped to look around the room. She threw a quick salute to the chief inspector, her body stiffening for as long as it took, then relaxed. All three men stood, and Hugo couldn’t help but admire the confidence in her languid stance as she took them in.
She was a police officer, or department employee of some sort. The light-blue pants and short-sleeved shirt, with small colored patches on the breast, was a uniform; but other than a thin, black belt, she wasn’t wearing the accoutrements of most cops—gun, cuffs, baton. She looked fit and strong, an attractive woman with olive skin and hair pulled back into a short pony tail. But there was also something about her that would deter too much familiarity, a sharp edge that differentiated attractive from approachable. She stepped forward and Hugo thought he saw her limp.
“I am Grace Emanuelle Cruz Silva, I was born and raised here.” Her voice was clipped, liked she’d learned English in England. “I will be your escort.”
Tom opened his mouth to say something, Hugo assumed related to her being an escort, but he closed it again, one witticism kept to himself.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Hugo Marston and this is Tom Green.” Impressive grip, Hugo thought when she took his hand.
She nodded at Tom and shook his hand, too. “Señor Green?”
“Yes, ma’am, pleased to meet you. For a native Catalan, you speak English very well.”
“Thank you. For an American, so do you.” No hint of a smile. “Shall we go?”
“Where to first?” Hugo asked.
“I’ll take you to your apartment. You can have lunch, siesta, then I’ll pick you up at three thirty.”
Hugo and Tom swapped glances, unsure if she was serious. “A little early for lunch, isn’t it?” Hugo said. “And if Amy is really missing and in trouble, we should get going as soon as possible.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t be losing any time,” she said.
“How can you be so sure?” asked Hugo.
A twitch of her lips. “In Barcelona, bad guys take siestas, too.”
“You’re the boss,” Hugo said, starting toward the door. Tom and Grace Silva followed behind but came to a swift halt when Hugo stopped and looked back at Garcia. “It was the teddy bears, wasn’t it?” Hugo asked.
For the first time since he’d entered the room, Chief Inspector Bartoli Garcia smiled broadly.
“Yes, Hugo, it was,” Garcia said. “And my brother would have been proud of your deduction. Yes indeed, it was the teddy bears.”
They were silent in the car, but after a couple of minutes Tom fidgeted and then said, “For fuck’s sake, Hugo, stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You’re trying to make me ask, aren’t you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The fucking teddy bears. You’re desperate for me to ask what that meant.”
“No, actually, I’m not. Not in the slightest.” Hugo’s tone was mild and designed to irritate his friend. “Makes no difference to me at all.”
“Bull. But I’ll do you the favor and ask: what’s with the lovefest over teddy bears?”
Hugo caught Grace Silva looking in the rear-view mirror, apparently also curious. “Well, since you’re asking so nicely,” he said. “Teddy bears are what got us busted.”
“I don’t understand,” Tom said through gritted teeth, “as you well know. Fucking explain.”
“The surveillance camera was inside one of the teddy bears,” Hugo said. “Common for parents to use them to keep an eye on their nannies or babysitters. I wondered at the time why a company like that would have teddy bears, and if there’d been only one, well, maybe I’d have figured it out. But with a whole slew of them, I just assumed it was a collection. A quirk of whoever had that office.”
“Really?” Tom said. “A fucking teddy bear?”
“He’s right,” Silva said. “Very clever, Señor Marston.”
“Oh, don’t flatter him,” Tom said indignantly. “Just wait until he pulls his little Sherlock Holmes trick on you.”
“What is that?” Silva asked.
“It’s his show-off thing. To impress girls. You wouldn’t be interested.”
Silva was silent for a moment, negotiating a left turn across the heavy city traffic. “I’m a little interested,” she said.
“In?” Tom asked hopefully.
“The trick. Whatever it is.”
“Yeah, well, don’t be too impressed. Like I said,” Tom went on. “It’s his show-off thing, like Sherlock used to do to his new clients when they arrived on his doorstep.” Hugo cringed as his friend adopted an English accent. “Ah, Lord Porterfield, I see you spent the last six weeks in the Netherlands, training geese to ride bicycles with a one-armed chimpanzee as your chef.”
In the front seat, Silva chuckled. “Solve that one, Señor Marston.”
Hugo smiled and joined in. “That’s easy. You can tell by t
he mud on Lord Porterfield’s shoes that he’s been to Holland. It’s a distinctive red clay and it’s in the soles of his shoes still. Plus, as he moves, he keeps ducking, indicating that he’s been around windmills.”
“And the geese riding bikes?” Silva asked.
“Elementary. Lord Porterfield is a known activist who opposes the production of foie gras. Additionally, you will notice that his right trouser leg has a band around the ankle where the material has been worn thin. That tells me he was there to rescue geese and has been riding bicycles. Scientific studies have shown that one man can only carry four geese on a moving bicycle, so I deduce that Lord Porterfield has instead been teaching the geese to ride themselves to safety.”
Tom grinned. “I told you he was good. Born storyteller.”
“Wait,” Silva said, “what about the one-armed chimp as the chef?”
“Ah yes,” Hugo said, stroking his chin for effect. “The easiest deduction of all. Lord Porterfield smells strongly of bananas and poop. I can only assume his diet stems from a primate’s menu selection, one that gets frustrated and flings its feces. However, the poop smell is faint, and so one is left to presume that it was thrown with its weaker arm on account of its stronger arm being missing.”
Silva slowed the car to wait at a red light and took the opportunity to clap. “Fantastico. Muy bien.”
“Yeah, well,” Tom said, “anyone can make stuff up. Not as well as that, though. But he does it for real.”
Silva cocked an eye at Hugo in the mirror. “You do? Can you tell anything about me?”
“Oh, it’s not as easy as all that,” Hugo said.
“Which means ‘yes,’ just in case you were wondering,” Tom said.
“Oh? Then tell me what you know.”
“It’s guesswork, really, and if I’m wrong, I look like an idiot.”
“Everyone looks like an idiot sometime,” Silva said. “Go on, tell me what you think, I won’t care if you’re wrong.”
“I’d rather not,” Hugo said. “And just so you know, generally people get more upset when I’m right.”