by Mark Pryor
They closed in on the wreckage, and Hugo said to Garcia, “Tell them to keep an eye out for flames. There’s a hundred gallons of gas in that thing, we don’t need anyone else killed.”
Garcia relayed Hugo’s instructions, and one of the men said something in reply. Garcia translated for Hugo. “He’s a pilot. He said the fuel tanks are in their own compartments with fire walls. He says one already went up, and unless the fire wall on the other tank is broken, we should be safe.”
Hugo gave him a wry smile. “‘Should be,’ eh? I suppose that’s good enough.”
They pressed forward, circling the plane. Both wings had broken off, the left was black and burned, and it stuck upright as if pretending it were a tree. Two of the plane’s propellers were twisted, and the others were missing, snapped off and lying on the forest floor somewhere. As they closed in, Hugo saw Nisha Bhandari. She was little more than a shadow, a silhouette that looked to be strapped into the pilot’s seat, motionless. He couldn’t tell if she was bleeding; he wasn’t that close. He kept his eyes on her and stepped past the nose of the plane, which had been sheared off and lay twenty feet from the rest of the wreckage. The door to the cabin was partially open, but the tilt of the plane had it wedged into the earth. Miguel Luna gestured to two of his men, who moved to the front of the cockpit with their pistols trained on the unmoving figure inside. He and another officer worked to open the door, pushing and pulling, rocking the fuselage and finally wrenching open the door wide enough to clamber in.
Miguel Luna went in first and by himself. He headed straight to Bhandari, and Hugo could see him moving around, but not much more. In less than a minute, he was outside again.
“Está muerta,” he said. She’s dead.
“You’re sure?” Hugo asked.
Luna spoke in Spanish and Garcia translated. “He said she has no pulse and it looks like her neck is broken. Her legs are pretty messed up, too, a lot of blood.”
“I need to see for myself,” Hugo said. Without waiting for a reply, or permission, he moved to the door and climbed into the plane. Broken glass littered the cramped passenger compartment, crunching under his feet, and the acrid smell of burned plastic wrinkled his nose as he moved to the front of the plane, his eyes fixed on Nisha Bhandari.
Even before he reached her, Hugo knew she was dead. Her head lay at an impossible angle, the back of her skull resting on her left shoulder, lifeless eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. Luna had gone above and beyond in feeling for a pulse, but Hugo did the same thing, as much out of habit as necessity. He almost recoiled at the warmth of her skin, as if it were harboring her life still, but Hugo reminded himself that most of the bodies he’d touched were long dead. Feeling no pulse, he withdrew his hand and perched for a moment on one of the passenger seats.
He looked out through the window at the forest, at the police officers stepping over debris from the plane and the broken limbs of pine trees, a couple of the men on their phones, the others just looking around at the crash scene. A sadness swept over him, and a powerful sense of frustration that made him ball his fists and want to punch the remaining glass out of the plane. But he took several calming breaths, telling himself he’d done all he could to bring her in alive. He took one last look at the waxen, unreal head of Nisha Bhandari and eased himself out of the plane. Garcia stood there, waiting for him.
“She’s definitely dead,” Hugo said.
“Forgive me if I don’t shed a tear,” Garcia said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t either. Not for her.”
They stood in silence for a moment, then Garcia said quietly, “There’s never justice in death, is there?”
“I’ve never seen any,” Hugo said quietly, remembering the conversation they had before. “And when the bad ones die, they might stop hurting people but they leave us with too many questions that we can’t answer.”
They stood side by side in silence, staring at the wreckage. Two men who knew everything about losing the good to the bad, who already lived with unanswered questions and the shared belief that even though Nisha Bhandari had lost her life, she’d escaped justice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The next afternoon, Hugo went to the hospital, pleased to see a police presence, one Chief Inspector Garcia had offered before Hugo could ask for it. Until they knew the full extent of the human-trafficking ring, Hugo wasn’t about to leave Amy dangling out there as a loose end for some unknown trafficker to tie off. The two guards outside Amy’s door recognized Hugo immediately—they’d been part of the expedition to the airfield—and they both saluted, backing the gesture up with friendly smiles. Hugo shook hands with both of them and pushed open the door to Amy’s room.
Bart Denum looked up, and Amy turned her head, their eyes drifting from Hugo’s face to the large bouquet of flowers in his left hand. He set them on a table at the end of her bed.
“Flowers,” Denum said, shaking his head and smiling. “Hugo, you saved her life. You didn’t have to bring flowers.” He stood and walked over to Hugo, wrapping him in a giant bear hug. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. “I don’t know how to thank you, my friend. I owe everything to you.”
“No, you don’t,” Hugo said. “You guys are family. What the heck was I supposed to do?”
Denum released him and went back to Amy’s side. Hugo moved to the bed, and she held up a hand.
“He’s right, Hugo. Thank you.” Her eyes were glistening with tears, but the smile was there, too.
“You have some color in your cheeks already,” Hugo said, taking her hand and sitting beside her.
“I’m OK,” she said. “Lost a little weight and I have this urge for pancakes.”
Hugo laughed. “I’ll take you back to Paris, then. I believe I know where we can find some.”
“Can’t wait,” she said. “Although Dad says he’s moving back there with me, to keep an eye on me.”
“Just for a while,” Denum said, his tone serious. “A year or two, that’s all.”
Amy rolled her eyes, but they all laughed. “I think I learned my lesson, Dad, but thanks.”
“And I’ll be there,” Hugo said.
“Then that’s good enough for me,” Denum smiled.
“So, did you give a statement yet?” Hugo asked Amy.
“This morning, but we didn’t get through everything. That nice chief inspector said he’d be back this afternoon.”
“Bartoli Garcia?” Hugo asked.
“Yes, I think so.”
“I knew his brother, in Paris.”
“He told me,” Amy said. “He’s pretty high on you, Hugo.”
“Thanks, he’s not so bad himself.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you mind if I ask a couple of things? Just for my own knowledge. I won’t hold you to anything or cross-examine you, I promise.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. I think I have a handle on most of what happened, but I’m not completely clear on Rubén Castañeda’s role in all this.”
Amy gave him a weak smile. “That’s funny you should say that. For a while, he didn’t know his role, either.”
Hugo looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“Rubén was vain, charming, and probably a sex addict.” She turned to her father. “Sorry, Daddy, you may not want to hear some of this.”
Denum squeezed her hand. “I think you might be right. I’ll go find some coffee, leave you guys to talk. You want anything, either of you?”
They both shook their heads and waited until he’d left the room. “You were saying,” Hugo prompted.
“Yes. He was very involved in adult entertainment. It paid well, and it satisfied something in him.” She flashed Hugo a look. “Just to be clear, he and I never . . .”
Hugo held up his hands in surrender. “You’re a grown-up, Amy. What you do or don’t do isn’t my business.”
“Well, I just felt like I should say that. You may know I ended up dancing in Paris, which wasn’t the best. That’s why I went
with Rubén, when he said there was better work in Barcelona.”
“But why did you skip out like that? Without telling anyone.”
“Partly because I knew everyone would try to change my mind, to stop me. It sounds crazy, suddenly going to a new city with a guy I just met, so I knew you and Dad, him especially, would try and talk me out of it. But I couldn’t exactly explain, tell him I was stripping in a bar to make money, so how could I explain this was going to be a step up?”
“You could have canceled our breakfast plans by e-mail, you know.”
“But Rubén was supposed to talk to you, explain it all. That way you’d know, without being able to talk me out of it.” She sighed. “It made sense at the time, I promise.”
A lot of crazy things do at your age, Hugo thought. He said, “The important thing is, you’re safe.”
“So what do you think now, about him being involved?” Amy asked.
“It sounds to me like he was bringing girls to work at sex clubs, maybe as waitresses, that kind of thing. Then Bhandari was essentially taking them. I’m betting he got suspicious, maybe went to some of the places where his clients were supposed to have been working and they weren’t there. More to the point, if he’d asked, no one would have known where they’d gone.”
“As sex slaves. My God, how awful.”
“So what happened when you got here?”
“I heard him argue with her, on the phone. We were at his apartment, and she said she was coming over to talk, and that was the last time I saw him.”
“You didn’t see what happened to him?”
“No, after that phone call, he told me to go explore, and when I got back, she was waiting for me in the street. She said she wanted to talk, so we went for coffee. At the time, it didn’t seem strange because she was so nice to me, asked about where I thought I’d be working, that kind of thing. Said she and Rubén had a miscommunication, but all was fine. Another guy showed up, big guy, she left me there at the café with him.”
“Who was it?”
She wrinkled her brow in thought. “Thing is, I don’t know. I don’t know who it was or why he was there. The next few hours are a blank, so like I told that Inspector Garcia, I think she or he drugged me. When I woke up, I was in a small room.”
“The storage unit?” Or Freed’s office?
“It was dark, I don’t know. I had no idea what was going on, didn’t even really click that she was behind it. Honestly, it sounds crazy, but I had no clue what was going on.”
“Perfectly understandable, actually,” Hugo said. “Rubén didn’t share his fears with you, but I’m betting he was trying to protect you.”
“Yes, he must have been. He gave me his phone when I went out that day, and they didn’t search me, not after they took my own phone. Not at first, anyway.” She gave a gentle laugh. “I knew you’d be looking, that my dad would make you look.”
Hugo smiled. “Of course. On both counts. And I don’t want to tire you out now, I can read your statement later and maybe fill in any blanks over those pancakes. I just wanted to know whether Rubén Castañeda was one of the good guys or the bad guys.”
“He was slow to understand, I guess. But he wasn’t part of that gang, Los Matadores, that the inspector mentioned.”
“I’m not even sure there was a gang,” Hugo said. “If so, we’ll find them. Poor Rubén, serving girls up to be trafficked, and he had no idea. The reluctant matador.”
He turned as the door opened. Chief Inspector Garcia and Grace Silva walked in and shook hands with Hugo, the latter holding on to Hugo’s hand a shade longer than was necessary, he thought.
“How’s the patient?” Garcia asked.
“I’m tired,” Amy said. “But happy to be here. You have more questions?”
“Of course,” Garcia said. “But we’ll take it slow, just answer as many as you can handle.” He shot Hugo a stern look. “You’ve not been interrogating her, have you?”
Hugo looked sheepish. “I wasn’t planning to, but I may have been a little curious.”
“Well, get out of here so we can do our thing and not tire poor Amy out more than we have to. I’ll brief you later, and if I’ve forgotten to ask anything, I’m sure you’ll let me know.”
Hugo stood. “No doubt, it’d be my pleasure.”
He leaned over and kissed Amy’s forehead, and she squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Hugo. Not just for finding me, but for being there for my dad. I don’t know how he would have coped without you, without knowing you were there.”
“You’re welcome. Now tell these nice people everything you know, and I’ll come see you tomorrow morning.”
He took a cab back into the Old Town, to a café off Carrer d’Allada Vermell, where Claudia had agreed to meet him. On the way, he dialed Tom.
“You bastard,” Tom said. “You cut me out of the action!”
“Yeah, see, I was thinking this was all about finding Amy and stopping a human-trafficking ring.”
“Boy Scout.”
“Thanks.”
“You know what, Hugo. Just this once I’ll forgive you.” Tom’s tone softened. “You did well, man, especially the pressure you were under. Being her friend, and all. You did really well.”
“Thanks. And you know I appreciate your help.”
“Such as it was. Next time I get to sleep with the beautiful but evil mastermind, deal?”
“She’s all yours,” Hugo said. “But let’s be real clear, I didn’t sleep with her.”
“Right, sure. Whatever.”
“What are you up to?”
“I gotta head back. The Company has a little job for me to do in Romania, of all places. Courier job, which could mean illegal currency, documents, holding the hand of a new spy, or some bad guy’s head in a container.”
“Delightful.”
“I was kidding about the last one. I’m hoping for a fresh, young spy, a beautiful rookie who needs guidance.”
“Whatever it is, I wish you luck,” Hugo said. “Unless it’s the fresh, young spy. Unless it’s a dude.”
“You could be more supportive of my career goals, you know.”
Hugo laughed. “I’m on my way to see Claudia, I’ll check in with you later.”
“Give her my love. And I need to clear the apartment by tomorrow lunch, so factor that into your little chat with her, will you?”
The taxi pulled to the curb. “I’ll be sure to do that.” He hung up, handed some bills to the driver, and walked into the café. Claudia had found them a table by the window, and she rose to greet him with a kiss.
“How’s Amy?” she asked.
“She’ll be great. Talking to the police right now.”
“You don’t want to be there for that?”
“Yes and no,” Hugo said. “All I wanted to do was find her, I can guess most of the details, and the ones I can’t guess, I can get from her or Bartoli later.”
A waiter arrived, and Hugo ordered coffee for them both. When he’d gone, Claudia said, “Well, I can’t guess them. Honestly, I’ve got no idea how this all happened, so would you mind explaining a couple of things?”
“Sure, what do you want to know?”
“Tell me about Nisha Bhandari.”
“Nice girl,” Hugo said with a wry smile. “A little misguided, perhaps.”
“Was she a psychopath?”
“That term is overused, if you ask me. Most people who do bad things aren’t psychopaths, they’re just greedy or stupid or find themselves in a place where they think it’s OK to act badly because no one’s watching. Or so they assume.”
“Which of those applied to her?”
“Honestly,” Hugo said. “I think she might have been one of the few psychopaths I’ve come across.”
“Why do you say that?”
Images of Nisha Bhandari flashed through his mind. The sleek body in the cream dress, the bristling woman annoyed at her yoga being interrupted, the clever businesswoman happy to show churches to old women an
d provide strippers to old men. And then there was the stuff he’d not seen, because she’d been able to hide it. The ability to kill and feel nothing, to stage a crime scene, and seduce most of the people around her.
“One of the chief attributes of psychopaths is charm. That and the ability to manipulate people around them. She slept with Rubén Castañeda to get control over him, and for access.”
“Access?”
“To what he was thinking. Men are known to be closed emotionally, but most guys open up at the start of a relationship.”
“I need to remember that,” Claudia smiled.
“Yeah, you should. Anyway, I’m betting as soon as she saw he was suspicious of her, she hopped into bed with him. She used sex to snare Leo Barsetti, too. I’m betting she met Delia Treviño at the yoga studio and somehow found out about her past. Maybe blackmailed her or paid her to sleep with Leo, and filmed it to have leverage over him.”
“That’s cold.”
“It is. And that’s the other chief attribute of the psychopath. Zero empathy. She didn’t care, wasn’t capable of caring, that by blackmailing him into silence—”
“Wait, Leo Barsetti knew about the trafficking?”
“I’m guessing he found out; it’s the only thing that makes sense to me.” Once again, Hugo felt the frustration of the grave, the silence of those who could have enlightened the living, completed the stories that were now left unfinished. “Only, he couldn’t live with it. That’s why he jumped, he was scared of going to prison for being complicit, and he felt horrible about not standing up to Bhandari.”
“He could have gone to the police. At least told them what he knew.”
“But that would have damned him, too. His wife would have found out he’d been sleeping with a prostitute, and, as she told us, that was the one thing she wouldn’t tolerate.”