by Diane Capri
“Alive. For the short term.” He nodded slowly. “Later, the choice is yours.”
She smiled and a light danced in her eyes. “And Kimball?”
He handed the sheaf of papers to Vanna. “A reputable contact in the US media would have served us well. But…”
Vanna nodded. Once. But she didn’t suppress the warm smile that stole across her face. “I fear Ms. Kimball will have an unfortunate accident tomorrow.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Friday, August 19
6:00 a.m. CET
Zorita, Spain
The hotel’s bed was sublime. The mattress was just the right combination of support and suppleness, and the duvet was light and sensuous to the touch. Jess slept well and awakened early.
The room’s floor to ceiling drapes covered French doors that opened onto a balcony looking out over the front of the hotel.
There was a sophisticated coffee machine at the wet bar in the corner. She studied the pictograph instructions before opening a small bag of beans, dropping them into the automatic grinder, and pressing the espresso button.
The machine gurgled as it heated the water and ground the beans, followed by thirty seconds of hissing as it forced the water through the coffee. Heavy black liquid ran from a tube to a colorful espresso cup and saucer. The amazing aroma of perfectly brewed coffee filled the room.
She waited until the last drop had dripped from the tube then carried the espresso outside to sit at a small wooden table on the balcony.
She savored the taste and warmth in her throat as she drank.
From below the horizon, the first rays of the sun were reaching Spain. A warm honeyed light picked out wisps of cloud in a sky made deep blue by the blackness of night.
It was almost six a.m. and the city was coming to life. The traffic was building. White panel vans buzzed through the streets, taking workers to job sites. A few cars were filled with office workers, keen to get a head start on the day.
She cradled the tiny cup’s handle between her thumb and forefinger as she savored her espresso. The caffeine tingled her senses and chased off her jet lag.
She finished the last of the amazing brew and placed the cup back in the saucer with a chink.
The sun’s light grew stronger by the minute. Drawing herself away from it was harder than prying her body from the luxurious bed, but she had work to do.
The shower was a large glass walk-in affair. Three jets of soft water produced an endless stream of soap bubbles, providing a good excuse to stand under the jets a while longer to rinse.
She toweled off, leaving her natural curls to air-dry while she dressed and applied light makeup.
Five minutes later, she left the hotel, collecting a lemon magdalena and another strong espresso in the lobby on the way out. She took the coffee with milky foam this time, to ease the caffeine jolt.
Rafa Lopez had promised to follow up on Elden, but Jess didn’t expect him to do her job. She could find Elden and ask her own questions.
Her Mini Cooper’s navigation system had the Grupo Lopez location stored in memory. She followed directions through a maze of twists and turns to the plant. At the traffic lights, she nibbled the muffin and finished the last of the coffee after she reached the Grupo Lopez parking lot.
She parked close to the bus stops. A few workers were already arriving. She stood by the same lamppost as the day before, directly between the buses and the main gates. From here, she had a clear view of the workers who used this entrance. Since Elden left from this point yesterday, she might enter here today.
Fifteen minutes later, workers streamed in. The parking lot filled quickly. People walked fast, heads down, morning bodies on autopilot. Like yesterday, everyone seemed to carry a bag of some sort. Everything from plastic shopping bags to handbags to briefcases. Many bulged.
The young man Elden left with yesterday, the unshaven one, walked past. He was alone this morning. He paid no attention to Jess. She might have stopped him, but finding Elden was more important.
Fifteen minutes later, when the horn blast pierced the air three times to signal the beginning of the work shift, the last few workers rushed inside.
Debora Elden was not among them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Friday, August 19
8:30 a.m. CET
Zorita, Spain
She knew where Designer Stubble lived. Maybe Elden was there. Or, maybe she could get a name from one of his neighbors to match with his handsome face. The idea was thin, but it was the only lead she’d managed to find.
She put her car in gear, and followed the route she had taken the afternoon before. It was more difficult than she thought. Following the bus was easy. Remembering the route now was a lot harder. She doubled back twice before she found the bus station.
Finally, she made it to the street where Elden and the man had left the bus. She drove farther on to the alley near his apartment and found a place to park.
The alley was deserted. She walked uneasily, checking behind her every few steps. A few small cars dashed across the alley’s entrance now and then. She reached the apartment building. She saw no movement behind the windows.
She approached and entered the building. A row of mailboxes was set into the wall on the right. The stairs were on the left.
The mailboxes were secured by padlocks of various types, suggesting the locks were supplied by the residents. The boxes were numbered, and a few doors had names handwritten in black marker. She had no idea which number belonged to Elden’s friend.
She climbed the stairs, the boards creaking underfoot.
On the second floor, a door opened a few inches, held in place by a security chain. A woman peered through the gap. She spoke in simple Spanish that Jess could understand. “What do you want?”
Jess struggled to reply. “I’m…looking for a man. Debora Elden’s friend.”
The woman shook her head. “No entiendo.”
Jess mimed a beard on her face. “El Joven?”
“Ah.” The woman pointed up the stairs. “Numero ocho.”
Jess nodded. “Gracias.”
The woman closed her door, and Jess climbed two more flights to reach number 8. She pressed the doorbell button and heard a whimsical tune play inside.
She pressed her ear to the door. Silence. She tried the bell again. When the music died away the apartment was soundless and still.
Elden wasn’t here.
She descended the stairs.
She located the mailbox for apartment number 8. Felipe Cantor was printed on it. She grinned. She’d found a name, at least. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d had five minutes ago.
Outside, morning foot traffic was thinning. The sides of the streets were jammed with cars parked nose to tail.
A man in a blue Fiat glanced up briefly as he fiddled with his phone.
She hustled through the alley, walked along a row of shops, and returned to her Mini. She made a few notes.
The man from the Fiat emerged from the alley. He entered a newsstand.
Jess looked along the row of shops. Elden had dropped off her laundry at the dry cleaner yesterday. Her Spanish was nowhere near good enough to ask the right questions. She shrugged. Playing dumb was the only approach she could master.
She set her phone timer to ring in three minutes, and set the alarm to the same sound as an incoming call.
Inside, the dry cleaner looked the same as in the US. Posters of smiling people wearing clean, bright clothes on the wall. A cash register on a laminated counter at the rear.
A woman behind the counter held out her hand. “Boleto.”
Jess smiled. “I’m visiting my friend from home. Debora Elden. I’ve come to collect her things she dropped off yesterday.”
The woman shook her hand. “The ticket?”
Jess shrugged. “She didn’t give me a ticket. Debora Elden? She’s an American.”
The woman nodded. “The American. Sí.”
She d
isappeared through a door behind the counter. She reappeared with hanging clothes covered with thin plastic. “Miss Elden’s.”
Jess took the clothes, paid the bill, and thanked the lady.
There was a small label pinned on the top of the hangers that Jess figured was Elden’s address. C/ Santa Maria 45, 3, 2, 26101, Zorita.
As scheduled, her phone’s timer sounded. She pulled the phone from her pocket and held it to her ear, as if answering a call.
“Hi,” she said. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Just now.” She held up the laundry and glanced toward the lady at the counter. “Maybe I could just leave your stuff here and pick it up on the way back.”
She mimed waiting for an answer.
“Okay,” she said, and hung up on the non-existent call.
She gave the woman a sheepish grin. “I don’t suppose I could give you these back, and pick them up later?”
The lady frowned.
“Later?”
The woman scowled a moment then held out her hand. “Later.”
Jess handed over the laundry and left.
She looked up the address. Three streets away, in the opposite direction from Felipe Cantor’s apartment.
She walked briskly to the small terrace house. The red brick that had faded in the sun and the heat. There were no front lawns. Brightly painted front doors opened straight onto the sidewalk. Elden’s door was leaf green.
The curtains were drawn across the downstairs window, but a light bulb shined on the second floor.
When she rang the doorbell, she heard noises and a muffled shout inside. Cars drove by, and pedestrians nodded as they passed. She waited a full minute before ringing the bell again.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. The door flew open and a teenaged girl stared at Jess.
Jess took a half step back.
The girl fired off a rapid series of sentences in Spanish that Jess couldn’t follow.
The girl glowered.
“Debora Elden?” Jess said.
The girl seemed to soften a fraction. “Americano? A friend?”
Jess nodded. “I’m looking for Debora.”
“Sí, sí.” She gestured for Jess to enter the house and pointed her to a tiny living room. “I Olivia. I get.”
Olivia raced up the stairs yelling for Debora. There was no reply. Jess heard a knock on an upstairs door then a few moments later a door creak.
Olivia raced back down the stairs and into the living room. “She gone.”
“To work?”
She put her arms out, like wings. “Fly, I think. Her bag gone. South of here.”
“I saw here yesterday.”
The girl nodded. “She stay here last night. Gone now.”
Jess shook her head.
Olivia shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Do you know when she will be back?”
Olivia shrugged. “Days?”
Jess grimaced. She couldn’t wait around Zorita that long. “You’ve no idea where she went?”
Olivia shook her head.
“Old tickets? Receipts?”
Olivia shook her head.
“Tags on her bags?” Jess knew she was reaching.
Olivia frowned. “Tags?”
“Labels. Stuck to her bags?”
Olivia thought a moment. “No sticky things.”
Jess took a breath. “She works at Grupo Lopez, correct?”
“Sí. Scientist.” The girl shook her head. “Secret work. She never say.” She smiled. “A good thing. Yes?”
Jess smiled. “Do you work there?”
The girl shook her head. “Andros. Department store.” She looked at her watch. “I start at eleven, and…” she gestured to her wet hair.
Jess stood up. “Of course. Do you know Felipe Cantor?”
“Sí. Debora’s boyfriend. He works at Grupo Lopez, too. A computer man.” She typed on an imaginary keyboard. “You know?”
Jess nodded. “Do they work together?”
She shrugged.
“How long have they been dating?” Jess said.
“Few weeks. Started at the same time, and…” She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe serious.”
Olivia stood up and touched her wet hair. “I have to go.”
Jess thanked her, they shook hands, and Jess left as Olivia raced up stairs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Friday, August 19
9:30 a.m. CET
Zorita, Spain
Kale had a friendly face that served him well. Tiny lines radiated from the corners of his eyes and enhanced his smile, the result of years spent squinting in the sun of foreign lands.
His blond hair was medium length, neatly trimmed, and tousled just enough to suggest he’d spent little time grooming. He was tall and broad shouldered and looked like a man who could handle himself in a fight. Which usually deterred confrontation.
This morning, he wore a light patterned shirt, medium blue wash jeans, and a pair of eyeglasses. He adjusted the glasses on his nose.
Through the window, he’d watched the Kimball woman pick up clothes from the dry cleaner and then return them to the shopkeeper after receiving a phone call.
While she was inside, he had run a quick search on the shop and its owners. They had lived in Zorita after moving from Barcelona several years ago. Tax returns showed the business was barely solvent. No indications they’d received large or irregular payments working as informants, or money laundering along with the dry cleaning.
Kimball left and walked determinedly to a house three streets away.
He knew the street and the house. He’d spent most of the previous night watching it.
Kimball had located Debora Elden’s residence. Vanna Sánchez would not be pleased.
The front door opened and after a moment’s conversation, Kimball stepped inside.
Kale found his phone. He pressed the speed dial button. He only had to wait two rings.
“What do you have?” Vanna Sánchez, her voice, cool and calm and sultry, matched her lithe figure and unshakable composure.
Her appearance screamed prima donna, but he’d seen her kick off those stilettos and heft a dead body into the trunk of her car, then drive off into the night, heels hanging from her upturned hand by the straps.
He shook the image from his mind. “Kimball is inside Elden’s house.”
“Who is there with her?”
“Presumably the house-mate, but I can’t get a visual.”
“And before?”
“Cantor’s apartment. Stopped at a dry cleaner. Now here.”
“What happened at the dry cleaner?”
“Picked up dry cleaning then gave it back to the shop keeper.”
Sánchez waited a beat. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Sánchez said nothing, but Kale heard disapproval.
“I’ll find out.”
“Do that. One moment…”
There was a click on the line. Sánchez had muted her speaker. Kale stood still, calm and relaxed. He didn’t pace or shift his weight to reveal the impatience burning his muscles.
Sánchez came back on the line. “Kill her now.”
“No problem.”
She hung up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Friday, August 19
10:30 a.m. CET
Zorita, Spain
Jess returned to her Mini, and updated her notes.
Debora Elden’s life was full of secrets. She had access to Kelso’s labs and computers weeks after she left the company. Now she was working for a competitor in Spain on a secret project she didn’t discuss.
She hadn’t even told her housemate that she was leaving early this morning.
Although Elden traveled frequently, her bags had no claim labels from commercial airlines attached to luggage.
Elden was an activist, according to the Local World Action website. An activist. Not usually the kind of person who conducted secret research for a chemical company like Grupo Lopez.
Felipe Cantor had been Elden’s boyfriend for most of the time she had been in Spain, according to her housemate. Jess might be able to get better information from him.
The clock on the Mini’s dashboard read eleven o’clock. Maybe Cantor would leave the plant for lunch and Jess could catch up with him.
She searched the Grupo Lopez website for shift schedules. After digging through several pages, she found it. The usual lunch time was two o’clock. Could that possibly be right?
A quick web search returned articles explaining the work hours in Spain. A two o’clock lunch was traditional, and employees could take an optional two-hour siesta afterward. All of which stretched the working day to seven or eight in the evening.
Jess groaned. Her stomach growled, too. Her body hadn’t adjusted to the time change. She couldn’t wait three more hours for food.
She used her phone to find a restaurant that was highly rated by the locals. She put the Mini in gear, U-turned in a gap in the traffic, and followed the directions.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Friday, August 19
11:00 a.m. CET
Zorita, Spain
Kale watched Kimball pull into the flow of traffic with her phone balanced on the dashboard.
He started his Fiat thirty seconds later, hanging back as he followed her distinctive Mini.
She headed toward the outskirts of town. Two miles of dual carriageway later, she turned off onto a road through an area with light industrial units.
The lights were flashing at a railroad crossing, and an air horn sounded nearby. The barriers were descending. The column of traffic slowed to a stop. She was six cars ahead of him.
He looked at the industrial units, pretending to be bored. The units had roll up doors and a uniform gray look. It wasn’t difficult to be bored.