And there, indeed, it was. Kathy recognised the black, spiky architectural script even before she focused on the words. There was no date, but the entries before and after were both dated the fourteenth of May. The message read, To the New Era!, and in the space for name and address was written simply Carlos.
‘My God,’ Kathy whispered, catching Peter’s mood of shocked elation.
‘That was the day we saw him,’ Peter breathed. ‘He must have come here. Like a pilgrim to the shrine, to pay his respects, or gain strength perhaps. What do you think?’
It seemed a rather fanciful idea, but not more fanciful than the fact of that spiky script sitting there in public view all this time.
‘Excuse me.’ Kathy turned to the woman behind the counter. ‘This entry here . . .’
The woman came over and looked. ‘Oh, that was a phrase that Mies used, “the New Era”. It was the title of a famous speech he gave in 1930, the year after this building was built.’
‘You wouldn’t happen to remember the person who wrote this, I suppose?’
‘When was it? Last May? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly remember.’
Kathy reached into her bag for the photograph of Charles Verge and handed it to her. ‘Would you remember this man coming here?’
‘Hm, he looks familiar . . . Oh, of course! It’s Charles Verge, isn’t it?’
‘You recognise him?’
‘Certainly. I’m an architecture student. We all know his work, and since May . . .’ She stopped and stared again at the entry in the visitors’ book. ‘Oh, Carlos!’
‘Yes.’
‘He was here?’ Her face lit up with excitement. ‘Wait until I tell the others!’
‘No! Look, I’m a police officer, from London.’ Kathy dug in her bag again for her ID. ‘It’s very important that we keep quiet about this, okay? What’s your name? Please?’
The girl looked disappointed, but also captivated.
‘Clara.’
‘Well look, Clara, there are some very heavy detectives here with the CGP who will be very upset with you if this gets out. Understand?’
Clara made a face, then shrugged. ‘Okay. I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep it to myself, but I’ll do my best.’
‘Anyway, it may not be him. We’ll need to borrow this book for a while to do some tests. I’ll give you a receipt and the names and telephone number of the local police you should contact if you remember anything.’
‘What do I tell the boss when he notices the book is missing?’
‘Tell him the police confiscated it and he should ring Lieutenant Mozas if he wants more information.’
Clara gave her a plastic bag for the book and called them a cab. Kathy thanked her and the girl said as they left, ‘You know, I hope you don’t catch him,’ and gave them a broad grin.
Kathy dropped Peter at the hotel on her way to the police offices. As they shook hands on the pavement there was a cry from Audrey McNeil, hurrying towards them, looking flustered. It seemed that the meeting with her bridge partner had been something of a disappointment, not to say a shock, for ‘Juanita’ the grandmother had turned out to be a forty-year-old, childless, male butcher, who had taken a great deal of shaking off. He had been unapologetic about his deception, apparently, and became quite plaintive when Audrey said she would never play bridge with him again.
‘The shocking thing, when I think about it,’ she said, ‘is how convincing he was as a grandmother. I remember all our little exchanges of news about our children and grandchildren, and he was so plausible. I thought I knew Juanita so well! I can still hardly believe she doesn’t exist.’
‘Well, maybe you should think about becoming someone else,’ Peter said, clearly enjoying this. ‘Become a biker or a lion-tamer or something. Wouldn’t be hard for you.’ He winked at Kathy, who was getting back into the taxi.
It seemed that the only progress that Linda and Tony had to report was that Kathy’s list of the occupants of Passeig de Gràcia 83 had been left for her attention. They were twitchy with impatience at the delays. ‘Jeez says that there’s been some panic over an ETA bomb threat or something, but reading between the lines, I think he’s embarrassed. My guess is that Alvarez is making us wait.’
‘But why? What’s his problem? He was pretty unhelpful with me yesterday.’
‘Yeah, well, it was Dick Chivers’ fault really. When he was over here a couple of months ago, Superintendent Chivers got a bit stroppy, acting as if these guys were working for us. Jeez says that at one point the super made Alvarez look bad in front of his superiors, and he hasn’t forgiven him. If he’s found out anything he’s probably holding onto it to see what glory he can earn for himself before he passes it on to us.’
‘Well, I’ve got something that might help us.’ She described her visit to the Pavelló and showed them the entry in the visitors’ book.
‘Wow!’ As Linda craned forward to look, Tony leaned over her shoulder, unconsciously stroking her arm. ‘That is his writing, isn’t it?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Have you checked the rest of the book?’
‘Not yet.’
Linda turned the pages back. ‘Let’s start at the beginning.’
While the two of them pored over the entries, Kathy examined the list that Alvarez’s officer had left for her. The information was sparse, confined to a single sheet. Thankfully, she saw that the business descriptions had been translated into English. The building contained a lawyer, a financial consultant, medical consulting rooms, an accountant, a media company of some kind, two stockbrokers and an insurance broker. Almost any of them might have been of use to Charles Verge, Kathy guessed.
‘Is anyone around?’ she asked.
Linda looked up. Tony’s hand was now stroking her neck.
She caught Kathy’s look of amusement and shrugged his hand away. ‘Jeez left his extension number if we need him.’
She handed it to Kathy who dialled and asked Lieutenant Mozas if someone could help her with the list. He came in after a few minutes with Alvarez’s detective in tow.
‘How can we help?’ He gave Kathy a smile that was almost too big to be sincere, as if he felt compelled to compensate for his captain’s offhandedness.
‘I wondered if you had any more information on these companies?’
Jeez translated to the other man who seemed to have no English, then turned back with the answer. ‘No criminal connections that we know of.’
‘Okay, but what else? The lawyer, for instance?’
Again there was some discussion in Spanish or Catalan.
The other policeman consulted a notebook, then Jeez said, ‘Family law.’
‘Well, that doesn’t sound likely. What about the financial people? Could they have any connections with the UK?’
‘That would take a lot of investigation,’ Jeez said doubtfully. ‘There’s no one shady there that we know of.’
Kathy persisted. ‘What kind of doctors are in the consulting rooms?’
More discussion and studying of notes. ‘There are three doctors on the nameplate; an endocrinologist, an orthopaedist, and a third man who’s retired.’
‘Do we know what he did?’
Jeez shook his head.
Kathy thought about the list, then spoke to Tony, telling him about Passeig de Gràcia 83. ‘It’s probably a wild goose chase, but five of these businesses are in the field of finance.’
‘Yeah.’ Tony rubbed his nose thoughtfully. ‘Why don’t we send their names back to London, check if they’ve done any transactions with the UK recently. At least it would look as if we’re doing something. They’re probably thinking we’re sunning ourselves on the Costa Brava for all the activity they’ve seen.’
Jeez got to his feet and asked if there was anything else he could do. Afterwards Kathy recalled that she had very nearly thanked him and let him go, but instead she said, ‘Could we find out what the third doctor did, and also whether the lawyer ever had any of the Verg�
�s family as clients?’ She saw the look on Jeez’s face and added, ‘I’m sorry, Jeez. I’d do it myself if I could.’
‘No sweat.’ He smiled graciously. ‘We’ll do it right away.’
An hour later he found her in the corridor by the water cooler. She had stepped out for a drink and to get out of the stuffy atmosphere in the office. Burly cops with guns and combat boots strolled by, eyeing the unfamiliar blonde.
‘Okay, the information you wanted. The lawyer says he’s never acted for the Vergés family and has never met Charles Verge or his cousins. The doctor was a reconstructive surgeon.’
‘Reconstructive?’
‘Plastic.’ The immobility of Jeez’s features was more telling than any expression would have been. ‘A pioneer of . . .’ he peered at his notes, ‘. . . closed rhinoplastic procedures, whatever they are.’
‘Well . . .’
‘You know we checked out all the plastic surgery clinics in Barcelona for Superintendent Chivers, don’t you?’
‘I didn’t know that, but . . .’
‘This man retired four years ago, on his seventieth birthday.’
‘I’d like to talk to him.’
‘I don’t think that would be worthwhile. He’s too old, he doesn’t work at Passeig de Gràcia 83 any more and, also, he’s known to us.’
‘Known to you? You mean he’s a crook?’
‘Quite the opposite. He was awarded a police medal for his work on two of our men who were badly hurt by a bomb. He is very highly regarded by the CGP, especially by Captain Alvarez, whose men were the victims.’
‘I see. I’d still like to talk to him. Will you come with me?’
‘Only if Captain Alvarez approves.’
‘Well, I’ll speak to him.’
‘He isn’t here.’
‘Jeez . . .’ He was being obstructive, she realised, his embarrassment only making him more stubborn. ‘We can reach him on the bloody phone, can’t we?’
Jeez clenched the muscles of his jaw, then said, ‘I’ve already spoken to him, Kathy. He’s busy and doesn’t want to talk about it just now. He’ll discuss it later. Maybe tomorrow.’
‘Maybe tomorrow?’
‘That’s what he said.’
‘Jeez,’ Kathy heard herself speaking slowly and deliberately, holding back her irritation, ‘did he specifically say that I wasn’t to speak to this man?’
‘Not specifically.’
‘Okay, I’ll go with Linda. Please give me the name and address.’
‘No, Kathy. Captain Alvarez would be very annoyed.’
His face had become quite red, and Kathy realised that this wasn’t his fault. She breathed deeply and said, ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Let’s forget about it.’ She threw the plastic cup into the bin and turned back to the office door.
‘I’m sorry, Kathy,’ he called after her, an edge of relief in his voice. ‘We should have something for you on Martin Kraus soon, I think.’
She closed the door firmly behind her and said to Linda, ‘Any idea what closed rhinoplastic procedures are?’
‘Nose jobs,’ Linda replied. ‘My Mum’s had one.’
‘Fancy getting out for a while?’
They began by going to Passeig de Gràcia 83. The day had become hot, and the time was two o’clock, when most of Catalonia closes down for a couple of hours, thinning out the traffic on the boulevard. In the vestibule they found a polished brass plate with the names of the three doctors.
Beside it was a modern directory board with removable letters identifying two of the doctors as being located on the third floor. The missing name was Dr Javier Lizancos.
Taking a small lift to the third floor, they found the door of the consulting rooms locked, but the buzzer eventually roused a young woman. She opened the door a few inches and said drowsily in Catalan that they were closed.
Linda replied in Spanish that they were police, and needed some information. The girl switched to Spanish to explain that she was on her own and couldn’t help. Eventually the exchange got them into the small reception area inside.
‘We need to get in touch with Dr Lizancos,’ Linda said, offering her Captain Alvarez’s card.
‘He doesn’t come in here very often now.’ The girl studied the card unhappily. She hardly looked old enough to be out of school. ‘Could you wait until the receptionist comes back?’
‘We haven’t got time. Do you know where we can find Dr Lizancos?’
‘At home, I suppose.’
‘Right.’ Linda turned her notebook to a fresh page and handed it to the girl. ‘Just write the address down here.’
‘I don’t know . . .’
‘Don’t worry, it’s just routine. Then we’ll get out of your way.’
That seemed to make up the girl’s mind. She took an address book from the drawer of the reception desk and found the entry. Linda handed her a pen.
‘And the phone number too, please.’
The girl wrote down an address and two phone numbers and handed the notebook back. While she had been writing Kathy had opened the appointments book that lay on the desk, and had turned the pages to the fourteenth of May. She looked through the entries but nothing caught her eye, nor on the following days.
Linda pointed the page out to the girl and said, ‘Can you tell if Dr Lizancos was here on that day?’
She shrugged, her eye scanning the scribbled names.
‘There are no appointments for him.’
Linda thanked the girl, retrieved Captain Alvarez’s card, and they left. ‘This is much better than sitting around in that office,’ she said as they got into the lift. ‘Tony’s been getting a bit . . .’
Kathy waited for the word.
‘. . . Who was it who said that men are animals with a dozen hands?’ Linda concluded.
They emerged into the sunshine laughing, and hailed a cab. The taxi driver had to consult a directory to find the street. ‘By the Hospital de la Santa Creu i de Sant Pau,’ he finally told Linda.
‘Eixample,’ she explained to Kathy. ‘Shouldn’t be too far.’
The driver pointed out the Sagrada Família church along the way, driving slowly past the queues of tourists waiting beneath the skeletal structure of the Passion façade.
‘Peter McNeil was keen to get me here,’ Kathy said. ‘I’ll have to tell him I saw it.’
The taxi turned in to the Avinguda de Gaudí, which cuts diagonally through the chamfered grid blocks of the Eixample district, and at its end the driver pointed to the eccentric neo-Gothic pinnacled pavilions of the hospital, explaining something to Linda.
‘He says the guy who designed it was a bit crazy. He hated the grid of the city streets, and turned the whole hospital complex onto the diagonal, to face down the avenue towards Gaudí’s church.’
The taxi driver said something more and Linda translated. ‘He wanted every ward to be a little independent building surrounded by trees and fresh air, so he put all the connecting corridors and service areas underground.’
‘Everyone seems determined to give me architecture lessons,’ Kathy murmured.
The taxi stopped in a narrow street, shady with dense trees, the house hidden behind an old brick wall. They asked the driver to wait, and opened a creaking wrought-iron front gate. Inside was a garden, almost overwhelmed by foliage. They passed around an elaborate fountain and were confronted by an extraordinary ornate villa, in a style very similar to the hospital they had just passed. Built in red brick and tiles with stone trim, it was embellished with ornate Gothic arches, pinnacles and spires like a miniature gingerbread castle. The heavily studded timber front door stood open, and beside it a twisted wrought-iron bell handle was suspended on the wall. Linda tugged at it and they waited, staring into the impenetrable darkness of the interior.
After some time they heard a shuffling of feet from inside, and a small hunched figure lurched into the light. It was an elderly woman, dressed entirely in black, who eyed them suspiciously in turn. Linda wished her goo
d afternoon and asked if they could see Dr Lizancos.
The woman peered at her and finally said something.
‘She wants to know if we’re American missionaries,’ Linda said. ‘And if we are we can fuck off.’ She spoke some more, and Kathy recognised the word policia. She wished she’d got further with her Spanish lessons.
The woman still didn’t seem inclined to be helpful, until Linda mentioned Captain Alvarez, then she barked something and shuffled away into the darkness, her black clothing rendering her instantly invisible.
‘His wife?’ Kathy asked.
‘Housekeeper, I think. Probably came with the house.’
They stood in a pool of brilliant sunlight, growing hot as they waited, until at last the old woman returned and gestured for them to come in. Blinded by the sudden transition into darkness, they found themselves shuffling like her to avoid crashing into furniture. They followed the sound of her feet into a room very dimly lit from tall, shuttered windows. Her footsteps stopped and so did they. There was silence for a moment, then a bank of shutters jerked open with a rattle, throwing a shaft of light across the figure of a thin, erect man standing directly in front of them.
Perhaps it was the association with the first letters of the doctor’s name, but Kathy was immediately struck by the image of a lizard. The head, clad in brown leathery skin, jutted out of a dark green silk cravat, and hands like lizard’s claws hung from the cuffs of a white shirt. There was a tremor in the right hand as it rose and gestured towards some high-backed chairs, carved from black wood in a Gothic style. When they sat, he stared at them for a moment before taking a chair facing them. His movements were stiff, his hand trembling. He said something in Spanish and Linda replied.
‘You are English?’ he then said, in a very proper English, as if he’d learned it from listening to recordings of Noel Coward.
‘Yes, sir,’ Kathy said, offering him her card. ‘From London.’
‘But I don’t understand.’ The hooded lizard eyes drooped as he studied it briefly. ‘Maria said you are with Captain Alvarez.’
‘Captain Alvarez is helping us with a case.’
The Verge Practice Page 18