by Chris Lloyd
He’d suffered one of the more violent attacks, others had been marginally less unfortunate. Looking through the rooms of the man’s house now, Àlex could well understand his need to install all the security. No matter how much he loved the house, Àlex was certain that had he been the victim, he’d have had no second thoughts about selling the house and moving back to somewhere surrounded by people and light and noise. Manel turned up at the front door as Àlex was taking his leave.
‘It’s all looking good,’ the caporal told the owner, asking him to come to the corner of the house to look at the side of the perimeter. ‘Just one recommendation I’d make. That section over there, the fence is weak. If I were you, I’d get that strengthened and put in a sensor light. There’s a path the other side that leads to a B-road that’s wide enough to get a car along. You should get it sorted.’
The owner looked nervous and grateful. ‘Thank you, I will.’
Before they left, Àlex told the owner that they’d be checking the driveway where it joined the road as well. ‘So please don’t be concerned if you see us taking a look down there.’
What he didn’t tell him was that that was the main purpose of their visit.
‘Well spotted,’ Àlex told Manel as they drove the short way down the drive and stopped. Manel didn’t answer for a moment, which Àlex put down to his usual manner. His words, when they came, surprised him.
‘I saw him after the attack,’ Manel finally answered as they got out of the car. ‘The state they left him in.’
Ignoring the whumph of the cars and lorries speeding past by what seemed like bare centimetres , Àlex told Manel what they were looking for. ‘A pyramid of stones with twigs stuck into it. Somewhere on the ground.’
Crouched down, they searched under the bushes that grew along the side of the road and around the bare patches of earth up to the edge of the asphalt. A tall cypress stood either side of the drive, marking the entrance. Àlex looked one side while Manel examined the other.
Surprised and feeling a little deflated, Àlex finally stood up, stretching his back. ‘Nothing.’
‘What’s it about?’ Manel wanted to know.
‘We think we found a symbol at the house on Saturday night. That’s why we’re checking up on the other houses that have been targeted to see if there are any more and if they mean anything.’
Manel snorted and walked back to the car. ‘Sounds a bit fanciful to me.’
Àlex watched him go and closed his eyes, not letting the irritation rise. Taking one last look around him, he gave up and joined the caporal waiting impatiently in the car.
Chapter Fourteen
Elisenda noticed Siset’s satchel on top of the filing cabinet in her office and was about to take it down when there was a knock on the door behind her. She turned around to see Josep leaning in through the frame, his head bowed low. It was one of his habits. Conscious of his height, he would often hunch his shoulders while talking to someone shorter or instinctively duck his head when he went through doors. Before coming in, he ran his hand through his shock of mousy brown hair, which started every day unruly as it currently was and ended up like an uncut lawn the more frustrating an investigation became. Elisenda smiled at today’s rough patch.
‘Josep, come on in. What have you got for me?’
Motioning for him to take a seat opposite her, she sat down behind her desk. He placed some folders on top of it but didn’t open them.
‘I’ve been going through the case files for the first boy’s disappearance. I haven’t turned up anything out of the ordinary just yet, but at least I know the sequence of what happened that time.’
‘You’d better run through it with me, then. It’s from before I came back to Girona and I don’t know all the ins and outs. I wasn’t involved with it.’
Josep looked uncomfortable for a moment, dropping his head even further and bringing his shoulders in. ‘Sotsinspector Pijaume was in charge.’
Elisenda nodded. Armengol’s predecessor. ‘Go on.’
‘There are some anomalies because Jaume admitted to lying in his first statements because he was afraid of being told off by his parents. It happened on a Saturday in June. The family were rambling in the Gavarres mountains, between Madremanya and Pedrinyà, and had stopped for a picnic a short walk from a river. Before they ate, Marc Comas went swimming with the two boys, Jaume and Albert, and left Susanna Miravent with all the picnic stuff by a tree, reading. After a time, Comas returned to Miravent and left the two boys playing by the river, but told them not to go into the water without him there.
‘This is where Jaume lied in his first statement. He initially said that he was running along the bank and that when he returned, his brother had disappeared. What he eventually admitted to was that he’d disobeyed the father and gone for a swim while Albert had stayed on the bank.’
‘Meaning he couldn’t have seen whatever it was that happened.’
‘What he did say was that he saw a car. There’s a single-track road a short distance the other side of the river from where the boys were. He didn’t see enough to recognise the make or see anyone in it. What’s interesting is that both the mother and the father said independently of Jaume and of each other that they heard a car engine. When Jaume got out of the water, Albert wasn’t there. He said he didn’t think anything of it, presuming his brother had gone back to where their parents were. Jaume was worried that he’d get told off as he didn’t have a towel and was wet from the river, so he didn’t rejoin them straight away but waited until he’d dried off in the sun. By that time, though, his father had come looking for him, which is when they realised that Albert wasn’t there.’
Elisenda digested everything Josep said. ‘Good work. As far as I recall, there have never been any substantiated sightings of Albert.’
She noticed him sit taller in his chair, unfolding some of his height. That was one of his tics when he was feeling more confident.
‘I’ve checked the initial phases of the investigation at the time. There were the usual phone calls by people saying they’d seen him, but nothing was ever corroborated.’ He checked inside one of the folders. ‘In fact, there have been sightings in Catalonia, Spain, France and Germany, but nothing ever came of any of them.’
‘They rarely do, unfortunately.’
‘My next step is to see what theories the team at the time had about his disappearance. The most common one is that he fell into the river and was swept away.’
‘Swept away? They’re all small streams in that area.’
‘Where they were swimming was calm, but other tributaries were in flood. The investigation felt that once a child’s body had been taken, it would be very easy for it to be pulled into the water system and lost. Apparently, he was quite a slight child. They also worked on the possible hypothesis of the boy being abducted. I’m about to start looking into who they had in the frame as suspects if that was the case.’
‘OK. Check them against any names that Sotsinspector Armengol comes up with for Jaume’s disappearance. If there are any that appear in both investigations, we need to be speaking to them. Armengol’s also offered to filter the feedback we get from the missing persons unit in Sabadell. You might as well use it; we’re going to have our work cut out as it is.’
Behind Jaume, she spotted Montse coming into the outer office, so she called her in. Josep gave her a brief outline of what he’d told Elisenda, and Montse reported on her meeting with the head teacher at Jaume’s school.
‘He was reluctant to let me speak to Jaume’s classmates without consent from their parents. He seems more worried about the school’s good name.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Elisenda asked her.
Montse looked uncomfortable. She glanced at Josep for support. ‘He mentioned Jaume being outside school when he went… when he went missing. Said the school wasn’t to be blamed.’
Elisenda looked in her notebook and found the name and address she’d got from Susanna Miravent. ‘This i
s the friend Jaume was supposed to be doing his homework with. You can approach his family directly. I’ll be seeing Miravent and Comas later today, so I’ll get other names from them.’
Montse took the details and put them in her own notebook. ‘I’ll still be ringing the school later to arrange to see the boy’s tutor. He wasn’t available this morning.’
‘Tutor,’ Elisenda commented, shaking her head. ‘Only in a posh school.’
She turned away, missing Montse’s controlled exhalation of relief and the wry look that Josep shot the other caporal. Elisenda wasn’t the only one struggling with handling the disappearance of a child.
Chapter Fifteen
Susanna Miravent looked more like her real self, Elisenda thought, her real self being the political image she portrayed to the media. That morning, in her own home, she’d seemed strangely outside her proper environment. It was here, at the front of a crowded room of journalists and TV cameras, a speech on a piece of paper in front of her, her appearance designed for public consumption, that Susanna Miravent the product existed. The real Susanna Miravent as the electorate knew her.
Elisenda was in the audience, standing at the back of the exquisite conference room in the city centre hotel. Puigventós was next to her. The family had said that they preferred to be alone on the podium, without the Mossos there. The focus on them and their concern, on their son and his disappearance. The second time that the same tragedy had befallen the same family. Or rather, Bofarull the campaign manager had decided on it, Elisenda imagined. She watched him now, buzzing about on the edge of centre stage, ordering the press and cajoling the cameras into place. The one appendage as far as she could see was Marc Comas, who sat in untidy discomfort next to his wife. Neither of them spoke to the other while they waited for the signal to start the ball rolling to get their son back.
The lights focused on the couple at the front of the room and the noise died down: the signal for Miravent to turn on every gram of her experience at working a crowd. And she did, Elisenda had to admit.
‘I normally stand before you as a politician,’ she began, her voice steady with just the slightest hesitation. Elisenda glanced quickly at Bofarull. He was living the speech with her. ‘But today, I stand before you as a mother. You know me as a woman of integrity, a woman not afraid to stand up and say what she thinks is best for Catalonia, a woman proud to be both Catalan and Spanish, proud to fight for the best and strongest way to overcome the terrible recession caused by a succession of irresponsible governments, proud to uphold good family values. Well, today, it is precisely these values that have suffered a blow. A terrible personal blow…’
Elisenda hung her head to try not to show the annoyance she felt. ‘This is pure electioneering,’ she muttered to Puigventós. ‘It’s her son we’re trying to find, not votes.’
‘And they’re lapping it up,’ the inspector whispered back.
She looked up and scanned the room. The journalists were rapt, their recorders held high to catch every word, although that wasn’t necessary as Bofarull had already promised them transcripts of the speech after Miravent had delivered it. The camera crews and presenters looked on in delight. This was perfect television. Elisenda couldn’t help shaking her head in anger.
A face she knew was looking straight at her instead of at the actors on stage. David Costa, the editor of the local newspaper. He and Elisenda had gone to school together, gone to the same bars and excursions as teenagers, kept in touch all through university and her failed marriage, but they’d barely exchanged a word since falling out nearly a year ago. She was about to look away, but something in his expression stopped her. She could see in his eyes the same anger as she felt at the politician’s words, but there was something else there too. A collusion, a desire for her not to turn away. To talk to her.
‘So what does he want?’ Puigventós muttered, surprising her.
She sometimes forgot that the inspector rarely missed a trick. Without meaning to, she raised her hand to the bruise on her cheek. Quickly removing it, she glanced one more time at Costa, who by now had looked away, and turned her attention back to the woman holding the room in her hand.
* * *
At the end of the appeal, Susanna Miravent picked up her papers and walked swiftly out of the room through a door to the rear of the podium. One or two of the reporters applauded her performance, no doubt supporters of her political views. Taking one last indecisive look at the gathered media, her husband stood up and followed her. He had spoken a few words, unscripted and more directly appealing for his son to be returned safe and sound, but it came across as less powerful than his wife’s prepared words. A measure of the strength of her rhetoric and the weakness of his nature.
Elisenda watched as Bofarull hurried into the throng of journalists, making sure each one got a copy of Miravent’s appeal. Making her way to the rear of the conference space to follow Miravent and Comas to a small prep room leading from it, she picked up a copy of the handout. Topped by two photos of Jaume, a head and shoulders shot and one of him full-body at a recent sports event, the body of the text began with a description of the boy and what he was wearing at the time of his disappearance, followed by the time he vanished and the route he should have taken home. That was good, Elisenda thought, but the sheet also featured a photo of the mother and a description of her political beliefs as well as the text of the appeal that she’d just given. She could feel her knuckles tense in annoyance, crushing the piece of paper, and she checked herself before anyone saw. Passing by where he was standing, she heard Bofarull stoically assuring a small group of journalists that the boy’s disappearance would not be affecting Miravent’s election campaign. Elisenda had to bite her tongue. She could sense Puigventós behind her bristling at the attitude.
Passing through the room, she saw David Costa looking towards where she’d just been standing. His gaze roamed the room, no doubt searching for her, but she managed to reach the door behind the podium without him catching sight of her. At the door, two party officials demanded to see their ID before they’d let them into the prep room where Miravent and Comas were. Satisfied, they let her and Puigventós in, when Elisenda’s mobile pinged to say she’d had a message. Checking quickly, she saw that it was Catalina, her sister, asking if she wanted to have dinner at her house that evening. Sighing, she put her phone away without answering. Another difficult moment she was going to have to face.
Inside the small room, furnished with just an array of padded upright chairs and a blond wood table topped with bottles of mineral water and pens and notepads in the hotel’s livery, Miravent and Comas were sitting next to each other. Both looked drained, the first human moment Elisenda had registered from either of them. It reminded her that despite the mother’s evident political use of the situation and the strangely controlled calm of their demeanour, they were also the parents of one teenaged boy who had gone missing and another who was presumed dead after similar circumstances. Before she had a chance to say anything, Bofarull joined them in the room.
‘How do you think it went?’ Miravent asked him, ignoring the two Mossos.
He made to reply but Elisenda spoke before he had the chance, unable to conceal her anger any longer. ‘This is a police investigation, Senyora Miravent. We are asking for information to help us find your son, not to further your party’s election chances.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Miravent replied, shocked.
‘You ask me how the appeal went, not your campaign manager. I understand that it’s your right to give a televised appeal, but this is an investigation to find a missing child, not an opportunity for electioneering.’
For a brief moment, Miravent looked like she might lose her temper, but the politician in her immediately came to the fore. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Elisenda. I felt I was making the most of my position to find my son the best way possible.’ Her voice was calm, measured.
‘We can’t tell you how to conduct these appeals, but it would greatly
help us find your son if you would at least consult us on the best way to go about actions like this.’
‘Yes, well I’m sure we’ll be able to work together on this,’ Puigventós interrupted, flashing a warning look at Elisenda. She was struggling to stay cool.
‘Thank you, Elisenda,’ Miravent added, studied benevolence in her voice. ‘I will be sure to listen to what you say.’
‘As far as appealing to the public is concerned,’ Elisenda carried on regardless, ‘right now you are parents, not politicians. The appearance you’ve just made may be counter-productive. Your family has seen enough grief; my job is to try and make sure you don’t experience any more. Your job is to ensure that too.’
‘Elisenda,’ Puigventós warned her.
‘Grief, Elisenda?’ Miravent looked at her quizzically. ‘We feel no grief.’
Chapter Sixteen
Despite being in one of the more aspirational areas of the Eixample that had been favoured by Girona’s professional classes for the best part of half a century, the first-floor flat was surprisingly ordinary. In a forty-year-old block above an old-fashioned drogueria selling row upon row of bleach, paint and saucepans, the front door to the apartment led into a gloomy hall with dark wood furniture and no natural light. Opposite the front door was the kitchen, a fluorescent ceiling light casting a pallid glow over the parquet floor in the entrance. Montse was shown to a door on the right, which led into a living room, lined with mahogany bookshelves and framed prints and dominated by two giant brown sofas and a large-screen TV. They certainly went in for the sombre look, she thought, looking out of the window at a narrow balcony with just four metal chairs and a table. Beyond it, she could see the traffic held up in the street below in the reflection given by the window display of a stylish clothes chain shop. No sound of cars rumbling at the traffic lights filtered through the new double-glazing. It was surprisingly old-fashioned for an affluent, modern family.