The Little Spanish Girl

by Ales Matko

  ''My wife?'' Elsa screeched in horror. ''My own fucking wife did this?''

  The detective wrinkled his forehead.

  ''Let’s not jump to conclusions, señor Elsa. After all, if she did it, why the screaming? She's fainted. Do you have a physician in residence here in the mansion?''

  In contrast to his partner, who had enough to do just moving himself, Beatra helped carry the unconcious Beatrice out of the room. Following the guards down the hallway, he tried in vain to comfort Elsa, who was busy throwing punches at everything on display as they headed towards the stairs, leaving behind a trail of rubble.

  The doctor's office was on the first floor, but the physician himself was asleep in his room and had to be summoned by phone. A tall and hairy older man from Russia, he had massive grey sideburns and a haircut that made him look as if his barber had used a fire cracker for scissors. The only thing thicker than his hair was his accent.

  ''I will come in my office,'' he said with his customary abuse of prepositions. ''Five minutes.''

  He was there in three, still dressed in his robe. He took one look at Beatrice and asked the men to place her on the examining table.

  ''Wait outside, all of you,'' he ordered, hanging a rather meek ‘please’ on the end of the sentence when his eyes met the dark gaze of señor Elsa. It did not take very long for the doctor to rejoin them on the coridor. ''She is simply drunk,'' he said, ''and has oozed into a deep sleep. What happened, anyway?''

  ''There was a message on the wall in Ana-Maria’s room,'' explained Beatra. ''Written in blood.''

  The burly physician reacted as if someone had just handed him the weather forecast for Nigeria.

  ''Her hands - they were bloody,'' he said blankly. ''Does that mean she ...''

  ''You know, I don’t think it does,'' Klauder jumped in. Everyone looked at him. ''The blood on her hands was thick and smudged, not thin and liquidy. My guess is she walked in on the mess, and in a drunken panic touched the letters.''

  ''Are you sure that’s what happened, detective?'' Elsa asked.

  ''No, I'm not certain. I will definetly have a word with her tomorrow when she sobers up, and with everyone else as well. For now I would ask you to go reassure everyone in the dinning room that we have the situation under control. Meanwhile the inspector and I will head back upstairs and check the girl’s room. Perhaps the perpetrator left something behind this time.''

  They thanked the bedraggled doctor and went their separate ways – the two investigators back upstairs and Elsa with his lackeys back to the dinning room.

  ''Zais-Ak swallowed her whole,'' Beatra read out loud when they were once again in Ana-Maria’s quarters. ''Zais-Ak and Zais-Bur ... Who are they?''

  ''If I had to guess, inspector, I would say they are characters from the demonic literature. But what alarms me most about this message is the last part - still has room for more. Does that imply that more people, presumably children, will be kidnapped or killed? Señor Elsa will have to order his men to keep their young ones close by, and ... Well, what do we have here?''

  With not inconsiderable effort, Klauder crouched down and picked up a small object lying in the crevice behind the bed.

  ''A piece of jewelry?'' Beatra asked, peeking over his shoulder.

  ''Looks like it.''

  It was a golden earring with a small grey gem, and Klauder put it in his pocket. ''This wasn’t here before, in the afternoon. We would definitely have spotted it.''

  ''Do you think it belongs to Beatrice?''

  Klauder shrugged.

  ''But Ana-Maria went missing four days ago, detective! Why write the message only now?''

  ''My guess at this point is as good as yours, inspector.''

  A little while later Elsa and his possie rejoined them. Supposedly the gangster had had his men searching the mansion, looking for anything suspicious. But what exactly that might be was hard to say, particularly in this place, filled as it was with shady characters and blanketed in secrecy.

  Fighting back tears, the usually stoic Elsa asked the obvious question.

  ''Is the blood on the wall my daughter’s?''

  Beatra scratched his beard. ''There's no way of knowing, señor. But seeing as how there was no body this time, even if it is she may still be alive.''

  ''Ana-Maria!'' Elsa blurted out suddenly, startling both investigators. ''Ana-Maria! Can you hear me?''

  But there was no reply.

  ''Ana-Maria!''

  ''Señor, please,'' Klauder beseeched him. ''All of us have tired minds and frayed nerves right now and nothing good can come of this combination. It’s late. Let's all try to get some sleep. Tomorrow I'm sure we'll see things in a different light and the inspector and I will be able to go to work in earnest.''

  It was debatable whether Gustav Elsa was going to shut an eye anytime soon, and cheering him up was out of the question. Of course, if the rumors were true and he was indeed in command of satanic forces, he was certainly hiding it well. His reactions were clearly those of an ordinary man, not of some omnipotent demon-king.

  He shouted his daughter’s name twice more before ordering his men to show the investigators to their rooms. They could still hear him howling as they walked away.

  ''Sorry you accepted the case yet, detective?'' Beatra asked dully.

  ''It takes a lot more than this to scare this man,'' Klauder rebutted, unsure whether he was trying to convince his partner or himself.

  ''Why write the messages at all?'' Beatra wondered aloud. ''What's the point?''

  ''To me both scenes looked ritualistic, inspector. Maybe whoever's doing this is attempting to summon demons or satisfy some weird obsession.''

  Beatra seemed clearly uncomfortable, so Klauder promptly changed the subject. ''But I will put all of my efforts into making sure the perpetrator won’t be at large for long. Delusional fanatics are indeed very dangerous. Not because they are actually backed by some dark, evil force, but because they are capable of talking themselves into doing any number of ghastly things, as is already evident.''

  The investigators were given rooms next to each other on the third floor. Once there, the guards left without saying a word.

  ''So much for manners, eh?'' Klauder sighed.

  ''Good night, detective.''

  ''Sleep well, inspector. And don’t worry. We will catch the son – or perhaps daughter – of a bitch who is responsible for this!''

  The doors to both rooms closed, and a loud click echoed down the hallway as the two investigators vigorously twisted the keys in their locks.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next morning, Klauder and Beatra were awakened by guards knocking on their doors – not that they had slept all that well anyway – followed by a thorough search of their rooms, as if the investigators were themselves suspects.

  After the inspection they were asked to join Elsa in his study, where a loud dispute was in progress between the gangster and his sister, Elizabeth. What exactly they were shouting about the two investigators could not tell as the heated debate ceased as soon as they approached.

  ''Just get out of my sight!'' Elsa fumed. He pushed the black-haired girl into the hallway and collected himself for a moment before inviting Beatra and Klauder to step in. They were now alone in the study, with none of the armed guards present. Even the long-haired Marcus was nowhere to be seen.

  Elsa looked as if he had been up all night. He apologized for his outburst and dejectedly told them that his people had not found anything during their search the previous night. As an alternative to breakfast he procured a bottle of Scotch.

  ''Don’t mind if I do,'' Beatra said.

  ''Far be it from me to reject such magnanimous hospitality,'' Klauder added as he downed the shot and set the glass down on the table, already emboldened by the alcochol that was quickly absorbed by his empty gut. ''But I do have to address the elephant in the room. I have heard disturbing rumors – rumors that you are involved in some kind of satanism or black magic.'' Beatra fidget
ed nervously in his stool as Klauder continued. ''Would you care to elaborate on this? I mean, seeing as how the two messages written in blood were seemingly of a ritualistic nature, it does bring up certain questions.''

  ''I knew you were going to bring this up,'' Elsa growled. ''But rest assured, whatever I have going on with the ‘unholy’ is of no concern to you nor of any relevance whatsoever to the case.''

  Apparently that was all he had to say on the subject.

  ''I'm afraid that isn't much of an answer, señor,'' Klauder said. ''The demonic motif is quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say? Either someone is purposely trying to implicate you by playing your game, so to speak, or ... Well ...''

  ''Well, what?'' Elsa snarled.

  ''Well, either that or you are somehow involved in all of this, señor.''

  ''How dare you!'' The gangster squeezed his fists and cleanched his teeth. ''How dare you insinuate I had something to do with the disappearance of my own daughter! I should have you shot just for the implication!''

  Beatra jumped to his feet.

  ''¡Señor, cálmese, por favor! The detective did not mean to insult you!''

  ''Of course I meant no offense, señor Elsa. It's just that, in order to do my job I have to be thorough and check every lead, leave no stone unturned, so to speak. And this one is more of a boulder than a stone.''

  Elsa glowered at Klauder as if he were deciding whether to torture him prior to execution.

  ''I will repeat this only once, detective,'' he said, taking an ominously calm sip of Scotch. ''My, as you put it, affiliation with the demonic is no concern of yours, nor is it connected to what's been going on in any way. I suggest you leave it be.''

  Beatra quickly changed the subject:

  ''I think it would be wise to warn all the fathers among your men that whoever is doing this probably intends to continue.''

  ''I already have,'' Elsa replied. ''But I want to make one thing clear, gentlemen. Your focus must not be on them, but on finding my daughter. And, naturally, the soon-to-be-dead bastard who is behind all this. It's Ana-Maria that I hired you to find. Is that clear?''

  Klauder sighed.

  ''Yes, but seeing how it's all connected ...''

  ''Your focus is on her, period!'' Elsa erupted. ''And this conversation is over. I take it you can see yourselves out?''

  Beatra quickly emptied his glass and followed Klauder out into the hallway.

  ''All this secrecy,'' Klauder said in a low voice, as if he were under constant surveillance. ''You would expect a man whose daughter is missing, particularly under such grisly circumstances, to be a little more cooperative. It's quite obvious it's not just a coincidence - his reputation and the ritualism of the killings. Such a shady fellow, this one.''

  ''He's the devil himself, if you ask me,'' Beatra said with a shutter.

  Klauder put his hands on his hips. ''My dear inspector, this man may be a lot of things, but a being with supernatural powers he most certanly is not. Now, what was that fight between him and his sister all about?''

  ''Who knows?''

  ''I will make sure to ask her. Speaking of which, why don’t we go talk to her right now? It may be too early to pay Beatrice a visit anyway, given the hangover she's most certainly suffering from about now.''

  With the help of one of the servants they made their way to Elsa's sister’s fifth-storey apartment and knocked on the door, but there was no reply. The out of shape Klauder made no effort to conceal his annoyance.

  ''You mean to tell me,'' he panted, wiping the sweat from his forehead, ''we walked all the way up these stairs for nothing?''

  ''She must have gone somewhere,'' Beatra said, supressing a smirk. ''Next time we'll take the escalator.''

  On their way back down the stairs they met Jago the butler, dressed in his usual tailcoat.

  ''Buenos días, señores,'' the elderly gentleman said, nodding politely. ''I heard about the writing on the wall in Ana-Maria’s room. So horrible! Do you have any leads yet?''

  His morning breath made Klauder take a step back.

  ''Maybe,'' he replied, as noncommittally as he could. ''But now that you're here, would you mind answering a few questions?''

  ''Of course, detective.''

  Klauder hesitated for a split second. He knew his first question was necessary, but his vanity rebelled at having to start with such a cliché.

  ''Good, then let's start at the beginning. Where were you on the night of the girl’s disappearance?''

  ''Long asleep. I'm afraid these old bones of mine get tired much more easily nowadays, and on most nights I'm snoring in my bed before eight o’ clock. But I do get up early the next day to make up for it.''

  ''What about yesterday afternoon? Where were you then?''

  ''If my memory serves me correctly,'' he mumbled, as if he were trying to recollect some detail from decades ago, ''I was here in the mansion, going about my errands ... But I might have ... Yes, I might have gone for a stroll as well. Madre mía,'' he smiled apologetically. ''I'm sorry, my memory isn't what it used to be.''

  ''And on that stroll you were alone, I presume?''

  ''Yes.''

  ''Tell me, though. Do you have any idea why someone would be doing this? Abducting kids for God knows what sick purpose?''

  Jago lifted his grey eyebrows.

  ''Kids? You mean there's more than one now?''

  Klauder ignored the question and abruptly asked the butler to take them to see Beatrice. The old man in the tailcoat led them to the opposite end of the floor they were staying on, left them there and returned to his duties, whatever those might have been.

  Beatrice's quarters occupied a large part of the third floor. She seemed to be in a much better mood this time than she had been the previous day, and was especially cheerful for someone whose daughter had just been kidnapped and perhaps murdered.

  ''No matter,'' she responded when the investigators mentioned that the girl had still not been found. ''I'm quite sure she'll turn up eventually. Ah, to be young again! She's probably just somewhere out there playing, making a snowman or something similarly silly.''

  She laughed a laugh that seemed almost euphoric. So much so, in fact, that everyone present was noticably uncomfortable. This included not only the investigators but also Beatrice’s two girlfriends, who were sitting on a divan nearby.

  ''Señora,'' Klauder said, taken aback at the woman's demeanor, ''I'm glad you're feeling better. But what exactly happened yesterday?''

  Beatrice shrugged. ''Whatever do you mean, detective?''

  ''What do I mean? I mean the room. Ana-Maria’s room and the message written on the wall in blood.''

  The look on the faces of the two friends sitting innocuously in the back pretending not to eavesdrop indicated that they had not been told of the grisly discovery.

  ''What are you babbling about, detective? Are you sure you're feeling all right? Do you need to sit down?''

  Beatra intervened. ''Well now, hold on, señora. Yesterday when you rushed away from the dinner table we heard you screaming and then found you in Ana-Maria’s room, your hands covered in blood.''

  ''Don’t be silly, inspector!'' Beatrice snapped. ''I was taking a bath all evening long, as I always do. It gives me time to think about things, you understand.''

  Thinking he was being played for a fool, Beatra pulled out his notebook and read aloud the words he had taken down verbatim at the scene of the crime, but Beatrice seemed oblivous.

  ''Why on earth would you write something like that, inspector?''

  ''What? No, I ...''

  ''Well what about this earring we found?'' Klauder interjected, pulling it from his pocket. ''Does it not belong to you?''

  ''Good heavens,'' she sighed, as if it were beneath her to reply to such a question. ''I wouldn't be caught dead wearing anything so bland.''

  And with that, she abruptly let out a giggle, turned, and walked out the door.

  The investigators were stunned.

  ''What on
earth just happened?''

  ''It’s her medications, detective,'' one of the ladies on the couch explained.

  ''What medications?''

  ''Antidepressants.''

  It was Beatrice’s guests from the night before. The one who had just spoken was Pilar, who had until now been diligently polishing her toenails. The blonde, Antonia, was reading a book.

  ''I see,'' Klauder nodded. ''And I suppose ephoria and memory loss would be among the expected side effects?''

  ''Indeed they would be,'' Pilar said, putting the finishing touches on her big toe and admiring her handiwork before looking up. ''Poor Beatrice,'' she sighed. ''Her depression has been dragging on for years now and it's genuinely agonizing to see her mind being slowly corroded by all the alcochol and medication.''

  ''Years?'' Klauder said. ''I thought she was depressed because of what happened to Ana-Maria five days ago!''

  Antonia sighed. ''He doesn't know, Pilar.''

  The two women looked at each other.

  ''Know what?'' Klauder asked, his interest obviously piqued.

  Pilar listened carefully for a few moments to make sure Beatrice wasn't coming back.

  ''She had a miscarriage about two years ago. She was a couple of months pregnant at the time, but something went wrong and the baby, a girl, suffocated in her womb and died.''

  ''Dios mío, that’s terrible,'' said Beatra, who apparently also had not been privy to this information. ''So Ana-Maria isn’t the first child they've lost?''

  Klauder decided to get down to brass tacks.

  ''Ladies, I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind, starting with this earring we found,'' he said, once again pulling the item from his pocket. ''Does it by any chance belong to either of you?''

  The women shook their heads.

  ''Well, let’s talk about your whereabouts on the evening Ana-Maria went missing then, shall we?''

  Antonia told the detective that she had arrived only the previous day, so she could not be of much help regarding the events that had taken place on the Friday before.

  ''And you, señora? I'm sorry, what was is again? I'm terrible with names.''