The Little Spanish Girl

by Ales Matko

  ''Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Are we interrupting?'' Klauder asked as they cautiously ventured inside the apartment.

  ''Not at all, detective,'' responded the chef, motioning them to come in. ''I often invite my co-workers over for a cup of coffee and a chat. What can I do for you, señores?''

  Pierre Alberte was the second foreigner they met in the house. A blond-haired man in his forties with a freckled face, he had a protruding jaw and a roguish sparkle in his eyes.

  ''I graduated from the Etanuela Academy of Culinary Arts in Madrid back in 1934,'' he said in response to Klauder's initial question. ''Those were the days, I tell you. All the women and wine a man could wish for.''

  He offered them coffee and cookies. Klauder attacked the pastry ferociously while the Frenchman went on about his life story, speaking in such fluent Spanish that apart from his name and what he himself explained about his origins, there would have been no way of knowing he was French. He had been living in Spain for so long that not even the slightest trace of a French accent remained.

  ''When exactly did you start working here in the mansion, señor Alberte?''

  ''About twelve years ago. My father was close to señor Elsa. They were army buddies.''

  ''And do you like it here?''

  ''The job has its perks, sure,'' Pierre responded, as if it were just another day at the office. As it turned out, he had in fact been oblivious to the sounds that had come from the factory only a little while earlier and reacted genuinely surprised when the investigators brought it up.

  ''Gun shots?'' He adjusted his collar with slightly shaky hands. ''Yes, such occurences are really unpleasant and one can never truly get used to them.''

  ''Get used to them?'' Klauder repeated.

  ''Have you forgotten where you are, detective? It's not without reason that the police aren't welcome here. Present company excepted, of course,'' he added, nodding at Beatra and lowering his voice. ''These men are mercinaries. And criminals. They're all involved in various illicit activities from gun smuggling to drug dealing, all under the supervision of señor Elsa. But surely you knew all of this already, inspector?''

  Beatra shrugged.

  ''Ok, but ...'' Klauder stammered, trying to regain his composure. ''But no missing children until recently, right?''

  ''No, none that I'm aware of,'' Pierre replied. ''But while we're on the subject, I heard there was another child that went missing yesterday? A boy from the shanks?''

  Klauder nodded.

  ''How sinister! This is dreadful, simply dreadful.''

  ''Señor, on the night of her disappearance, did you see the girl at all?''

  ''Ana-Maria?'' The chef shook his head. ''No, I can’t say I did. I rarely finish in the kitchen before eleven o’ clock, as I typically help my staff clean up afterwards. I did go check to see if the food was to everyone’s liking, and I noticed Ana-Maria was no longer at the table. And not long after that it was discovered that she had gone missing.''

  ''Supposedly she went to bed early because of stomach problems.''

  ''Well, the girl is moody, detective. There's always something. Actually, on top of what I normally cook for everyone else, I also have to prepare something special for her every night. That night, if I remember correctly, it was grilled tuna with asparagus. She refuses to eat any meat other than fish, and sometimes she won't even eat that. Some might even say she's spoiled.''

  ''Interesante,'' the obviously disineterested Klauder mumbled.

  ''And yesterday?'' Beatra asked, noticing that his companion was once again starting to sink into one of those deep-thought states of his. ''Were you in late in the afternoon?''

  ''I was. At around half past six I went to the kitchen and got to work.''

  ''And before that?''

  ''Well, I was here, in my apartment.''

  ''Was there anyone with you?''

  ''No, I was alone. Just reading a book, nothing special,'' he smiled. ''I have a mean collection of thrillers and mystery novels, you see.''

  ''A man after my own heart,'' Klauder said, somehow managing to stir himself from his reverie.

  The rest of the interview with Chef Pierre revolved mostly around the latter's personal library, and Klauder and Beatra took their leave at the first opportunity. But a little while later as they were heading down one of the corridors and making the same sort of small talk that had compelled them to terminate their conversation with Pierre, Klauder again fell silent for a few moments before abruptly changing the subject.

  ''He may have gone to the kitchen like he said, but I doubt he was alone before that. Don’t think he was reading a book, either.''

  ''How do you figure, detective?''

  ''I don’t know if you picked up on it, but there was a distinct odor in his apartment. Traces of a woman’s perfume, if I'm not mistaken.''

  ''I didn't smell anything.''

  ''Well, I've been told I have a highly refined olfactory sense.''

  ''That's nice,'' Beatra said, trying to ignore Klauder's pretension. ''But even if there was the smell of perfume, do you think it had been lingering in the air since yesterday, just before Pierre went to the kitchen? Also, that maid Alejandra was visiting right before we came. The smell very well could have been from her.''

  ''I seriously doubt that, inspector. I would have sensed it on her. Besides, maids don’t typically wear such prestigious fragrances.''

  ''Are you insinuating, that ...''

  Beatra went silent as a group of men appeared on the other end of the hallway. Led by Duvali the engineer, they were dressed in the same orange hazmat suits Elsa and his bodyguard had been wearing. They seemed to be in a hurry, carrying a large silver case about four feet long and less than a foot in diameter with a label that said ‘fragile’.

  ''Stay inside!'' Duvali shouted at the two investigators as they passed. ''Whatever you do, keep the windows closed and don’t go outside!''

  They vanished around the corner as quickly as they had appeared, and Klauder and Beatra exchanged an uneasy look before heading to a nearby window facing the factory. But all they could see was a curtain of snow.

  ''Do you think the butler is in yet?'' Beatra asked, his voice cracking slightly as he tried in vain to take his mind off of whatever might be going on out there.

  ''I don’t know,'' Klauder said, similarly failing to distract himself. ''I guess we could go look.''

  Heading back to the starway, they heard angry shouting from below. It was coming from the lobby.

  ''I cannot let you go ouside, señora! Boss's orders!''

  ''My brother is out there! Don't you understand, you moron?''

  ''Please, señora, it is you who must understand! It’s dangerous out there!''

  ''Move! Now! I won’t say it again!''

  It was Elsa’s sister, Elizabeth, arguing with one of the guards positioned by the front door to prevent anyone from leaving.

  ''Why is it dangerous?'' the visibly tense Beatra said as he approached. ''What exactly is going on?''

  ''There was an accident at the factory,'' the guard explained in a guttural, booming voice that sounded like King Kong on steroids. ''An explosion. Some toxic gasses escaped. That’s why everyone without a protective suit must ... Señora, stop, por favor! ... stay in. Señora, please! My orders are clear, I cannot let anyone out!''

  The investigators tried to talk some sense into Elizabeth and calm her down, but it was only when she recognized the detective that she finally gave in.

  ''Gustav is out there!'' she cried, turning desperately to Klauder, as if he were the one calling the shots.

  ''Yes, we met him as he was leaving,'' he said, trying to reassure her. ''Not to worry, señora. He's well-protected.''

  Elizabeth Elsa was a skinny woman seemingly in the prime of her life, but she seemed exhausted, and the wrinkles under her eyes were a further sign of sleep-deprivation. Her pallid skin seemed as if it had never been exposed to sunlight, making her dark red lipstick almost grotesque in contrast.


  ''An accident, you say?'' Beatra continued. ''Then why did we hear bursts of gunfire? Is that the way you folks put out fires around here?''

  ''You just remember to stay put,'' the guard snapped.

  ''Now look here, señor, we wish to ...''

  All of a sudden, whether it was from all the excitement, sleep deprivation, her anemia, or simply a severe vitamin D deficiency, Elizabeth collapsed and would have hit the stone floor had Klauder not been there to intercept her fall.

  ''I feel so lightheaded,'' she groaned. ''I think I need to ... Sit ...''

  ''Inspector,'' Klauder said turning to Beatra, ''lend me a hand!''

  Beatra got on the other side of the half-conscious Elizabeth and together he and Klauder walked her over to a nearby bench under a massive oil painting of an ominous-looking monastery. The inspector asked one of the servants to bring her a glass of cold water.

  ''I need a real drink,'' she mumbled.

  ''Same here,'' replied Beatra tensely.

  Then Klauder noticed something interesting.

  ''Señora, forgive me, but are you by any chance missing an earring?''

  Elizabeth wrinked her forehead. ''Yes, as a matter of fact I am.''

  The detective pulled the piece of jewelry from his pocket, held it next to the one in Elizabeth's ear, and immediately saw that they were a matching set.

  ''They are my favourites, but I lost one yesterday and couldn't find it anywhere. Where did you find it?''

  ''In Ana-Maria’s room, yesterday evening,'' Klauder explained. ''And if you don’t mind my asking, señora, what exactly were you doing there so late in the day?''

  Elizabeth snatched the piece of jewelry out of his hand.

  ''What are you implying, detective?'' she snorted, putting the earring on. ''That it was me who wrote those horrible things on the wall? That I had something to do with the disappearance of my own niece and the murder of an innocent young boy? You must be joking!''

  Beatra raised an eyebrow. ''I see you know about what happened to Benjamine.''

  ''I'm not implying anything, señora,'' Klauder interjected. ''I am merely stating a fact. This piece of jewlery was found behind Ana-Maria’s bed.''

  ''Well, we did search her room again yesterday morning, me and some of the other staff. It must have fallen off.''

  ''The detective and I examined the room quite thoroughly upon our arrival and the earring was not there. We discovered it only after the message had already been written.''

  Elizabeth looked back and forth between the two men for a few seconds then shot up in anger.

  ''I don’t know what game you're playing, but I didn't set foot in that room after the morning inspection, and I certainly haven't kidnapped or killed anyone! If you don’t believe me, you can both go to hell!''

  With a superbly histrionic display of indignation, she stormed off.

  Beatra watched as her heels disappeared up the stairway. ''Well, that certainly went well.''

  ''Yes, her fuse is about the same length as her brother's,'' Klauder said. ''Did you notice how tired she looked? What was she doing all night? Clearly not sleeping. And yesterday at the dinner table I noticed the same thing. Too bad I didn't get a chance to ask her about Friday night.''

  ''Still, someone might have planted the earring there to incriminate her, right?''

  Beatra immediately wished he could withdraw the question as Klauder launched into a protracted analysis of the strengths, weaknesses and statistical probabilities of this hypothesis. But much to the inspector's relief, his sermon was cut short by a loud voice coming from the other end of the lobby. It was the butler. He was talking to one of the maids, and he was clearly irritated.

  ''Señor Jago!'' Klauder exclaimed. ''Just the man we wanted to see.''

  The butler was noticably uneasy, but he managed to offer a polite half-bow as they approached.

  ''You were looking for me, detective?''

  ''Indeed.''

  Klauder pulled Jago aside and out of earshot of the maid.

  ''Apparently, señor,'' he said in a low voice, ''you've been seen ‘fawning’ around children. Would you care to elaborate on that?''

  The old man's eyelids fluttered.

  ''I ... I surely don’t know what you're talking about, detective. Fawning? Who told you such an absurdity?''

  ''The old lady, Constanza.''

  ''What? Constanza?'' he gasped, his facial expression turning from threatened to indignant. ''Well, forgive me for saying this, but that old bat is hardly a trusthworty source of information! Has she also told you about how she almost killed two of the guards' sons who went to see her in her greenhouse not long ago? Did she mention the fruit she gave them to eat, which she knew full well was poisonous, and what a miracle it was our resident physician was able to procure the antidote in time? I suspect she was rather reticent about discussing such things with you gentlemen. And this was by no means an isolated incident.''

  ''Is that right, señor Jago?'' Klauder asked, feigning a surprise he could not quite bring himself to feel after his own encounter with Constanza.

  ''Yes, detective. I thought those poor boys weren’t going to make it. And the guards almost had Constanza’s head on a platter. They would have probably crucified her, had señor Elsa not intervened.''

  ''Understandably so,'' Beatra said, as if to remind the other two that he was still there.

  ''As Duvali, our engineer and resident religionist would say,'' Jago continued, disregarding Beatra's remark, ''let him who is without sin cast the first stone. Señora Constanza, gentlemen, is most certainly not in a position to point fingers.''

  ''Yes, it’s probably just the senseless rambling of a senile old woman,'' Klauder said. ''Still, señor, would you mind terribly if Inspector Beatra and I have a look around your apartment? I assure you we won't take up much of your time.''

  The butler scowled.

  ''The guards have already combed through it multiple times,'' he said. ''I suppose one more won't hurt.''

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jago's apartment was small and, one might say, cozy, but it had only one small window and the light was not working. The butler explained that the bulb had burned out and that he had been meaning to replace it.

  There was an unusual smell in the air, thought nothing readily identifiable, and much of the furniture seemed as old as Jago himself. Still, the place was tidy, as one might expect from a man of his profession.

  As the investigators began looking around in the dim light, what they thought would be a cursory once-over quickly turned into a detailed search. Klauder began rigorously looking through the closets, while Beatra painstakingly rummaged through every drawer.

  Standing by the doorframe with his arms folded, the initially cooperative butler was beginning to lose patience.

  ''No me di cuenta de que yo era un principal sospechoso,'' he grumbled.

  Beatra pulled his companion aside.

  ''Why are we turning this poor man's residence upside-down? Are we acting based solely on hearsay, or do you know something that I don’t?''

  ''There's something about this guy that doesn't smell right,'' Klauder whispered. ''I'm not sure what exactly, but something's definitely amiss. Just keep looking.''

  However, further examination revealed nothing of interest. All they discovered was a regular apartment full of regular things belonging to a regular old man.

  ''It appears we acted hastily, my dear Jago,'' Beatra said apologetically as the two concluded their search. ''I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.''

  ''Well, I won't pretend I'm not offended,'' the butler replied, looking as if his last remaining shred of dignity had just been stripped away. ''It's going to take quite some time to clean up the mess you made. Still,'' he added in a suddenly conciliatory, almost cheerful tone, ''if it helps narrow down the list of suspects and rescue poor Ana-Maria, I am more than happy to make the sacrifice.''

  The investigators said goodbye to Jago and were about to step ou
t of the apartment and into the corridor, when Klauder suddenly stopped. He turned and walked to the center of the room and began examining the light fixture, a metal housing with glass panels.

  ''Hand me something to stand on, inspector,'' he said.

  Beatra took the small wooden chair from the butler's desk and set it under the light, but knowing full well what would happen if the porcine detective tried to hoist his leviathan tonnage onto it, decided to take the initiative himself.

  ''Please, allow me,'' he said with a polite gesture as he climbed up onto the chair.

  ''What are you doing?'' Jago demanded. But the answer quickly presented itself as Beatra reached behind the bulb encasement and into the gap at the top of the fixture and pulled out what appeared to be several Polaroid-style photographs.

  Suddently they heard footsteps, and when they turned to look the doorway was empty. Jago had fled.

  Beatra dropped the pictures on the floor, jumped off the chair and ran after him, and Klauder followed, intending to join in the pursuit. But he soon realized the futility of trying to make his already sore legs perform a sprint they had no chance of completing, so he returned to the room to catch his breath. Seeing the photographs on the floor, he bent down and looked at them.

  ''Jesucristo,'' he gasped.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Pornographic images – of children. And among them a picture of Ana-Maria, albeit fully dressed and apparently photographed under innocent circumstances, unlike most of the rest.

  Klauder stormed in the direction the butler had fled in, but as it turned out, his participation in the pursuit was not neccesary. Jago had been captured two storeys down by a guard who saw Beatra chasing after him.

  The butler was brought back upstairs at gunpoint, the inspector walking alongside him with a dogged expression on his face.

  ''We got him, detective!''

  ''¡Cabrón!'' Klauder wasn’t in the mood to choose his words carefully. He grabbed the old man by his collar and shook him. ''You sick bastard! What have you done with Ana-Maria?''