by Ales Matko
''Detective, please, restrain yourself!''
The old fellow in the dark tailcoat was trembling like a child on the verge of crying. Yet there were no tears coming from his small, wattery eyes.
''I didn’t do anything to her, I swear!'' he shrieked, prying himself out of Klauder's grip. ''I could never harm a child! I love them, you must believe me!''
Even Beatra found he could no longer keep his emotions under wraps.
''Don’t lie! You kidnapped her, didn’t you, you sick pervert! What did you do with her? Talk or so help me God ...''
''I didn’t touch her!''
Both investigators shot a furious barrage of questions at Jago, but the old man revealed nothing about the fate of the little girl, and vehemently denied any involvement.
The guard cleared his throat and stated that señor Elsa had better ways of untying tongues.
''No! No, please save me! Detective! Help me!''
Klauder looked at Jago in disgust and agreed to let the guard take him downstairs and lock him in one of the rooms of the mansion’s cellar for later interrogation.
''We're not finished with you,'' he hissed and smoothed his hair with shaky hands as the guard literally dragged the pleading Jago away.
''Are you all right, detective?'' Beatra asked.
''I am, it’s just ... Pedophiles make me want to lose my lunch.''
''He'll get what’s coming to him, don’t you worry. We've got him now. He’s done.''
They returned to Jago's apartment and conducted another search, but the only significant discovery had already been made.
''So if he's our kidnapper, where's the girl?''
''I can’t say, but I’m really hoping señor Elsa gets some answers out of him!''
Suddenly two maids whose names the investigators did not know appeared by the door, timidly looking at the mess in the dark room.
''¿Qué está pasando?'' one of them asked.
''It’s Jago, isn’t it?'' the other said in a shaky voice. ''We saw Albertes drag him down into the cellar. What has he done?''
Klauder collected himself before replying.
''It appears he may have had something to do with Ana-Maria’s disappearance, señoras. We have reason to believe he's a pedophile.''
''So he really was harassing children,'' gasped the older woman.
''What do you mean, señora?'' Beatra asked. ''You mean he was molesting them?''
''Well,'' the maid replied, ''a while ago, there was an incident. He was supposedly bothering some kids on the playground. But he had an alibi so the accusations were dismissed.''
Klauder perked up at once.
''Who confirmed his alibi?''
''I don’t really recall, detective.''
''I do,'' the other maid said. ''I'm almost certain it was the doctor.''
''Yes, that’s right. Now I remember.''
Armed with this new information, the investigators thanked the maids and left the butler’s quarters, stopping in the kitchen so Klauder could again quell the uprising in his stomach. Beatra wasn't all that hungry, but he was more than happy to help himself to a glass of wine.
''First Ana-Maria disappears,'' Klauder said between mouthfuls of some gulash-like dish that looked as if it had been thrown together using the leftovers from the previous week. ''Then the other child, Benjamine, is kidnapped and his body found, eyes gouged out, with the message on the wall, followed by another one, also written in blood. Then the explosion in the factory, poisonous fumes escaping into the air, and lastly, we find pictures apparently proving the butler is a pedophile. Things just keep getting better, don’t they, inspector?''
Beatra took a long sip of wine.
''You know what they say, detective. When the devil gives birth, the demons come out by the hundreds. Do you think Jago might have been telling the truth, though? I mean about señora Constanza intentionally poisoning kids?''
Klauder thought for a moment.
''Well, he may have just been trying to divert our attention away from him,'' he said, loading another forkful of mystery meat into his mouth. ''But on the other hand, it may very well have happened just like he said. You heard her describe her life philosophy yourself. She's probably capable of just about anything.''
Beatra nodded, then watched as his companion wiped his chin, took his plate to the sink, and gave himself another shot of insulin.
''Does it hurt when you do that?''
''Honestly, I got used to it a long time ago and it really doesn’t bother me anymore. It's annoying, though,'' Klauder smirked. ''I can’t go anywhere without this stuff.''
He lowered his sweater and put the insulin case back in his vest pocket. ''Still,'' he sighed, ''our health truly is our greatest asset, so we do what we have to.''
Satisfied with the profundity of his observation, the satiated detective's thoughts turned back to the investigation.
''All right, so those maids said that Jago had a solid alibi that time when he was supposedly harassing children. Now, based on what we found in his apartment, there seems to be little doubt that he has pedophilic impulses and may very well be a child molester. The question, then, is why the doctor would cover for him.''
''What are you thinking?'' Beatra asked, chewing on an olive.
''Nothing specific yet; but I will definetly run this by ... What was the good doctor's name again?''
''Feboj.''
''Feboj. I will inquire about this at our next visit with him. But first I will go get some more to eat. I could have sworn I saw some biscuits somewhere.''
Klauder was just about to get up and have a look in the pantry when a loud bang sent him flying off his chair and onto the cold, hard floor. Beatra jumped up and staggered backwards. It took a few moments for them to realize what had happened: Someone had cracked the door open slightly and fired a shot through the opening before taking off down the corridor.
''Are you hurt, detective?''
''No.''
''Are you sure?''
Beatra instinctively grabbed a kitchen knife and stormed out into the hallway, but the only thing still there was the smell of gunpowder. The shooter had vanished.
Beatra's heart was pounding in his chest, and he paused for a moment to catch his breath. He listened intently for footsteps and scoured the floor with his eyes for a case shell, but came up empty on both counts. He then returned to his companion and helped him to his feet. There was a bullet hole in the table, right in front of where the detective had been sitting.
''I think someone just tried to murder you, señor Klauder.''
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It seemed no-one had heard the gunshot. Klauder kept shaking his head in disbelief as Beatra examined the bullet hole.
''The gun was a small caliber, probably a 22,'' he said, sliding his fingers across the hole. ''But potentially lethal nonetheless. And obviously a revolver, as there's no shell.'' He looked at his companion tensely. ''Someone clearly doesn't want you involved in this investigation. Though they apparently lack the marksmanship necessary to bring about your departure.''
''They'll have to do better than that if they want to get rid of me,'' Klauder fumed. ''I'm just getting started!''
At about two in the afternoon once again what seemed like whole batallions of Elsa's men were heard rushing through the hallways. At one point Marcus peeked into the dining room where the investigators were supposed to be 'on lock-down', only to find the gluttonous Klauder eating the biscuits he had in fact managed to dig up in the kitchen. Beatra noted with interest that, despite the red alert, Elsa's chief bloodhound was no longer wearing his protective suit.
''Here you are,'' Marcus said with his trademark snarl. ''Señor Elsa wishes to speak to both of you. He's in his study. I'll take you to him.''
Following him into the hallway and up the stairs, the investigators bombarded him with questions about what was happening, but he refused to tell them anything, nor did he pick up on the detective’s slightly fidgety behavior – a co
nsequence of having been shot at.
When they arrived at Elsa's study, the gangster was wearing a bathrobe of sorts and appeared to be chugging distilled water from a bottle. Marcus closed the door behind them.
''Ah, my investigators,'' Elsa enthused, setting the bottle down on the table next to an ashtray with a lit cigar. ''You're both all right, I trust?''
''I was almost killed a little while ago, señor. But apart from that, I'm dandy,'' Klauder snapped.
''What are you talking about?''
Upon hearing the story, Elsa went silent for a moment before making the entire incident into something about himself.
''Well, one thing I know is whoever is after you must be whoever took my girl,'' he said turning to Klauder. ''It's unfortunate you had to be in the line of fire, but if the perpetrator left behind any forensic evidence, it may turn out to have been well worth it.''
''Oh, yes indeed!'' Klauder hissed. ''From now on I'll just walk around with a target on my forehead. Then we'll really collect some evidence!''
''Getting back to the issue at hand,'' Beatra said, hoping to defuse the impending confrontation, ''there is something else we need to tell you, señor. We found pornographic material in your butler’s room. Among the pictures of various small children, most of them nude, was one of your daughter. She was fully dressed, mind you, but we still believe Jago could have abducted her in one of his twisted ...''
''I already know all that,'' Elsa angrily interrupted. ''My men briefed me immediately when I returned. What’s more, I have already interrogated the son of a bitch. And it was a very short conversation!''
''What do you mean, señor?''
''His heart gave out as we were having our discussion,'' Elsa said blandly. ''He had a stroke and died.''
It took a few moments for Klauder to gather his thoughts.
''But did he ... reveal anything? Did he confess?'' he stuttered.
''He denied any involvement. He did, howewer, quickly confess to being a sexual deviant. But apart from that, nothing.''
''Still, how can we be sure?'' Beatra asked. ''He could have very well just ...''
''I assure you, inspector. If he had had something to confess, he would have done so. Needless to say that puta won’t be receiving a burial, nor will there be any prayers for his soul – unless the aligators say grace over him.''
The veins on Elsa’s face and neck were protruding and the corners of his eyes were bloodshot.
''What exactly happened out there?'' the detective asked. ''We heard bursts of gunfire.''
''A sabbotage happened, that’s what!'' Elsa erupted, smashing his fist down on the mahagony writing table. ''A base betrayal by one of my own!''
''What’s in the air outside?'' Beatra interjected. ''Why can’t we go out?''
''I'm getting to that, inspector! It seems one of my men threw a granade into some explosive material. Some of the chemicals that are used in production are toxic. You do the math.''
''Why would one of your men have done something like that?'' Beatra asked in a tone that suggested he did not entirely believe what Elsa was telling him.
''I don't know, okay? At least not yet. But his shack was searched from top to bottom, and a parcel with a large amount of money inside was found.''
''I see,'' Klauder said. ''And this, this ... Sabouteur. Is he still alive?''
''Of couse not. After lobbing the grenade, he opened fire and was trying to get away but was quickly gunned down.''
''Señor, forgive me for asking again, but what exactly does your factory produce?'' the detective demanded, hoping for a more definitive answer this time – or indeed any answer. ''What with all the rigorous safety measures and now this, this ...''
''¡Basta! Enough with these questions!'' Elsa once again slammed his fist down on the table. ''You keep drilling me for information that is entirely unrelated to your task! Now it's my turn to ask a question: what have you found out about the dissapearance of my girl?''
''With all due respect, señor,'' Klauder objected, ''if anyone here has the right to shout, it's me. You have put my life in jeopardy and I am strongly considering simply leaving you to look for the girl yourself!''
Elsa stood up and glared at Klauder.
''You are not – I repeat, you are not – going anywhere until my girl is found,'' he hissed. ''Is that clear, detective?'' And with that, he grabbed his chair and tossed it into the fireplace, knocking one of the burning logs out onto the carpet, where it immediately began scorching the wool.
''If you so much as think about leaving, I will have you shot, and rest assured my shooter will not miss. Do I make myself clear?''
Marcus quickly left his position at the door and put the burning log back where it belonged, and the investigators seized the opportunity to leave. They were genuinely terrified, and they waited until they were well out of earshot to open their mouths.
''Well, I think that just about settles it,'' Klauder announced. ''The man is a lunatic.''
''He's just upset about this whole thing, that’s all. And who could blame him?''
''I, for one,'' Klauder growled. ''So not only can we not leave the house because of some poisonous substance in the air, not to mention the chances that I'll be shot at again – this time successfully – by some unknown delinquent, but now Elsa is also holding me here against my will! ¡Por Dios! What kind of mess have I gotten myself into?''
The visibly shaken inspector cleared his throat.
''What do you want to do now, detective?''
Klauder did not answer immediately, as he was too busy breathing heavily to speak in complete sentences. As the adrenaline gradually began to dissipate and he was once again able to think clearly, he looked pensively at his companion.
''We've talked to all the members of this madman’s family, as well as to most of the help. I would really like to interrogate some of the guards as well at some point. If one of them was indeed capable of pulling a stunt like this, blowing up a part of this factory that produces God knows what, then who knows?''
Upon further consideration, he decided they would first have a word with the doctor. Even if the now deceased Jago really hadn't kidnapped Ana-Maria or killed Benjamine, the alibi angle was still a lead he was eager to follow up on.
Standing in front of the doctor’s office a few minutes later, they heard strange moaning and nervous talking through the door, which someone had left slightly ajar. The physician was mumbling something in his native Russian. The other voice belonged to a woman:
''¡Por Dios! Señor, in Spanish, please! I cannot understand a word you are saying!''
It was Ignes, the curly-haired maid with the headscarf.
''Etorphine, woman! The small vial on the top left shelf! Hand it to me!''
A few moments of silence ensued, followed by more moaning.
''Come on already! Hurry up!''
''I don’t know what to tell you, doctor. There isn't any.''
''What? But I had two vials left! Where have they gone?''
The investigators peeked into the office. What they saw made their blood run cold.
Lying on the examining table was a man, apparently one of the guards. He had been stripped down to his underwear, and his skin was covered in dark flecks. Much of his hair was scattered on the floor, and he was foaming at the mouth.
Klauder accidentaly brushed the door with his shoulder, causing it to creak.
''What are you doing here?'' the hairy doctor snarled angrily, holding a syringe in his hand. ''Get out of here!''
He pushed the two back into the corridor and slammed the door in their faces. But just before the door closed, Klauder could have sworn he heard the words ‘just kill me’ coming from the guard's ulcerated mouth.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
''I think that image will haunt me for as long as I live.''
They were waiting nearby, in ever-growing unease, to have a word with the doctor. He finally came out of his office about fifteen minutes later, a grim look
on his face.
''I apologize for our intrusion,'' Klauder muttered, ''but we need to have a word with you.''
The Russian nodded.
''Please step into my apartment.''
His room smelled of medical-grade alcohol and he clearly was not a fan of housework. It looked as if a tornado had come through.
''What happened to that man, doctor?'' Beatra asked, dispensing with the customary chit-chat. ''Had he come into contact with the toxin?''
''I'm afraid so,'' Feboj replied. ''And sadly there isn't much I can do for him other than ease his pain and hope for a miracle. And this one got off easy, if you can imagine. A lot of the guards that had been close to the factory around the time of the explosion were in such bad shape they were just left to die in the snow.''
Klauder shivered.
''There were even more casualties?''
''Lots more, yes.''
''Jesucristo. What kind of a substance are we talking about here?''
''A dangerous chemical that penetrates the cells and makes them commit suicide, so to speak. The only good news is that it has a modest half-life when released in the open. According to what señor Duvali told me, by tomorrow morning it will be completely gone. But unfortunately, so much damage has already been done.''
''When we were approaching your office, we couldn't help but overhear that you had run out of something, doctor,'' Beatra said. ''You sounded quite uspet about it.''
Feboj nodded almost casually, as if he had been expecting the subject to come up.
''It's true. I'm guessing someone must have stolen my two remaining vials of etorphine. And I'm not even sure how long they've been missing.''
''Etrophine? That's a kind of medicine?''
Feboj went to his desk, took a couple of sips from a half-empty bottle of vodka in one of the drawers, then put the bottle back. ''Etorphine,'' he explained, ''is a powerful sedative, roughly five-hundred times the strength of morphine. It's normally used only for large animals, and it's easy to overdose on. I keep it for emergencies, and today for obvious reasons I wanted to put that guard to sleep, but I had to go with plain old turanotol instead.''