by Ales Matko
''I suppose this case is pretty open and shut then, right?'' Beatra asked as they wandered aimlessly around the premises. ''The cook was the main instigator. He and Alejandra kidnapped Ana-Maria, and it was he who tried to shoot you.''
''Maybe, but we still don't have a motive – or the girl. Did no-one see Pierre carry her away from Alejandra’s room? And what about Benjamine? Where does he fit into all this? And for what purpose were those ominous messages written? God, if only those morons hadn't gotten Pierre killed, we could have simply questioned him and spared ourselves all of this confusion. As it stands now, we can't search his apartment, we can't help the maid, and we don't know why one of Elsa's men lobbed a grenade into the factory.''
''Actually, there is someone we could talk to about that: the engineer.''
Klauder stopped. ''You're right,'' he said. ''Duvali, wasn't it?''
''It was. He lives on the sixth floor, as far as I remember. If he indeed spoke to the doctor regarding the half-life of the toxin, then he must have already returned from outside. Do you want to go pay him a visit?''
''The sixth floor? Madre mía.''
Arriving at the sixth-floor landing, they discovered that Duvali was indeed in, but the engineer was no more pleased to see them than the doctor had been.
''Oh,'' he said, adjusting his glasses. ''It's you two.''
''We were hoping to have a word with you, señor Duvali,'' Klauder wheezed.
''Now? Can’t it wait? I was just in the middle of something.''
''It'll only take a minute, maybe two.''
Duvali stepped aside and motioned for the investigators to come in. Klauder could not help but be amazed by his residence. He was obviously deeply devout. There were two big wooden crosses hanging on the wall, plus a number of Christian-themed posters, mainly with religious messages.
The detective read one of them out loud. '''Whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.' Inspiring stuff.''
''Are you a religious man as well, detective?'' Duvali asked.
''Well, I suppose that depends on your definition. I go to church once or twice a year. And I do think there is something bigger than us, something we can't grasp or conceive of.''
Duvali seemed irritated at Klauder's philosophizing. ''I certainly wouldn't take issue with that,'' he said, ''but I suspect you haven't come here to pose theological questions.''
''You're quite right about that.''
''Well, I don't see how I can be of any help. I was at the dinner table on the night Ana-Maria vanished, and I was also working at the factory yesterday afternoon, when the boy was found dead. And that's about all I know.''
''Let's talk about the factory for a minute,'' Beatra said. ''We heard there was some sort of sabbotage and we were just wondering what exactly you boys produce down there.''
Duvali bristled. ''You'll have to take that up with señor Elsa,'' he said. ''I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss these things with you. Now if this is all you wanted ...''
''The inspector and I breathed a bit of the outside air a little while ago,'' Klauder interjected. ''Through a broken window. Should we be concerned?''
''How long ago was this?'' Duvali asked, moving slightly away from them.
Beatra looked at his watch. ''About twenty minutes.''
''No, you'll be okay.''
''Are you sure?''
''¡Por supuesto! The toxin is very fast-acting. Now,'' Duvali said, physically herding his unwelcome guests out, ''if you gentlemen will excuse me.''
When the door to his apartment had closed behind them, Klauder once again became pensive. ''Did you see all that Christian imagery, inspector?'' he murmured.
''With all that's been going on,'' Beatra opined as they headed back down the stairs, ''prayers are indeed necessary. Such an uncharitable fellow, though, for a believer.''
The detective smirked. ''You do see the irony, don't you, inspector? The head of the operation - whatever it may be - is deeply religious.''
''Yes, funny.''
''I noticed yesterday at dinner how nervous he looked. And today he was even more so. He appears to be very much on edge at the moment.''
On the way down, they met Beatrice, but she walked right past them, lost in thought and murmuring indistinctly. She also reeked of scotch.
''Is it safe for her to wander around like this on that medication of hers?'' Beatra wondered aloud. ''She could easily fall down the stairs and break her neck.''
''Let’s give her a hand, shall we, inspector?''
The woman flinched as Klauder gently touched her elbow.
''Señora Beatrice? Where are you off to?''
''Ay, no … no sé,'' she replied with a druken smile.
''Do you need to lie down? Can we accompany you back to your apartment?''
As they were escorting her in the direction of her quarters, she kept stopping and talking, occasionally managing an intelligible sentence. ''You two are so very nice to me,'' she slurred as Klauder and Beatra struggled to keep her upright. ''Such gentlemen! Why couldn’t I have married one of you instead of that frog, Gustav?''
Klauder smirked and Beatra rolled his eyes.
''Yes, that’s what I said,'' Beatrice continued, suddenly becoming lucid and taking her ranting up a notch. ''A frog with a mustache! A small man with an evil mind and an ugly mustache! I hate him and his mustache! I hate him so much,'' she sighed, suddenly becoming more pensive than agitated. ''But then again, I have a talent for ... (hiccup) ... a talent for ... excuse me ... for getting involved with awful people. I was married before, you know, twice. Both times to pigs like Gustav. But at least this one has money, God bless him!'' She looked over at Klauder. ''You,'' she stammered. ''You're that famous detective, aren't you?''
''Sí, señora,'' Klauder replied. ''And I will find your daughter and bring her back to you. That's a promise.''
''My daughter is dead, detective,'' she responded with a fading smile. ''I lost her two years ago in a miscarriage.''
''Yes, we were sorry to hear about that,'' Beatra butted in. ''But the detective meant Ana-Maria, your other daughter.''
Beatrice burst out laughing.
''She is not my daughter! She's a toy my husband and I brought home one day for me to play with. But you know what? I hate her! I don’t care if she never comes back. As a matter of fact, I'd be quite happy if she turned up dead!''
And with that, she tore herself away from the shocked investigators and began staggering down the hallway, as if she had some idea of where she was going. Fortunately, Pilar and Antonia happened along at just the right time to take over babysitting duties.
''Calm down, dear,'' the slender blonde with the slightly hooked nose said, hugging her host. ''Hush now, everything will be okay. I promise.''
''No, it won’t!'' Beatrice spouted.
''Yes, it will. You’ll see.''
''I know it won’t!''
''Just calm down now and let’s get you to bed, love.'' Antonia looked at the investigators apologetically and began lugging the besotted Beatrice down the hallway. Pilar stood by and watched them leave.
''Funny to see them like this,'' she remarked, more thinking out loud than actually talking to anyone. ''Those two were at each other's throats a few years ago.''
''Why is that, señora?'' Klauder inquired.
Pilar continued staring down the now empty corridor.
''I’m not sure. They ran into each other in town one day and got into a fight. They were both so hot-tempered. It was just a matter of time before they were going to collide. But Antonia really has changed, mentally and physically. Neither Beatrice nor I even recognized her when we met her, though it had only been three years since our last contact. But I guess cancer does a number on just about everyone.''
She turned to the two investigators.
''So much misery in this world of ours,'' she said. ''And none of us can escape it. We can only hope to get through life a little bit better than others. Poor Beatrice. S
he's one of those miserable people that just can’t seem to catch a break. It breaks my heart to see it. I'm sorry,'' she said, her voice beginning to trail off. ''I should go rest now.''
With that, Pilar turned and left, leaving Beatra and Klauder to sift through what she had said and try to fit the pieces into an already jumbled puzzle whose slowly emerging picture was starting to look like a painting by Salvador Dalí.
''A woman loses her unborn baby under tragic circumstances,'' Beatra said, ''falls victim to manic depression, and then gets hooked on a string of over-the-counter medications and alcohol. We've all seen that before any number of times, and it appears to be the case here as well.''
Klauder’s eyes narrowed. ''The thing Beatrice said about Ana-Maria just now ... I don’t think that was merely the rambling of a drunk person. She stated outright that Ana-Maria isn’t hers. So neither she nor Elsa are the girl’s real parents. She said something about bringing her home like a toy to play with. But from where? And why?''
Beatra sighed. ''More questions keep coming, and we don’t even have answers to the ones we started with.''
''That is indeed true, inspector. And unfortunately, the person in the best position to give us those answers is currently undergoing what is probably a highly unorthodox interrogation, to put it mildly. I suggest we go try to put the breaks on before our second star witness jumps out the window.''
Alejandra's door was open and only the murmuring of the guards could be heard coming from her room. As the investigators entered, the maid herself was nowhere to be found. The thick, warm smell of sweat hung in the air, as, of course, no-one dared to open a window.
Elsa was standing by the bed, wiping blood off his hands. He was out of breath and shaking as if he had Parkinson’s disease.
''Por el amor de Dios. What the hell did you do to her?'' Klauder demanded. ''It's one thing to torture a pedophile, though even there one could argue, but a simple maid?''
The gangster rubbed his sweaty face with the blood-smeared towel, his expression dull and emotionless.
''You were right,'' he said blankly. ''She didn't know anything.''
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Despite Klauder and Beatra's previous thorough search of Alejandra’s apartment, Elsa ordered his men to quite literally tear the place apart. When they were finished, it no longer resembled a human residence, but was more like the lair of some carnivorous beast with an impulse-control problem.
''That was a complete waste of time,'' Klauder fumed as he, Beatra and Elsa were standing in the hallway, peeking into the utterly demolished room. ''If anything, we need to have a look at Pierre's apartment. The inspector and I already tried, but the window there is broken and poisonous fumes could be coming in.''
''We have protective suits,'' Elsa said. ''I will send my men there next.''
Klauder suggested that, in order to avoid destroying crucial evidence, the place needed to be carefully examined by trained experts rather than ransacked by amateurs, and for once Elsa was swayed by his reasoning.
''Sorsher!'' he said, gruffly summoning one of the guards.
''Sí, señor Elsa?''
''Get these men protective suits.''
''¿Ambos? Both of them?'' the guard asked, looking at Klauder as if nothing could possibly come in his size.
''¡Ambos!''
In a weird stroke of luck though, in a comb-through of the suits down in the cellar they did actually manage to dig up an oversized one - apparently a flawed product which, judging by the hardened creases in the fabric, had never been used.
Klauder stripped down to his long johns so he would not get cooked alive in the airtight material, and tossed the rest of his clothes into an empty cardboard box he found behind a water heater.
''I didn’t think I’d live to see the day,'' Elsa murmured while looking at the oversized hazmat suit being pulled over the lead investigator’s luxuriant figure.
He was acting strangely out of character as he and the detective then got into a disagreement about Alejandra, with Klauder insisting that she had not deserved the treatment she had received, whether she was guilty of kidnapping Ana-Maria or not. This should by all accounts have sent Elsa into a psychotic rage, but instead he remained calm throughout the conversation.
A little while later the two investigators, both suited up and with helmets on their heads, were taken to Pierre’s room. They expected to be shadowed by Elsa the entire time they were there, but instead he merely wished them luck and promptly left, as if he just remembered there was someone else he could torture that day.
Again they entered the apartment. But this time their protective gear was superfluous: the shattered window had been replaced.
''Best we leave the suits on. You never know ...''
''Steam keeps collecting on my visor,'' Klauder complained, already sweating in the impermeable suit.
They stopped at the window where the chef had jumped and glanced down at his body once again before taking an inventory of the place, looking both for potential clues, as well as any secret hiding places that could harbor a little girl.
Pierre had apparently been quite the ladies' man, as attested to by the panties of various sizes in his closet.
''¡Mira eso!'' The startled Beatra said. ''Es una colección entera!''
Otherwise, however, they found nothing of value to the investigation. Nothing, that is, except for a small piece of pink paper under a pillow, on which was written in elegant handwriting:
Every minute of not being with you seems like an eternity. I can hardly wait for you to undress me and take me to heaven again.
''A bit cliche,'' the detective mumbled when Beatra showed it to him. ''But then again, this could very well be a clue. Seeing where it was stashed, there's a good chance it's relatively fresh.''
He lowered his voice as he always did when preparing to say something profound.
''Here’s a thought. Remember when I told you I could smell perfume when we visited Pierre the first time? What if the fragrance and this little love note belong to the same person – say, a recent lover? And if he was indeed having such a relationship with a woman under this roof, she might know something about the kidnapping. Do save that note, inspector. We will try to find out who wrote it. Oh, and one more thing.'' He lowered his voice still further, such that Beatra had to lean in very close to hear him. ''Don’t mention any of this to Elsa. I don’t want to have any more dead women on my conscience.''
''You don’t have to tell me,'' Beatra said, slipping the love note into the pocket of his protective suit.
The experts having concluded their inspection, it was time for Elsa's mallet-team to shine once again. Unfortunately, the men brought such passion to their work that one of the windows quickly got broken again.
''If they continue in this manner,'' Beatra opined, ''there will hardly be a mansion left by the end of the day.''
''It's a big building,'' Klauder replied. ''I give them until Saturday.''
They had some difficulty locating the cellar where Klauder had left his clothes. When they finally found it, to their surprize they found Constanza sneaking around the damp, gloomy chamber by herself.
''And what are you supposed to be?'' she scornfuly asked Klauder, whose thick protective suit made him look even chunkier.
''Señora,'' he said, ignoring her remark. ''Now that I have you here there is something I've been meaning to ask you. Supposedly you managed to poison two boys not too long ago by giving them toxic fruit?''
''Get your facts straight, detective,'' she replied coldly. ''Those two rascals broke into the greenhouse - my greenhouse - and ended up eating some of the wrong fruit. It was their fault entirely that they got poisoned, not mine!''
''That’s not what we heard,'' the inspector said.
''Well then you heard wrong!''
Klauder cleared his throat.
''Speaking of poisonous fruit, may I ask you a favor, lady Constanza? You know that big palm tree that I saw in your greenhouse?
The one with those delicious-looking violet ...''
''What about it?'' she interrupted, eschewing any pretense of etiquette.
''Well, does it by any chance have a Latin name?''
''No, it is the only one in the kingdom without one,'' she growled. ''Of course it does. It’s magnum fructum purpura!''
''Could I trouble you to write it down for me, so I don’t get it wrong later?''
He gestured to Beatra to hand him his little notebook, and opened it to a blank page.
''And a pen, inspector, por favor.''
''Why would you want to remember that?'' Constanza inquired.
Klauder smiled from behind the foggy glass.
''I find it an attractive and fascinating species, señora, and I'm planning to obtain a sapling once I'm done with this case.''
She thought for a few moments, narrowing her eyes until they were little more than crevices. Finally, she grabbed the pen and the book, and wrote the name of the plant.
''Gracias, señora,'' Klauder said, bowing ever so slightly. ''Much appreciated.''
Constanza rolled her dark eyes and was about to make another ascerbic remark when Elsa suddenly rushed into the cellar, accompanied by Marcus as always. He looked anything but pleased.
''Mother! I was told you intend to go out there again. You can't be serious! After all the effort it took to get you back to the mansion?''
''¡Cállate, Gustav!'' she growled with a similarly hoarse voice to his, only higher pitched. ''You know I don’t like leaving my plants alone for long. And what am I supposed to do here anyway? Wander around and watch these two morons walk into dead ends again and again, wasting everyone’s time? They won’t find the girl, I already told you!''
''I beg you, mother, don’t go out there again, it’s ...''
''Dangerous?'' she interrupted him. ''That is why I intend to borrow one of these suits. Now tell me, are you and that hideous lackey of yours going to just stand there or will you help your mother get dressed? I am leaving for the greenhouse either way, with or without the coverall, so I'd appreciate a little assistance!''