The Little Spanish Girl

by Ales Matko

  The detective climbed onto one of the four-wheel-drive monstrosities, murmuring to himself as he carefully examined the spaceous back compartment. Moments later he also appeared to have taken an interest in one of the smaller vehicles, on the back of which was a long silver case labeled 'fragile' and covered with a thick layer of snow.

  ''Help me get this down, inspector, will you?''

  ''I thought we were in a hurry.''

  ''It'll only take a moment.''

  The case was rather heavy even without the snow. Klauder opened it and examined its contents. It was full of bottles, canisters, and small, complicated-looking industrial tools. It also reeked of chemicals.

  ''Be careful, detective! Something in there may be toxic.''

  ''It's air-tight,'' Klauder said, pointing at the inner edges.

  ''What are you thinking?''

  ''I'm not sure. It just caught my eye. We saw it once before, remember? Some of the guards were carrying it outside a little while after the blast, following the engineer and probably headed for the factory.''

  Klauder closed the case and asked Beatra to help him lift it back onto the car.

  Suddenly a voice bellowed from behind them. ''What do you two think you're doing?''

  Once again, it was one of Elsa's men. This one had come up the driveway smoking a cigarette and apparently didn't know who the investigators were. In the conversation that followed, the reason became obvious: his post was outside by the entrance to the estate, and this kept him isolated from what was going on inside. His appearance now was due to the frostbite on his fingers, for which he was on his way in to see the physician.

  As they walked into the mansion together, Klauder made small talk with him and casually dropped in a question as to whether anyone had entered or left the estate in the two days since he and Beatra had arrived.

  The guard replied that no-one had come through the gate, and that this was in fact the reason he had gotten the frostbite to begin with, as he had fallen asleep from sheer boredom at his post. He explained that, although there was usually a fair bit of traffic on the road, this had no longer been the case since the lockdown had been ordered.

  Leaving the man at the doctor's office, Klauder and Beatra compared notes.

  ''So now what, detective?'' Beatra asked. ''Where to next?''

  ''You said it yourself, inspector,'' Klauder replied with a faint smirk. ''It's time for us to pay the head witch a visit.''

  On their way up the stairs, they scarcely met a soul outside of an occasional servant. The atmosphere was morbid, tense, and cold despite the heating system working at full throttle; even the lights around the mansion seemed dimmer than usual.

  In a few minutes they reached the fifth floor, and after taking another respite for the poor, gasping Klauder to catch his breath, they finally arrived at Elizabeth’s apartment, only to once again find no one home.

  ''So much for third time being the charm,'' Klauder said. ''You get the key this time. I'm not climbing those goddamn stairs again.''

  But just as Beatra was preparing to go look for a member of staff to assist him, a muted sound was heard. It sounded like the moaning of a child.

  ''¡Dios mío! Did you hear that, detective?''

  Klauder froze. ''It came from in there!'' he exclaimed, pointing a shaky finger at the door to Elizabeth’s apartment.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Chief Inspector Beatra had to give the door three robust kicks before it finally gave in. The moaning could be heard clearly as they rushed into the apartment.

  ''Ana-Maria? Ana-Maria?'' Klauder shouted, staggering around in the dim light.

  ''Where's it coming from, detective?''

  ''No idea!''

  They began looking through the apartment, when Beatra suddenly stopped.

  ''Wait, detective!''

  ''What?''

  ''The moaning,'' Beatra said. ''It stopped.''

  They listened intently for a few moments, but there wasn't a sound to be heard.

  ''Let's check the balcony.''

  They opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the snowy terrace, but apart from a paper-thin metal pinwheel in the shape of a peacock it was completely empty.

  They stepped back inside where Beatra was about to suggest expanding their search to include the rooms on either side of the apartment, when he happened to glance to his left.

  ''¡Jesucristo!'' he exclaimed.

  ''What is it?''

  ''Look at all of these books on satanism and the occult! This whole book case is full of them!''

  ''So it is,'' Klauder said, ''and that’s not all.''

  Hanging by the door was a black coat with a hood.

  ''This looks just like the coat the little boy in the shank town described.''

  As they continued their search, they discovered a number of other noteworthy objects, ranging from pickled animal parts, daggers, and voodoo dolls with needles in their torsos, to a small revolver in the bottom drawer of a big oak writing table.

  Beatra examined the handgun.

  ''A 22,'' he said. ''I don’t know about the poisoning, but it must have been Elizabeth that shot at you that day.''

  ''But what about the moaning? I heard it back there, I'm sure of it!''

  ''Of course you did, detective, as did I. It’s witchcraft, pure and simple! There's no other explanation.''

  Klauder was about to dismiss his companion’s suggestion as childish superstition, when someone behind them cleared their throat. They turned around and found themselves face to face with Elizabeth Elsa. Her normally pale skin had taken on a red hue.

  ''Would you mind telling me why you've demolished my door and ransacked my residence?''

  ''We heard moaning coming from in here,'' Klauder responded.

  ''That’s prepostrous!''

  ''Is it? We know all about you, señora!''

  ''Oh? And what exactly do you know?''

  Her voice was caustic, as if saturated with poison.

  ''We know,'' Beatra interjected, ''that you're involved in satanic ritual practices. Your brother told us everything. His own so-called black magic may be a sham, but yours is not so easily dismissed, I'm afraid.''

  Elizabeth was indignant.

  ''Are you again accusing me of kidnapping my own niece? The very idea is preposterous!''

  ''So you won't mind if we call the guards and have them tear this place apart, then?'' Klauder said.

  ''You know what, detective? If that will make you feel better, have at it!''

  Beatra was growing increasingly bellicose.

  ''I’ll have you know,'' he said, ''we found your books about demonic ritualism, to say nothing of several other artifacts too bizarre to mention in polite company.''

  ''I’m a collector, señor!'' she bellowed, her fists clenched. ''Is there a law against having objects such as these? And yes, I enjoy reading those books, but that hardly means I would harm another human, let alone a child!''

  ''Very well,'' Beatra snarled. ''Explain this, then!''

  He pulled the small revolver out of the drawer and opened the cylinder.

  ''Ha! Just as I suspected: one shell has been fired!''

  Elizabeth scowled.

  ''I have it for protection, and I assure you you're mistaken! Gustav gave it to me months ago and I haven’t fired it a single time!''

  Beatra was incredulous.

  ''And what about your coat, señora?'' Klauder interjected. ''A witness describes seeing one just like it at the time of the most recent murder.''

  ''What coat? And what murder are you talking about?''

  Klauder pointed at the piece of clothing by the door.

  ''That’s not mine,'' she said with a look of surprise. ''I've never seen it before.''

  The investigators exchanged a look.

  ''And the earring? Was it also not yours?''

  ''No, the earing is mine. But again, I have no idea how it got into Ana-Maria’s room that evening. This, on the other hand ...'' She pic
ked up the coat and looked it over. ''I haven't a clue where this came from. Someone must have put it here. But how? My apartment is always locked.''

  ''And where were you just now, if I may inquire?'' Klauder asked.

  ''I was out on a stroll, if you must know. Yesterday everyone was in a complete panic after the explosion at the factory, so I couldn't go out. Today I wanted to make up for it.''

  The inspector smirked. ''With all due respect, señora, I think your explanations are a little far-fetched. Here’s what's going to happen. We will go over your apartment again thoroughly, and in the meanwhile you are going to sit down and not move a muscle until we finish. And when we do find Ana-Maria, we will have you placed under arrest!''

  He emptied the revolver and put it in his pocket, and Elizabeth sat down on a nearby divan, her eyes tired and her arms folded in impotent protest.

  Klauder and Beatra went to work yet again, keeping an eye on her at all times in case she should try to escape. Yet half an hour later, they had found nothing. The sofa itself was the last thing to be searched, and again the investigators came up empty.

  ''I hope you're satisfied now, gentlemen! You've wasted half an hour of my life and destroyed most of my furniture. Will there be anything else for you today?''

  Beatra scratched his thick beard in agitation. ''I don’t care if the girl's not here; I know it was you. It had to be! No one else here would have had the specialized knowledge of the occult needed to write the messages found at the crime scenes.''

  ''For your information, you foolish man,'' Elizabeth snapped, ''those messages are ridiculous. As I explained to my brother, they weren’t written by anyone with real knowledge of satanic practices, but by an unschooled ignoramus not unlike yourself!''

  Klauder was watching her carefully, beads of sweat slowly beginning to form on his forehead.

  ''Would you care to elaborate, señora?'' he demanded.

  She rolled her eyes, as if it should have been obvious to anyone.

  ''Very well,'' she sighed. ''The first one mentioned daughters of Satan. Yet the devil has no offspring! Yes, there are a few cults that do embrace the idea of him having given birth to demonic spirits, but those spawns could hardly be called his daughters! And the second message, the one in Ana-Maria’s room? This was about Zais-Ak and Zais-Bur harming the girl, swallowing her, right? But those are not the names of demons or anything similar. They are simply the final words in a chant, praising an unwed spinster from the village of Kasiusau. To invoke them as agents of evil is like taking the ‘Amen’ at the end of Christian prayers and accusing it of tax evasion – altogether meaningless! So no, señor, whoever wrote these messages knows nothing about the demonic practices or texts!''

  ''If that's the case,'' Beatra grumbled, ''then why didn't you tell us any of this before?''

  ''You didn't ask! What am I supposed to do? Run around chasing after you, begging to be asked a sensible question for once?''

  ''Yes! Yes, if your wish is to help us find Ana-Maria!''

  Unlike his partner, by now Klauder had dropped all remnants of emotion and was all ears. He motioned for Beatra to back off.

  ''There was a third message, señora Elizabeth,'' he said with a polite smile. ''Or rather a fourth one, if you count the word ‘damnation’ as a message in its own right. It was found a good hour ago in the shanty town, next to another victim, the second one today.'' He turned to Beatra. ''Did you happen to write it down, inspector?''

  ''Indeed I did,'' Beatra said, pulling his notebook from his pocket. ''Kasturaahi, niece of pain, awakens ...''

  Elizabeth again rolled her eyes, unable to conceal her contempt.

  ''Kasturaahi is a place, not a person,'' she fumed. ''Niece of pain? Don't make me laugh! Someone just found that name somewhere and is using it to sound dark and mysterious.''

  Klauder said nothing. He had lapsed once again into one of his famous deep-thought states.

  ''Ah, well now isn’t that convenient?'' Beatra said after regaining his composure. He was not usually this brusque, but the two near-death experiences he had been through that day had taken a toll on his nerves. ''Do you know what I think, señora? I think you purposely wrote that gibberish in order to rule yourself out as a possible suspect!''

  Elizabeth snorted.

  ''Are all you cops idiots?''

  ''You are the idiot, señora! And a murderer!''

  A storm of angry words was exchanged, and ended only when Klauder finally returned to earth, abruptly thanked Elizabeth for her time, and then left the apartment, leaving the confused Beatra with no choice but to follow him.

  ''Don’t come back here again, you hear me?'' Elizabeth shouted, frustrated at having no door left to slam.

  Beatra was still steaming as they made their way back down the stairs.

  ''Why did we leave? We had her!''

  ''Did we?'' Klauder said in a voice that seemed far too calm for the situation.

  ''¡Si, por Dios! The gun, the coat, those books ... What more do you need to see?''

  ''She claims she never saw the coat before and denies ever firing the gun. In addition, I'd have to say her explanation of the messages seemed on point, did it not?''

  ''Okay, if you're willing to believe her, fine! But what about the sounds we heard coming from the apartment? Was all that just in our imagination?''

  ''Calma, inspector, por favor,'' Klauder said, trying to mollify his partner as best he could. ''Of course the moaning was real. But it's very possible that it was not coming from there … although it did get louder when we went in.''

  ''Precisely! Elizabeth has not been honest with us, detective, not by a long shot! Perhaps she really is a witch who can make people vanish into thin air!''

  Emmanuel Klauder was a patient man, but his companion's fixation with the paranormal was beginning to grate on him. ''Enough with this ‘witch’ nonsense, inspector, please,'' he said. ''Just as there was a reasonable explanation for the so-called curse Elsa put on the townspeople years ago, so I'm sure there's also an all-too-earthly force behind this pseudo-satanic mystery. We just haven't quite figured it out yet, that’s all. Not to worry. It will all become clear in due time.''

  Beatra stopped.

  ''What’s the matter, inspector?''

  ''We forgot to get a sample of her handwriting,'' he said, disgusted at himself for having been so distracted by his own emotions. ''We have to go back.''

  Klauder smirked.

  ''I wouldn't suggest bothering Elizabeth again for a while,'' he said. ''At least until she glues her furniture back together. Besides, we may not even need a sample of her writing. As long as we can check the other three ladies, we'll have our author by process of elimination.''

  Klauder's confidence was a balsam for Beatra's nerves.

  ''Maybe so,'' he said, palpably relieved. ''I suppose it's time to pay another visit to señora Elsa’s residence.''

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  When they arrived at Beatrice's apartment, they saw Pilar standing by the radiator and staring out into the white day, spotting them in the reflection. Her voice was trembling and she was in low spirits. ''Are you looking for Beatrice?''

  The investigators noticed red streaks on her face.

  ''Señora, are you okay?''

  ''I haven't seen her today,'' she stated with a hollow voice, ignoring their question.

  ''Neither have I,'' Antonia added. Klauder and Beatra flinched as they hadn't immediately spotted her sitting on the divan, where she was again reading the same book. ''She's in her bedroom, and I think she's still asleep. Is there something wrong?''

  Klauder looked back and forth between Pilar and Antonia for a few moments. ''Indeed there is, señora,'' he said. ''There have been two more murders, I'm afraid, both little girls killed in horrendous fashion.''

  Only the blonde seemed moved by this news. Pilar turned back to the window, seemingly indifferent.

  ''¡Dios mío!'' Antonia exclaimed. ''Do you have any leads?''

  Kla
uder decided not to respond to her question, and instead asked if one of the ladies might go fetch Beatrice. Antonia closed her book and quietly obliged. The detective thought for a moment, then walked to the sofa to see what she was reading.

  ‘With A Bitter Heart’. It appeared to be a romance novel, and while Beatra was trying to make small talk with Pilar, he opened it up and thumbed through the first and then the last few pages. What he found towards the end made the corners of his mouth twitch.

  It appeared Antonia had written something on one of the blank pages at the end. A list, so it seemed, of titles, probably of other romance novels. Klauder instantly recognized what he was looking at, called Beatra over and asked him to hand him the love note found in Pierre's apartment.

  ''What’s wrong?'' Pilar asked, sensing their excitement.

  ''No, um ... nothing, señora,'' the detective responded, quickly putting the note into his pocket.

  ''Put that bloody book away, please!'' she grunted. ''Such rubbish, and all of it written for naive women like Yours Truly. In reality, love is never so idylic. It just gets smothered by cruel twists of fate until nothing is left of it but a painful memory.''

  ''You've read it?'' the inspector asked.

  She wiped her eyes.

  ''Of course I have. It’s my book. I lent it to Antonia.''

  ''And just out of curiosity,'' Klauder said, turning the book towards her, ''what prompted you to jot down these titles here at the end?''

  ''Just a few more of those moronic fantasies I thought I might enjoy reading one day.''

  ''Well, we need to ask you a few questions, regarding the ...''

  Suddenly they heard a ruckus coming from the hallway. Klauder and Beatra rushed out of the room and followed the sounds into one of the bedrooms.

  As soon as they entered, a frantic Antonia ran into Beatra’s arms, and in the next instant he saw what she was running from: Beatrice’s bed sheets were smeared with blood, and it appeared at first as if the killer had now begun targeting adults. But Beatrice was far from dead.

  ''What are you all doing here?'' she mumbled from somewhere within her drug-induced mental haze. ''What’s going on? Oh, detective! Do you need something?''