The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set

by Michele E. Gwynn

  Three blocks down, one left turn, over another street, and then turning right, Sarah found herself at the hotel—a Spanish version of an American bed and breakfast. She walked around to his door and knocked. No answer. Sarah knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer. She turned, searching for his rental car, but didn’t see it anywhere. A couple walked out of the office at the end of the row of cottages. She marched in that direction. Inside the small space, a fan blew warm air in an attempt to cool the room. It didn’t work, but it was better than nothing. The Pensión wasn’t nearly as nice as the place where Sarah was staying. It was like comparing a Hilton to a Motel 6, except worse. When she asked him the day before why he’d chosen the place, he replied, “It gives me more of a feel for how life really is here for residents. When you stay in a hotel, you’re just a tourist. You don’t get the whole picture. I need the whole picture to photograph it and write about it.”

  “Excuse me,” she said to the elderly man at the counter. He stared at her as if he didn’t understand.

  She tried again. “Disculpe, Anthony de Luca, ¿por favor?”

  The old man smiled. “Sí. Señor de Luca, dejó el hotel esta mañana.” He saw the blank look on her face and tried again. “He leave. Comprende?” Obviously, the old man knew little English, but what he did know didn’t escape Sarah’s understanding.

  “He left?” The look on her face must have registered even if her words didn’t quite sink in.

  “He leave.” The old man looked at her and his eyes softened. He saw the hurt registering on her face. “Lo siento, Señorita.”

  “He left,” Sarah said more to herself. She turned to walk out the door. The warm air in the small office was stifling. Once outside, she could breathe a little easier, but only just. He left without saying goodbye. He left without saying anything at all. He didn’t even tell her he was leaving. Sarah didn’t know what to think. Was it something I said? Something I did? The hurt was more than she had expected to feel. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know they would be saying goodbye and never seeing each other again, but she thought, at least, it would be when she left to go to Berlin. She thought he would at least say goodbye; kiss her goodbye. But he did, dummy. Last night, that was his goodbye. When he kissed me and held me with such tenderness. That last thought didn’t comfort her wounded heart or her pride. She didn’t know what to do with these feelings, with the unexpected pain of loss.

  She walked back to the main street and looked around. Clouds gathered threatening to rain soon. It suited her mood. A row of taxis on the other side of the street beckoned. She glanced both ways, then crossed. She hopped inside the first available one and told the driver to take her to the beach. He thankfully spoke a little English and tried to inquire as to which beach.

  “The closest one. One that lots of tourists go to. Preferably with a bar.” She tried not to sound forlorn.

  The taxi driver rolled his eyes at the American girl. He pulled out and headed toward one of the most frequented beaches in Barcelona. Sarah remained lost in thought the entire drive. She didn’t bother to notice all the beautiful places they passed. She wasn’t looking out but reflecting within. So, it wasn’t so easy to walk away from someone with whom you’ve had sex, it seems. Everything that she’d read hadn’t prepared her for this feeling of abandonment when a man walks away. You’d think I was familiar with that one when Dad left to be with his girlfriend!

  Sarah didn’t know how to deal with this. Somehow, sitting at a bar at a beach seemed the best answer for the moment. Well, I came here alone. I’m leaving alone. So what’s the difference? Just because some amazing man rocked my world doesn’t mean my world ends when he’s gone, does it? Hell no! The inner pep talk wasn’t working. She redoubled her effort and attempted to at least pay attention to the passing scenery.

  They arrived at the beach and Sarah paid the fare. She got out, not really knowing where she was. It didn’t matter. She’d just catch a cab later back to the hotel. There was a bustling bar with loud music and lots of tables out on a deck overlooking the sand. Beyond that, the ocean rolled in on frothing waves. Kids played in the sand while their parents lazed on towels, soaking up as much sun as they could. The clouds continued to gather, slowly blotting out the bright rays. Thunder boomed in the distance causing dozing adults sit up and look around for their children. Sarah thought about how she would have loved to have shared this with Anthony. She walked to the bar and sat down at one of the tables.

  A nice-looking waiter came to take her order. His name tag said he was Pablo. He had big hazel eyes and dark brown hair. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. His physique showed him to be very active and his tan said “surfer.”

  She asked for a Piña Colada. He smiled and told her in a lovely deep voice with accented English that he would have it to her, pronto.

  Sure he will. Is that how they all are in the beginning? Eager to please? Ready to do anything, say anything that you want? Then they leave without so much as a by-your-leave? Wow, this really sucks.

  Sarah sat and watched the waves grow more peaked. The wind whipped up and rain began to fall. Some of the beachgoers came and sat under the roof of the bar while others made a dash for their cars and left. The beach emptied now looking as desolate as she felt. Three drinks in, she was feeling warm and fuzzy. Four drinks later, she wasn’t sure she would be able to walk steadily to the bathroom. By the fifth drink, Pablo the waiter decided she’d had enough and began bringing her water. She tried to protest, but he insisted.

  “Where are you staying? I can call you a taxi.” His concern grated on her nerves.

  “I’m fine!” Sarah tried to order another drink, but he just wouldn’t take her order.

  “Señorita, you should really go back to your hotel. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Pablo noticed how she seemed to tear up while she muttered to herself over her water. She was obviously sad about something; probably a man. She was too pretty to be so sad.

  “I’m calling a taxi for you.” He left to do just that. When he returned, he’d taken off his apron and name tag.

  “Someone is on the way. Come, we’ll wait outside now that the rain has stopped.” Sarah tried to rise but toppled back into her seat. She wasn’t used to alcohol at all and five drinks had knocked her on her ass.

  Pablo reached around and lifted her to her feet. “Put your arm around my waist. I’ll help you.”

  Sarah tried again. This time she didn’t feel quite as wobbly. Together, they walked out into the rain-scented air. He made her stroll up and down the sidewalk as they waited for the taxi. After a while, the steps got easier and less unsure.

  “Where did you learn such good English,” Sarah asked.

  “I studied for a year at the University of Southern California. I was visiting with friends.” Pablo went on to tell her about his plans to become a veterinarian, about going to school while working at the bar. “The pay is terrible, but the tips are great during the summer because of all the tourists.”

  A taxi pulled up. Pablo walked her over and helped her in. Sarah fell over slightly in the seat, laughed, then righted herself.

  “Where are you staying,” he asked again.

  “The Hotel Claris.” She hiccupped and then listed over sideways—again.

  Pablo sighed. His sister’s face came immediately to mind. Graciela was about the same age as this intoxicated blonde. It wasn’t long ago that she’d lost a friend, one who disappeared without a trace. The two girls met at the European Interscholastic Young Adult Debate Competition six years ago in Berlin. They kept up the friendship over the next year, even planning for the girl, Marlessa, and her parents to visit Barcelona the next summer. Graciela had been excited at the prospect of seeing her friend again, but just weeks shy of the end of the school year, Marlessa went missing. Graciela might have never known about the tragedy except for the German detective who’d contacted his family attempting to find the girl. Pablo didn’t remember all the details, but he remembered th
e detective’s name. Heinz. He also remembered how devastated Graciela was over the loss of her friend and the frustration at being too far away to keep up with any news in real time. As the weeks following the girl’s disappearance lapsed into months, Pablo saw a change come over his outgoing sister. She grew quieter, became more careful of who she associated with and where and with whom she went. She also became more focused on her studies shifting her sights away from business studies to law. Years passed and Graciela’s friend Marlessa had still not be found.

  Inside the car, the pretty blonde hiccupped.

  Knowing how quickly a situation could go south, he opened the back door to slide in next to her. He didn’t trust that she’d be able to get out of the taxi successfully, much less walk up to her room. He also didn’t trust the taxi driver, who looked Sarah over through the rearview mirror. He felt the need to make sure she got back safely.

  “Scoot over.” Sarah scooted and Pablo sat next to her.

  “Hotel Claris, ¡por favor!” The taxi took off as Pablo pulled Sarah to an upright position. The ride back was a blur. She was sure he kept talking to her, but she felt groggy and her eyes kept closing. She was aware of a hard, warm shoulder and the pleasant scent of fabric softener.

  “Don’t fall asleep, Señorita. Wake up. Wake up, now.” He kept giving her a little shake to keep her alert.

  It was like a fuzzy dream, a remnant of some faded memory. Somehow, she got back to the hotel, walked through the lobby, and rode the elevator up to her room. Did I pay the fare? How did I get in my room?

  “Anthony....why’dyouleave?” Her speech slurred and tapered off.

  The sheets felt cool on her skin. The light dimmed and the world went blank.

  “Shhh. Just go to sleep,” the voice spoke, but she didn’t hear it. A small snore sounded. Pablo looked at the woman he’d just half-carried up to her room and tucked in. It was probably the nicest thing he’d ever done for a beautiful woman. His mother would be proud. So would Graciela. He laughed to himself, turned to toss the room key on her dresser, and then left. The door locked automatically behind him. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for remembering to put out the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. It wouldn’t be nice to have housekeeping walk in the next morning and catch her unaware. She should sleep it off; both the alcohol and the heartbreak. Whoever this “Anthony” was shouldn’t have left someone so naïve all alone. It was a good thing she found her way to his bar and not some other. She might not have made it home safely, or at all, he thought.

  Chapter Six

  THE FLIGHT BACK TO New York was fraught with turbulence and one extra whiny kid. Why the hell they let kids into business class was beyond him, but Anthony knew he was somehow being punished. It was not like he’d never just up and left a woman he’d had a fling with before, but Sarah was the first virgin—his first virgin—and he’d handled it badly. He knew it.

  Traffic through town had been just as aggravating as his flight, and the high cab fare from all the various jams and delays further grated on his already raw nerves. Still, he was finally home.

  Inside, his townhome felt stale and lifeless. He set about putting his bags down and opening some windows. Fresh air blew in and chased away the gloom and dust. His answering machine light blinked rapidly showing it had more than ten messages waiting. They could wait a little longer. He just wasn’t in the mood to deal with work and family right now.

  Anthony finished unpacking, tossed his clothes into the washer and turned it on. Once the Downey ball was added, he walked into his galley-style kitchen and pulled down a clean high-ball glass from the dark walnut cabinet. He added a couple of ice cubes from the freezer and poured his favorite brand of whiskey over the top. He barely swirled the ice around twice before he tossed it back and poured another. This one he carried, along with the bottle, over to the couch. He finished that drink and then poured another.

  She probably hates me now, he thought. I’m such a fucking jackass. I could have at least let her know I was leaving and said goodbye...something! “Fuck!” Anthony ran his hand over his face, feeling the day’s growth of stubble. He remembered how Sarah seemed to enjoy its tickle on her skin; particularly her neck when he kissed her, and her inner thighs when he would lick and kiss his way toward her hot, wet...” Goddammit!” He couldn’t get her out of his head. Memories of her so open and passionate haunted him. She’d been so uninhibited, so eager. Her natural curiosity combined with her innocence had intoxicated him more than any bottle of booze. She had no idea what she was about or how to conduct herself in an affair...and it had been refreshing. Thoughts of her with her head tossed back, lips parted, panting for him as he penetrated her deeply—a place no man had ever been before him—tumbled around his head.

  She’s better off without me. She’ll find someone new, maybe settle down. The thought of another man touching her made him angry. He finished off the third drink and poured a fourth. What if she does meet another guy? Will she fuck him too? She was pretty eager with me! He fumed, and drank, and fumed some more. He thought of her in all the ways he’d had her, how she felt, sounded, tasted, and then the thought of her with another man interrupted his mental replay. “Fuck it!” Anthony threw the now empty glass of whiskey across the room where it smashed into the wall. Fragments of glass flew everywhere, and plaster chipped away at the point of impact.

  His anger withered along with his spirit. He laid his head on the back of the couch and drifted. “I fucked up...” he muttered brokenly before drifting into a troubled, jet-lagged, drunken slumber.

  BARCELONA, NEXT DAY

  Sarah woke up feeling sick. Her head pounded and her mouth was dry as evidenced by her tongue sticking to the roof of it. She lay in bed, trying to remember exactly what happened yesterday. She remembered going to the beach and sitting at a bar. She remembered her first few drinks, and maybe a waiter in there somewhere who had brought them to her. After that, she didn’t remember much. It was all fuzzy and unclear. She sat up and the room spun a little. She tried standing and immediately sat back down. She counted to ten and tried again. It was a little better this time and she slowly shuffled to the bathroom. The mirror was not kind when she beheld her reflection. Her hair was disheveled. Her face had tear tracks and smeared makeup running down her cheeks. Her lips looked chapped, and her clothing was wrinkled. At least she’d managed to take off her shoes, but she didn’t remember doing that.

  She pulled her jeans and underwear down and fell hard on the cold toilet seat. Every drink she’d had and a few extra poured out of her bladder. It seemed to take forever. Sarah chuckled wryly, then stopped because the action hurt her head. She stood up and removed her wrinkled clothes. A shower would help. Sarah turned on the water and tested the temperature. When it was steaming, she stepped in and let the warm liquid run over her. It felt good. She scrubbed her hair and washed her body while looking around at the tiled walls remembering the incredibly amazing moments she shared with Anthony in this same spot, under this same spray. Suddenly, she began to tremble, feeling cold. Sobs wracked her as she cried. Sinking down onto the floor of the shower, she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. The pain of what was surely a broken heart tore her up. He just left. He just left. He just left. She kept repeating these words in her head. Abandoned again. First, her dad, then her mom, and now Anthony. It was too much.

  She sat in the shower for nearly an hour, crying. When the tears stopped, she rose and turned off the water, then dried her body. Never again. I’m not going to cry for a man ever again. I won’t let one get close to me like that anymore. She eyed herself in the steam-covered mirror. Anthony was her first and he’d made the experience special. She supposed some kind of attachment was natural but hadn’t counted on it or the pain of loss thereafter. All she could do now was move forward.

  Her stomach growled, but she was afraid to eat anything. Something told her to take it easy. She’d never had a hangover before. Maybe just some coffee and toast. She dressed and
blow-dried her hair. She didn’t even bother with any makeup, just a little lip gloss. Nothing would hide the dark circles under her eyes anyway. She put on her glasses instead of the disposable contacts. The pair from the day before had gone straight into the trash since she’d slept in them. Grabbing her purse and room key, she headed down to the café.

  SARAH SAT IN THE CAFÉ sipping coffee; black with one sugar. She was afraid to add cream. It might not sit well on her tender stomach. The waitress came by and offered a refill. Sarah declined, but asked for a glass of water. She felt dehydrated. Her eyes wandered to the people passing by. Some were old, some young, and most were paired off, holding hands and sharing knowing looks and teasing smiles. It made her heart ache.

  The waitress returned with her glass of water. She picked it up and drank it down. The cold water felt so good in her mouth sliding down her throat. Sarah drank nearly the whole glass in one shot. She returned to sipping her coffee. The couple at the table next to her backed up their chairs and rose to leave. He was around fifty-ish with gray hair and a mustache. He was dressed in the best clothes money could buy; probably an Armani suit. The woman was younger by at least fifteen years, perhaps more. Her peach silk shirt dress barely covered her derriere. She was jacked up on six-inch Manolos which made her legs look incredibly long. The bright red belt around her middle made her waist look incredibly small. Her updo, French manicure, Chanel bag, and flawless makeup screamed “I love money!” Sarah noticed the man had a wedding ring on his left hand, but the woman with him did not. Mistress. A pampered mistress. Enjoy it while you can, girlfriend. Eventually, you’ll wake up and he’ll be gone—no explanation.