Silenced in Spain

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  “Your blood pressure is excellent, especially considering the circumstances,” Estrada said.

  She then examined his face. “I agree you’ll need some stitches near the eye. I would say a dozen at least. Any pain?”

  “Not much.”

  “Good. I’d rather not give you any kind of sedative at the moment in case the doctors want to do some surgery although as your doctor friend said back at city hall, it doesn’t look necessary.”

  With its lights flashing, the ambulance moved slowly through the crowds of onlookers. Once it had cleared the Old Town, the driver switched on the siren.

  “I didn’t think this was an emergency,” Burke told Estrada.

  “Your case isn’t, but we need to get you to hospital and return for another pickup as quickly as possible. It wasn’t good what happened there.”

  Burke nodded.

  “That’s not like Girona,” Estrada said. “I’ve lived here 15 years and we’ve never had any riots. When there’s been a demonstration, it’s been small and peaceful.”

  “Politics can make people crazy,” Burke said, knowing it sounded trite.

  Estrada shook her head. “I doubt this will mark the end of the troubles. There’s too much at stake.”

  Burke didn’t say anything, but he agreed. Catalonia had plenty of challenging times ahead, as did the entire country. And then Burke thought of his own homeland and how some people in Québec were still seeking independence for the province.

  Five minutes later after a whirlwind drive, the ambulance pulled into the emergency entrance of the Girona hospital. Estrada opened the rear of the ambulance and two orderlies and a nurse took over, getting him to sit on a wheelchair. Tessier stood beside him.

  Burke thanked Estrada who waved and jumped into the front seat. The ambulance sped off seconds later. Then an orderly pushed the wheelchair into the hospital with the nurse asking Burke various medical questions.

  As they went down a corridor, Burke turned to Tessier. “Jules, can you do me a favour?”

  “If I can.”

  “Check into Chef Andres. Find out as much as you can about him and his business dealings.”

  Tessier frowned. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Just do it if you can.”

  Tessier patted his shoulder bag. “I’ve got my tablet with me. I’ll get right on it.”

  The orderly stopped the wheelchair outside the doors to a new corridor and the nurse told Tessier he couldn’t go farther. Burke turned to the young man and thanked him again.

  “I’ll have something for you by the time you’re all stitched up,” Tessier said.

  Burke nodded and the doors opened. As he was taken down the new corridor, Burke didn’t know what Tessier might produce, but he was sure Chef Andres wasn’t all he seemed.

  Chapter 29

  As he lay in a bed with curtains separating him from the rest of the patients in the emergency ward, Burke hoped he wouldn’t have to spend the night. He had been in hospitals too many times to find any comfort in them.

  The curtain was swept away and a doctor in her early 30s came in holding a clipboard. She introduced herself – Dr. Hernandez – and said she’d be handling Burke’s wounds. She asked for a brief account of what had happened and seemed pleased Burke needed only 15 seconds to tell her. She was obviously in a rush and Burke thought the riot was probably behind any unwillingness to make conversation.

  A nurse joined the curtained-off area as Hernandez started to examine Burke, checking his facial and back wounds, plus his ribs and neck. She also listened to his heart and tested his blood pressure.

  “You’re ready to go,” she said. She told the nurse to prep an operating theatre and then turned back to Burke. “Your wounds in your back are not deep which is very fortunate. Another few millimetres deeper and you’d be in trouble. Your facial wound looks ugly but it isn’t. I’ll have it stitched up in a few minutes. In fact, I should have you out of here in an hour.”

  That was faster than Burke had anticipated and it must have shown on his face because Hernandez said, “I won’t need to put you under. I can attend to your wounds with a local anesthetic. You won’t feel anything.”

  Burke thanked her. Hernandez nodded and said she’d see Burke in the theatre in a few minutes.

  The nurse helped Burke into a hospital smock, did some additional cleaning of his wounds and then called an orderly. Together they put Burke onto a gurney and wheeled him out of the room, down a corridor and into a small operating room that Burke found to be surprisingly chilly. Three nurses took over his care and carefully got him onto a surgery table.

  Burke took a few deep breaths. He hated the bright lights, the table with instruments and the quiet, business-like conversation of the staff. Ten minutes later, Dr. Hernandez showed up. It was show time.

  An hour later, Burke was on a gurney being taken down the same corridor into a large recovery area. Hernandez had moved with exceptional speed, aided by nurses who seemed to anticipate her every move. Best of all, Burke hadn’t felt a thing even though he’d been awake throughout. They’d loosened him up with a little gas so he wouldn’t feel any injections or Hernandez’s stitching.

  He didn’t know how many stitches or sutures he had in his back, but he was curious about his facial wound. When he asked one of his nurses, she told him 12. The paramedic had been right in her prediction.

  In the recovery area, another nurse got Burke to stretch out on a bed. He felt fine although a little stiff and groggy. The nurse explained he’d be there for another hour just to make sure he was fine. She said after that, he could go home with his friend – who had to be Tessier, Burke thought. Dr. Hernandez had a prescription for antibiotics for him.

  As she was explaining the process, another nurse came over and said two police officers wanted to talk to Burke as soon as possible. Burke could see apprehension on the faces of the nurses.

  “I’ve been expecting them,” Burke said. “Don’t worry. I’m not a bad guy. They just want a statement. I was a bystander at the riot downtown and got hurt.”

  The nurses nodded and the second nurse got Burke back into a wheelchair and pushed him into an adjoining room where there was a bed, a small desk, two chairs, a variety of medical supplies on shelves – and a uniformed cop and a woman in plain clothes.

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Morillo,” said the woman. “This is Officer Nieto. Tell us what happened tonight.”

  And so Burke did.

  Chapter 30

  He told them three times. He wasn’t surprised they asked him to repeat his story. They just wanted to make sure he was consistent with his details. And it might trigger a new memory.

  It wasn’t easy, though. Burke was feeling exhausted from the surgery, from being attacked, from the entire day. He thought when he finally got to bed, he’d sleep for a day or even longer. Even taking breaths was becoming tough.

  Morillo, who asked most of the questions, finally seemed satisfied. She asked for contact information from Burke and he gave her where he was staying and his cellphone number.

  “Has anyone been arrested?” Burke asked.

  “Not yet,” Morillo said.

  “Was anyone else stabbed?” Burke said, but he expected he knew the answer.

  “No.”

  Then the two police left. His nurse returned, took Burke back to his spot in the recovery room and helped him into his clothes.

  “You can go now, Seῇor Burke,” she said. “I believe you have someone waiting for you.”

  Burke nodded.

  She waved for an orderly who came over and wheeled Burke out of the room, down another of the endless corridors, through a set of security doors and into a waiting area where a tired-looking Jules Tessier was waiting, phone in hand.

  “Are you Seῇor Burke’s friend?” the orderly asked.

  Tessier, who spoke limited Spanish, seemed to understand and nodded. The orderly
left Burke with the young man.

  “How are you doing, Paul?” Tessier said.

  “I’ve felt better, but I could be feeling a lot worse. Let’s get out of here.”

  Five minutes later, they were in a taxi going to their accommodation.

  “Did you learn anything interesting about Chef Andres, Jules?” Burke asked through sleepy eyes.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Tell me while we drive.”

  Tessier looked at the taxi driver and back at Burke who could see the young man was reluctant to relate what he’d discovered to a stranger.

  Burke asked the driver in French how far they had to go. The driver shook his head and replied in Spanish he didn’t understand.

  “No worries,” Burke told him in Spanish. Then he turned to Tessier and said in French, “Give me the general information now and we’ll talk more back at the hotel.”

  Tessier shrugged. “Well, it seems Chef Andres is definitely a star. I read a considerable number of articles which fawned all over him, talking about how he grew up in a rough neighbourhood, learned to cook as a way to stay out of trouble and discovered he had real talent in the kitchen.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Well, it seems he’s also driven to succeed. He’s a partner in several restaurants, although he sold his shares in a couple of the most lucrative ones, and he’s invested in a few other businesses and in some real estate.”

  “The restaurants he’s a partner in – where are they?” he asked.

  “Valencia, Seville, Madrid, Marbella and, well, I can’t recall the others.”

  “Did any of the articles say anything about the restaurants he sold his shares in?”

  “A couple of articles said people in the industry were surprised when Chef Andres sold his shares because the restaurants were doing very well. Another story suggested he needed to become more liquid quickly and that’s why he sold out.”

  “So, he was making money but he still sold his shares,” Burke said. “Any idea what he did with the money?”

  “It’s not clear, but a few months later he become part of some consortium buying abandoned condo developments. Maybe he used the money from selling those restaurant shares for that.”

  “Do you know where the condo developments are?”

  “All of them are along the coast of the Mediterranean.”

  “What’s the consortium done with the land?”

  Before Tessier could respond, Burke felt his phone buzz with a text. He gingerly pulled it from his jacket and saw it was from Hélène. She’d seen the news about a riot in Girona and hoped he’d been safe. She also asked when he’d be coming home.

  “Bad news?” Tessier asked.

  Burke realized he’d been frowning. He shook his head and told the young man who’d sent the text. Tessier nodded but kept quiet.

  Burke didn’t want to lie to his partner, but he didn’t want to frighten her. He texted back he’d been dragged into the riot and been knocked down, but was fine now. That was essentially the truth. He’d explain about the knife wounds later.

  As for returning home, the original plan was to leave the next day, but the police had told him to stay around for another couple of days in case they had questions. Then there were his injuries; they’d need a little time to heal. He hoped she’d understand.

  And although eager to get home, Burke wanted to stay in the area a while longer to find out who was hunting him – and have the police deal with him or her. He didn’t want to go back to France and wonder all the time if he was still a target.

  The taxi stopped and Tessier helped Burke out. As Burke straightened, he felt new aches and expected he’d struggle to move in the morning. He had some Tylenol pain pills in his pocket and figured he’d need a couple to get to sleep.

  Tessier took Burke by his elbow and they walked toward their hotel. Burke felt he could manage alone, but he didn’t object to the help.

  “What are you thinking about, Paul?” Tessier asked. “You look lost in thought.”

  Burke smiled. “You’re very perceptive, Jules. I was just wondering if what happened to me was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, that maybe I wasn’t targeted.”

  Tessier crooked an eyebrow and Burke could see the young man was skeptical about that analysis.

  Inside the building, they took the tiny elevator to the fourth floor. Tessier guided Burke to the hotel suite they shared, unlocked the door, turned on the light and peeked inside.

  “Wait here,” Tessier said, leaning Burke against the wall and laying his khaki messenger bag on the floor.

  Burke didn’t expect any unwanted visitors were awaiting, but he didn’t say anything and watched as Tessier went from room to room. For the first time, Burke noticed how the young man moved like a panther, gliding quietly across the floor, every muscle ready for action. The more Burke studied Tessier, the more he was surprised – and impressed.

  Tessier returned from the bedroom. “All’s clear.”

  Tessier wanted to help Burke to the bedroom, but Burke waved him off, saying he just wanted to sit and so he moved slowly to the nearest chair and eased his way down. Maybe he’d shower before bed, but for the moment he just wanted to sit and think.

  “So, did you find anything else about Chef Andres, Jules?”

  Tessier grabbed his bag and sat opposite Burke. He pulled out his tablet and said, “I found a story from a few years ago that said Chef Andres also bought his way into a catering firm and a food distribution company that specializes in importing all kinds of special things. I didn’t finish the article, though, because an orderly came and told me you were being released.”

  Burke figured the catering company’s current name was CA Specialty Catering.

  “You mentioned a food-distribution company,” Burke said. “A Spanish one? How big a partner is he?”

  Tessier raised a hand to stop the barrage of questions. “Like I said, I’ve just started reading it.”

  “Sorry,” Burke said. “I’ll be quiet if you want to get back to your research.”

  Tessier smiled, turned on his tablet and started pecking away.

  Burke watched him for a few moments, the young man absorbed by what he was seeing.

  Burke closed his eyes and reviewed the evening and how a Vuelta function had led to a riot and him being taken to hospital. It had been a bizarre night.

  Then he fell asleep.

  Chapter 31

  Burke awoke to sunlight warming his face and the smell of brewing coffee. He opened his eyes and saw Suzanne Godard watching him from the bedroom chair. Her hair was a tousled mess and she had dark bags under her eyes. Burke thought she hadn’t slept much during the night, if at all.

  He pushed himself up a notch and instantly groaned from a thousand protesting muscles. He remembered the feeling from a score of crashes during his professional cycling career and knew it would be several days before he could get through a day without some twinges.

  “Easy, Paul,” said Godard, a concerned look on her face. “Don’t move too much.”

  Burke smiled and then grimaced as he pushed himself up by his elbows. When he was sitting up, he took a couple of big breaths to control the pain.

  “That’s better,” he said. He checked his watch. It was just past 9 a.m. He’d slept for more than 10 hours and couldn’t recall waking up during the night. He glanced down and saw he was bare chested and in his underwear. “Who undressed me?”

  “Jules did,” Godard said.

  “Where is he?”

  “In the next room making more coffee.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Two hours. I was worried. Nico is here as well. Monique, too.”

  “The whole gang,” Burke said. He smiled. “That’s nice. By the way, I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee. It smells great.”

  Godard stood. ʺI’ll get you a cup.”

  “No need.
I’ll get dressed and come out.”

  Godard shook her head. “You should stay in bed. Besides, we have a nurse coming in a few minutes to see how you’re doing.”

  “A nurse?”

  “We hired one rather than taking you back to the hospital. The nurse will just check for any signs of infection, things like that.”

  “She can check me out in the other room. I need to get up. Besides, I have to go the bathroom.”

  “The nurse is a man, by the way,” Godard said. “If you’re going to be stubborn, I’ll leave you to change. Are you going to be all right, though?”

  “Fine.”

  “You’re also going to have a couple of other visitors.”

  “I am? Who?”

  “The police. Two officers are coming about the same time the nurse will probably be leaving. They want to talk with you some more about what happened last night.”

  “How do you know this, Suzanne?”

  “They contacted me late last night.”

  Burke nodded. He’d made a statement to the police, but his comments had been fairly straightforward. He thought they probably needed to get a bit more for their file. He doubted they had any idea who might have attacked him.

  “We also have other matters to discuss once you’re ready,” Godard added.

  Burke thought his morning was getting busy. So much for rest and recuperation.

  He wondered what Godard might want to talk about. Maybe the company’s liability for his injuries or maybe the need to get him back home. Or maybe something involving the Vuelta.

  As Godard moved toward the door, Burke took a breath and swung his legs to the side. His ribs hurt, his shoulders ached and his face throbbed, but his back was the worst. It felt like someone had dug holes into it and, in a way, someone had. But nothing was broken and everything would heal.

  It took him five minutes to get into new clothes. Just as Burke zipped up his trousers, Tessier came into the bedroom.

  “Feeling better?” the young man asked.

  Burke nodded. “And thanks again for everything you did for me yesterday, Jules.”