Silenced in Spain

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  “I don’t know,” Burke said. “Maybe. It’s been a strange time in Spain.”

  “Please explain,” Torres said.

  So Burke replayed for them his ride with Bothwick, the news about his colleague’s death, his ride into the Peῇɨscola countryside and his belief someone had shot at him, and then the riot in Girona. When he finished, he had the sense the two detectives were familiar with everything he’d told them.

  “Have you been talking to the police back in Peῇɨscola?” Burke said.

  “I expect you mean Inspector Alejandro Chávez and Officer Ochoa.”

  “That tells me you have. Can you tell me why?”

  “We believe you’ve attracted the interest of some people – or someone – who’s dangerous. What happened to you at the riot was likely a matter of you making yourself vulnerable at a bad time.”

  Burke thought the same, sort of. He didn’t say anything though, just nodded.

  “We’re trying to establish connections between Bothwick’s murder and the attacks on you,” Martἱn said. Her French had a Paris accent.

  Burke looked at Tessier whose eyes were bulging. He expected the young man would soon be asked to leave.

  But he wasn’t.

  As the two police continued to interview Burke, they directed several questions at Tessier.

  After more than an hour, Torres said they were done, but they’d likely be contacting Burke and Tessier again.

  “Do you think I’m still in danger?” Burke said, expecting he was.

  “Whatever threat you might present to these people, it’s not likely gone away,” Torres said.

  “But I don’t know how I could be a threat to anyone. I’m just a commentator on a Vuelta broadcast.”

  “Nevertheless, you represent some kind of threat, at least in their eyes.”

  Burke knew Torres was probably correct. He also recognized how badly he wanted to get home to Hélène.

  “We need you to stay in Girona for at least another couple of days as part of our investigation,” Martἱn added.

  “But won’t I be in danger?”

  “We’ll assign you some security. You won’t necessarily see our people, but they’ll be around.”

  That didn’t make Burke feel better. The thought he was still a target for some smart, ruthless people was frightening.

  “But there is something in your favour,” Torres said.

  Burke couldn’t see any advantages to remaining in the Catalan city.

  “The media have discovered one of their own – you – was the victim of an attack last night and you’ve been identified,” Torres said. “I expect you’ll find yourself the subject of more than a few calls and visits from reporters.”

  “And how is that supposed to work in my favour?”

  “You’ll have lots of people around you.”

  “The last time I was around lots of people, somebody tried to kill me,” Burke said in a sarcastic tone.

  “It’ll be more peaceful,” Torres said, ignoring the jibe. “It’s what happens when you go from covering the story to being the story. However, although you’re a member of the media, I caution against saying too much to reporters. We don’t know exactly what is going on, but, at the same time, we don’t want to alert the wrong people about what we do know.”

  Burke nodded and said he’d only say he didn’t know who had attacked him or why.

  “That will do fine, Monsieur Burke,” Torres said. “We have your contact information and we’ll be in touch soon. In the meantime, if you think of something we might find interesting, call us.”

  She handed Burke her card and gave one to Tessier. Then the two officers left.

  “I wonder if they think I’m at risk as well,” Tessier said, looking at Burke.

  Good question, Burke thought. But he didn’t want to alarm the young man so he replied, “I doubt it. If you were, those two detectives would have mentioned it.”

  And then Burke wondered if he should mention to his editor what had transpired the last few hours.

  He thought the answer had to be yes.

  But his boss wasn’t the person he really needed to talk to. That was Hélène. She deserved to hear what had gone on. And soon.

  The question was how would she react?

  Chapter 34

  Burke was thankful Hélène answered his call 10 minutes later. He didn’t want her hearing about his situation from the news.

  But it was too late.

  “I was just getting ready to go to work and saw a brief news item on the local channel about you getting attacked in Girona last night,” she said. “Chéri, are you all right? It sounded like you were badly injured. I was going to call you when the phone rang and it was you.”

  Burke apologized for scaring her, saying his wounds weren’t serious and he was just sore. He explained how he’d been interviewed by the police and been checked by a private nurse, so that’s why he hadn’t called earlier.

  “What about last night? You could have phoned me then.”

  Burke said he’d been in hospital and by the time he got back to the hotel, it was too late and he didn’t want to wake her with news that would likely disturb her. There was a long pause on the line and Burke realized he should have phoned when he’d returned from the hospital. He told her he was sorry for delaying the news.

  “OK, I’ll forgive you although not for a while,” Hélène said. “Now tell me what happened.”

  Burke gave her the short version. She didn’t interrupt. When he was done, she asked what the police had wanted to know.

  He took a moment, considering if he should tell her how the police were linking the Girona incident to Bothwick’s death. Then he went ahead and gave her the full story because, as his partner, she deserved to know everything. Besides, she was strong and could handle the idea of danger. After all, she’d been forced to deal with similar events in the past.

  “But why you, Paul? What kind of threat are you?” she asked, echoing his own thoughts.

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering and all I can figure is that whoever killed Colin might think I know something related to what he discovered.”

  “That sounds a little weak. If you did know something, you’d have told the police and they’d have reacted. But they’re still getting nowhere or so it seems.”

  “I know, but I haven’t any other theory.”

  Hélène sighed. “When are you coming home, chéri?”

  “Not for another two or three days,” Burke replied. “The police want me to stay around in case they need me to answer more questions. But don’t worry, I’m not in any danger.”

  “How can you say that? Someone tried to kill you last night, Paul.”

  “I’m fine. I have people around me all the time and that includes a couple of police.”

  There was a pause at the other end of the phone. “You have bodyguards?” Hélène said softly.

  Burke could hear the concern in her voice. He told her the police were confident he was well protected and there wouldn’t be any more attacks, but he sensed she didn’t buy it. He tried changing the subject to how she was doing, but after she provided a few words about being busier than normal, she returned to Burke’s situation.

  “I think I need to come there, Paul,” Hélène said.

  Burke could hear the determination in her voice, but it wasn’t what he needed. She was a brave, clever woman and protective of him, but he thought if there was any threat to him, her showing up would make her vulnerable as well and he didn’t want that.

  “I appreciate your concern, but you should stay there,” Burke said, hoping he sounded confident. “Everything is under control here and I’m safe. I’m also feeling better by the hour. And Suzanne Godard is making sure I’m being looked after. So, I’m just going to take it easy and then leave when the police say I’m good to go.”

  “You’re being truthful, right?”

&n
bsp; “I am. I’ll be back home soon and then this whole mess will be behind us.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Trust me, chérie. I’m safe. I’ll see you soon. And by the way, I’ll bring you some saffron as a present.”

  ”We have saffron here. Just bring yourself back – and soon.”

  “I promise.”

  “And don’t go looking for trouble, Paul. I know you and that curious mind of yours.”

  “I’ll stay safe.”

  When the call was over, Burke sat back. He missed his partner, but he definitely didn’t want her around. He hoped the next two or three days would be uneventful, but there was a part of him that had doubts.

  “So, you’re just going to take it easy,” Tessier said.

  Burke looked at his colleague, smiled and shrugged. “I’m not eager to put myself in the line of fire again, but I do have some matters I might look into.”

  Tessier. “Such as?”

  “Who are the caterers that Chef Andres is using?”

  “Isn’t he using his own company?”

  “Supposedly, but I mean I’d like to know who those four men were who were bringing in all the food from the truck last night.”

  “Just caterers, weren’t they?”

  “Maybe but like I said before, those four didn’t look like any caterers I’d imagine.”

  “But wouldn’t the flics have talked to them last night?”

  Good point, thought Burke. The police would have interviewed them after the incident, supposing they found them after they’d left. And if they interviewed them which was likely, they’d have run a background check on each one. If any of them had a past criminal record, the police probably would have detained that person for further questioning. And Torres would have mentioned it. Maybe.

  “You’re right, Jules.”

  “Do you think the flics would tell you anything about the caterers if you asked?”

  Burke considered the idea and shook his head. “My experience tells me they’ll keep that information to themselves. I may be the victim, but I’m not part of the investigating team. And if Torres and Martín wanted me to know about their backgrounds, they’d have told me when they were here.”

  “Despite some of your successes in the past in helping the police?”

  “I expect that would make me even more unlikely to hear from them. They don’t want some amateur busybody getting in the way.”

  Tessier frowned and Burke could see the young man was considering what to do next, if anything. “But you still want to know something about those caterers, right?” Tessier finally said.

  “I do.”

  Tessier pointed at Burke. “You speak Spanish fluently, Paul. Are there as many accents in Spain as we have in France?”

  Burke was puzzled by the question. “I can’t say for sure, but there are definitely a lot.”

  “For example, someone raised in Girona might sound different from someone brought up in Madrid, right?”

  “Yes. Madrileῇos have a very unique accent. The people around here do, too, partly because many of them speak Catalan as their first language.”

  And then Burke had an idea where Tessier was going with his questions.

  “What about people from Valencia? Do they have their own accent?” Tessier said.

  “They definitely do,” Burke said. “It’s a little rougher accent because their speech has been influenced by speaking a dialect of Catalan. My accent is Valencian because I lived there for a year.”

  “I wonder if anyone talked to your four caterers at the event here in Girona and noticed how they spoke,” Tessier said.

  Burke tried recalling when he’d seen the four men conversing with others.

  And then he remembered.

  “I saw one of the organizers talking to the men just before they disappeared,” Burke said.

  “Do you think they were sharing something?” Tessier asked.

  “No, I think the organizer was angry they were wandering around in the hall.”

  “So, who’s the organizer? Do you know his name?”

  Burke shook his head. “I’ve only seen him at the last few events for the Vuelta.”

  “Give me a minute or two,” Tessier said. He collected his laptop and quickly got to work. Thirty seconds later, he showed his screen to Burke. “Is one of these men the organizer you’re talking about?”

  Once again, Burke was impressed by how quickly Tessier worked. He studied the faces and, at the bottom of the screen, he spotted his man – Sergio Moya. His title was special events co-ordinator.

  Burke leaned forward to read the short bio that accompanied Moya’s mug shot. The information said Moya had worked on the last 12 Vueltas as an administrator specializing in non-race events. Before that, Moya had been employed in Madrid working at the city’s largest convention centre. The bio said he was a Madrileῇo, born and raised.

  “So, let’s say we reach this man,” Burke said. “And he tells us the accents of the men are from Valencia. What does that prove?”

  Tessier shrugged. “Nothing, but maybe they have same background as Chef Andres.”

  Burke took over the idea, adding, “And maybe they’ve been involved in some questionable activities since they were kids – and still are.”

  “Just a thought,” Tessier said.

  Burke reached for his phone. He wasn’t sure how to contact Moya and even what to say to the man, but he knew he wanted to talk with him.

  After five minutes of fruitless efforts, Burke sighed and looked toward Tessier who nodded in response, took Burke’s phone, switched websites on the laptop and then started punching numbers on the smartphone. On the first call, Tessier listened for a second or two and then handed it to Burke while whispering “Moya’s assistant – I think.”

  It was and Burke explained in Spanish he was a reporter from a French TV station covering the Vuelta and was interested in doing a short spot on Moya as one of the main “people behind the scenes” who made the race such a success. He added the spot was needed because of some changes in the race schedule for the next day.

  The assistant asked Burke to repeat his name and Burke did so.

  “Aren’t you the TV presenter who was injured in last night’s riot?” asked the assistant.

  Burke was surprised the assistant knew his name. “Yes, that’s me, but I’m fine now and I’m back on the job.”

  There was a pause at the other end and Burke thought the assistant was weighing whether to reject his request or help him.

  “I don’t know if Seῇor Moya is available, but I can see him walking toward me so I’ll ask if he has some time,” the assistant said. “Please hold the line.”

  Burke heard voices in the background, but couldn’t detect what was being said. A couple of moments of silence followed and then a different voice was on the phone.

  “Seῇor Burke, this is Sergio Moya,” came a rich baritone with a smooth Castilian accent. “I am surprised to hear your voice.”

  Burke went through his routine of feeling better and needing a story. As he talked, he wondered if Suzanne Godard would be annoyed to hear what he was up to. He expected she’d be furious, but he needed to know what was going on and this was one way he might find out.

  “I can give you a few minutes but not for a day or two,” Moya replied. “The events of last night have created a backlog of tasks for my department.”

  Burke had no doubts about that. “I understand, Senor Moya. It’s just that when I saw you last night speaking to four of the catering staff, I thought you were a man who had to wear a great many hats at the Vuelta.”

  “Talking with four members of the catering staff? When was that? I don’t recall.”

  Burke was about to prod the administrator but Moya interrupted him, saying, “Now I remember. You probably saw me with those four who were bringing in products from the vans in the alley.”

  “That’s when I thought yo
u were worth a story. I mean, you had to be everywhere last night or so it seemed.”

  “Well, it’s definitely a job that has many elements to it although my conversation with those four was limited to telling them they needed to keep out of the hall unless requested.”

  “They didn’t look happy about it,” Burke said.

  “They weren’t, but it wasn’t important what they thought. There was a great deal going on and they should have known better.”

  “Have you worked with them before?” asked Burke, hoping he wasn’t being too distracting and that Moya could spare a few more seconds.

  “No, just in the last couple of days. They were a pickup group recommended by Chef Andres who should have used better discretion in suggesting them. They were definitely rough around the edges, both with their manners and language.”

  “Were they from Girona?”

  “Valencians,” Moya said. “I could hear it in their accents and the slang a couple of them used. I spent some time in Valencia and know how they speak.”

  There it was. Nicely served on a platter.

  Burke chatted with Moya for another minute, saying he’d contact Moya in two days to see if the administrator’s schedule had loosened. Then they ended the call.

  “Get anything?” Tessier asked.

  Burke smiled. “Oh, yes,” he said and told Tessier what Moya had said.

  “So, Chef Andres brought in some poorly trained, rough boys from his home town, knowing they might reflect badly on him the more they interacted with people,” Tessier said.

  “That’s it in a nutshell. Now, the question is why would he do that?” Burke wondered.

  “Probably because Chef Andres had a history with them and trusted them.” Tessier paused for a moment. “And after your conversation with Seῇor Moya, there’s another question, Paul.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Did one of those four men try to kill you?”

  Chapter 35

  Ten minutes later as he sipped a coffee and considered what to do next, Burke got a phone call from Suzanne Godard.