Silenced in Spain

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  Burke had underestimated Chan’s ability to manage. She was in total charge of the moment and he thought command came naturally to her. Burke could see Tessier certainly didn’t seem ready to object to her request.

  “Since you’re going, Jules, I’m fine with a salad and some of that chorizo I saw when we first came in,” Burke said.

  Tessier nodded and left.

  Burke looked at the young woman facing him. This was a different Monique Chan.

  Chan seemed to read his mind because she said, “I see you’re surprised I can do more than take notes and follow orders. Well, I’m actually quite versatile which is why Suzanne hired me.”

  “I believe it,” Burke said.

  “Good. Now, Paul, have you spotted your security detail near here?”

  Burke was surprised by the question, but said he hadn’t. And then he wondered if Detective Inspector Torres had lied about two flics being assigned to follow him and keep him safe.

  “That’s good to hear,” Chan said. She nodded at a group four tables away. “In case you’re wondering if there really is a security detail assigned to you, that’s them over there.”

  The group comprised two 40-something men in sports jackets, a couple in their 60s, a teenager who looked like he might be a grandchild of theirs, a stylishly dressed woman in her late 20s and a man in his early 30s who kept his hands in his pockets and only seemed to be listening.

  “Which ones are they?” Burke asked. “And how do you know who they are?”

  “The young woman and the man beside her with his hands in his pockets. As to how I know, I met them this morning. Inspector Torres introduced us.”

  Burke was puzzled. Why would Torres tell an intern about the identities of the security people? It made no sense to Burke. But then, the longer this trip went, the more he didn’t understand.

  “Why would she do that?” Burke asked.

  “Torres has enlisted me to act as a liaison between the two flics following you and our little group. I provide them any advance notice of what you might be doing or where you may be going.”

  “Does Godard know about that and who the security flics are?”

  “Of course. Suzanne knows everything that’s going on.”

  “No insult intended, Monique, but why you?”

  Chan crooked an eyebrow and smiled slightly. “Because it’s my job to keep tabs on what all of us are doing ‒ and because I have a background in policing.”

  “What? You used to be a police officer?”

  Chan nodded. “Two years in Avignon.”

  “But how did you go from that to being an intern for a TV network?”

  Chan shrugged. “Policing had been my dream since I was a young girl, but I found out it wasn’t entirely what I expected when I graduated and got a job in Avignon. I was six months into the job and my role was basically to talk to the media. I said I hadn’t joined the police to be eye candy, but that didn’t produce any changes. So after two years, I quit.”

  “And the intern’s job?”

  “My current employers heard I’d quit and offered me my current position. It seems Suzanne and a number of others had seen me on TV in my role as spokesperson in Avignon and thought I had some talent. And so here I am.”

  “But why would Torres introduce you to my security detail?”

  “She wanted someone who could make the security flics’ job easier and I was the one. As part of the investigation into what happened to you, she had background checks done on all of us. She discovered my background, found out I’d been a clean cop and talked to Suzanne about me being the liaison person. That’s why I’m helping out.”

  “So you’re doing police work in a different way,” Burke said.

  “I wasn’t ever expecting to, but you’re right, I am. And I like it.”

  Burke was going to quiz her some more, but then he spotted José López strolling his way. A step behind the elegant Spaniard were Tim Fritz and Wendy Klassen, looking again like they were modeling the season’s latest summer clothing. Burke wondered if they ever wore jeans or a T-shirt.

  “Monsieur Burke, or Paul as you asked me to call you, how are you doing?” asked López in English, his hand outstretched.

  Burke slowly got to his feet and shook hands.

  “Paul, I didn’t mean for you to get up,” López said. “After all, you’ve had a difficult last couple of days.”

  Burke said he was fine, shook hands with Fritz and Klassen, and introduced Monique Chan. More hand shaking followed.

  “You’re looking a little tired, but except for that wound on your face, you seem in decent shape,” Fritz said.

  “It’s hard to believe what happened to you,” Klassen added. “But like Tim says, you look good after what you’ve gone through.”

  “Thanks. Except for a little soreness here and there, I’m fine.”

  “And do the police know who’s responsible?” López said.

  Burke shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  “The media reports say you don’t know who attacked you,” Fritz said, frowning.

  “That’s accurate. I don’t. I got swept up into the riot, punched a few times and then stabbed by someone I never saw. That was it.”

  “Are you heading home soon?” Fritz asked.

  “I will in another day or two,” Burke said.

  “And do you have someone back home who can look after you?” Klassen asked.

  “My partner Hélène is an excellent nurse,” Burke said. “She’ll look after me. Our dog Plato is also good medicine.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Klassen said. “Good care at home can make all the difference in a quick recovery. It’s all about peace and quiet.”

  Burke switched the subject to the day’s race, asking if anyone had predictions for the winner.

  López identified a German sprinter as the likely victor while Fritz opted for a Dutch rider who could both sprint and climb. Klassen said she didn’t know enough to make a prediction.

  Then Tessier showed up with two plates of food. The trio greeted him and Fritz said, “We’ll leave you to your meal, Paul, but I can’t say enough how good it is to see you up and about.”

  López and Klassen echoed the comments and Burke thanked them. Then the trio moved away toward the buffet table. Tessier placed the plates by Burke’s and Chan’s spots, and asked what the conversation had been about.

  “They were wondering how I’m managing after being attacked,” Burke replied.

  “Is that what they were doing, Paul?” said Chan, who had a decent grasp of English.

  “What do you think they were doing?”

  “I think you were being interviewed.”

  Chapter 38

  Burke looked at the intern who stared back.

  “Are you really suggesting they wanted to know more than how I’m feeling?” Burke said.

  “I’ve sat through interviews and I’ve conducted them. Those people wanted to find something out and I’m not talking about your general well-being.”

  “But why?” asked Burke, still not convinced Monique Chan was right.

  “Good question.”

  Burke suddenly felt vulnerable and glanced about. No one was looking back, not even his security detail. Chan’s suggestion had unnerved him enough that he wished his police escort was right beside him. He was probably safe, but he was starting to have doubts.

  “You’re making me paranoid,” Burke told Chan.

  “That’s not my intention. And I don’t think you should be. You have a police escort just over there and others around you.”

  “So, what makes you think I was being interviewed?”

  “Like I said, experience. They were studying you, trying to make sure what you said was the truth. They might have sounded like they were making polite conversation, but it seemed to me they were probing. And once they were convinced of your truthfulness, they left.”

  Bu
rke digested her comments. He still didn’t agree, but maybe she had a point. But why would López, Fritz and Klassen, all of whom he’d talked with before, be seeking more than casual comments? He suddenly felt very tired.

  Moments later, the rest of Burke’s tablemates showed up and conversation drifted to the day’s stage and if there would be any more political protests. The consensus was there might be a few protest signs and some Catalan flags along the route, but that would be it. The police and even a small military presence would inhibit real action. Or so most thought. As for Burke, he listened, but didn’t contribute much. He believed protests were definitely possible, but kept that thought to himself.

  When lunch was over, Burke, Tessier, Menard, Goddard and Chan left for the booth. As they walked, Burke spotted his security detail trailing behind a few metres. He wondered if they were carrying guns. He hoped so.

  The race was nothing special. A breakaway group of four led until the last kilometre when they were swept up by the peloton with an Australian sprinter winning by a wheel.

  “Good work to both of you,” Godard told Burke and Menard through their headphones as the telecast ended.

  Burke rated his performance as average at best. He’d been distracted, largely by what Chan had said, but also because he was stiffening up even more from his injuries. It was usually the second day after a bad tumble that his body really began aching and Burke felt the next few hours would be unpleasant, if not miserable.

  “We wish you well, Paul,” Godard continued. “Thanks for all your efforts. I’ll be in touch later to see how you’re doing.”

  “OK,” he replied. “And thanks for the gig.”

  Then Burke shook hands with Menard and Tessier. As they started to leave the booth, Burke pulled Tessier aside.

  “I know you’ve got more work to do here and then you’ll be rushing off to Figueres for tomorrow’s stage, so I don’t know if I’ll see you later. If I don’t and if you discover anything else about Chef Andres and his business partners, please send it to me.”

  “I will.”

  “I also hope we get a chance to work together again,” Burke said, patting the younger man on the shoulder. “You’re a formidable young man, Jules.”

  Tessier smiled. “Thanks, Paul, and I’ll send you anything I find out. And I’ve enjoyed working with you as well – and even getting involved in whatever we’ve gotten involved in. And if I don’t see you later, take care of yourself. And don’t do anything wild and crazy.”

  Burke grinned. He didn’t intend to do anything remotely close to ‘wild and crazy.’ He just hoped no one else had something nasty planned for him.

  Burke strolled toward a taxi stand and was about to get into one when he heard his name. It was the young female cop assigned to watch him and she was striding in his direction.

  “Why don’t you come with us, Seῇor Burke? We’re going in the same direction.”

  Burke understood it wasn’t a suggestion as much as a command. He didn’t argue, just thanked her and followed her and her partner toward a black sedan. He got into the back seat. The car smelled like stale coffee.

  “Traveling alone is not a good idea, Seῇor, at least for you,” the female officer said from the front passenger’s seat. “By the way, I am Sergeant Gomez and this is Officer Cruz.”

  Burke was surprised a sergeant was involved in his security detail. He had guessed babysitting him would be a job for the lower ranks.

  “We’ll take you to your hotel,” Gomez said as Cruz shot the car into traffic.

  “I was OK with the taxi,” Burke said although he felt safer having them by him.

  “We weren’t,” Cruz said.

  The rest of the short trip went in silence. Cruz found a parking spot a block from the hotel and they walked quickly to Burke’s accommodation, still not saying anything. As Burke opened the outside door to the building, he glanced around and saw the two officers doing the same, almost like they were expecting something to happen.

  They were just inside his room when Gomez stepped aside, pulled out her phone which had obviously been on vibrate and said “Hola.” She listened for a few seconds, said “un momento” and went to a corner so she wouldn’t be easily overheard.

  Burke offered Officer Cruz a drink, but the flic said he wasn’t thirsty and sat on a nearby chair. Burke filled a glass of water from the kitchenette sink and sat on the couch. He didn’t try making small talk with the officer, partly because he wanted to sit without thinking and partly because he thought Cruz wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

  After five minutes, Gomez came over, sat on the couch and looked at Burke.

  “I’ve been talking to my superior and she’s coming over to talk to you,” Gomez said.

  “Inspector Torres?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK, but why? Has something happened? Has someone been arrested for attacking me?”

  “You’ll have to wait, Seῇor Burke.”

  So they did. In silence. Burke wondered why Torres wanted to talk to him and he produced a half dozen reasons. A couple of times he glanced at his security detail and spotted them working on their phones. He had once read that people in western cultures spend 10 per cent of their waking time looking at their smartphones, the equivalent of a month of non-stop time every year. He made a mental note to keep his own phone use to a minimum. Life was too short to use it staring at a tiny screen.

  There was a knock on the door. Cruz quickly opened it and Torres and Sgt. Martἱn walked in. There were no pleasantries offered as the two detectives walked over to where Burke was sitting. Torres took Cruz’s spot and Martἱn went on the other side of Burke who thought he was the middle of a law-enforcement sandwich.

  “We’ve been in contact with the police in Peῇíscola,” Torres said.

  Burke waited.

  “The orange material you mentioned that you saw outside Oropesa has been identified as turmeric,” Torres said.

  “You mean, the spice?”

  “Yes, the spice. There were also remnants of another spice – saffron. You know about saffron, Seῇor Burke?”

  “The world’s most expensive spice, isn’t it?”

  “Some describe it that way. Regardless, saffron is extremely expensive.”

  Burke nodded, trying to control his impatience. Torres would get to her point when it suited her, not him.

  “Other spices were discovered on that driveway as well,” Torres continued. “There was an attempt to wash the materials away, but it’s not as easy as people think or at least it isn’t when a good forensics crew is examining a site.”

  Torres turned to Martἱn who took over the conversation. “Seῇor Burke, do you recall the accident involving a Vuelta food truck on a side road in the Ebro Delta?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, Officer Ochoa heard about it and managed to get some forensics people to examine it. Guess what the tech people found besides a dead driver, Seῇor Burke?”

  Burke thought for a moment. “Special seasoning?”

  “Indeed,” Torres said.

  “But it was a catering truck,” Burke said. “What else would it be hauling but food products?”

  “You’re quite right. But what’s the connection between what you encountered on that Oropesa driveway, the Ebro Delta accident and the caterers you followed into that laneway in Girona?”

  Burke knew the answer. “Food products, especially specialty food.”

  “Seῇor Burke, do you know how much money is involved in the trading of spices?”

  “A few hundred million euros?” said Burke, going high.

  “Try 15 billion euros.”

  “For spices?”

  “And seasonings and other products,” Torres added. “It’s a massive market and there are opportunities for those who seek to take illegal advantage of the market through distortion and fraud.”

  “Fraud? You mean labeling food wrong on purpose?”


  “We’re talking widespread marketing of food that might not be what it’s supposed to be.”

  “And that’s what’s behind all this?” Burke said. “Behind Bothwick’s death and the attack on me?”

  “We’re not sure yet,” Torres replied. “But I can tell you the investigation has expanded beyond spices and seasoning.”

  Burke could hardly believe they were discussing how criminal elements were involved with spices and seasoning, when Martἱn jumped in. “Just so you know, Seῇor Burke, this is information that is not to be made public. If you tell anyone about this topic, there will be consequences – and you won’t like them.”

  “So why are you telling me all this?” said Burke, annoyed by Martἱn’s warning and wondering if he could really get in trouble if he ignored her message.

  “Because we believe you’ve somehow stumbled onto an international criminal ring specializing in food fraud and food smuggling,” Torres said.

  Burke’s skepticism must have shown on his face because Torres leaned toward him and said, “Every year, food fraud costs tens of billions of euros around the world. It’s almost twice as big as drug smuggling and six times bigger than arms smuggling. And that’s why people have been attacked and killed.”

  Burke could see Torres was confident about her information and he was shocked at the numbers she’d offered. At the same time, he could see how the flics had come to such conclusions. He just hadn’t produced the same conclusions despite having some of the same information. So much for his powers of deduction.

  “And food fraud is why Colin was murdered?” he said.

  “When you consider the money that can be at stake, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “OK, I’m no longer surprised. I’m impressed by the statistics you’ve given me, but, again, why are you telling me all this? I’m just a part-time cycling broadcaster who wants to go home to France and the sooner I’m back in my little village, the happier I’ll be.”

  Torres smiled but there was no humour in her eyes. “You see, Seῇor Burke, we’d like you to do a little job for us.”