Chapter 39
Burke frowned, trying to think what the Girona detective wanted, but he couldn’t produce anything. Wasn’t he supposed to answer a couple more questions and then catch the next flight home?
“What are you talking about?” he said, feeling anxious.
“We want you to go to Figueres tomorrow and talk to somebody,” Torres said. “That’s it, nothing more.”
Burke wasn’t buying it. “OK, but what do you really want me to do? And why me? You’re the police officer. You’re the one with the power to make people talk.”
Torres smiled once more and Burke thought she was actually quite attractive, but there was a hardness in her gaze that was intimidating.
“You’ve developed some relationships during the time you’ve covered the Vuelta and we’d like you to capitalize on one of them,” she said.
“Whoever it is, why don’t you talk to that person?” said Burke, wondering why Torres wouldn’t just come out and tell him the person’s identity.
“Because we’ve gone as far as we can with this individual,” Torres said. “We’ve dug into his accounts and tracked his business dealings.”
Burke was curious. The police were investigating someone he knew in connection with Bothwick’s death and the attack on him in Girona. And who might be involved in food fraud.
Then it came to him – Chef Andres, the culinary superstar with the questionable acquaintances. He tried to recall Andres’ last name – why was it famous chefs only went by their first name? – and then he remembered. Calderόn.
“And we’ve reached a point where it wouldn’t hurt to have someone he trusts talk to him,” the flic added.
“You’re talking about Andres Calderόn, right?”
“I’m talking about José López.”
Burke hadn’t been ready for that name. The elegant, older Spaniard was mixed up in this mess? He knew López had decided a few years back to expand his business dealings and become partners with Chef Andres, but Burke struggled to believe López was involved in murder and widespread fraud. And that López might have ordered someone to get rid of him.
And then Burke remembered that López had changed his plans not long after his wife’s death. What had prompted such a reversal? Had he opted to get involved in illegal opportunities to pad his wealth? Burke couldn’t believe it. He didn’t know the Spaniard well, but López didn’t seem the type to chase money for its own sake.
“I can see you’re both surprised and intrigued, Seῇor Burke,” Torres said, interrupting Burke’s thoughts.
Burke nodded.
“We have some evidence that indicates Seῇor López is not exactly what he seems to be, at least when he’s in public,” Torres said. “That brings us to you. We want you to show up at the post-race party in Figueres and talk to him as you have in the past.”
“How do you know what we might have discussed? Have you been spying on me – or him?”
Torres waved away Burke’s concern. “We’ve been very precise in conducting our investigation in accordance with the law.”
“What’s that mean?”
“We want you to talk about what he’s been doing during this Vuelta,” Torres replied, ignoring Burke’s question. “Ask him if he’s enjoyed being around the riders, the racing and, most of all, the organization itself. Ask him his thoughts about Chef Andres. Ask if he’s gotten any business out of the Vuelta.”
“And you can’t ask him those questions yourself? I mean, they’re pretty routine.”
“He knows you and he might open up to you.”
“And if he does, so what? Any information he gives me is hardly going to put him behind bars.”
“Leave that to us.”
And then Burke understood something else. “Wait a minute. If López is involved, then I’m making myself an easy target by going up to him and talking about his business dealings and the Vuelta. He might start to wonder what’s behind my curiosity.”
Torres shook her head. “Your imagination is going into overdrive, Seῇor Burke.”
Burke thought for a few moments. “I don’t think so. I think you’re trying to trigger some kind of response from him. You’re hoping he’ll become anxious and say something foolish or do something risky.”
“You’re speculating too much, Seῇor Burke,” Torres said.
“No, I’m not. You want López to think I suspect he’s been up to something and that I might talk to the police. You want him to react, even if it puts me at even greater risk.”
“That won’t happen.”
Burke was going to argue that point, but stopped. He understood something else.
“You believe he knows the identity of the person who’s running the food-fraud operation in this part of Spain. Maybe he’ll react enough to show you who that person is. Or maybe he’ll get scared enough to seek out a deal with you before the shit hits the proverbial fan.”
Torres glanced at Martín, nodded and looked back at Burke. And that’s when Burke knew he was right. They wanted him to frighten López into giving up a name.
Burke shook his head.
He wasn’t interested.
Not in a hundred years.
Chapter 40
Torres leaned toward Burke, her dark brown eyes locked onto his own. She was even more intense than before.
“Seῇor Burke, you might believe you can reject our request, return to your little French village and be safe. Think again. You’ve become involved in a major fraud that’s got at least one person killed and the people behind what’s happened won’t forget about you. We’re not talking some small criminal operation here. We’re talking big-time crime and some very bad people. They don’t want any loose ends and, Seῇor Burke, you’re a loose end.”
“But it’s not my job to find them,” Burke protested.
“We need to break this fraud ring for you to be truly safe,” Torres added. “That’s why you’ve got to help us.”
“But maybe this time I won’t be so lucky and I’ll get myself killed.”
“You’ll have people watching you every hour of the day, highly trained people. You’ll be safe.”
Burke still wasn’t sure about that, but he was starting to believe Torres might be right that he’d be at risk if he ignored their request – demand? – and fled back to Villeneuve-Loubet. And if he took the risk with him, that meant he’d be putting Hélène in danger and maybe his friends there as well.
“But nobody is expecting me to show up there,” Burke said.
“Tell your boss, Suzanne Godard, you’re finished with us and want to do one more stage of the Vuelta and go to tonight’s evening soirée as you French call it. She’s not likely to reject your request for one final stage – and the follow-up celebration – before you go home.”
Burke had doubts Godard would buy such an explanation, especially since she’d lined up a new commentator for Figueres and since Burke had made it known he was eager to get back home.
“You see, she’ll want you in the booth because, right now, you’re a story and having your story in the booth will likely attract a bigger audience,” Torres said. “She can postpone using Maxime Gosselin for another stage.”
So Torres knew who was the next commentator. Burke wasn’t surprised. The Spanish flic was giving the case her full attention.
Burke also knew Godard would probably agree to him doing another stage. It was all about the ratings. Gosselin could wait another day.
“Maybe you’ve got a point,” Burke admitted.
“So, phone her now, Seῇor Burke,” Torres said.
Burke hesitated a moment and then pulled out his smartphone and made the call. Godard answered on the second ring and he told her he wanted to do the Figueres stage, especially since he was feeling better. As Torres had predicted, Godard was good with the idea and said one final race would be a good way to wrap up Burke’s Spanish visit. And the TV network could do a little teaser a
bout his appearance. Gosselin would work the following stage.
As for the evening’s celebration in Figueres preceding the Vuelta stage, Godard said it was fine if he wanted to attend although she was concerned he’d be pushing himself too much.
The call ended and Burke told the two flics what Godard had said.
“Good, we’re on our way tomorrow to Figueres,” Torres said.
“You mean, I’m on my way.”
“No, Seῇor Burke, we’re on our way and by that I mean myself and Sgt. Martἱn along with a few of my people and a couple of officers from Interpol.”
The mention of Interpol added authority to the investigation. Interpol was really the big time and Burke knew that from experience, having connected with the law-enforcement agency during a child-pornography ring he had stumbled across during a trip down the Danube River.
“And there’ll be one more officer joining us. Someone you’ve met,” Torres said.
“Who’s that?”
“Officer Ochoa from Peῇíscola.”
Burke could hardly believe he’d heard Ochoa’s name. He wondered how a small-town flic got involved in a big investigation involving Interpol.
“Why Ochoa?” he asked.
“Officer Ochoa has proven himself to be very useful in this investigation. He’s made some discoveries no one else has.”
Burke recalled how sharp Ochoa had been when checking into Bothwick’s death. Still, it was a surprise that a country policeman was working on the food-fraud case.
“There’s also Officer Ochoa’s background,” Torres added. “He was a detective sergeant in Madrid and even spent two years seconded to Interpol. He knows his way around big investigations.”
Burke was stunned. “So, why does he work for a small-town police force?”
“He has family there and wanted to be close to them. So, he applied for a job and got hired although I expect his superiors in Peῇíscola probably knew he was overqualified. He’s been there for almost three years.”
Burke wondered how Ochoa’s boss, Inspector Chávez, handled the fact that his officer had far more experience than he did. Then Burke recalled how Chávez deferred a few times to Ochoa who never seemed to question his boss’ decisions, but had prompted his superior to take action. They’d obviously worked it out. And Burke figured if Chávez was smart, he’d lean on Ochoa who could help get him promoted.
Torres interrupted Burke’s thoughts, saying, “The plan is you will leave here tomorrow morning and go to Figueres with me and Sgt. Martἱn. There’ll also be an unmarked police vehicle following with two other officers. You’ll be safe. We’ll take you straight to the race site.”
Burke nodded. “But if I’m being watched by the other side, won’t they see I’ve got people around me? Won’t that tip them off I’m working with the police?”
“We’re going to use a taxi van to go from here to Figueres. It’ll have tinted windows so no one will be able to see inside. The accompanying unmarked vehicle is a Ford Focus which is definitely not the standard unmarked car used by police.”
Burke was glad Torres was taking precautions, but he thought the extra security indicated he was still a target.
“Once you’re at the race site, you’ll have six officers nearby, all in communication with each other and with myself and Sgt. Martἱn. After the race, you’ll go with your colleagues to a meeting area where you’ll stay for a couple of hours.”
“Will my colleagues know what’s going on?”
“We’ll inform Godard.”
Burke thought he might tell Tessier as well, but he didn’t say that to Torres. “Then what?”
“You’ll change into suitable attire and attend the evening affair where you’ll hopefully have some luck talking to Seῇor López.”
“What if he doesn’t go?”
“We’ve arranged for him and several other sponsors to be recognized for their support of the Vuelta. He’s committed himself to be there.”
Burke asked where the event was going to be.
“In Figueres’s most famous building – the Dalí Theatre-Museum.”
Burke had visited it once several years before and been stunned – and entertained – by the museum. The legendary artist had designed it himself and it ranked as one of the country’s most popular museums despite being in a small town. It was a remarkable structure from its exterior which featured sculptures of women with baguettes on their heads and giant stone eggs to its interior showcasing Dalí’s remarkable genius in a variety of different media. Burke recalled bursting into laughter at a series of black-and-white photos of Dalí playing with his famous moustache. Burke hadn’t been the only one laughing, though. Every person who saw the photos chuckled.
And when he thought further about the venue, Burke felt it was appropriate. His involvement with the Vuelta was becoming more surreal by the hour and to finish in Salvador Dalí’s famous museum was the perfect touch.
Just as long as he survived the occasion.
Then Burke wondered if he should tell Hélène. If he did, she’d be angry he was going along with Torres’s suggestion, even if it meant eliminating the potential risk later on.
“Seῇor Burke, get a good night’s sleep,” Torres said, standing. “We need you to be alert tomorrow.”
And then the flics left.
Burke stretched out on the couch, closing his eyes and trying to relax.
It didn’t work.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Burke, still sitting, asked who it was.
“Javier, your nurse,” came the response.
Burke struggled to his feet and let the nurse in. Then Javier went through the same routine as before. After a half hour, he pronounced Burke to be on the mend.
“Do you need any pain meds?” Javier asked. “I can give you some that don’t require a prescription.”
Burke nodded and took a small container of pills.
“Well, my last advice, Senor, is don’t do anything too energetic. You might feel better in the next day or two, but your body is still dealing with being traumatized and you don’t want to go too deep into your reserves. That could make you vulnerable to illness and delay your full recovery. And when you get home, have your doctor check your injuries. I’m sure you were told that at the hospital.”
“I appreciate your efforts, Javier,” Burke said. “I haven’t anything overly strenuous planned. And as soon as I’m home, I’ll see my doctor.”
Javier nodded, grabbed his medical bag and left without another word.
Burke sat back on the couch. Would he have an easy, tranquil day tomorrow? He hoped he would, but he had doubts.
Then he called Hélène. She didn’t answer and so he left a message saying he’d be spending one more day in Spain. The TV network wanted him to do a final stage. And he’d accepted. Which was true, sort of.
Feeling more tired by the minute, Burke rebooked his flight home at a small extra cost, which would be picked up by the TV network, and then ordered a pizza to be delivered.
While waiting for his food, Burke thought about doing more research on Chef Andres, Seῇor Lόpez and food fraud, but he couldn’t manage the energy. He had trouble just sitting upright.
When the pizza arrived, he took it into his bedroom. He undressed, eased into the bed and ate three slices, putting the rest on the night table. He watched a few minutes of a game show and then a western.
As the clock hit 8 p.m., he fell asleep.
And didn’t move for 12 hours.
Chapter 41
The next morning, feeling slightly groggy, Burke sat in the backseat of the van and watched Girona’s beautiful downtown disappear. Beside him Detective Inspector Torres stared straight ahead, not in any rush to talk, while Sgt. Martín sat in the front passenger’s seat, checking something on her phone.
Burke found himself studying the back of the driver. There was something familiar about him. And then Bur
ke knew. It was the van driver who had brought him, Tessier and Menard to Tarragona. He tried to recall the driver’s name. And then he remembered. Felipe Garrido.
What was going on? How was Garrido connected to Torres?
Burke leaned forward and tapped the driver on his broad shoulders. “I know you. You’re Felipe Garrido and you drove me and my colleagues from Peῇíscola to Tarragona.”
There was a pause and then Garrido, looking in the rear mirror, said, “You’re correct, Seῇor.”
Burke turned to Torres who looked back at him. “What’s this all about, Inspector?” Burke asked, nodding toward Garrido.
“Co-operation,” Torres said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Sgt. Garrido is with the National Police Corps on assignment with us.”
“On what, the food-fraud case? Bothwick’s murder?”
“Both.”
Burke took a few moments to think. “When Sgt. Garrido drove us, he was undercover?”
Torres paused and then nodded.
“He was watching us, wasn’t he?” Burke said.
“Protecting as well,” Torres added.
Burke frowned, thinking hard. “I’ve been in danger almost since I started working on the Vuelta, haven’t I?”
“It’s been a case of your being in the wrong place at the wrong time – and bumping into the wrong people.”
“And now I’m working for you,” Burke said.
“You’re co-operating,” Torres said.
“And should I be more afraid for my well-being than I am?”
“You don’t need to worry,” Torres said. “As I’ve told you more than once, Seῇor Burke, you’re safe. We have trained people watching you, including Sgt. Garrido here who has some very special skills.”
“And what are those?”
“You don’t need to know – or worry.”
Burke tried to sort through what he was involved in. The more he thought about it, the more he felt trapped. And now the police wanted him to work on José López.
“Let me say again, Seῇor Burke, you shouldn’t feel afraid,” Torres said.
Silenced in Spain Page 19
