by Mark Pryor
“Well, maybe you told me, but what is it you do for Estruch?”
“I do the accounting and the tech stuff.”
“The website?”
“The website’s not much, been planning to work on it. But yeah, that and the Internet connections, social media, basic PowerPoint stuff. We’re not high-tech, but there’s always things to be done. I suppose mostly I work on the accounting side of things, and most of that seems to be chasing down people for money.”
“What about Leo and Nisha’s side business, the antiques.”
“That’s more of a hobby than a business, best I can tell. But no, I don’t have much to do with that at all. I think Leo keeps all the documents, bills, and shipping info in his office.” He shrugged. “I offered to do it for them, but Nisha said she didn’t want to make extra work for me when I wasn’t benefiting from it.”
“Nice of her.”
“Yeah, but I’m not always that busy, so I wouldn’t have minded.”
“Do you enjoy your job?” Hugo asked.
Finch thought for a moment. “Have you been to New Zealand?”
“Twice, actually. One of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.”
“Isn’t it?” Finch smiled. “Thing is, it’s not good to be different there, like I am.”
“Different?”
“Yes. It’s kind of an outdoorsy, trendy . . .” He sought for the right words but ended up just shrugging. “Well, everything New Zealand is, I’m not. I’m tall and skinny, don’t like people all that much, keep to myself. I stuck out over there, and that’s not good. Over here,” he chuckled, “well, people don’t seem to care about the differences.”
“Maybe that’s just because you’re in a city.” Hugo said.
“Could be. Either way, the answer is that I like living in Barcelona. The job itself is OK, sometimes I feel like a bit of a dogsbody, not really one of the principals, you know?”
“They treat you that way?”
“Not really but, as I said before, I’m not great with people. I mean, I get on fine, but I’m not the type to spend the day leading a bunch of old hags around the city, pointing out its finest features.”
“More the realm of people like Leo Barsetti and Rubén Castañeda?”
“Yeah. Leo’s good with the older folks, a real charmer.” He paused. “Rubén was too, I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
“He was. I never quite figured him out, to be honest.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, have you ever seen those cop shows, where they have profilers and stuff on them?”
Hugo smiled. “I don’t watch those much, no.”
“Well, I love them. Watch all of them I can. I’m not a people person, Mr. Marston, which is to say I’m not interested in people, but I am interested by them. Does that make any sense?”
“Actually, yes.”
“I think I know what makes Nisha and Leo tick, but I never figured out Rubén. He was more . . . secretive, or something.”
Hugo gestured to the chairs near them. “Mind if we sit while we talk? I feel like I’ve walked all over Barcelona today.” It was the truth, his feet did ache, but Hugo also knew that if Finch was sitting, he’d be more invested in their discussion, less likely to suddenly leave. A simple matter of physics that played on the mind: it’s easier to walk away from a conversation while you’re standing up than it is while sitting.
“Yeah, sure.” They sat, Finch folding himself into place with a slight wince. “Getting old,” he said. “Used to play rugby and squash, ten years ago, but both buggered my knees pretty badly. We don’t get much of a winter here, but I can tell when it’s coming.”
Hugo smiled. “Where in New Zealand are you from?”
“Town called Hamilton. North Island.”
“And what brought you to Europe?”
“A long story. I was studying to be a vet. Figured since I wasn’t wanting to work with people, I’d try working with animals, but the more into it I got, the more I realized I didn’t much care for them, either. It’s a great way to make a living, pays well, and if you focus on large animals, you don’t have fussy old women with their punt dogs to—”
“I’m sorry,” Hugo interrupted, “‘punt dogs’?”
“Yeah, little dogs. Small enough you can punt them if you want to. Anyway, I realized that I’d been drawn to the job for the wrong reasons.”
“Which were?”
Finch shrugged. “The pay, the lifestyle, the idea of a quiet country cottage somewhere near Hamilton.”
“Doesn’t sound bad.”
“I’m sure it’s great, but not if you don’t like dealing with animals. I just didn’t have the patience. Like I said, I think it was the theory of the job more than the reality that appealed to me.”
“So you changed course and came to Spain?”
“Pretty much. I’d already studied accounting, was good with figures.” He smiled, as if to himself. “And figures don’t kick you in the balls when you’re not looking.”
“How did you end up here?”
“Pure luck. I was staying with a cousin who has a place here, she knew Nisha’s brother, Rohit, somehow, and since I have the accounting background and speak English, French, Spanish, and German, she thought I’d be a good fit.”
“Are you?”
“That’d be for Rohit and now Nisha to say, not me.”
Not for the first time, Hugo got the sense that, much like Gregor Freed, Finch held Nisha Bhandari in high regard. But he didn’t want to press that point; not yet, anyway.
“So you were saying, you couldn’t ‘profile’ Rubén, as it were.”
“Well, you know. Not really. I mean, it’s not like I’m an expert or anything. I just couldn’t get a read on him, like what motivated him, what his real interests were.”
“Some think they were a little sordid.”
Finch hesitated. “Look, if they’ve not told you this, someone probably will. I didn’t get on well with him. He could charm the birds out of the trees when he wanted, but something about him rubbed me wrong.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Not really, no. Maybe it was the way he took the business, or his part of it, toward all the strip clubs. But I don’t really care about that, I’m not a prude or anything.” He shrugged his bony shoulders again. “I can’t really explain it, just didn’t like the guy that much.”
“What about Leo, you said he’s a charmer, too.”
“Yeah, but in an old-fashioned way.” He waved a hand. “I’m doing a crappy job of describing them. Then again, I don’t really know why you need to know this stuff.”
Hugo sensed the beginnings of the end of the conversation, so he changed his tactics. He took out his phone and pulled up the mugshot of Delia Treviño. “Have you seen this woman before?” he asked.
Finch held the phone at arm’s length and squinted. “No, I don’t think so. Who is she?”
“Unfortunately she was killed recently too. We’re wondering if there’s a connection.”
“Sorry, I can’t help with that.”
“That’s OK. Do you know if Estruch has a storage facility here in Barcelona?”
Finch shook his head. “Why would we?”
“I don’t know,” Hugo said. “Maybe for old business papers, tax records, something like that.”
“No, Nisha’s way too careful with the company finances for that. And if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t let her stick sensitive financial information in a storage unit. We get people’s credit-card numbers, home addresses, all kinds of information we need to protect. And with us helping people get jobs here, we even get copies of their passports and whatever other personal details we need.”
“Makes perfect sense,” Hugo said. “Who here has access to all that information?”
Finch cocked his head, suddenly wary. “We all do. Why?”
“No idea,” Hugo smiled. “Just seemed like the right follow-up questi
on.”
Finch nodded and put his hands on his knees. “Well, I should get back to work.”
“Sure, can I ask just a couple more questions?”
“I suppose, if they’re quick. I mean, I want to be helpful but . . .”
“I understand,” Hugo said. “And I really appreciate how cooperative you’ve all been. I was just wondering, was there anyone else who didn’t really like Rubén?”
“Here?”
“Anywhere.”
“I mean, no. I don’t think so. He and Nisha . . . got on fine. Same with Leo, but then Leo gets on with everyone, except maybe his wife.”
“Yes,” Hugo said, with a conspiratorial smile, “we did pick up some tension there.”
“I certainly don’t know of anyone who’d want to kill him, I mean, jeez, that’s . . . that’s just nuts.”
“The whole thing’s a little nuts. Murder usually is,” Hugo said. “Well, thanks again, Mr. Finch, I’ll let you get back to work.” He handed Finch a business card. “My mobile is on there, if anything else springs to mind.”
“Including the small stuff, anything can be helpful, eh?”
Hugo wasn’t sure whether Finch was being sarcastic or referencing one of his television shows, so he just nodded his agreement.
He let himself out of the front office, turning to watch Finch walk back down the hallway, his long legs and slight stoop giving the impression of a man much older than forty. Squash and rugby? Hugo thought. How very hard to imagine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
They arranged to meet at a small restaurant/hotel that, according to the reviews Hugo looked at online, was famous for its desserts and discretion. On the walk over there, Hugo called to let Chief Inspector Garcia know about his plan to talk to Nisha Bhandari over dinner, but Grace Silva came on the line, so he told her, instead.
“Oh, really?” she said when he named the restaurant.
“Yeah. Something I should know?” Hugo had asked.
“Not the usual place for a police interrogation.”
“That would be the police station,” Hugo replied.
“Or any other restaurant, perhaps one not known for rich chocolate cake and secret love affairs.”
“Cake, eh?” said Hugo. “Sounds delicious.”
“I’m sure it is. Enjoy it, and I’ll be sure to pass the message on to Chief Inspector Garcia.”
There was an odd tone to her voice, and Hugo thought about what her boss had said before. He put it out of his mind and called Tom.
“Can you do something for me?” Hugo asked him.
“Depends.”
“Funny. So listen up, I’m having dinner with Nisha Bhandari tonight.”
“You serious?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Do your other girlfriends know?”
“Again, funny. You want to help me or not?”
“Didn’t realize it was that kind of dinner.”
“For fuck’s sake, Tom. This investigation isn’t moving fast enough, we’re all chasing down rabbit trails, interviewing people like it’s a damn cold case. I need to scratch some people off my list of suspects, and if I can’t do it by asking nicely, I’ll do it another way.”
Hugo heard the note of desperation in his own voice, and clearly Tom did, too.
“Sure, man, sorry. I didn’t mean . . . whatever you need, you know that.” There was a hint of amusement in what Tom said next. “And if you’re starting to play dirty, well now, you know very well I’m up for some of that. Like I said, whatever you need.”
“Thanks. Here’s the deal.” Hugo explained his plan, surprised that Tom held his tongue, and at the end he told his friend his role.
Tom chuckled. “Man, you are getting sneaky, I fucking love it. And don’t worry, I’ll do my part. One question, though.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you gonna . . . you know?”
Hugo arrived fifteen minutes early and took his seat at a table for two near the back of the restaurant. He watched the other couples and small groups as they filed in and sat down, but he was skeptical that the place was all that illicit. A reputation garnered, he knew, was tough to shake, and maybe the management liked it that way—every business needed an angle. Bhandari hadn’t mentioned its reputation, but she had told him to wear a jacket, no tie. And no jeans, although the boots, she’d laughed, could stay. As was his custom, he’d dressed up to play it safe, and he was glad he’d done so. When he’d glanced at the menu on the way in, the food looked wonderful. Also to play it safe, he pulled out his phone to check his bank balance.
Nisha Bhandari arrived on time, clad in a cream silk dress that hugged her petite body, the perfect complement to her dark skin. A diamond necklace sparkled as she stood at the entrance to the dining room, turning her head, looking for him. She spotted him and gave a little wave, and Hugo noticed that pretty much every eye in the room followed her progress to his table.
As she approached, Hugo stood and held her chair, finding himself at a loss for words. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look stunning.”
She gave him a coy smile and sat. “Girls just hate it when handsome men say things like that.”
“Well, that may be true, but this is more of an official dinner.” They both sat. “I’m less sure of the protocol for those,” he said with a smile.
“I’m all in favor of mixing business and pleasure,” she said. “As long as they don’t interfere with each other, what’s the harm?”
“Sounds like you and Rubén Castañeda share a philosophy.”
“Wow, straight to business, I see.”
“Sometimes I can’t help myself, sorry. Something to drink?”
Hugo caught the waiter’s eye, and he scurried over. “Señor?”
“Do you drink champagne?” Bhandari asked.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Hugo said.
She spoke to the waiter in Spanish, Hugo picking up on the words “bottle” and “Nicolas Feuillatte.” The waiter left, and Bhandari smiled at Hugo. “Don’t mind if I order do you?”
He thought of Claudia. “Nope, happens all the time.”
“I’ll let you choose your own food, don’t worry.”
“Feel free, I have no idea what’s good here.”
“Everything.”
“Then maybe I’ll choose your food, as well.”
She laughed, and Hugo noticed the whiteness of her teeth and the way she half covered her mouth with her hand, which he found appealing. He was uncomfortable flirting with her because he was here to work and because of his feelings for Claudia, but he could tell they were attracted to each other, and he reminded himself what he’d told Tom: the investigation needed to move on, suspects needed to be ruled out, and his discomfort was irrelevant. Isn’t this just another form of interrogation? No reason to feel guilty.
And no reason not to enjoy himself, just a little. It wasn’t a date, sure, but other than the occasional meal with Claudia, when had he sat across from an attractive woman and enjoyed himself? Too long, he thought, way too long.
When the waiter returned with their drinks, Bhandari winked and said, “Go ahead, I’m not even slightly picky,” so Hugo ordered mussels in a tandoori sauce for them to share, a goat-cheese salad, and a platter billed as “the catches of the day,” which he also suggested they split.
Bhandari raised her glass, and Hugo clinked it with his own. “Cheers,” she said.
“Cheers indeed.”
She hesitated, then said, “You know, you started off all business, but now I’m not so sure.”
“All the sharing?” Hugo said. “Good point. Although, since this is an investigation, I’m also hoping to share information.”
“Oh, you have information to give me? Or by ‘share’ did you mean I just tell you things?”
From the tilt of her head, he knew she was teasing, and he couldn’t help but smile. “The latter. Although I promise that I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Sure yo
u will. But don’t worry, I watch television, I know how this works and don’t expect you to say too much, really.” Her face became serious. “But tell me this, are you any closer to finding that girl?”
“I wish we were,” Hugo said. “We’re doing all we can, but we’re running out of leads.”
They were silent for a moment, then Bhandari sighed and gave Hugo a sad smile. “OK, how can I help?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know enough about any of you.”
“By that you mean . . . ?”
“Well, the people who work for you. You yourself.”
“You think we have something to do with it?”
“I know for a fact you do,” Hugo said gently. “If only tangentially, through Amy’s connection to Rubén. I’m pretty sure he was using the contacts that he built working for you somehow.”
“To do what?”
“That’s the part I don’t know. I’m guessing establish contacts with people in other countries, and maybe with people on the lower end of the socioeconomic spectrum here.”
“For what purpose?”
“For now, I’ll just call it illegal importing and exporting.”
“Drugs?” she looked shocked, and the couple at the table nearest them turned to stare.
“No, no,” Hugo said. He nodded at the older couple and whispered. “Let’s change the subject for a minute, go back to date mode.” He cleared his throat. “So tell me more about you.”
“You sure that’s date talk?” she whispered back. “Because that could be an investigator’s question, too.”
“Perhaps.” Hugo took a sip of champagne. “But we’re mixing business and pleasure, remember?”
“Ah, yes, how silly of me. So what do you want to know? You already know where I was born and raised.”
“And that you have a brother.”
“I had a sister, too, actually.”
“You did? She’s deceased?”
“Yes, she died during birth. I didn’t know anything about it, but I was told that the umbilical cord got wrapped around her neck. My mother once confessed to me how relieved she was, because my brother was only a couple of years older and she didn’t want three toddlers running around the house.”
