by Pablo Tusset
‘Mr Molucas, please? I’m Enric Robellades,’ the voice said to Lady First. She pressed the button. I noticed she was still a bit tense and so I offered one final confidence booster.
‘Relax. Just follow my lead and don’t be surprised by how I act. It’ll all come off just fine.’
I half-opened the door and waited for the lift to arrive, like a perfect host. After a few moments, two men emerged, unsure as to which way to turn in the hallway. The one who came out first had Robellades Senior written all over him: short, chubby, sixtysomething. The little hair he had beyond his receding hairline was combed back. Directly behind him was a younger, thirtyish man, taller, thinner and with the same receding hairline only in a slightly earlier phase of balding. Both wore dark suits and ties, the older one in brown and the younger in blue.
‘Mr Molucas?’
‘Yes.’
‘Enric Robellades. This is my son Francesc. He works with me.’
All right. He had at least two sons. There was probably an older one named Enric.
‘My wife Gloria,’ I offered.
Lady First extended her hand in a limp display of courtesy. I tried to avoid lapsing into silence and ushered them into the living room.
‘Please, have a seat. Can I offer you something to drink? A cocktail, a coffee, some fruit juice? Gloria, do we have some fruit juice for these gentlemen?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Thanks, but we just had a coffee at the bar downstairs.’
The father wore the pants in this team, clearly. I guessed that while he, the expert, gathered more direct information and entertained us with his conversation, the younger one was in charge of focusing on the more environmental details, a task he began immediately, checking out the living room, looking left and right. Both of them remained standing, undecided as to where would be an appropriate place to sit. I sat down on one of the sofas to help their decision and they, in turn, settled into a pair of leather easy chairs. I looked at Lady First and indicated the spot next to me, patting it repeatedly with my open palm. She stopped for a moment at the bar.
‘I hope you don’t mind if I have a cocktail.’
‘Please, of course not,’ said Robellades Senior. For a moment I feared that Lady First was going to ruin the entire operation and so I tried to help her out.
‘You need it, love. A cognac would do you a world of good. Or maybe a whisky would be better. Do we have any whisky? Excuse us,’ I said, turning to our guests. ‘We’re both a little nervous – all of this has been a bit overwhelming for us.’
‘That’s perfectly understandable, of course it is.’
‘Thank you, you see – my wife and her sister were very close … that is, they are very close. She lives alone and we’re concerned that something has happened to her. We didn’t want to call the police so as not to worry her parents. They don’t know anything about this, and we’d rather not alarm them unnecessarily.’
‘Unnecessarily?’
Give a liar a free rein and he’ll hang himself with it. So they say. This guy was sharp, you could tell just from looking at him. Now that I could study him at close range, my eyes travelled up and down his face: a dense beard cast a long dark shadow across his greasy, drooping cheeks and his small nose came to a point at the tip, which was reddened by a web of tiny capillaries. I went back up his face and gazed into his blue eyes, somewhat porcine and extraordinarily bright, as if swimming in a pool of water. For a moment I felt like a secondary character in some police story. Someone, somewhere, had to be writing the story of Enric Robellades, private detective, who had been hired by a young, well-to-do couple that looked as though they were lying through their teeth half the time they opened their mouths.
Still, I refused to be intimidated.
‘What I mean is … well, my sister-in-law is a young woman and … well, perhaps this is nothing more than some romantic adventure that we have unintentionally overestimated … do you see what I mean?’
Lady First arrived with her glass and sat down next to me. She did a pretty good job of it – meaning that she didn’t sit down next to me as if I were her worthless brother-in-law. She sat very close to me, like we were a team.
‘Of course, it’s perfectly understandable. Yet you’ve nevertheless called upon us …’
‘Well, there are a few details that strike us as strange. It’s odd that she simply disappeared without calling anyone, not even the office where she works. In addition, she’s very close to her sister, close enough to tell her about her romantic interludes … and so her disappearance does strike us as strange enough to call in a private detective but not quite worthy of alarming the entire family.’
‘I think I understand. Now, has she ever gone away without telling you before?’
‘Not that I know of …’
Lady First, quite properly, entered into the game.
‘No. Well, for a period of time we did fall out of touch for a while, but for the past two years we’ve been seeing each other quite regularly, so no, never … We speak on the phone almost every day. Sometimes we go shopping together …’
‘Right. Now, normally I would ask if you have any idea as to why, or with whom, she might have … gone away, if you will. But now if you knew that you would have already told me, wouldn’t you? So instead I’ll begin by asking you for some personal information so that we may start the preliminary phase of the investigation. This usually takes a couple of days. If by the end of this first phase we haven’t come up with any clear lead, we will have to enter into a more … intense phase of the investigation, if you will. Our fees are two hundred euros per day, plus any expenses that may come up: trips, that sort of thing. But we would naturally advise you before incurring any significant outside expenses.’
Now that he had launched into his speech, a few things had become more evident: his very pronounced accent, his preferred expression and the funny way he smiled every time he said it or finished a sentence in that complicit, confidential tone of voice. Each time he made this gesture a golden tooth on his upper-right jaw would peek out of his mouth, and I asked myself how the hell a private detective could allow himself to reveal such obvious tics.
‘I think that’s reasonable. If we don’t discover anything in the next two days, it would be appropriate to notify the police. In the meantime, please, we’d prefer it if nobody knows that you are investigating our case. This is extremely important to us.’
‘You don’t have to worry about that. We tend to make very little noise, if you will. And as for whatever you decide to do after the first phase, that is entirely up to you. We can continue the investigation or end it then and nobody has to know … That is, of course, unless we discover something that obliges us to alert the authorities about you or the case. Naturally, we have to comply with certain … legal requirements, if you will. Aviam: Francesc, ves prenent nota, si us plau,’ he finished off in Catalán, and then turned back to us.
‘Let’s see, now: the missing person’s full name?’
Robellades Junior extracted a pen and pad from his jacket pocket, and I prayed with all my might that Lady First would remember her friend’s second surname. She came through: Miranda. Eulalia Robles Miranda, and Lady First also remembered her address, age, job location and title – that last one was easy, of course. As the father ticked off his questions, the son took notes and then Dad finished off with a request for a photograph. Lady First put her whisky down for a moment and walked over to a door in the hallway to get it. Robellades Senior then began the attempt to rise from the big leather easy chair, not an entirely easy feat for him.
‘Very well then, Mr Molucas, I think we’re off to a good start …’
The son got up, and I followed suit.
‘Let’s see, today is Friday, Saturday, Sunday … on Monday morning we will be prepared to hand in our first report. Shall I call you on Monday to arrange a time?’
‘That’s fine. We’ll wait for your call.’
‘And don
’t worry, er, in our field this is a very common type of case. They almost always end up being nothing more than a bit of a fright, if you will. Nothing to worry about, not usually.’
He waved his hands round, as if trying to downplay the gravity of the case. At this point, he’d loosened up somewhat and seemed more open, more relaxed than he had been at the beginning of the meeting. He was even a bit condescending now. The son, on the other hand, was still one hundred per cent business, perhaps because of his inferior position in the duo.
Lady First returned with the photograph. She approached Robellades and asked him if it was good enough to go on. I managed to catch a glimpse of it from behind. The first thing I noticed was a shock of coppercoloured hair that was so perfect it had to be a dye job.
‘Good photo, yes, indeed … you can see her face perfectly. Very attractive lady. Very attractive, indeed … In that she certainly resembles you … if your husband doesn’t mind my saying so, of course.’
He allowed himself a light titter and turned back to me, flashing his gold tooth. I conceded, nodding my head slightly as if grateful to accept the compliment on behalf of Lady First. We all shook hands. Then I walked them to the door and waited there with the door open until they entered the lift and the door had closed.
By the time I returned to the living room, Lady First had already served herself another whisky and was trying to reach up to the bookcase shelf where I had concealed her wedding photograph. As I poured a long shot of whisky into my own glass I weighed the potential significance of such a rapid attempt to put the portrait back in its original position. After that we fell silent for a short while, with her on the sofa and me standing by the bar.
‘So, fine. See how easy it was?’
‘Do you think we did a good job of it?’
‘Of course. You couldn’t tell?’
‘I don’t know, I’m so nervous.’
‘Well, you didn’t show it, not one bit. Listen, I’m sorry but I have to run. As soon as I can be sure the Robelladeses won’t see me leave. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can talk then, I don’t have time right now.’
I downed the rest of the whisky and went over to the front door. Lady First, resigned to being left alone with her whisky, walked me to the outer hallway and pushed the button for the lift. Then, an absolute shocker: suddenly she slid her hand behind my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek – a real kiss, not one of those meaningless cheek-brushers. She smelled good under – or was it over? – her boozy breath. I hid my surprise by winking at her, Sam Spade style, and stepped into the lift.
I went down to the parking garage with the intention of taking the Black Beast out, but at the last moment I decided that I might be able to coax my whisky-induced drowsiness into some real sleep. I ended up leaving via the car park and as I walked up the ramp I was able to demonstrate my presence to another of the guards, probably the night guard this time. Once I got home I called the Telefónica wake-up call service to wake me up at midnight, and got ready to snooze for the next three hours. If I was going to stay up all night to start the real investigation, I was going to have to be well-rested.
THAT SUPERFINE POWDER
A medieval orgy in all its splendour: long wooden tables and benches, huge platters piled high with succulent meats, fowl stuffed with all sorts of delicacies, suckling pigs, ribs, carafes of wine. In the centre of the hall, the drunkest of the lot dance in their peasant jigs atop a round table amid cheers and general party mayhem that drown out the melody of the troubadours. The guests are having a tremendous time of it – everyone except me, that is, because I can’t stand eating with my hands – those bourgeois weaknesses of mine again. Sitting directly in front of me, at the table of honour, is Prince Charles, with those ears, those red cheeks and his family crest prominently displayed on the breast of his garnet-coloured velvet jacket. He is mesmerised by the meal on his wooden plate, and he plunges his fingers into the mounds of food, coming up with a hunk of meat which he devours with glee. To his right, elbows on the table, Queen Elizabeth imbibes the juice of a snail with the gusto of a bear trampling a honeycomb. Further over to the right, the Queen Mother licks her plate clean of every last bit of sauce that a servant-boy has ladled out for her. I am just about to call the Prince’s attention to his porcine table manners when I suddenly hear the sound of the telephone ring joining into the troubadours’ musical arrangement. The wake-up call. I emerge from my dream and lunge toward the telephone.
I picked up the phone waiting to hear the message from Telefónica, but instead I was greeted by a strange, pregnant silence.
‘Pablo?’
‘Yes?’
‘How are you …’
Good lord.
‘Shit, Fina … What time is it?’
‘Just after ten … What are you doing?’
‘I was sleeping.’
‘Did I wake you up?’
‘It’s okay, I can’t stand eating with my fingers.’
‘Huh?’
‘Forget it, just one of those things.’
‘So? What are you up to?’
‘For God’s sake, Fina, I just told you. I was sleeping.’
‘All right, all right, don’t get mad at me. I only wanted to see how you were … and to see if you felt like going out.’
‘I’ve got things to do tonight. I haven’t even eaten yet.’
‘Me neither. If you want I’ll take you out for a pizza somewhere.’
I meditated on this for a moment until my brain recovered some semblance of lucidity. Now, without the aid of more alcohol there was no way I’d fall back asleep, and dinner with Fina might have a nicely relaxing effect, a calming return to the world of the familiar. But this was no day to be eating pizzas in some dive joint.
‘I’m treating tonight. Get yourself dolled up and I’ll come pick you up in the Black Beast in a little while. I’ll buzz you when I get there.’
‘In the what?’
‘You’ll see.’
We agreed to meet at eleven. After hanging up I went to check the clock in the kitchen: ten twenty-five. I put some coffee on, splashed my face with copious amounts of water, brushed my teeth and rolled a joint which I smoked as I drank my coffee and tried to wake up. I then took my fourth shower of the day and got dressed. I don’t know what had gotten into me – all of a sudden I’d become completely obsessed with personal hygiene. I thought about putting the aubergine-coloured shirt back on – it still retained that recently-ironed crispness – but at the last minute decided to debut the black one. I patted myself here and there with some cologne and then left the house in the direction of The First’s car park. I entered via the exit ramp, jangling the car keys so the guard would notice me, and I arrived at space number fifty-seven whistling a little tune to myself. The Beast was waiting there obediently, absolutely still in its electronic dormancy.
‘Stuuk,’ it beeped.
I got in, fired up the ignition and looked about for the button that controlled the retractable headlights. I found it, turned on the lights, lowered the window and positioned myself as best I could behind the wheel. As I gently raised the clutch, the Beast purred and moved forward smoothly, like a panther preparing for attack. I waved hello to the guard and stopped after the curve in front of the barrier at the foot of the exit ramp. I tapped the accelerator and zooooom, the car literally fell up the ramp as if the force of gravity had suddenly inverted. Luckily the wheels were pointed in the direction of the ascent, but I did have to slam on the brakes when I reached the end so as not to smash into whoever might be standing on the sidewalk. That moment marked the beginning of what would be a continuous battle to shift into second gear, mainly in the stretches between streetlights: too little time for shifting. But I made it out all right, and drove until I reached the driveway in front of Fina’s building. Only when I stopped did I notice the incredible tension that had gripped all the muscles of my body. I felt as though I had just taken a trip up and down a roller-coaster in one of those tiny litt
le bucket cars.
I buzzed up (‘Fina, it’s me, downstairs.’), went back to the Beast, and sat on the hood to wait for her. There we were, just the two of us: Baloo and Bagheera reflected in the glass door of Fina’s building. Tonight, the wait was brief: I had smoked my way through no more than three Ducados before she appeared, rounding the corner from the lift and out the building. Who would have guessed it, but she was also dressed in black, a vaguely iridescent black, flat slipper shoes, tight skirt down to her knees and a slick jacket with shoulder pads beneath which I could make out some kind of white, silky thing – maybe a bustier or a spaghetti-strap number that highlighted the presence of a pair of first-class knockers. Despite her eco-alternative hairdo, it was a sophisticated, alluring look. I let her pass by me and walk toward the corner – she hadn’t even noticed me – so that I could admire her more freely. I whistled. She turned around. I waved my arm up high. She looked at me, looked at the Beast and, without showing any sign of being interested in either of us, turned back around and strutted to the corner. I tried again, calling out her name this time.
‘Yo, Fina! It’s me.’
‘Pablo? Holy shit. I was thinking, who’s the arsehole trying to pick me up? God, what did you do to your hair?’
‘A little remodelling. You like it?’
‘I don’t know … strange … are you letting your moustache grow in?’
‘The Errol Flynn look.’
‘I’m not a fan.’
‘You, on the other hand, look quite tasty, you practically can’t even see all that weight you lost.’
She was standing in front of me now. I wrapped my arms around her waist as I kissed her on the cheek and pointed toward the Beast.
‘What do you think?’
‘What’s that …?’
‘An automotive vehicle. No reins, it’s guided by a small steering device that makes the wheels go in the proper direction. See? That round thing is a steering wheel.’
