by Robert Daws
Moving through the happy party-goers, he searched the Khaima for Cath and Sister Clara. A tap on his shoulder made him spin around. Behind him stood the darkly bewigged and stylishly suited Oskar Izzo.
‘Hello, Gus. What do you think?’
‘About what?’
Izzo stepped back a pace, allowing Broderick a better view of his celebrity transformation. ‘George Clooney. Ocean’s Eleven,’ Izzo boasted. ‘An uncanny resemblance, don’t you think?’
Looking down at the five-foot-six, eighty-one year-old, Broderick did not know what to think.
‘If you say so, Mr Izzo. Have you seen my sister?’
‘I have. I upset her, I fear. I told her she looked like Mrs Doubtfire.’
‘Ah, yes. Well.’
‘How is it all going with this Novacs business? Murders, too, I hear. You have your man, I hope. The Pole?’
‘I can’t talk about that, Mr Izzo. Excuse me, please,’ Broderick replied, stepping abruptly to one side and moving off through the throng.
Seconds later, his sister came into view. Cath was talking to a security guard at the exit that led out to the poolside and bar. As Broderick approached, Cath turned and looked straight at him, as if she instinctively knew her brother was there. Her expression immediately alarmed Broderick. Something was wrong.
‘Thank goodness you’re here, Gus!’ Cath clutched her brother’s arm and urgently took him to one side. ‘Maybe I’m just being stupid, but something rather strange has happened.’
‘What?’
‘Sister Clara and I were supposed to have been officially welcoming the guests as they arrived, but she’s disappeared. I’ve checked everywhere, and now that security man tells me that she and Daisy left about twenty minutes ago. The man says they took a taxi from the front entrance.’
‘Daisy left with her?’ Broderick replied.
‘That’s what the man said. I can’t think why they would leave. Is it some surprise I don’t know about? Maybe she’s unwell.’
‘It’ll be nothing,’ Gus comforted his sister. ‘Perhaps she left something behind at home. You mustn’t worry. Just get on with things while I find them both.’
Broderick’s mobile sounded in his pocket. Reaching for it, he saw Sullivan’s name on the screen. ‘What is it, Sullivan?’ he asked, aware of how abrupt he sounded.
‘It’s about Sister Clara, guv,’ Sullivan answered.
‘What about her?’
‘It’s not conclusive, but I’m certain I’ve found her on the CCTV footage from the Plaza on the afternoon of the Cornwallis murder.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Broderick demanded.
‘It was seeing Sister Clara with Daisy on my mobile. Dressed as a nun, I mean. I knew I’d seen someone like that before, and recently. I’ve been trawling back over the recording. Minutes after Isolde enters the reception area, you can just make out the figure of a nun passing along the outer edge of the picture. It’s crowded and full of people dressed up in God knows what, but it’s a nun alright. The same figure also leaves by way of the reception an hour and a quarter later.’
‘And you can identify the nun as being Sister Clara?’ Broderick asked as calmly as he could.
‘The face is hidden, guv. It’s almost as though she knows where the camera is. But the outfit seems identical to Sister Clara’s.’
‘For God’s sake, Sullivan!’ Broderick exploded. ‘All nuns look the bloody same! It could be anyone.’
‘Yes it could, guv, but it isn’t. I know it’s Clara, because I realised it’s not the first time I’ve seen her dressed that way.’
‘This had better be good, Detective Sergeant.’
‘Later that day, both of us were in San Roque looking for Jasinski. As we were walking up through the town towards the Plaza de la Iglesia, can you remember what we saw?’
‘I haven’t got time for a quiz, Sullivan. Get on with it,’ Broderick ordered.
‘An open lorry with fruit boxes drove down the street. It was closely followed by a nun. She was riding a small motorcycle. Remember? I thought it was sweet. You did, too. I saw you smile.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘The thing is, I caught a fleeting glimpse of her face as she passed. When I saw Sister Clara wearing the nun’s habit on FaceTime, she looked different but at the same time familiar. I couldn’t figure it out. I mean, I knew I’d never seen her dressed that way before, but then it hit me. The fact is, guv, I had. They were the same person. It was Sister Clara I saw in San Roque on the night of the Martínez and Maugham murders. I’m also convinced that it’s her on the CCTV recording of the Plaza reception on the afternoon that Josh Cornwallis was murdered.’
In the Khaima, Cath looked on as the blood drained from her brother’s face.
‘What is it, Gus?’ she asked. ‘What’s going on?’
Broderick pulled himself together and responded to Sullivan on the other end of the phone. ‘Sister Clara’s disappeared from the ball up here and taken my daughter with her,’ he said, a terrifying picture building in his mind. ‘We need to find them and quickly, you understand?’
‘Of course. I’m on it.’
‘She may head to her home. She lives at Sovereign Villa. It’s at the top of Sovereign Passage halfway along Prince Edward’s Road. I’m on my way. Get backup and meet me there straight away.’
Before Sullivan could reply, Broderick had ended the call. He now turned to his sister. ‘I’m going to sort this out, Cath. You’re not to worry.’
‘But Gus …?’
‘Just trust me,’ Broderick told her firmly. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’
Leaving the Khaima, the chief inspector ran across the street. A minute later, he was behind the wheel of his Mercedes and speeding downhill towards Prince Edward’s Road. His daughter was in danger. He had never felt fear like it. He punched the steering wheel in frustration. He had to protect Daisy. No matter what it took.
89
Reaching the top of the passageway steps and crossing the cobbled courtyard at the front of Sovereign Villa, Broderick could hear the siren of an approaching RGP patrol car.
The iron gate set in the high whitewashed walls surrounding the property was open, and Broderick swiftly climbed more steps up to the garden and front door of the three-storey villa. To his surprise, the large oak door leading into the entry hall of the house was also wide open. Moving cautiously, Broderick took in the immaculate grandness of his surroundings. He had visited the house only once in the few years he had known Sister Clara and had been impressed by her home and its position high above the town.
‘Daisy!’ he called. ‘Daisy! Are you here?’
Silence greeted him.
Broderick checked the downstairs rooms before moving on to the floors above. Returning down the stairs to the ground floor, he arrived in the hall just as Sullivan and two uniformed officers entered through the front door.
‘They’re not here,’ Broderick informed them. ‘But I think they were. All the doors were open. They can’t be far away.’
‘All available officers are out looking for them, guv,’ Sullivan replied. ‘Border Control’s been notified, as has the Marine Unit.’
‘I don’t want anyone putting my daughter’s life in danger. Call Aldarino and tell him to put out a call. No one is to approach them. If that woman’s as dangerous as you think she might be, I’m going to be the only one to talk to her. Understood?’
‘Yes, guv,’ said Sullivan, reaching for her mobile. ‘Calbot thinks he has an idea of where Sister Clara may go, sir.’
‘Where, for God’s sake?’ Broderick asked, his desperation rising.
‘Sister Clara’s mother is in a special nursing home out near Little Bay,’ Sullivan replied. ‘Been there for some years apparently.’
‘Her mother?’ Broderick questioned incredulously. ‘There’s never been a mention of her from Sister Clara. Nor from Cath. I’d assumed she was long dead.’
‘No, guv. She�
��s pretty ancient, but she’s still with us. Clara must know that she can’t get off the Rock. Where else is she likely to go?’
Without hesitation, Broderick moved for the door. ‘Let’s get there,’ he commanded.
90
Leaving the uniformed officers to keep watch on Sovereign Villa, Broderick and Sullivan took the Mercedes and raced southwards along Europa Road towards Little Bay. The sun was low in the west now, but its warmth and deep red glow permeated the evening sky. In half an hour it would drop over the horizon and darkness would engulf the Rock.
As Broderick drove, Sullivan took a call from Calbot back at HQ. The detective constable had called the nursing home.
‘Sister Clara and Daisy Broderick arrived there a few minutes ago,’ he told her. ‘They’ve already gone through to her mother’s room.’
Sullivan promptly requested backup, insisting a distance be kept until Chief Inspector Broderick ordered otherwise. The last thing they wanted was to spook Sister Clara.
‘Understood,’ Calbot confirmed.
Next to call Sullivan was a near-hysterical Chief Superintendent Massetti. Sullivan put her on speaker.
‘I don’t know what the two of you think you’re playing at, but it had better be on the money. First, it’s Jasinski. Then it’s Isolde. Next thing I know you’ve brought in a famous film director and his squeeze for questioning. Now you’re chasing Gibraltar’s answer to Mother Teresa and requesting backup at an old people’s nursing home. I hope I’m convincing you that I’m somewhat apprehensive about your next move.’
Sullivan looked at Broderick. The chief inspector kept his eyes fixed on the road.
‘We are responding to new developments, ma’am. We have reason to suspect Sister Clara of involvement in the deaths of Cornwallis, Martínez and Maugham. I might also remind you that she’s in the company of Chief Inspector Broderick’s daughter Daisy, who’s most likely being held against her will.’
Massetti was silent for a moment.
‘Ma’am?’ Sullivan enquired.
‘Tell Broderick to do what he considers appropriate, but remind him that he is emotionally involved. I’m coming out to Little Bay myself. Backup’s on its way. Take the utmost care. Both of you.’
Massetti ended the call. Once again Sullivan looked at Broderick. Once again he would not meet her eyes.
91
Although Buena Vista House was a nursing home, it was not immediately recognisable as such. Less than a decade old, its publicity described it as a ‘state-of-the- art nursing facility for 21st-century elders’. From its position high above the sandy beach of Little Bay, near the southernmost tip of Gibraltar, the select facility offered its occupants large balconied suites with beautiful views across the bay and to the coast of Spain beyond. Most of its aged residents enjoyed these from the comfort of their monitored beds. If you added in the round-the-clock nursing care and surroundings that resembled a luxury hotel, the average cost of care per week was rumoured to be €3,500. Locals joked that you needed a Swiss bank account or a Gibraltar-based off-shore one to die there. Either way, the facility had a long waiting list of people wishing to pass away in five-star surroundings.
The nursing home’s manager and a staff nurse were already waiting at the main entrance as the Mercedes pulled up in front. Both Broderick and Sullivan jumped out and were quickly escorted into Buena Vista House and led to a lift that took them to the top floor of the building. Here, the plushest and most expensive nursing suites were to be found. Sullivan noted that the beautifully decorated, pine-scented interior of the building was a far cry from the cabbage- and urine-smelling establishments she usually associated with elderly care. Along the top corridor, she noticed that the suites had brass name plates and the one they were about to enter was called the ‘Lady Hamilton’.
Broderick tapped gently on the door and waited. A moment later, the door opened and he looked down at his daughter’s smiling face.
‘Daddy!’ Daisy Broderick exclaimed, moving forward to hug her father. ‘Sister Clara said you’d come to get us.’
Broderick felt his knees almost buckle with relief as he wrapped his arms around his youngest child. ‘Hello, sweet-pea,’ he gasped. ‘It’s okay. Everything’s okay.’
‘I know it is, Daddy,’ Daisy replied, puzzled. ‘Can we go back to the ball now?’
‘Of course you can, sweet-pea. I just need to talk with Sister Clara first.’
‘She’s here, Daddy,’ Daisy said, dancing away from her father’s arms and into the suite’s sitting-room. ‘She had to see her mummy. Her mummy’s not well and she’s very, very old.’
Broderick signalled for the manager and the nurse to remain in the corridor. He and Sullivan then followed Daisy to the bedroom through large double doors to the left of the sitting area.
Moving swiftly through, both detectives were met with an unsettling sight. At the far end of the enormous room, Sister Clara sat beside the bed of a small and extremely elderly woman. Surrounding the two of them was an array of medical machinery with various wires and tubes that all led to the skeletal figure of Diana, Lady Ruiz. The old lady seemed unaware of the new visitors to her room. Her trance-like stare passed them by as she looked out towards the balcony windows and the magnificent view beyond. Sister Clara, still clad in her nun’s garments, slowly turned to greet the two detectives.
‘Hello, Gus, Tamara,’ she began, her polite smile at odds with the deep sadness in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry to put you both to such trouble. I’m afraid things have got most awfully out of control.’
Before Broderick could reply, Daisy interrupted: ‘Can we go back, Sister Clara? Your mummy’s okay and you’ve got the gun now.’
Broderick’s entire body tensed once more. ‘Gun? What gun, sweet-pea?’
‘It’s alright, Daddy,’ Daisy answered. ‘Sister Clara said she needed the gun in case the Germans came. She said it’s what they should have done in The Sound of Music. It’s cool.’
Broderick swiftly took his daughter’s hand and led her from the room.
‘Good idea, sweet-pea,’ he told her. ‘We’ll help Sister Clara, while you wait in the car downstairs.’
Still standing in the corridor were the manager and staff nurse.
Daisy protested. ‘Why can’t I wait with you, Daddy?’
‘Because our friends here are going to take you down to my car.’ And Broderick gave the manager his daughter’s hand.
Outside the building the sound of sirens alerted them to the arrival of police backup.
‘You might get a lift back to the ball in a special police car. Would you like that, sweet-pea?’
Daisy nodded excitedly. ‘Yes, please!’
Broderick looked to the manager and whispered: ‘Please take her down and tell my colleagues that Sister Clara has a gun up here, will you?’
‘Of course,’ the woman replied gravely.
‘Off you go then,’ Broderick told them, giving Daisy a comforting smile. ‘I’ll be down shortly, sweet-pea.’
The two women and Daisy headed back along the corridor towards the lift. Turning on his heel, Broderick re-entered the suite.
‘Daisy okay?’ Sullivan asked as he walked back into the bedroom. Broderick nodded, his eyes firmly set on Sister Clara.
The older woman now held an old automatic pistol in her hand. ‘I’ve no wish to cause you any more alarm, Gus. You’re not in danger. I’ve no intention of using this to harm anyone other than myself.’
‘There’ll be no need for that, Sister Clara,’ Broderick replied firmly.
‘Will you please hand the gun to me, Sister Clara?’ Sullivan asked.
‘I think not, if you don’t mind, Tamara. I have things I need to tell you. Things you both should know. I’d be grateful if you’d allow me a little time to do that.’
Sullivan looked at Broderick. The chief inspector considered for a moment before replying: ‘Talk to us, Sister Clara. Tell us what’s happened.’
As Sister Clara placed th
e pistol on the bed, both Broderick and Sullivan weighed up the chances of reaching it before the older woman could grab it. Instinctively they separately concluded such an action would fail.
A look of pain shot across Sister Clara’s face. Then, taking a deep breath and steadying herself, she spoke: ‘My mother has been here almost eight years now. They’ve looked after her well. She has, of course, deteriorated steadily over that time. Her strokes have left her totally immobile and without sight or speech, but her hearing and mind remain intact. She won’t show it, but she knows exactly what’s going on here. She’s been expecting it for decades. Even I have had the last eight years to prepare. The events of the last few days took me completely by surprise. My reactions to them weren’t planned, Gus. I’m afraid they were a knee-jerk response to the hell I found myself thrown into. I assure you that, with hindsight, I would have done things differently, but I accept the consequences of what I did do.’
‘Sister Clara, are you confessing to the murders of Josh Cornwallis, Don Martínez and Graeme Maugham?’ Broderick asked.
For a moment, Sister Clara’s large green eyes filled with tears. ‘Yes, Gus. I am.’
Sullivan took a step forward. ‘Perhaps it would be better to do this elsewhere, Sister Clara. Leave your mother in peace.’
‘Please come no closer, Tamara,’ Sister Clara implored, reaching once more for the gun. ‘I really have nothing to lose by turning this weapon on myself. And that would rob you of my full confession.’
Sullivan paused a moment before stepping back.
‘Thank you, dear,’ Sister Clara said, replacing the gun on the bed.
The sun across the bay hung in the sky like a gigantic orb, filling the room with an intense red and purple glow. The electronic bleeps and pulses from the monitoring machines, together with the old woman’s occasional rasping breaths, lent the entire tableau an other-worldly quality.
Sister Clara cleared her throat and carried on: ‘The most immediate thing you need to know is how and why those poor men died. The simple explanation is that they were about to destroy everything I’ve worked for during the last fifty years. I’ve not taken these actions to protect my reputation, whatever that may be. Nor indeed my parents’ legacy. I killed those men because I thought I had no choice. I believed it was the only way I could protect the thousands of men, women and children that the Rock of Ages Foundation helps every year. People without hope or any real means of survival. People who would perish without the charity’s help.’
