by Chris Lloyd
'Hardly a criminal empire, is it?' Elisenda muttered.
Àlex grinned and went on in. Catching him up, Elisenda saw a dusty white van in one corner of the yard, piles of papers yellowing and curled on the dashboard and a stack of boxes on the ground near the open side door, waiting to be loaded. Next to it, a heavy oil stain on the ground showed where another van was usually parked. Broken pallets were heaped up against a wall next to a door leading into an office.
Opposite the vehicle was an aluminium table and four mismatched chairs skewed next to it. Three of the chairs were occupied.
'Can I help you?' Joaquim Masó asked them. He didn't get up. He nodded to his two companions, who did. Without a word, the two men acknowledged the Mossos and walked away from the table towards the small metal door leading out. From their looks, they were evidently brothers but Elisenda didn't recognise either of them. They weren't part of the Masó family. In their early twenties, both were dressed in tight T-shirts and jeans, showing off their muscles. She caught the older one glance at Àlex and Àlex grin back, his muscles more pronounced under a loose white shirt. He looked at Elisenda and shook his head slightly to show he didn't recognise them either.
'Friends of yours, Joaquim?' Elisenda asked him.
'Business associates. Just chewing the fat, taking the sun.'
'Business associates,' Elisenda repeated. She'd interviewed him in the past about stolen goods, but had never been able to prove anything. 'Don't let us stop you.'
'They were just going.'
Elisenda sat down on the seat opposite Masó, and Àlex wandered over to the van to look through the doors.
'You'll find everything in order,' Masó told him.
'How's business then, Joaquim?' Elisenda asked him. 'I was expecting to find you out working.'
Masó shrugged. 'I get by. As much as anyone can these days.' He gestured to the empty space. 'My sister's boy is out with the other van.'
'Lucky you have your family to help.'
'I do business through my family, not with it.'
Elisenda was about to comment but Masó's mobile rang and he answered it. Someone wanting a delivery by the sound of the conversation, but Masó told them that he wasn't available.
'Must be doing well for yourself if you can turn work down,' Elisenda commented.
'Must be,' Masó agreed.
'Daniel,' Elisenda said. Àlex came and stood over the table. 'Sad news for you all, I understand, but I need to know where you were the night he died.'
Masó gestured around him. 'Here. I live upstairs. But you'll know that. And I was on my own. I keep myself to myself.'
'Do you know you're the only member of your family that wasn't with every other member of your family that night?' Elisenda said. 'No one can vouch for you? I'm almost inclined to believe you're innocent on the strength of that alone.'
The door rattled as someone knocked on it, sending metallic shock waves through the gates. Elisenda turned around to see Gerard Bellsolà walk in, his aged brown leather briefcase tapping against his short legs as he walked. She turned back to Masó.
'But now you've blown it.'
The lawyer greeted Masó and sat down between him and Elisenda. 'Sotsinspectora Domènech,' he said. 'May I ask what you're doing here?'
'Your client, I take it. I'm ascertaining what he was doing the night Daniel Masó was murdered. As I am with every member of his family to build up a picture to help us apprehend Daniel's killer.'
'I am aware of that, Sotsinspectora. I am acting on behalf of the Masó family to protect their interests. I would prefer all meetings with my clients to take place in my presence from now on, if you don't mind.'
'I'll bear that in mind,' Elisenda told him. She got up. 'But we've learned all we need to know for now, thanks.'
She and Àlex left the two men seated in their uncertainty and returned to their car.
'We have?' Àlex asked her.
'No, but we've found a few more questions.'
'Like why Bellsolà suddenly turned up?'
'Like that. And like how come Masó can have one van idle and still turn work down. You saw he's not exactly rolling in it.'
She waited while Àlex drove out into traffic on the main road.
'And like how come the rest of the clan haven't included him in the family alibi.'
Chapter Fifteen
Àlex dropped Elisenda off at Vista Alegre and drove to the Hospital Josep Trueta, on the northern edge of the city, and went in. Stepping out of the hospital lift, he immediately saw the room he wanted thanks to the two Seguretat Ciutadana standing outside, one a caporal, the other a mosso. He approached the caporal and showed him his badge.
'Any change?' Àlex asked him.
'None, Sergent. None whatsoever.'
Àlex grinned at him. 'Bored?'
'You can say, Sergent,' the caporal muttered. The mosso just grunted.
'Anyone tried to get in to see him?'
'No one. There's a doctor in there now checking.'
'You know they're a doctor?'
'Been here all night and most of yesterday. They do longer hours than we do.'
'Yeah, but they don't get the money we do,' the mosso chipped in. The two Seguretat Ciutadana laughed wryly at that.
Inside the room, Àlex found the doctor noting something down in a folder. She looked up as he walked in.
'Sergent Àlex Albiol,' he greeted her. 'Just checking up on our star pupil.'
She went back to her paperwork. 'Doctora Sans,' she introduced herself. 'Cristina.' She looked exhausted, her pen hand resting heavily on the stiff writing board of the folder.
'Been up all night looking after this beauty, I hear.' She just nodded and carried on writing. Àlex looked at Chema GM in bed, propped up on his right side, tubes coming out of his nose and mouth and drips going into his left arm. 'When's he likely to come round?'
'We can't say.'
'I hear the other three have all regained consciousness. How come he's still like this?'
'He ingested more of the drug than they did.'
Àlex nodded his head slowly. 'Chema GM drank more of the wine than he let his friends, in other words. That figures.'
'My job's to cure,' the doctor commented, clicking her pen shut, 'not to judge.'
'So's mine.'
'If there's anything else,' she asked, making to leave.
'Nothing. I'll just stay here a while if that's OK.'
Àlex watched her shrug, her tiredness glinting dully through, and waited until the door swished shut behind her before he walked over to the window to take in the view over the main road heading north out of the city. No one else came in. He walked over to the bed and stared at the patient. The sunlight streaming in through the blinds tore jagged strips of shadow over Chema GM's face and up the wall above him. There was no movement whatsoever from him. Àlex looked at all the machines and tubes and buttons and switches and took another step closer. He leaned directly over Chema GM's face and put his mouth to his ear.
'You should have died,' he said.
Chapter Sixteen
Elisenda tried Àlex's phone but it was switched off. He did that when it suited him, but then so did she so she couldn't get too uptight about it. And Àlex was one of those people who had to be cut just the right amount of slack for him to operate well. 'Unlike me,' she murmured wryly.
She saw David Costa already seated on a bench on Plaça Independència, the same place the rambling club had always met in their youth. He still looked the same as he did then, rather earnest with a sensible haircut and bookish glasses that made him look reliable and dull. Two pigeons were pecking at the pale brown earth by his feet.
'Elisenda,' he greeted her warmly, getting up to give her a kiss on both cheeks.
'Good to see you, David,' she replied, sitting down next to him. 'This brings back memories.'
'Happy ones, I hope.' He squeezed her hand and let go.
Elisenda closed her eyes, silently swearing. She th
ought his interest in her had died out years ago. Opening them again, she turned to one side and saw a mother, father and young daughter laughing as they walked past. She guiltily turned away when she caught the mother's eye.
David was watching her closely. 'Still missing Lina?'
She felt as though he'd gripped his fingers around her throat. It was a few moments before she could speak. 'I don't know, David. What do you think?'
'How long has it been?'
Elisenda looked at him in disbelief. 'Five years, David, that's how long it's been. That's how long it is since my daughter died. Do you think I might still be missing her?'
He reached for her hand to try and hold it. 'I see it's painful, Elisenda.'
She pulled her hand away. 'What was it you wanted?'
'Just to catch up, really. We haven't had a chat for ages.'
'I'm going now, David.' She stood up.
Costa shrugged. 'These four thugs. The ones who were drugged.'
'Not my case.'
He looked surprised. 'I thought it would be. Not a serious enough crime?'
'When does a crime become serious?' She'd asked herself the question often enough since being invited to set up the unit. Sighing, she sat down again, the police officer in her taking over. 'The Regional Investigation Unit are dealing with it. And if it were my case, I couldn't talk to you about it.'
'Not officially, no.'
'Or unofficially.'
'Unless you needed help.'
'You're not doing yourself any favours, David.'
'The four muggers,' he persevered. 'You must have some thoughts on them.'
'Why are you interested?'
'They attacked one of my journalists.'
'Carles Font. Someone you can't stand. Try again.'
'Come on, Elisenda, give me a break. This could be a big story. I need one. Precisely because of Carles Font I need one.'
'I'm sorry, David, I really can't help you. As I say, it's not my investigation.'
'Yes, but you have some idea.' He waited while a small boy ran past, shooing the pigeons before him. 'You're not going to tell me you've had no thoughts on it. Four vicious criminals, drugged, left in four different spots around the city. One of them posed like an angel.'
'Like an angel? Where did you hear that?'
'I have my sources.'
Elisenda considered the idea. He only looked like an angel because of the track of the blood as he moved, not part of the staging, probably not intended. She immediately discounted it but said nothing. 'Sources?'
'And Daniel Masó?' he added. 'Where does he fit in?'
'He doesn't. Different case, different team investigating it.'
'I know that. But it looks like tit-for-tat. One criminal gets killed, four others get punished.'
'Is that the way you see it, David? A reprisal?'
'Is that the way the Mossos' investigation is going? Or is it vigilantes?'
She could see him out of the corner of her eye, staring at her, gauging her reaction. She felt tired, the game summing up much of what she felt was the relationship between the Mossos and the media, between her and David. Supposedly mutually beneficial but often reciprocally distrustful. The tearing down of the barriers of the past creating new barriers in their place.
'You tell me, David.'
'People are saying the Mossos are floundering,' he continued. He looked almost hunted, she thought in surprise. 'And worse.'
'Worse?'
'Look at it, Elisenda. Daniel Masó killed and four muggers given a taste of their own medicine. You can't say you weren't happy at that.'
'I can, actually,' she replied, shocked to find herself doubting if she honestly could. 'A victim's a victim.'
'So you would have felt exactly the same about it had it been anyone else? This elderly man the muggers attacked, for instance. Or Carles Font, even.'
Elisenda recalled the phone call from Pep in Científica telling her the identity of the first victim and how neither of them had shown any great sympathy for Masó. 'Maybe I wouldn't have felt the same. But I'm a police officer. It's my job to find who did it and to see that justice is done. That doesn't change, no matter who the victim is.'
Costa snorted at that.
'You said worse,' she went on, irritated.
The journalist shrugged. 'Maybe the Mossos are doing more than just turn a blind eye. You said it yourself, it's your job to see that justice is done. Perhaps this is the only way the Mossos can do that.'
Elisenda stood up. 'This is isn't even speculation, David, and you know it '
'I'm just out there, Elisenda. Reporting the truth as I see it. As I hear it.'
'The truth? You're a good journalist, David. Maybe that's the victim you should be worrying about, not mine.'
Costa stood up and apologised. He asked her if she was free for dinner that Friday to make up.
'Afraid not,' she told him. 'Seeing my sister.'
'And Saturday?'
'I can't make it on Saturday, either, sorry.'
'One day next week?'
'David,' she said, the exasperation in her voice shining through.
Defeated, he kissed her on both cheeks and they walked off in separate directions, she across the square towards Pont de Sant Agustí, he towards Santa Clara. On her way to the bridge, Elisenda greeted the good-looking waiter serving the terrace tables outside Lizarran. She'd resigned herself to admiring him from afar for ages. Pity, as she could tell the attraction went both ways. Girona really was too small, she thought. Stopping to chat with him for a few moments, she turned to say goodbye when she saw David Costa on the other side of the square.
He was staring at her, his face blank with disappointment.
*
The sergent on the front desk stifled a yawn.
His first day back at work after a week's holiday in the Pyrenees and his mind was still in the mountains. He took a deep breath and looked at the paperwork. Everywhere you go in this country, he thought, there's paperwork.
The outer door opened and a young man came in and walked up to the desk. 'Who do I report a missing person to?' he asked the sergent.
'I'll ring through to the Local Investigation Unit,' the sergent replied. 'They'll take a statement.' He rang the internal number but no one answered, which meant that it was his job to take the details and pass it on. He found the right form on the computer and started typing.
'What's the name of the person who's missing?'
'Pere Corominas Vega,' the young man replied, giving the address when asked. 'He's my flatmate.'
'And when did you last see him?'
'Thursday morning, before he went to work. He seemed very agitated. He left home earlier than usual that morning. He'd been like that for a couple of days.'
'Has he got a girlfriend he might be with?'
The young man looked frankly at the sergent. 'He wasn't really one for girlfriends.'
The sergent nodded. 'Has he ever gone missing before?'
'No, never. And I've tried his work. He's a researcher with the city archive. But he hasn't shown up today. It's really unusual. He may have stayed away from home for a night or two if he'd met someone, but it's been four nights now. And he'd never miss work without letting them know. And he'd at least have rung me.'
The sergent finished taking down all the details and sent it through to the Local Investigation Unit mailbox. 'A member of the Mossos will be contacting you,' he told the young man. 'I'm sure your friend will turn up. And if he does, make sure you inform us.'
He watched him leave the building and checked and filed the statement he'd just taken. A copy had already gone through to the Local Investigation Unit, and he made a note to make sure they saw it.
Looking through other files, he picked up a single-page report from the low desk behind the front counter and looked at it. Someone had stuck four dolls on the Verge de la Bona Mort, he read, wondering, first, why anyone would want to do that, and second, why anyone would feel the need t
o report it to the police. Yawning again, the sergent entered the sketchy details from the typed report into the computer and carefully put the piece of paper in a new folder in a tray ready to be filed and forgotten.
Chapter Seventeen
Àlex's mobile rang on Friday morning.
'Àlex? Laura Puigmal. I just thought I should let you know. Senyor Casademont died in the night of a heart attack.'
Àlex sat down heavily. 'Can it be put down to the mugging?'
'Are you asking me legally, morally or really?'
'I take it there's no need to answer that one.'
'I'm sorry, Àlex.'
'We both are.' He put the phone down and stared into space, recalling the image on Monday of Chema GM surrounded by the nurses and doctors and machines that were busy saving his life. He was alone in the office. All the others were out, following up various angles in an investigation that they were starting to feel was political quicksand. He put through an internal call.
'Sotsinspector Micaló,' he spoke into the phone, 'you know that Senyor Casademont has died?'
'Who?' Micaló answered. 'And who are you?'
'Sergent Albiol. Senyor Casademont was the victim of the four thugs currently in the Hospital Josep Trueta.'
'And what is this to do with you, Sergent?'
'What are you going to do about it? Their victim has just died of a heart attack brought on by the beating they gave him. An elderly man who had done no one any harm.'
'An elderly man. You do realise that another victim of theirs is in hospital, Sergent. A journalist. His case takes priority.'
'Because he's a journalist?'
'Because he's alive. I don't like your tone, Sergent. And for your information, the four thugs, as you call them, are also victims. They deserve equal treatment and equal respect as your Senyor Casademont.'
'And because they're more likely to make the papers than the death of a retired shopkeeper,' Àlex growled. He knew he was already pushing it too far but he couldn't stop.
'I suggest you get off the phone now, Sergent Albiol. You are one of Sotsinspectora Domènech's team, aren't you? I'm not surprised she can't keep a control over her juniors. I will of course be making a formal complaint.'
