City of Good Death: A Gripping Crime Thriller (A Detective Elisenda Domènech Investigation 1)

by Chris Lloyd

  'There's nothing to suggest you're a potential victim, Senyor Perafita. If you are concerned, I advise you to take precautions, but the Mossos are simply unable to offer individual protection for everyone who thinks they may be targeted.'

  'Do your job, you stupid bloody woman,' Perafita raged, storming out. 'I will make an official complaint.'

  Join the queue, Elisenda thought.

  She caught up with Josep and he drove her to Salt in silence. Both of them knew that the investigation had to continue. Neither knew what to say. No one did. She found Joaquim Masó where she expected to, in an old-fashioned bar at the foot of a grim 1960s apartment block. Grizzled men smoked poor cigars and clacked dominoes onto rough wooden tables to the sound of an ancient transistor radio sputtering the odds of the evening's football matches. Masó watched Elisenda approach and told the two brothers to sit at another table.

  'I hope you're going to be more polite than your sergent,' he told her. 'It's the Sunday after All Saints. I've been to the cemetery to show my respect to my loved ones and now I'm relaxing among friends.'

  'Very traditional. I applaud you.' She looked at the two brothers on an adjacent table, staring coldly back at her. 'Although I see you don't really subscribe to the family tradition of only employing your own.'

  'Tradition moves on. I'm just quietly getting on with my business. No crime against that.'

  'Your nephew's business.'

  'Mine now.'

  'And now it's my business. I just came to tell you.'

  Masó took a drink from a glass of beer. 'I don't think so. You're too busy chasing after this other guy to worry about me.'

  'Don't count on it.' Elisenda got up to leave.

  'Give my regards to young Pablo Yáñez, won't you.'

  Elisenda nodded at that and left, her face not giving away her surprise at his last remark.

  Deep in thought, she and Josep drove on to an apartment in Salt. Foday Saio opened the door to let them both in. Patricia was quietly drawing at a low coffee table. His wife was out, working.

  'I just wanted to ask you about the complaints you made about vandalism, Foday,' Elisenda told him. 'Have you been threatened by the Masó family?'

  'They tried to make me borrow money from them to repair the door after the second time, but I wouldn't. That's when they did more damage. But it's stopped now. Since Daniel died.'

  'Please tell me if anyone from the Masó family threatens you again,' Elisenda told him. 'I'm sorry you became a victim of these people.'

  Foday held up his arms, showing Elisenda the puckered, lighter skin at the ends where his hands should be.

  'Some men did this to me when I was a child. Here, one man threw paint at my door and another man tried to make me drink some drugged wine and failed. No one will ever make a victim of me again. The Masó family cannot hurt me.'

  Elisenda looked at Patricia engrossed in her drawing and wished it were true.

  *

  Josep told Elisenda that he and Pau had seen another change on the website. 'Fewer individuals are being suggested as victims. We think people aren't so willing to name specific people now the killings are escalating. So they're naming types of people to be attacked.'

  They were driving from Salt along the fast dual carriageway towards Ripoll, able to speak now they were leaving Girona behind. The leaves on the beech trees were changing. Any other time, it would have been a beautiful sight.

  'Hence this councillor,' Elisenda considered. Despite no evidence of any wrongdoing by the council in general and the councillor in particular, the city council had been targeted for attack on the website and two unknown men had set upon a junior councillor in the street earlier that morning when he was walking to work. Cuts and bruises and under observation at hospital, but nothing serious as far as she knew.

  'The Mossos are also near the top of the list,' Josep told her.

  'The question is, is public opinion responding to the killer, or vice versa?'

  'Public opinion is responding to public opinion. Some of them are doing what other people are telling them.' He fell silent for a moment. 'It feels like the killer is taunting us, like he can anticipate what people are going to do. What we're going to do.'

  'Or he knows.'

  They turned off before Ripoll and arrived at a farm sheltered in a wooded valley. Elisenda got out of the car and stood for a moment, scenting the autumn mountain air. It felt almost too pure, too heady.

  She got two very strong sensations from Pere Corominas' parents who, greying in kaftans, invited her and Josep into their kitchen.

  The first was dope. She could sense it in the thick darkness of the smoke-stained kitchen and in the parchment-dry Saint John's Wort tied in bunches over the range to ward off sickness. And she could sense it in the two people seated opposite her, separated from her by a far greater gulf than the kitchen table could ever provide. It was in their clothing, their words and their movements.

  The other was a complete lack of grasp on reality.

  'He's finding himself, that's all,' the mother insisted.

  The father looked at Elisenda pityingly. 'He'll come back when he's ready.'

  'Do you know where he is now?' Elisenda asked the question again. 'We need to find your son.'

  'He'll be among nature,' the father told her. 'Revitalising.'

  'When did you last see him?'

  Corominas' mother asked her what month it was now and Elisenda knew she was going to get nowhere. 'Do you mind if we take a look around?'

  'Not without a warrant,' the mother instantly replied.

  Outside, Elisenda scanned the outbuildings and barns. She wondered what lay hidden in them. In the car, she called Pau and asked him to apply to Jutgessa Roca for a warrant to search the farm.

  'What did you make of them?' Josep asked her when she hung up.

  'That was one of the few times since I've been in the Mossos that I've had no idea whatsoever what was in someone's head.' They bumped along the track back to the main road. 'But I do know they're hiding something.'

  Chapter Sixty Three

  'Bet you're glad that funny guy got killed.'

  Elisenda got her breath back from her run around the outside of the city walls and looked at Xiscu. Pujol was lying stubbornly at the end of his leash on the cobbles in the Monday morning air.

  'How do you work that out?'

  'Because no one's talking about the crippled black guy any more.'

  'Go home, Xiscu. Get some rest.'

  When she got into the office, she saw from the latest comments on the website that he was, in his awful way, right. The circus of applause and opprobrium had moved on to the next victim. The problem was that the next victim had been part of a Mossos operation. There were all sorts of rumours on the website and speculation in the media, but no facts. Yet. She reckoned her own stay of execution with Puigventós was down to the sudden drop in racial tension, which had risen and fallen like sea foam, but that would change the moment she was named. Scrolling back through the history, she saw that after the attack on Mònica Ferrer, most people were still pretty much sympathising with the attacker but then the comments started to turn against him. First with Foday Saio, now with Xarlu. There was still a hard core that applauded any act he carried out, but the tide was definitely ebbing. She also saw that as the support for the attacks decreased, so the criticism of the Mossos rose in inverse measure. An upsurge was steadily beginning to rise against the police. She hoped it wouldn't become a riptide. Even with that, it almost made her life easier than when everyone was whipping up hatred of everyone else.

  A gentle voice behind her made her start.

  'You're doing the right thing, Sotsinspectora,' Pau told her.

  'It doesn't feel like it, but thank you, Pau.'

  Embarrassed, he showed her an e-mail he'd had from Sergent Gispert. 'He's identified three individuals in Barcelona that he thinks would be capable of a set-up like this,' Pau explained. 'The Central Investigation Unit in Sabadell
will be questioning them.'

  'Good. Keep me informed.'

  'I've also got a name for the woman in the Viladrau DVD. Valentina Cioni. She's an Italian national. From what I can gather, the church have got her back to Rome, where they've cut her loose without any support.'

  Elisenda sighed. Yet one more victim. 'Don't waste any more time on it. It's not such an important avenue now that other events have escalated. I don't think she could help us much anyway.'

  'May I say, Sotsinspectora? You are doing the right thing. You're anticipating the attacks. You're getting nearer.'

  'I haven't stopped him. And I got someone killed, Pau.'

  'You didn't, Elisenda. You're getting into his mind. How he thinks. That's the only way we'll stop him.'

  'The only problem with that is that he also gets into my head. And I'm not sure I want that.'

  Her mobile rang. She listened in silence and hung up, looking at Pau.

  'And it's about to be put to the test again. They've found another tile.'

  Chapter Sixty Four

  'So what's this one, then?' Àlex asked.

  'El Cul de la Lleona,' Elisenda told him. The Lioness's Arse.

  Àlex looked at the statue of a primitive lion climbing a pole.

  Two Seguretat Ciutadana had already been on the little square in front of Sant Feliu church when Elisenda and Àlex had arrived. The two uniforms had been walking through the streets of the Mercadal part of town and had crossed the Pont de Sant Feliu footbridge over the river to the old quarter when they'd come across the tile, hanging around the stone pillar to which the statue of the lioness was clinging. They'd recognised straight away what it was and called Vista Alegre immediately. They should do. One of them was Mosso Paredes.

  'Francesc,' Elisenda said to him, 'you're making a habit of this.'

  He'd smiled in embarrassment and helped the Policia Científica string a length of plastic tape in a wide, irregular arc around the statue. Four more Seguretat Ciutadana turned up and tried to edge an audience of mystified Japanese tourists further away, just as Pau and Montse arrived in an unmarked car. The four of them from Elisenda's team were standing outside the plastic cordon, waiting for the Científica, now bolstered by four more members, to tell them they could go through. Elisenda called Paredes over and asked him if he'd seen what was on the tile.

  'The Verge de la Bona Mort,' he told her. 'Like before. And there's something drawn on the back of it, but I couldn't see what it was.'

  Elisenda thanked him and he went back to controlling the increasing number of onlookers, a small crowd gathering to watch, many holding up mobile phones and digital cameras in intent supplication.

  'What's the significance of the lioness? Àlex asked. 'I know that if you kiss her arse, you're supposed to come back to Girona, but what is it we're supposed to be expecting this time?'

  'Have you ever done it?' Elisenda asked him. 'Kiss her arse?' He shook his head. 'The point is, if you do, you see that she is in fact a he.'

  One of the Policia Científica came over to where they were standing and lifted the plastic tape, calling Elisenda and Àlex through.

  'So many people have been up and down the ladder and around the base, there's precious little left to contaminate,' she explained. She wanted to show them the tile. All three craned their necks to look up at it, hanging by a length of wire looped around the pillar above the lioness's head.

  'I see what you mean about her being a him,' Àlex muttered.

  A simple shape had been drawn on the unglazed clay on the back of the tile in thick black marker pen.

  'A fly?' Elisenda exclaimed in surprise.

  She and Àlex moved away again, back to where the others in their unit were standing, and watched the Científica do their jobs, filming, photographing, recording, searching.

  'Why a fly again?'

  'Because the last one with a fly failed?' Pau asked.

  'The lioness and a fly.' Elisenda shook her head. 'They don't go together in any way I know.'

  'So what does it mean?' Àlex asked the other three, all Gironins.

  Elisenda stopped to consider. 'If it were just the lioness, I'd say it meant one of two things.'

  Pau interrupted. 'Pujada del Rei Martí?'

  'That's one. The other one's the Font dels Lleons. According to legend, the fountain of lions is called that because wolves used to go there to drink.'

  'Wolves or lions?' Àlex asked.

  'In popular tradition in Girona, wolves and lions were always confused.' She pointed to the statue of the lioness. 'That's probably really a wolf. No one knows. Some people thought at first it was a monkey. Either way, we know it's not a female lion.'

  'So who would the victim be?'

  She looked back at the statue. 'The way this attacker's mind works, I think his victim will be gay. Man or woman, I don't know.'

  'Gay?' Montse asked. 'Because everyone thinks the lioness is a she and it's a he? I don't get it.'

  'Be thankful you don't,' Elisenda told her. 'No one normal would. But this guy's anything but normal. Not in how he sees his victims.'

  Montse shook her head in disbelief. 'I see it but I don't.'

  'That's exactly what I'm trying to hold on to.'

  All four stood in silence and looked at the statue. It was Àlex who broke the still. 'And what about Pujada del Rei Martí? That's the road just up by the Verge de la Bona Mort.'

  Pau was the first to respond. 'There used to be a carving on a lintel above one of the doors. It's now in the art museum, but it's supposed to relate to a legend about a wolf snatching a young boy during a procession and killing him.'

  'It killed a young boy?'

  'That's why my money's on the Font dels Lleons,' Elisenda said. 'I just don't think he'd attack a child.'

  'He's attacked a disabled man.'

  'Even so. I just feel even he would draw the line at a child. In which case, the victim's more likely to be up at the old drinking fountain.'

  'And gay.'

  'I hate it as much as you do,' Elisenda replied, 'but I'm pretty certain. I can't see who else the attacker would think fits in with the statue. He's making us choose which victim we'd prefer again. A homosexual or a child. That way, we all lose.'

  'I think we should check the Pujada del Rei Martí,' Àlex said. 'Especially if it's near here.'

  'I agree.' Elisenda told Pau to get hold of Seguretat Ciutadana to check the street. 'There are some houses that are semi-derelict, waiting to be renovated. Concentrate on those.'

  She told Montse to call Josep at Vista Alegre and get him to pick her up to go out to the fountain. 'It's at the end of Sant Daniel. Way up the valley, after the road ends. Tell him to use a 4x4 from the pool, but you're still going to have to hike to get there.'

  Elisenda watched the other two members of her team move away to make their phone calls and she turned to Àlex.

  'The question is where the fly fits in.'

  Chapter Sixty Five

  'Was that a snake?'

  Montse watched the dry undergrowth shiver as something slithered into it. 'Don't worry, it'll be a grass snake. They're harmless.'

  She saw Josep stare intently at the low bushes next to the trickle of the stream as they tramped past. 'It had stripes.'

  'A striped grass snake.'

  'Do they exist?'

  'Probably. Who knows?'

  'God, I miss Hospitalet.'

  Josep and two Seguretat Ciutadana had picked Montse up near the statue of the lioness and driven as far as the 4x4 could take them along the Vall de Sant Daniel, to the north of the city walls. They'd passed the monastery and gone on to where the road had become too narrow and strewn with boulders and logs to pass, so now they were making the last stretch of the journey on foot. Josep had complained all the way.

  'I thought everyone in Hospitalet had a romantic vision of the countryside,' Montse told him.

  'We have a romantic vision of the moon. It doesn't mean we want to go there.'

 
Montse signalled for them to stop. The faint path they'd been following opened out into a clearing, revealing the incongruous sight of a once ornate stone drinking fountain backed up against a natural rock outcrop. Josep walked on slowly into the mottled shade of the ancient fountain and looked around. Montse joined him and stood in silence, listening to the soothing sound of the cicadas calling out to each other amid the last of the summer's leaves. Many more leaves had fallen, carpeting the stone ground in shades of amber and garnet. Water trickled down from the fountain spout, its meagre flow augmented by the recent rain. Montse knew the water to be undrinkable.

  There was no one there.

  Josep spoke to Montse in a low voice. 'I'd have thought if we were going to find anyone, it would have been here by the fountain.'

  A plane flew high overhead. They could hear it but were unable to catch sight of it through the forest encircling them. The whisper of the water flowing unevenly from the spout and the chitchat of the cicadas reclaimed the woods after the noise of the plane had died away. It would have been a beautiful afternoon were it not for their mission.

  Josep peered off into the trees. A couple of paths besides the one they had followed could just be made out through the undergrowth. 'Logically,' he said, 'if he managed to carry someone this far on foot, he can't have taken them very much further. If we do find anyone, they can't be far away.'

  They agreed that Josep and the two uniforms would take a path each, Montse would carry on looking beyond the rock at the rear of the fountain.

  'Go for fifteen minutes,' Montse told them. 'If you don't find anything, you're unlikely to. This person was supposedly carrying a dead weight.'

  They separated, Montse and Josep touching fingertips as they parted. Josep found himself taking the path to the right of the small clearing. Gorse and brambles scratched at his trouser legs, snaring them and flicking away as he broke on through. In the exasperated still of the air beneath the leaf-filtered sun, he was sweating heavily under his jacket. He took it off and slung it over his shoulder, swatting ineffectually at the flies buzzing around his face.