City of Drowned Souls

by Chris Lloyd

  ‘Out,’ Elena told them. She was wearing a bra and tracksuit bottoms, her voice slurred, a spliff burning slowly in an old ashtray on the kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of beer next to it. Breakfast.

  ‘Did you tell Siset I wanted to see him, Elena?’ Elisenda asked her.

  Àlex went into the bedroom and living room to check, but found nothing.

  ‘Yeah, I think so,’ Elena told her.

  Looking through the kitchen cupboards, Àlex found an old packet of sliced bread. He took a slice out and poured olive oil and sugar on it and gave it to Elena. ‘Eat that, it’ll do you good.’

  She looked at it askance but took a bite out of it anyway. Evidently surprised at the taste, she took another mouthful and munched happily on it. The food seemed to revitalise her.

  ‘He’s been back, then?’ Elisenda insisted.

  ‘Last night.’ Elena took another bite, tiny crumbs spraying as she spoke. ‘But I haven’t seen him this morning.’

  ‘OK, but tell him I need to see him. It’s important.’ She signalled to Àlex that they should leave. ‘Take care of yourself, Elena.’

  ‘And eat,’ Àlex added.

  ‘Olive oil and sugar?’ Elisenda asked him on the stairs.

  ‘My grandmother used to give it to me when I was a kid. Instant zing.’

  ‘Ah, the things they teach you in Barcelona.’

  Driving the short distance to the next destination on Elisenda’s list, they passed a shiny new primary school, the kids sitting in the playground in the sun engrossed in something their teacher was showing them. They split off into chattering groups, excited by whatever task it was they’d been set.

  ‘I look at Elena,’ Elisenda commented to Àlex, ‘and I think what chance have these kids got? Then you see that school and there’s hope.’

  Àlex snorted. ‘And then we’ll see the school that Jaume Comas Miravent goes to and realise that there isn’t. That this side of the river and the other side of the river will stay firmly as they are. Especially if politicians like Susanna Miravent have their way.’

  ‘And I was feeling so cheerful.’ She pointed to a side road. ‘Turn left here and stop where you can. Not too far in, the place we want is fifty metres down the road.’

  Parking, they walked quickly to a café, but Elisenda knew the moment they’d got out of the car that if Siset were in there, he’d already have taken flight. Two toughs sitting on stools outside the tatty bar had been giving a running commentary to the shadowy interior ever since they’d pulled up.

  ‘Morning, boys,’ Elisenda greeted them.

  ‘Elisenda,’ the older of the two acknowledged, the same guy who’d tried to catcall her the previous morning.

  Inside the gloomy café, wooden tables lined up along one wall, a dull zinc bar along the other, a motley quartet of dominoes-players sat in begrudging silence at one of the tables, its surface glistening with sticky rings of spilled brandy. Rows of bottles of Ponche Caballero and Licor 43 and other drinks that had gone out of fashion years ago gathered dust on the shelves behind the counter. The owner, a bear of a man with thick black hair on his bare forearms matted with sweat, flicked a grimy tea towel over the glass cases chilling aluminium trays of chorizo and Russian salad and stared at the two Mossos.

  Elisenda looked around before speaking. ‘Well, I guess that answers that question.’ She turned to the owner. ‘I take it you haven’t seen Siset.’

  He shook his head. She asked the four players at the table the same question. None of them spoke. Just one, the oldest at the table, gave the slightest of shakes of his head.

  She turned back to the owner. ‘So you’re saying that Siset hasn’t been here and you haven’t seen him?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him for weeks,’ the owner finally said, his voice like gravel soaked in beer.

  Elisenda walked over to another table, where an old-fashioned leather satchel was lying on the ground underneath it. She squatted down and fished it out, taking a quick look inside. She recognised it as the one Siset always carried. She stood up holding it and turned in time to see the owner shoot a glance at the oldest of the domino set.

  ‘In which case,’ she told them, ‘this is most definitely lost property if its owner hasn’t been in to claim it for weeks.’

  ‘That’s not Siset’s,’ the owner said weakly.

  Elisenda gazed directly at him. ‘We both know that’s not true. But not to worry, we’re the Mossos, he’ll be happy to know we’re keeping it safe for him. When you do see him, let him know he just has to come to Vista Alegre to claim his property.’

  The owner and the oldest man at the table looked at each other, unsure of how to react. One of the younger players puffed his chest out and scraped his chair back, seeming to want to make a move. The harsh sound of the metal on the tile floor echoed around the small bar.

  ‘I take it you have no objections,’ Elisenda told them, approaching the counter and looking straight at the owner.

  Without a word, Àlex took a step towards the table and effortlessly moved the younger man’s leg to one side on his chair. Quickly reaching down, Àlex picked up a domino piece that had been hidden there and placed it gently on the table. He grinned at the player caught cheating and stepped back.

  The two Mossos left as the sound of arguing from the players rose in the murk. Retrieving their car, they drove back down through the dusty jumble of apartment blocks, past Tío Juan sitting sentinel to his domain.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Puigventós,’ Elisenda explained, holding her mobile up for Àlex in the car after a message pinged in. They were just entering the built-up part of the city outskirts, nearing the turnoff in the road that led from the river to the police station.

  ‘I’ll never get over how the river’s suddenly so wide here,’ Àlex told her, waiting at the lights.

  ‘Flood defence. The old town used to get badly flooded in the winter when there was heavy rainfall in the mountains, so they widened this bit to ease the flow. Now the flood water is diverted along all the tributaries outside the city. Still gets pretty wild at times, though.’ She read the short text. ‘And Puigventós is insisting we go and see him the moment we get back to Vista Alegre.’

  ‘You might be needing flood defences of your own. He’s probably found out about your extra-curricular activities.’

  Elisenda instinctively put her hand to the bruise on her face. It was still tender. ‘You will pay for this one day, Àlex, you do know that?’

  They were surprised to find a TV van outside the Mossos station. A couple of the terrace tables at the café on the corner opposite the entrance were occupied by what could only be journalists, talking into mobiles or tapping at tablets. Elisenda only recognised one or two of them, the rest were probably from Barcelona.

  ‘How news travels,’ she commented.

  Inside, Puigventós was a lot calmer than she’d feared.

  ‘It’s to be expected. The disappearance of a child is news and Susanna Miravent is a controversial figure. Combine the two and this is what we get.’

  ‘I wonder if the press would be as interested if a kid from Font de la Pólvora went missing,’ Àlex commented.

  ‘They probably wouldn’t be, sergent, but it’s not our job to worry about what the press think. Right now, I’m more interested in what you both think now that you’ve spoken to the family. What are we looking at?’

  ‘Àlex and I have discussed this now,’ Elisenda told Puigventós. She took a sip of water from the glass that the inspector had poured for them each from a bottle on his desk. ‘We see three main options. One is that the boy has absconded of his own accord. We’ll learn more about that after we’ve spoken to his teachers and friends. The family setup is an unusual one, since the mother’s in the public eye and most of her time is taken up with the elections. Also, Miravent and her husband don’t appear to be the closest of couples, so that might be relevant too. Either way, it might be a case of the boy looking for attention.’

/>   ‘There’s also the possibility that he’s injured somewhere,’ Àlex added. ‘He fell on his way home or on his way to somewhere else. Other kids attacked him. A hit and run driver. We’ll be checking up on those possibilities. Seguretat Ciutadana are looking at his possible routes from school and following the route of the bus he took to see if anything turns up.’

  ‘If anything,’ Elisenda took up the reins, ‘we believe that those are the least likely options, but we need to chase them up to be certain.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Puigventós wanted to know.

  ‘More than anything because of the profile of the family. But we’ll come back to that. The second option we see is that it’s a random abduction; just pure chance that he was the child taken. Again, it’s a possibility that we have to investigate, but one that we’re not convinced is the right one, especially given his age. We’ll be checking on sex offenders, anyone with a history that might indicate they’d take a fourteen-year-old boy.’

  ‘You think it’s more closely related to the mother,’ Puigventós predicted, the slight nod of his head showing he already agreed with that.

  ‘I think initially that that has to be the main focus,’ Elisenda replied. ‘Whatever way we interpret it. Miravent’s views are unpopular with a lot of people, she will have created a lot of enemies who could conceivably take her son to force her to stand down as a candidate.’

  ‘The family’s also wealthy,’ Àlex added. ‘Or appears to be wealthy. This could be an opportunist kidnapping after someone’s seen her on television, meaning it’s for financial rather than political reasons.’

  ‘Either way, while we’re looking into possible causes and anyone in the mother’s or the father’s background who could be behind it, we wait for a ransom demand.’ She paused before continuing. ‘The flip side of the political motive is that it isn’t a political enemy who’s done it, but a political friend.’

  Puigventós rubbed his eyes, already fatigued by the breadth of the possible options. Elisenda could see that it was a possibility that had also occurred to him.

  ‘Another sort of attention-seeking, in other words,’ he said. ‘Stage a kidnap to gain political ground. Do you really think the mother would go along with that? Or the father?’

  ‘She might not know,’ Elisenda replied. ‘I want to take a closer look at Bofarull, her campaign manager, he seemed to take over quite a lot. It might be in his canon of acceptable political acts. Susanna Miravent struck me as being very much in control of things, but there’s always the chance that there could be areas where Bofarull operates without her knowledge.’

  ‘I think we need to look at the husband too,’ Àlex added. ‘The dynamic between the three of them at the house this morning didn’t seem right. He seemed excluded: maybe he’s the one after the attention.’

  ‘His political office too,’ Elisenda agreed. ‘We’ll be taking a look at that. The boy’s disappearance might be politically motivated because of the father, not the mother.’

  Puigventós took his glasses off and polished them. Like all new glasses wearers, it had become his latest tic, a device to make time while he thought. ‘OK, I think we’re all agreed that those are the avenues we need to pursue.’

  ‘There’s one other possibility that we have to consider,’ Elisenda interrupted. ‘This is the second time that this has happened to this family.’

  Puigventós second-guessed what she was going to say. ‘To lose one child is unfortunate. To lose two looks like carelessness.’

  ‘Or worse. Àlex and I have also discussed this. It’s something we’re going to be looking at closely. Of course, we’ve also got to speak to the judge to see which way they want us to go. Depending on who we get, they could call for anything.’

  The inspector looked at her over the top of his glasses, another new benefit. ‘Which you will, of course, observe to the letter, Elisenda. Investigations are led by judges, our job is to do their bidding, in case I need to remind you.’

  She looked frankly back at him, the bruise on her cheek throbbing dully. ‘You have my word that I shall very closely observe what the judge tells us to do.’

  Puigventós grunted sceptically. ‘Now, normally, we’d be able to count on Sotsinspector Micaló and his unit for support, but as he’s away on this course until next week, we’ll have to bring in Sotsinspector Armengol. You can coordinate with him and he can work with his own and Sotsinspector Micaló’s teams.’

  Elisenda studiously avoided making eye contact with Àlex when the inspector made his remark about support from Micaló. The absence of his self-serving brand of policing and corporate politics was the first ray of sunshine for the investigation and her peace of mind.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll manage,’ she commented.

  ‘We’ll bring Esteve in now so he’s up to speed with everything,’ Puigventós decided, dialling an internal number on his desk phone.

  A few minutes later, Esteve Armengol came in. The new sotsinspector in charge of the Local Investigation Unit, he’d taken on a post just two months earlier that many had seen as a poisoned chalice because of the scandal of his predecessor. Elisenda had to admit that in an irrational way she was struggling to like him because of what had come before, not because he’d given her any reason to dislike him. Just a couple of years older than her, he was slight in build with a head shaved to hide a growing bald patch, and wore stylish thick-rimmed glasses framing piercing, bird-like eyes. Outside work, he always carried a battered brown satchel and was often seen at lunchtime reading a book on a shaded bench in the little Foramuralles park by the city walls. Taken as a whole, it had earned him the nickname of the Professor among some of the Mossos.

  ‘Morning, everyone,’ he greeted them affably, taking the seat next to Àlex at the meeting table.

  Elisenda also had to admit that she’d hoped to see a woman in his role to even things out in the regular meetings held between Puigventós and the sotsinspectors to coordinate the various investigations, but had similarly had to admit that there were none suitable among the candidates. Inspector Puigventós, who was head of the Regional Investigation Command, which reported to the Criminal Investigation Division in Sabadell rather than to the police station in Girona, coordinated criminal investigations in Girona with three sotsinspectors. Elisenda was one of these and was in charge of the experimental Serious Crime Unit, which took on major cases throughout the Girona region. The second was Roger Micaló, who led the Regional Investigation Unit, which investigated the criminal cases in the region not taken on by Elisenda’s unit. They both reported to Puigventós. The third was Esteve Armengol, who was the new head of the Local Investigation Unit, which dealt with lesser criminal investigations within the confines of the city. Unlike Elisenda and Micaló, he coordinated with Puigventós but actually reported to the commander of the Girona station.

  Puigventós quickly explained to Armengol the situation regarding the disappearance of the politician’s son and handed over to Elisenda, who outlined the main strands that they wanted to investigate.

  ‘Because we’re also dealing with the house robberies at the same time,’ she finished, ‘and because we’re still a small unit, I want my team to concentrate on the angle of the disappearance being politically motivated. In that case, we’d be grateful if your unit could tackle the possibility of the boy having been abducted by a possible sex offender, or at least outside the realm of any link to the mother’s profile. We’d need you to check on known offenders and look for any other suspicious activity or chatter that could be relevant.’

  ‘You would also be able to count on the support of some of the members of Sotsinspector Micaló’s unit should you need it,’ Puigventós added. ‘All the files you’ll need are on the system.’

  The newcomer digested what they’d both said, his face impassive. ‘The family must be devastated.’

  ‘You’d think so,’ Elisenda replied, the words out before she knew why she was saying them.

  Armengol stared at h
er, his eyes unnaturally large through his glasses. He seemed to collect himself. ‘Of course. If you need backup in other areas as well, ask me.’

  ‘There is one other problem,’ Elisenda continued, turning back to Puigventós. ‘Susanna Miravent doesn’t want to deal with the missing persons unit in Sabadell but directly with me. Given the nature of this case, I’m all right to speak to her, but we’ll need Sabadell to run the website campaign and weed out the nonsense we get back. Josep will monitor it, but he won’t have the time to screen everything.’

  ‘Agreed,’ the inspector told her. ‘Sabadell can also organise the phone hotline and pass on what’s relevant. You’ll have enough to do without worrying about that.’

  ‘If you need any assistance there,’ Armengol added, ‘let me know.’

  Elisenda thanked him and tried to imagine the same requests being made of Micaló. It would have taken at least another half an hour of wanton negotiation and wasteful concessions. As they all left Puigventós’ room, though, she realised that she was still reserving judgement.

  * * *

  ‘I’m back.’

  ‘We know,’ Manel told her. ‘The whole station’s talking about it.’

  Elisenda and Àlex had found themselves walking back to their own unit’s offices with Armengol, as his team shared a large outer room with the Serious Crime Unit. Fortunately, from Elisenda’s point of view, the new sotsinspector spoke most of the time to Àlex as they shared a common bond of being from Barcelona and having studied journalism at the Autonomous University, at the Bellaterra campus outside the city. They even had a few old university friends in common.

  ‘See,’ she’d told Àlex when they’d gone into her office, ‘Barcelona. Small-town mentality. You’re in the big city now. How many times do I have to tell you?’