Cocaine

by Donald Phillips

Chapter 25

  Barcelona, Spain, September 1999

  Once again they were keeping watch on the villa of Roberto Crucero but this time they had drawn the evening shift. Since the death of Jose Madruga at Guardalest it had become a personal crusade for Juan Carlos and he was determined that Crucero would not give them the slip again. Also, his conscience was bothering him. He knew that he might just as well have been going for a leak when he had left Madruga alone in the car that day, but in truth it had been only to get a paper and he had felt bad about lying to protect himself when Madruga was dead. It had become personal. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his new partner, Sergeant Bruno Turon. He was only a couple of years older than Juan Carlos and had already been a sergeant for the past five. It reinforced his feelings of inadequacy.

  The old diesel Peugeot 309 had gone, replaced by a six-year-old, BMW 325i. Not new enough to catch attention, but powerful enough to handle Crucero's Mercedes if the need arose. Radio procedure had also been changed. There were now standing instructions that if the radio were to go unserviceable when they were trailing Crucero, they were to pull him in at once. It didn't matter what minor traffic offence they decided to throw at him as long as they stopped him and made an excuse to then search the car. They were not falling for the jammed radio routine again and if Crucero were foolish enough to try it, they would at least be able to charge him under several minor laws. From breaking radio broadcast regulations to impeding the police in the execution of their duty. Bruno Turon nudged him to get his attention.

  "They are leaving the villa. Start the engine."

  Juan Carlos complied. Three hundred meters up the road, Crucero's black Mercedes 350SE was leaving the gates of the villa and turning in their direction. Juan Carlos immediately took out a road map of Barcelona and held it up, both detectives pretending to study it. The Mercedes moved slowly towards them, stopping when it was level. The chauffeur gave a couple of blasts on its twin tone horns. When he was sure that he had their startled attention the rear window hummed smoothly down and Roberto Crucero's handsome face smiled out at them.

  "Buenos Tardes, Señors, a lovely evening."

  The two detectives just stared at him, Juan Carlos controlling himself with some effort. Crucero smiled again.

  "I see you have changed your vehicle. That is very wise. The Peugeot was economical, but rather gutless, don't you think."

  Juan Carlos, with the smiling face mocking him from only half a meter away, snapped.

  "What the fuck do you want, Crucero? If you have something to say, say it. That is unless you want me to book you for obstructing the street and delay you for half an hour or so." He shook of the restraining hand that Bruno Turon placed on his arm.

  The only reaction this provoked from Roberto Crucero was a laugh.

  "Such gratitude when I am only trying to save you trouble."

  Crucero gave another wide smile. He gestured to the young and attractive woman sitting next to him.

  "Carla and I are going to my club to relax for a couple of hours. If you get bored sitting outside waiting for us, do come in and have a drink on the house. I shall tell the manager to expect you."

  Bruno Turon again dug his elbow into his companion’s ribs and leaning across to the driver’s window answered for them.

  "That's very nice of you, Mr Crucero, but our Jefe would not approve of that. However, we wish you an interesting evening. Perhaps the vice squad will consider a raid this evening. I know they haven't visited your club for a while."

  Crucero's answer was a scowl and the window of the Mercedes swiftly rose leaving the two detectives looking at deeply tinted glass. As it drove away Turon turned angrily to Juan Carlos.

  "If you are going to let the bastard wind you up like that you had better get on another case. He was just taking the piss because he knows that in his club, without a warrant, we are restricted to the bar while he can see who he likes in one of the back rooms. That's why I made the crack about the vice squad raiding him. Give him something to think about as well. Better get after him." He picked up the radio to call in.

  When Crucero reached the club his light-hearted mood had gone, the crack about the vice squad raiding him had made him angry that he had been stupid enough to bait the detectives assigned to follow him as he had an important meeting planned tonight. Still, they would never dream that he would provoke them if there were any chance of being caught out, so he was probably safe. He called his manager on the internal phone and made sure his visitor had arrived. On receiving an affirmative he went down the passage to the managers office. Henri Parsouel was sitting in the manager’s chair moodily turning over the cards in a game of patience. He looked up when Crucero came in and then swept all the cards together.

  "Well? What is happening?"

  Crucero went to the drinks cupboard behind the desk and poured two large brandies. He handed one to Parsouel and then went and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.

  "Henri, I am afraid the news is not good."

  Parsouel just looked at him, his brandy untasted. The silence stretched into seconds until Crucero knew he would have to be the one to break it. He took a large swallow of brandy.

  "Jensen and Doolan have been eliminated, but they were unable to release Angel this morning. I am sorry Henri, but I'm afraid she is dead."

  Parsouel went ashen, when he spoke his voice was just a croak.

  "What happened?"

  Crucero took another swallow and downed the rest of his brandy before continuing. When he spoke his voice was subdued and he kept his eyes down on his empty glass.

  "As far as we know it was sheer bad luck. They had stopped the police van and released Angel when two carloads of armed police arrived. In the ensuing gun battle several people were killed." He looked Henri directly in the eye as he told the lie. "Angel was one of them. She took a police bullet right through the heart."

  The crash of Henri Parsouel's brandy glass hitting the far wall was muted by the wooden panelling, the untasted brandy splashing out across the filing cabinets in a shower of crystal fragments. For some moments Henri Parsouel did not move and when he finally lifted his head his eyes looked like those of an alligator, cold and expressionless. His voice was low, but with an intensity that made Crucero shiver.

  "They have now killed all my family one by one. It is time for revenge. I have over five million dollars in Colombia and I am going to cause a few people an equal amount of pain and suffering, even if I have to spend every penny of it. What do you think the price for a dead policeman is these days? Five thousand pounds, ten thousand pounds? Let me see, that means I should be able to kill five hundred of them." He stood up and walked around the desk until he was directly in front of Crucero.

  "When are you going to get me on a boat to Colombia?"

  Crucero also stood and put his glass on the desk.

  "Tonight, Henri. Alfonso Romero will take you out to meet a Panamanian freighter that will have you there in less than three weeks. You have four hours to pack before he comes to collect you. There is little point in your staying in Spain any longer. I will send him in to see you now to take you back to your flat. From there you will go straight to the boat that will take you out to board the freighter." He held out his hand. "I am sorry to have been the bearer of such bad news. However, if you want any help from me to fight the bastards who killed her, you only have to ask."

  Parsouel nodded and shook his hand and then Crucero left closing the door behind him.

  In the Corridor he found Alfonso Romero leaning against the wall, smoking. He beckoned to him.

  "Is everything set for tonight's pickup?"

  "Of course, Roberto."

  "Good. You are going to have a passenger coming with you."

  Romero came upright with a jerk.

  "Who and why? For God's sake, Jefe, the job is dangerous enough without taking bloody passengers along. Who is it?"

  Crucero smiled.

  "This passenger wil
l leave the boat the moment you are several kilometres offshore. Preferably with a small hole in his head, if you get my meaning?"

  He indicated the office door. Alfonso's frown vanished and he gave a knowing smile. Crucero nodded.

  "Don't forget. He thinks he is going out to a Panamanian freighter. I will leave now and draw those two cretins outside away. You take him back to his flat to collect his things and then tonight take him down to the cruiser." He turned to go and then stopped. "And remember. Don't bring him back."

  He left the club laughing with his good humour restored. Gunther Hass had correctly predicted Henri Parsouel's reaction to the news of his daughter's death. Well they couldn't afford to have a grief-crazed madman stirring up the police force of the entire western world with a mad crusade of vengeance. Better they got rid of him tonight and then perhaps they could find some one else to restart the British section.