“No hablo bien, Señora, pero voy a tratar de entender,” he said, hesitating between words, and hoping she understood that he would try to understand what she would say. It had been a long time since he tried to use what he learned in school.
The duty officer had been watching them and came out from behind the desk to ask if the woman was bothering the Englishman. Ben told him no, that they were trying to communicate, although it was said with hand gestures. Doing the best he could, Ben recalled enough words to ask if there was an officer who could translate for them. The young man looked into the squad room and saw the required person. He went to the doorway and called to the uniformed man, who acknowledged him then came out to see what was going on. An explanation was made regarding what was needed. The officer buttoned his uniform, adjusted his tie and approached Ben. Like the Inspector, he spoke with an accent that gave his use of English a pleasing cadence.
“I understand that you require a translator—that you wish to speak with this woman?” He gestured toward Annunciata, who looked self-conscious. This kind of attention was foreign and made her uncomfortable.
“Yes, thank you,” Ben said. “I speak a little Spanish, but not enough for a conversation.”
The officer turned to Annunciata and asked what it was she needed to tell the man. She repeated the story as she had told it to the young desk officer, pausing now and then to wait for the translation to be made. Ben listened with intense concentration and a wrinkled brow. Soon he was aware of everything she had experienced and seen in the house. She described the man who had hired her—the bald tattooed head, the evil she saw in his eyes, his brusque manner—then all but pleaded with the officer to take her seriously. When Ben heard the translation describing the man, he knew immediately that it was likely the same man who had attacked him twice in London. He told the officer about his encounters with the man, and at last feeling he was getting somewhere, he asked to have the Inspector paged. While they waited he asked the officer to tell Annunciata why he needed the help of the police, about his sister, Olivia, and about Valerie.
When he finished, she shook her head in disbelief and said, “Aye … las mujeres pobres.”
“Si,” Ben said, agreeing that the two were indeed ‘poor women.’ He took Annunciata’s hand, looked at her squarely and said, “Muchas gracias, señora. ¿Por favor, cuál es su nombre?”
“Annunciata. Annunciata Domingo, señor. ¿Hice lo que me dijo?”
He told her that yes, what she had said helped more than she could know, and that perhaps now, with this new information, the Inspector would help him. She smiled and nodded, knowing that she had done the right thing. Gonzalo Macias came striding out of his office, his expression one of impatience. Clearly he wished the pair would be on their way, but he was mandated to treat tourists with respect and cooperation. He faced them and explained that the officer who translated had told him all of what had been said. He reasoned that even though the man described seemed to be the same one each had encountered, there was, alas, no proof and still nothing to go on. He took the time to explain the same in Spanish.
Annunciata stood and faced him, asserting herself and pointing out the coincidence regarding the house. Macias explained again that it wasn’t against the law either to rent a house or hire someone to clean it. And within that house a person could keep whatever he wished, within the law. He pointed out that rope, tape and handcuffs were legal possessions. He found no significance in the presence of old mattresses. She sighed, slumped her shoulders then turned to Ben, who had understood much of what she had been told. The Inspector repeated his admonitions and his offer to help if something definite developed. He then returned quickly to his office and shut the door.
It had been over an hour since Ben had arrived at the Comisaria, and the woman had been there longer. They sat together for a short time, Ben mulling over in his mind what his next step would be. He was on his own. This he knew. Ana would be wondering where he was and what he was doing. She would worry if she didn’t hear from him. Yet he knew she would balk at what he planned to do next. Actually talking to her face to face would be his undoing. He couldn’t mislead her and wracked his brain for a way to handle it. Annunciata sat beside him, tapping her foot impatiently and glancing in his direction every few minutes. She finally spoke up.
“¿Señor, qué va a hacer usted?
She had asked Ben what he intended to do, and he wasn’t sure how to accomplish telling her. In his halting version of Spanish he managed to ask her to come with him to the hotel lobby. He knew that once there, the concierge would translate for them. While there he would ask the woman to give Ana a message—to say he was in a great hurry, not to worry, and he would call her soon. Annunciata nodded that yes, she would accompany him, but she looked confused. He reached down and took her belongings then helped her up. She willingly followed him out of the Comisaria, the duty officer tracking them with his eyes all the way to the exit.
They crossed the plaza and entered the hotel. Ben waved to the young concierge, who eagerly left her desk to attend to the handsome guest. She also hoped to satisfy her curiosity about the shabby woman beside him. He explained that he needed help communicating and would she translate. She agreed, and Ben explained to Annunciata that he would like her to come with him in his car and show him the location of the derelict house. She answered that she would help in any way possible, but that she would have to see a map of the city to find the street and work out the best route. She had lived in Pamplona all her life, but the nicer residential neighborhoods remained foreign to her.
Outside the hotel’s main entrance, the attendants waited beside the lock box that held keys to the guests’ cars. Ben asked for his rental car and within five minutes an attendant pulled the car up in front of them. He left the engine running and came around to open the door for Annunciata. Ben motioned her to get in. This type of attention was also foreign to her, but she did as she was asked. Ben slid into the driver’s seat and gestured that she should buckle up. He turned toward her and smiled, all the while thinking it was going to be very difficult to understand her directions. He asked her for the address then entered it into the car’s GPS. He had expected a long drive in traffic across the city to some remote neighborhood, but he was wrong. The address seemed to be less than two miles from the hotel.
After several wrong turns in spite of the GPS, he found the street. She became agitated, but confirmed the location of the house, a little more than half way down. Ben slowed the car and proceeded down the street. The houses were large, and most were partially hidden behind stucco walls with tall iron gates that discouraged entry. The neighborhood had seen better days. Cracked stucco and fading paint told the story, as did the wild overgrowth of gardens, barely visible through the ironwork.
Suddenly Annunciata pointed ahead and to the left. “Ahí está la casa! A la izquierda!”
“¿Esa pequeña casa?” Ben asked. She nodded confirming that to the left was the little house. He pulled to the curb, just shy of the property line. It sat back from the sidewalk, square in the middle of a rather large and neglected lot. It seemed very out of place on what had surely been an affluent street. He wondered if at one time it had housed servants, or maybe a groundskeeper. But that wasn’t important. Only what he might find was of any concern.
They sat in the car, saying little. Ben kept his eyes on the house, looking for any sign of life. After about thirty minutes Annunciata managed to explain that she had to get home to her children. He apologized for taking so much of her time and reluctantly started the engine. Once back at the hotel he had a taxi summoned for her. She balked at the idea, knowing she couldn’t afford the fare. He told her not to worry and handed the driver more than enough for the fare and a generous tip.
She saw what he had done and said, “Usted es muy amable, señor Ben.”
Ben smiled and said, “Es a ustedes… muy amables,” that she was the kind one, and the only one who had been interested in helping him. Her e
xpression told him that his Spanish needed work. He asked the driver to wait a moment, and while ushering Annunciata into the back seat, he asked for her contact information. He was surprised to see that she had a business card. She hesitated then pulled a pen out of her bag and wrote something on the back. She asked the driver to translate and said that in case he forgot, she had written the address of the house on the card and would he please let her know what happened. He nodded yes and she got into the taxi. Her last words were that she would pray for his sister and her friend. He thanked her, shut the door and waved as they pulled away.
It seemed as though it had been half a day since he first entered the Comisaria, but in truth it had only been about three hours. He missed Ana and knew that he had probably caused her worry of some kind. There was nothing for it but to deal with the situation. He hoped that there would be an update from his father. In the elevator he decided to return to the little house early the next morning. He would sit in his car and wait again, hoping to see someone coming in or out that would look either suspicious or clearly innocent. He had no time to waste on useless leads. Yet in his gut he felt the cleaning woman was onto something.
Ana heard his key in the lock and jumped up from the chair where she had been reading something on her tablet. When Ben came through the doorway she threw her arms around his neck and looked at him, trying to read his mood. As her relief subsided she backed away a few steps, folded her arms and glared at him.
“You do know how long I’ve been waiting, don’t you?” She waited for a response, but there was nothing from Ben, who seemed not to know where to start. “Where have you been?” Her tone was more questioning than accusatory.
Ben reached for her hand and led her to the small sofa, where he sat down before beginning to speak. “First, I went to the police station across the plaza. No one was of much help until a woman who was listening to me spoke up about why she was there. She heard me trying to get things across to the officers.” He waited a moment for Ana to take in what he had said, then continued. “She had seen something very suspicious at one of her jobs—a filthy old house she was hired to clean. She doesn’t speak a word of English, so it wasn’t easy. I got one of the officers to translate. She described the man who had hired her—said his demeanor was threatening—that to her he looked ‘evil.’ He sounds just like the guy who attacked me twice in London—has to be—the shaved tattooed head, brawny build.” Clearly agitated, Ben got up and began to pace.
“That’s a coincidence worthy of consideration—too much of a coincidence!” Ana said, motioning him to go on.
“It’s what she found while cleaning the place that was the ‘capper.’ There was a duffle in the closet that contained handcuffs, chains, and some sort of tape.” Ana’s jaw dropped. “She offered to show me where the house is located. She had the address, but didn’t really know how to get there from here. I came back to the hotel to get the rental car. I didn’t have time to come up and tell you what was going on. Sorry about that, but I didn’t want to lose her help, and she had a family to get home to.”
Ana said that she understood, but her emotional side was at odds with what she knew was logical. She had to fight the hurt feelings that resulted from being excluded and spending the day waiting by the phone. But he was here now, and she was relieved. Ben told her the rest of the story—how he went to the address and watched the house for a while, but intended to go back early the next day. She told him adamantly that she was going with him. He knew there was no point in arguing with her after the day she’d had. He also knew there would be fallout when she came through to his room in the morning and found him gone. He intended to be up and out before dawn and parked near the little house, watching.
The feeling of Ana’s body against his back interrupted his train of thought. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close. This small intimacy rekindled the feeling of deprivation he had been fighting since their encounter in the field. He gently moved her arms away from his body and turned to face her. She didn’t say a word, just looked up, stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on each bristly cheek. With a weary sigh he pulled her closer, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, once softly then again with an open hungry mouth. They seemed to suspend breathing while one kiss flowed into the next. Ben was unaware that he was backing Ana toward the bed. When her legs touched the edge, she dropped to a sitting position and fell back, her heart beginning to pound in her chest as she focused on Ben standing over her.
He looked down with eyes that seemed to ask if this was the moment, if more was going to happen between them again—right now—finally. Ana read his expression, and although she wanted nothing more than to make love to him, she said, almost pleading, “Oh Ben, not like this.” Most likely it wasn’t Ben’s desire she was trying to control. It was her own. He backed away and ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously. She wanted to reassure him. “I want what you want, but it feels selfish and won’t make the right kind of memory.”
Ben shook his head in frustration and said, “I know. I know. This is like being in a special kind of jail—convicted for lust.”
She smiled and made a face that put down his sense of humor on the subject. She reached out her arms and he pulled her up into another embrace. With her face against his chest she said, “We’re both tired. But in spite of that, after what just started I know we need to be in separate beds tonight—with a door between us.”
“God, I don’t know what I was thinking. Olivia and Valerie are in trouble, and here I am fighting a strong urge to take you to bed.”
“We’re both looking for an escape—a distraction from the anxiety.” She paused then drew him to her gaze. “And we both have tension to release.”
The desire in Ben’s expression burned through her as he said, “You have no idea.”
He held her tightly, pressing his face against her neck, inhaling her scent before slowly tracing his lips upward to her eager mouth. When the kiss ended they abruptly pulled away from each other, struggling to let the moment go. Ben held her at arm’s length and locked eyes with her. A palpable energy surrounded them as they fought for control. It was Ana who finally broke the spell. She gently kissed his cheek and said good night, but not before reminding him to wake her when he got up in the morning. She turned away and went through to her room, closing the adjoining door. He listened for the lock to be turned, but heard nothing. At this point he was more tired than hungry for sex, and the fatigue helped sublimate his desire. He shed his clothes, took a fast shower and slid into bed. After setting the alarm on his phone, he turned off the light and gave in to the stress of the day, the exhaustion that would shelter him from worry about what was to come.
The same scenario played out on the other side of the door. Ana fell into a deep sleep, visited by dreams of being in Ben’s arms, sharing passion seemingly too real to be a dream. Yet an unseen force soon pulls him away from her. She senses danger but cannot move to help him, as he is drawn further and further out of reach. In the wee hours she lay awake, disturbed and fearful of sleep that could take her back to what could even be a premonition.
Ana knew that given a choice Ben would leave her behind when morning came. He didn’t need the responsibility of her safety along with what he could be facing. She knew that without a gun he had no weapon other than his wits, strong emotions and adrenaline. Those intangibles wouldn’t go far if faced down by a gun. Maybe she could help—somehow—and she had seen the address scribbled on the card given him by the cleaning woman. Hopefully it would still be on Ben’s night table in the morning. She promised herself not to get in the way, just to hang back, wait, observe, and have the police number ready on her mobile phone. Once the decision was made to be a part of whatever lay ahead, Ana dosed, not realizing how soon dawn would come.
* * *
Ben was awake before the alarm on his watch had a chance to rouse him. He went to the window and looked out onto the plaza, his apprehension giving way to r
esolve. The sky at first light changed slowly from gray to a muted coral and promised a scorching day ahead. In the distance, toward the hills, a ridge of clouds roiled like tumbling balls of cotton, gathering strength in promise of a cooling afternoon rain. He turned back from the window and walked quietly to the bathroom. After quickly brushing his teeth he splashed water on his face, ignoring the stubble of two days without a shave. His clothes from the previous day lay strewn on the floor, so he just picked them up, eased into the jeans and rumpled shirt then plucked his jacket from the chair. He couldn’t bring himself to leave without laying eyes on Ana one more time, so he approached the adjoining door, the memory of their kisses washing over him. With every swell of desire that had moved them, since that first time, they had stopped, reminding each other to look ahead to the time everything would be resolved, everyone safe. Why had they waited, he wondered? It had come to this: he was unsure it would ever happen again, unsure he would still be alive when the sun set on this day that could bring danger, sorrow or more frustration.
He carefully put his hand on the door handle and opened it without a sound. Fearful of waking her he didn’t step through, only took a moment to study her. He remembered that first night in the hotel room, how he had watched her sleep— the soft and steady breath from her open mouth, the lusciousness of her lips, the tangles of dark hair falling across her face. It was time to leave, and his chest ached at the thought. The reality washed over him. He had fallen in love.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Paris stared down at the two folded sweaters lying on the bed next to her open suitcase. She was distracted from packing by Hugh’s voice in the background, carrying on a serious conversation with his contact at Interpol. At this point she didn’t care about the success or failure of the robbery, only about the safety of her daughter, Ben and his ex-wife. Although she still resented Valerie for the hell she put Ben through when they were married, she would never wish the woman ill. Paris had no qualms about going to prison, if it should come to that. No sacrifice was too great for her children. She had to admit that continuing to ruminate on unknown outcomes was overdramatic. Hugh would surely chastise her for taking on the role of sacrificial lamb. It was common sense—he wouldn’t put her at risk. Besides, Interpol and Scotland Yard knew everything already. Yet that fact worried her as well.
Good Deed Bad Deed : A Novel Mystery Page 26
