City of Drowned Souls Page 6

  ‘Hard to believe, I know.’

  Elisenda had decided that they should go and see the parents of the missing boy straight after their meeting with Puigventós, both to reassure them that the Mossos were taking the disappearance seriously and to gauge the situation before deciding on their next step.

  ‘Seguretat Ciutadana are out searching the boy’s route home,’ she’d voiced her thoughts to Àlex. ‘We need to speak to the parents first to see which way we need to take the investigation.’

  She glanced at the notes on her mobile. Sunday’s election was to decide the ruling party and president of the Catalan government for the next four years. With probably the most far-reaching powers of any non-national government in Europe, the Generalitat in Barcelona was able to raise taxes and pass laws, with exclusive jurisdiction in some areas, such as the environment, trade and transport. Where it shared powers with the Spanish government was in education, currently a sore point in relations between Barcelona and Madrid, and health and justice. Susanna Miravent represented a populist political feeling that had emerged in recent years since the financial crisis that wanted to retain a union with Spain and reduce the powers of the Catalan government. Miravent, Elisenda knew, went as far as to advocate the abolition of the Generalitat. Taking one last look at the screen, Elisenda flicked the mobile off and sighed.

  Àlex slowed as they approached a group of two cars and a white TV van waiting outside a house, seemingly one of the biggest in the neighbourhood. So far, a single television camera had been set up on the opposite side of the road, the crew and reporter moving into position as Elisenda and Àlex’s car slowed down outside the house. A reporter and a photographer climbed out of each of the cars and moved forward. Elisenda wound her window down to speak to one of the two Mossos standing guard by the front gate.

  ‘Are they giving you any trouble?’ she asked the uniformed officer, a caporala with piercing blue eyes and light brown hair pulled up tightly under her cap.

  ‘Not yet. Surprised there aren’t more.’

  ‘There will be. Call Vista Alegre if you need extra bodies.’

  The other Mosso pushed the bell on the front gate and spoke into the intercom, standing aside as the wide single automatic gate moved slowly backward and inward. As Àlex waited, one of the reporters tried to attract his attention to ask a question, but he shook his head. Revving the engine gently, he squeezed through the gate before it was fully open and drove up the steep drive to a turning circle in front of the house. Elisenda realised that her initial idea of the building being large was inaccurate. It was a typical, nondescript cloned house, a product of the recent construction boom that owed its appearance of opulence to the high hedge and extensive lawn surrounding it rather than to the house itself. As expensive as the architects’ place in the country, but with none of the taste. Or isolation, she thought, its one saving grace.

  At the top of a raised porch, a blond wood door opened and a Mosso came out to show them in. ‘They’re in the living room,’ he told them, pointing to a door. ‘They’re expecting you.’

  ‘How are they doing?’ Elisenda asked him.

  He looked suddenly perplexed, surprising her. ‘Best if you see for yourself,’ he finally told her.

  Elisenda thought that he might have come in with them, but he sat down instead on a straight-backed chair that had been placed in the hall. Going into the room, two things struck her. The first was the sparseness of the decoration, a model of white space and minimalism. She hated to admit that she liked the feel of the room, with its two low sofas, open fireplace and modern art hanging on the walls, and very little else. The other thing that struck her was that there were three people watching them walk up to the sofas. She’d been expecting only two. None of them rose.

  ‘Susanna Miravent,’ Elisenda greeted the only woman. ‘I’m Sotsinspector Elisenda Domènech, my colleague here is Sergent Àlex Albiol. We’re with the Serious Crime Unit in Girona, we’ll be leading the investigation into your son’s whereabouts.’

  ‘The Serious Crime Unit?’ Miravent asked, a faint trace of consternation on her face.

  ‘We deal with major investigations in the Girona area. The Mossos believe that given your profile, your son’s disappearance should be treated with the utmost care. It doesn’t reflect any concern for his safety that is out of the ordinary for cases such as this. May we sit down?’

  Miravent was sitting on the sofa facing the fireplace next to one of the men. She gestured to the other man, who was sitting on the sofa at a right-angle to the first one and facing the window, to vacate his seat. He joined his companions on their sofa, sitting between them. Elisenda took the seat he’d just left, but Àlex stayed standing, his eyes scanning the people in the room and everything else in it.

  ‘Would you care for some coffee?’ Miravent asked them. She turned to the man at the far end of the sofa. ‘Marc, can you go and arrange that, please?’

  Slightly ungraciously, the man she called Marc got up and left the room, returning just a few moments later. Not enough time to put a cafetera on, Elisenda thought. She asked the two men to introduce themselves.

  ‘Marc Comas,’ the man who’d supposedly gone out to arrange the coffees said. ‘Jaume’s father.’

  ‘Are you also a politician?’

  ‘I’m a city councillor. On the planning and construction committee. I’m in charge of green-lighting all new planning projects in the city.’ Instinctively, he produced a card from his wallet and handed it to Elisenda.

  And not as successful or as high profile as your wife, Elisenda thought, despite your trying to prove otherwise. She looked at the grand title on the business card he’d given to her and wondered how that might affect him. She studied him quickly as she put his card in her notebook. His face was too fleshy for the rest of his body and she could already see he had a habit of pinching his cheek tightly while other people were speaking, as though reminding himself to pay attention.

  ‘And this is Francesc Bofarull,’ Miravent said, indicating the other man. ‘My campaign manager. He was with us when we discovered that Jaume was missing and when we reported it to the police.’

  Elisenda had seen in the notes before leaving Vista Alegre that Bofarull had been with the married couple the previous evening when they’d gone to Vista Alegre. She studied him quickly. He looked like every man she’d ever seen who’d graduated from a business school. A corporate haircut crowning a confident and chiselled face. Slim, good in a jacket and tie, his fingers as manicured as his manner.

  ‘I’m afraid I need to ask you some questions,’ she told them, naturally gravitating towards Miravent as she spoke.

  Before she could, though, the door opened and a young woman came in carrying a tray full of cups and saucers and a large and spotlessly clean cafetera and milk jug. So that was how come arranging coffee took a matter of seconds. Without a word, the woman left the tray on the table between the sofas and left the room.

  ‘Encarna, our housekeeper,’ Miravent explained to Elisenda. ‘I’ll pour.’

  Elisenda watched her as she deftly set out the cups and saucers and served everyone a cup of coffee. For the first time, Elisenda noticed her hands. Despite being Catalan to the core, from a family that traced its roots in the city back centuries, she wore her wedding ring on her right hand, the Spanish way, instead of in the Catalan fashion on the left hand. It instantly irritated Elisenda, who had to fight down the emotion. Everything about the politician was elegant and slender, from her long fingers to the fine cut of her face and figure, the lithe grace of her body at rest and the efficient parsimony of her movements. Elisenda could see why, despite embracing politics most people in Catalonia found unpalatable, she enjoyed the media exposure she did and invited the trust of an increasingly confused and sceptical electorate. Miravent proffered a cup to Àlex, her eyes engaging with his as he leaned forward to take it, and sat back to look frankly at Elisenda, wordlessly inviting her to ask her questions.

  Elisenda wen
t through the same process that the team at Vista Alegre had the previous evening. She learned that the boy had left school at the normal time, five-fifteen, and hadn’t stayed on for his extra English lessons as he should have done. The classes were extracurricular and optional and term had only just started a week earlier, so the teacher had seen nothing untoward in his not being there. After that, he was supposed to have gone to a friend’s house to do their homework together, but he’d told the friend he wasn’t going, which was why no one noticed his absence until quite late in the evening. The friend thought he’d gone home, his parents assumed he was at the friend’s house. It was only when he didn’t show up at the time they expected him that they rang the friend. After that, they’d rung all his other friends and the school head teacher, but none of them had seen him since five-fifteen. The boy whose house he was supposed to be going to reckoned he’d seen Jaume getting on a bus outside the school, which wasn’t in itself unusual as that’s how he normally went home. Elisenda made a note of the friend’s name.

  ‘Do you know if there was anything that was worrying him? Was he being bullied at school?’

  Comas grunted. ‘Hardly. Jaume wasn’t the sort of boy to be bullied by anyone.’

  ‘Might he have gone to see someone of his own accord? Grandparents? Friends from outside school?’ As she asked the questions, Elisenda digested Comas’s words and how the subtext of what people said was often more revealing than the words they thought they were saying.

  ‘We’ve called everyone.’ Surprisingly, it was Bofarull, the campaign manager, who answered. ‘There’s no one we can think of that he’d be with.’

  ‘And he would have told us where he was going, anyway,’ Miravent added. ‘Jaume would never fail to tell us where he was.’

  Elisenda knew she had to tread carefully with the next question. ‘Do you think it might have something to do with his brother?’

  ‘Jaume was over the death of his brother.’ Again, it was Bofarull who replied.

  ‘We’d all talked about Albert’s death,’ Miravent continued. ‘We were all comfortable with it. It isn’t something that would have made Jaume go off. And this isn’t an anniversary or anything like that.’

  ‘Any jealousy?’ Elisenda insisted. She was certain she saw a flicker in Comas’s expression. ‘Anything else at home that would be upsetting him?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Bofarull answered.

  Elisenda could sense Àlex behind her drawing in a breath, picking up on the campaign manager’s insistence on replying to what should have been questions for the parents to answer. She deliberately aimed her next question at Miravent.

  ‘Given your political beliefs, do you think that someone might have taken Jaume as a protest or to make demands?’

  Bofarull was about to answer, but Miravent signalled him to keep quiet. ‘My political beliefs, Elisenda? I have beliefs the same as any other person who chooses to enter politics. I don’t see why someone should target my family because of my beliefs. They might because I’m a politician, but not because of the views I uphold.’

  Nice speech, Elisenda thought. She was willing to place a bet that Bofarull would have come up with almost the same reply.

  ‘Nonetheless,’ she told Miravent, ‘there is a strong possibility that your son’s disappearance is related to the elections and possibly to the stance that your party represents. If that is the case, we would expect to hear from whoever might have taken Jaume with a series of demands. The Mossos would need to see that the moment you received it.’

  ‘You have my word.’

  ‘There are Mossos inside and outside your house to keep you safe and to try and stop the media from harassing you. We will also be sending a member of the Policia Científica here to monitor your landline in case anyone rings with demands. If you receive any suspicious calls on your mobile phones, we will need to hear about it. One other thing: we have a dedicated family support unit based in Sabadell. Their job is to keep you informed of how the investigation is progressing and offer you any comfort you need. They’ll be contacting you this morning.’

  Miravent put both hands up to stop Elisenda. ‘I’m afraid we won’t be needing the services of the family support unit, thank you. I would prefer to deal directly with you, Elisenda. You would be far better able to keep us up to speed with matters.’

  ‘That is not how we usually do this, I’m sorry. I’ll be too involved with the actual search for Jaume to be able to give you the time you need.’

  Miravent smiled indulgently. ‘I’m a busy woman, too, Elisenda, especially seeing as we’re in the closing stages of an election campaign. I really won’t have the time to be dealing with someone on the end of a phone in Sabadell. I would sooner speak directly to you.’

  Her tone had the finality of someone used to getting their way. Elisenda had no doubt that once she spoke to Puigventós and the judge, that would prove to be only too true. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she promised, willing to cede ground on this to possibly gain a compromise elsewhere. ‘You or your representative will also need to be present when we see the judge. We have a time scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning. Can you arrange that?’

  ‘Why do we have to see the judge?’

  ‘You’re aware that our investigation will be directed by an examining judge. They’ll be the one responsible for deciding on the focus of the investigation and how the Mossos are to run it. In this case, they have to decide on the preliminary procedures to be taken. To do that, they’ll look at all the evidence we submit to them and listen to your arguments to establish the nature of the disappearance. Once that’s established, the judge will instruct us how to proceed. Don’t worry, it doesn’t mean that we’re not doing everything we can in the meantime to find Jaume, it’s simply due procedure.’

  ‘I’ll attend as representative,’ Bofarull offered.

  Elisenda shook her head. ‘If it’s not a direct family member, it will have to be a lawyer.’

  ‘We’ll arrange that by tomorrow morning,’ Miravent promised. ‘We have our own lawyer.’

  ‘As and when we hear anything, we’ll contact you,’ Elisenda told her. ‘If there’s anything you need, please call this number.’

  Elisenda gave Miravent her card and made to stand up.

  ‘Just so you know,’ Bofarull said, ‘we’re arranging a media conference for this afternoon. An appeal for information. We need to get this out there as soon as possible to find Jaume.’

  Elisenda considered him. ‘That’s your decision. I would suggest you don’t let the media turn it into a circus.’

  ‘We’re very experienced at this,’ he assured her.

  I’m sure you are, she thought.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Cross the river and take a right,’ Elisenda told Àlex as they drove back towards the city centre.

  Àlex chose his words carefully before speaking. ‘Bit of a cold fish. Miravent.’ He paused, but Elisenda made no effort to reply. ‘And Comas. They really didn’t seem that worried to me.’

  ‘Politicians,’ she replied with a shrug. ‘Used not to giving anything away.’

  ‘Didn’t you find their reaction strange?’

  She sighed. ‘What should their reaction be?’

  ‘Their kid is missing.’ Àlex couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. He glanced nervously at her the moment he spoke. She stared expressionlessly through the windscreen without answering. ‘You all right, Elisenda?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘With this investigation. A missing child.’

  She turned her head to look at him, her face cold, before returning her gaze to the road. ‘Tell me what happened last night after I left,’ she finally said.

  He exhaled silently, knowing not to pursue the matter.

  ‘The bad guys got away,’ he told her, his voice unnaturally calm. ‘There were no Seguretat Ciutadana cars out and about near enough to get on to them and by the time one got there, they were long gone.’

&
nbsp; ‘Anyone ask what you were doing there?’ Her voice was recovering some of its animation.

  ‘Not really. Científica came out to look for any traces, so they were more worried about doing their job, Seguretat Ciutadana didn’t ask, and you’ve seen what’s worrying Puigventós this morning.’ He turned to face her for a moment. ‘So you got away with it.’

  ‘I lead a charmed and fortunate existence.’ Even Elisenda laughed wryly at her own words. Àlex grinned, the tension evaporating. ‘Did Científica find anything?’

  ‘Nothing important. Unfortunately, you didn’t draw blood from that guy you hit, so no possible DNA there. The car was stolen. Uniforms found it burned out on some waste land near the industrial estate in Celrà this morning. They didn’t leave anything either at the house or at the car. These people know what they’re doing.’

  ‘Celrà? That’s a good thirty kilometres away. And in the other direction. So where they went after that is anybody’s guess. I can’t see the owners moving back any time soon once we tell them about it. Have you had any more thoughts on the stones and twigs we saw?’

  Àlex considered for a moment. They’d crossed the Onyar and were heading out of the city, the river to their right behind a thin straggle of trees, to the left scrub-lined hill and sparse, empty buildings. ‘I think it’s got to mean something. I was going to check up on the other houses that have been targeted recently to see if I can find anything similar there but then this thing with the missing boy came up.’

  ‘Still a good idea. We’ll have to sort out how we split these two jobs.’ She gestured at a turnoff up ahead. ‘You need to take a left here, we’re exploring the heady delights of Font de la Pólvora.’

  They drove past Tío Juan perched on the same rickety stool as always, clocking everyone coming in or out of his neighbourhood, his hands clasped tightly on the handle of a heavy walking stick, its tip resting on the pavement between his feet. Elisenda knew he’d seen them even though he showed no sign of it, so by the time they got to the end of the road the word that they were around would be spreading through the less salubrious parts of the district. She reckoned he was able to recognise pretty much all of the unmarked Mossos cars in the city. Sure enough, when they tried Siset’s apartment, he wasn’t there.