City of Drowned Souls Read online

  Àlex spotted Manel at a desk in the outer office, working on a computer. ‘And now we have Manel from Lleida bringing civilisation to us all.’

  Elisenda looked out through the glass partition wall. Manel was sitting alone at one desk, Montse and Josep were working together at another. ‘Give him a chance.’

  Àlex raised an eyebrow at her and called the other three in. Josep, the last one in, brought a chair with him. The room was a lot more cramped than Puigventós’ office had been. Seeing Siset’s satchel where she’d left it propped up against the wall, Elisenda picked it up and balanced it on top of a filing cabinet, tipping a dead plant into the waste-paper basket to make space. She decided she’d check the bag’s contents properly after the meeting with the rest of her unit.

  ‘Are you still suspended?’ Manel took up the thread again. Swatting with his big paws, Elisenda thought. Josep shook his head in irritation.

  ‘No, I’m not. I still have to go to counselling every morning, but apart from that, I’m back full on.’ She considered the two investigations facing her team. ‘And is it ever full on?’

  She and Àlex explained that as well as the investigation into the violent house robberies, they were also going to be leading the search for the missing teenager.

  ‘The five of us?’ Josep asked, aghast.

  ‘We’ll have the support of Sotsinspector Armengol’s Local Investigation Unit,’ Elisenda told him. ‘Not ideal, I know, but that’s how it is.’

  ‘Why have they given us the missing teenager case?’ Montse wanted to know. Seeing the three men in her team filling the room – Àlex with his lean but broad-shouldered build, Manel with his muscular bulk and Josep with his height – Elisenda was struck by how slight Montse looked among them. It was a deception. A serious marathon runner away from work, she was muscle and fibre, a compact powerhouse of stamina resting lightly on her chair, always on the edge of movement.

  ‘Because of his mother and because of the family’s history.’

  A fellow Girona native like Elisenda, Montse knew of the brother who’d gone missing four years earlier, but Josep and Manel had to be told the full story.

  ‘Only in Girona,’ Manel commented, tutting. ‘We don’t have politicians in Lleida who are anti-independence.’

  ‘Oh, give it a rest,’ Josep muttered.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ Montse added. ‘You’ve got a member of the same party as Susanna Miravent’s in the government.’

  ‘He won’t get voted back in, though,’ Manel replied, final and gruff.

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Josep joined in. ‘And there’s nothing to say Miravent will get back in. Everything’s changed since the last election.’

  Àlex spoke before Manel had a chance to reply. ‘Yes, OK, this isn’t the point right now.’

  Elisenda paused before carrying on. Àlex’s job as her sergent was increasingly becoming one of policing the squabbles of the three caporals, ever since Manel’s joining the unit had changed the dynamic. It was becoming her job to try and get that back or find a new dynamic that worked. She looked at them now.

  ‘If you want to discuss politics, go and have a coffee on your own time and do it. Right now, we’ve got a missing teenager to find and we’ve got a gang targeting isolated houses who are getting steadily more violent in their attacks.’

  Josep and Montse looked suitably chastened. Manel was unmoved, no doubt feeling her comments weren’t also directed at him. Elisenda closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, only too aware of the bridges she had to build. One step at a time, she thought.

  ‘OK,’ she continued. ‘We’re all going to have to double up and deal with both investigations more than we’d want to, but some of us are going to concentrate more on one case and some on the other. As you know, Àlex is already running the investigation into the house robberies, so that will continue. He’ll be working with Manel on that.’

  Àlex looked impassively from Manel to Elisenda. She knew that he normally preferred to work with Montse. ‘That’s fine,’ he told her.

  ‘Good. I think you need to check up on the symbols that we’ve found at one of the houses and see if there’s any trace of them at any of the other houses that have been targeted. We’ll keep looking for Siset too, to see why he gave me bad information. I’ll be in charge of the investigation into where Jaume Comas Miravent is. Montse and Josep will be working with me on that.’

  She caught the last two caporals exchanging a brief glance. There was relief in both looks. Ignoring it, she went through the various strands of the investigation that she and Àlex had discussed with Puigventós.

  ‘The Local Investigation Unit will be looking at the question of whether this is down to the boy being abducted by a sex offender. We’ll be looking at whether the boy has absconded. Montse, your first job is to get out to his school and talk to his teachers and classmates, see what that turns up. I want you also to look into the family itself in case there’s any cause there for him to run away.’

  ‘Or other causes,’ Àlex reminded her.

  ‘Exactly. We also have to consider the fact that this is the second child in this family to have gone missing. Inevitably, that has to raise questions about the parents’ part in this, either separately or jointly. Initially, they are to be regarded as victims, but we will also be keeping an open mind as we look into the family setup more closely. Please remember that as you conduct the investigation. That finally leaves the possibility of kidnap, which I think is potentially the most likely and could be for political or financial reasons given who the boy’s mother is. I’ll be looking into that with help from all of you.’

  ‘Could it be the missing brother who’s come back and taken this one?’ Manel suddenly asked.

  ‘Be serious,’ Josep instantly snapped at him.

  Elisenda put her hand up to them both to warn them to keep quiet while she considered Manel’s comment. ‘I don’t know that that’s something we should initially be looking at, but we do need to examine the case notes for the brother’s disappearance. Josep, that’s your first job. I want to know if there was anyone who came under suspicion at the time of the first boy’s disappearance who we should be talking to now. Or if there were any other circumstances that we need to take into account with this case. That will overlap partly with Montse looking into the family, as you might come across some pattern common to both disappearances that’s to do with the boys’ home life. Does everyone know where they’re starting?’

  She watched them all nod their understanding before making her final remarks.

  ‘Now, I know none of us here agrees with Susanna Miravent’s politics.’ She ignored Manel’s snort, instead composing her own face into an impassive mask. ‘But that’s not the point here. As far as we’re concerned, her politics don’t matter. She’s a mother. A mother of two missing children, one she’ll still be grieving for, another whose disappearance will open up the wounds of the last four years.’ She managed to keep her voice from faltering. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Montse exchange a glance with Àlex. ‘That’s all we’re interested in. Not her politics, but her child. Getting her child back.’

  She looked from one to the other of her team, each one evidently forcing themselves to make eye contact with her.

  ‘One other thing,’ she added, staring at each of them in turn again, more pointedly this time. ‘There will be some crossover in what we find, and we’re all going to have to participate in both investigations at some times. That means we have to talk to each other. I hope you’re all very clear on that.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Escola Mare de Déu del Mont was wholly unlike the school that Montse had gone to and she gave a little silent thank you to her parents for that fact. She’d gone to a state school in Santa Eugènia, the suburb where she’d grown up, not one of the private religious schools like this one that still flourished even today. The one positive she’d give it was its location, which she had to admit was glorious. Almost at the top o
f Montjuïc, the strange blip of a hill to the north of the city centre, the views of the surrounding countryside as far as the Pyrenees were enough to make her stop and take in nature’s display for a moment. A rarity for her. Even as she’d driven her way up the steep twists and turns to the rambling school buildings near the flat peak, she’d had to suppress the urge to park the car and run the rest of the way. Filling her lungs at every step with the less humid air outside the old city while she drained them with the muscle-bursting effort of the relentless climb. It was her idea of bliss.

  ‘I can give you ten minutes,’ the head teacher told her. Pulling the folds of his habit together in the light breeze, he introduced himself as Father Besses.

  A crocodile of primary-age children stopped its silent progress under the sheltered arcade of the quadrangle to let the two adults wade through them to a door under the cool air of the arches. Montse looked at them, their faces impassive, none of the chattering joy she recalled of that age bubbling through. Unlike the state system, where primary and secondary schools were separate, the private institutions took in children at the start of their education and churned them out through the factory gate at the end, their childhood and beyond forever influenced.

  Besses suddenly stopped inside the cold of the building. ‘This is terrible, simply terrible.’

  It sounded to Montse like a dutiful afterthought.

  ‘Isn’t it, Father?’

  ‘I don’t teach Jaume Comas Miravent any subjects as such,’ he told her. ‘I teach the younger children, whereas I deal more with the pastoral aspects of the older boys’ education.’

  He showed her along a hushed corridor to a spacious office with a large window overlooking the mountains to the northwest. The room was cool, the sun not yet shining in, the air conditioning on low. One wall was dominated by a large wooden crucifix. Montse had to keep reminding herself that this wasn’t some ancient institution that had taught generations of Girona wealth, but had gone up in the last thirty years, the whole complex designed to resemble a much older religious building, with breeze-block towers and prefabricated cloisters.

  ‘Has there been anything in Jaume’s behaviour or state of mind since the start of the new term that has given you cause for concern, Father?’ she asked him, refusing his offer of a coffee.

  The head thought for a moment. ‘None of his teachers has commented on anything. He has come in for a degree of ribbing from some of the other boys, though. His mother appearing so frequently in the news has contributed to that. But nothing unpleasant or that could be construed as a problem.’

  ‘No bullying?’

  ‘We simply do not countenance bullying at this school. Our boys are taught the merit of humanity and Christian values.’

  Montse wondered if the children would have the same to say about that. ‘Was he having any problems with his course work?’

  In strange contrast to the old-fashioned nature of their surroundings, Father Besses deftly tapped at a computer on his desk and studied the screen intently. ‘It’s rather early in the school year to say, but there does appear to be some imbalance between his work last year and so far this year. But as I say, it’s far too early to read anything into that. Many of our pupils come back after the long summer holidays and find it difficult at first to get back into their school work. It soon rights itself.’

  ‘But it could indicate that something was troubling Jaume?’

  In reply, Father Besses shrugged, holding both hands out flat in front of him. ‘Conceivably,’ he conceded.

  ‘Jaume’s brother Albert also studied here, didn’t he? Do you think there was anything about his brother’s disappearance that might have led to Jaume running away?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it likely. Albert’s disappearance was four years ago, when Jaume was still quite young. From my conversations with him in the years since that time, I would say that he has come to terms with the loss of his brother. His faith has helped him considerably there. They were quite close but very different. Albert was more academically gifted. Jaume is more athletic. He plays for the school basketball team. Oddly, although Albert was two years the elder, it was Jaume who looked out for his brother, not the other way around as you’d expect. Albert was the quieter of the two, Jaume is more assertive.’

  Montse took in his words. ‘I’d like to speak to some of Jaume’s classmates. His closest friends here.’

  Besses peered keenly at her. ‘I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to allow that. As you will appreciate, I am in loco parentis here. I cannot sanction your speaking to any of the boys without the consent of their parents.’

  ‘In which case, can you give me their names and I’ll approach their parents to ask permission?’

  He still looked unsure. ‘Would you leave that with me, please? I’ll speak to the parents of the boys in question and tell you their decision.’

  ‘One of your students went missing, Father Besses, a teenaged boy, while you and the school were in loco parentis. You must understand the need to find him.’

  The priest shook his head emphatically. ‘Jaume was not on the school premises when he went missing. Neither my staff nor the school can be held responsible.’

  ‘Father Besses, we will need to speak to these boys.’ Her voice was firm. ‘I’ll call you this afternoon for their details. I trust you will cooperate if we want to find Jaume safe and sound. And keep your school’s good reputation.’

  He studied her for a brief moment. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Montse got up to leave. ‘Thank you. I’ll be in touch later today.’

  * * *

  The house owner spoke to Àlex through a video intercom next to the front door. It looked new. So did the small fenced compound next to the house from behind which an angry German Shepherd was barking furiously at them.

  ‘Mossos d’Esquadra,’ Àlex told them, raising his voice above the din. ‘Sergent Àlex Albiol and Caporal Manel Moliné from the Serious Crime Unit in Girona.’

  There was a short delay between his words and the reply from the man inside the house. He was asking to see their ID. Àlex held up his card to the little camera aperture above the intercom mouthpiece and then moved out of the way while Manel did the same. There was another longer pause in which Àlex wondered if the owner was actually going to do anything. He was about to press the button again when he heard a bolt being pulled back inside the door. It opened a crack and someone peered out over the thick security chain between door and frame. Àlex knew him to be a man in his early fifties, a self-employed website designer who did most of his work from home.

  ‘We met when your house was burgled,’ Àlex explained to the sliver of face that was showing. ‘I took your statement at the time.’

  ‘What is it?’ The man’s voice was thin, fear evident in the faltering timbre.

  ‘It’s nothing to be alarmed about. We’ve come to check up on you and your property to make sure you’re all right and that the security is in place.’

  The eyes stared back at him for a moment and then the door shut. Àlex heard the slink of a chain being unhooked and the door opened again, wider this time. The man peered out anxiously, looking over Àlex’s shoulder to the long driveway beyond and the T-junction with the main road at the end of it. There was an intermittent reverberation of metal cutting through air as the occasional car or lorry went past, a low background noise to the constant chirruping of cicadas and the lonely silence of the house itself. The dog had finally stopped barking.

  ‘I refuse to be driven out of my own home,’ the man told Àlex and Manel. It was out of tune with the underlying air of fear that he exuded. Àlex wanted to tell him to consider moving back to Girona, but knew it wasn’t his place.

  ‘If you’d like,’ he said instead, ‘my colleague and I will check on the security you’ve put in place. We appreciate what you went through, so we want to make sure that you’re safe in your home. We’ve also stepped up Mossos patrols in the area.’

  The
man looked doubtful. ‘I haven’t seen any.’

  ‘They’re there.’ Although how many of those would be diverted to hunt for a missing teenaged boy, Àlex didn’t know. ‘May we come in?’

  ‘If you like, I’ll take a tour of the land outside the house,’ Manel suddenly offered. ‘Check up on all that.’

  ‘OK,’ Àlex agreed, surprised. He was used to having to give the new caporal an order before he’d do anything.

  Inside the house, the owner gave Àlex a tour of all the extra locks and alarms that he’d had fitted since being attacked in his home over a month earlier.

  ‘It was hard to get someone to fit it all in August,’ the man commented, ‘because most businesses were on holiday, but I managed to get everything done that I wanted.’

  It was impressive, Àlex had to admit, and expensive. Reinforced doors and windows, sensors in all the rooms for an alarm system connected to a central security service, video cameras hooked up to a computer showing various angles of the outside of the house. For a brief, silent moment, they both watched a grainy colour image of Manel walking the perimeter of the land surrounding the property. They went upstairs, where one of the bedrooms and the bathroom seemed smaller than Àlex remembered.

  ‘Panic room,’ the man explained. ‘With a concealed entrance in our bedroom.’

  Àlex nodded, exhaling slowly. He couldn’t help feeling the anger he always felt when ordinary people became victims of extraordinary misfortune. The man’s house had been attacked on a Monday evening in late July. He’d been home on his own when the gang had forced their way in by battering down the front door. Once inside, they’d tied him to his kitchen table and waterboarded him until he’d agreed to transfer money from his account. They’d also given him a few lumps and bruises for the hell of it. The man thought they were in his house for over two hours.

  ‘I would have paid them anyway,’ he’d said when Àlex had interviewed him in hospital straight after his ordeal. ‘There was no need to do what they did. I’m just glad my wife wasn’t in at the time.’