Kitabı oku: «The Cassandra Sanction», sayfa 6

Chapter Eleven

By the time they were nearing Glockenbach district, the rain had worsened into a deluge and Ben had made the decision to walk away from the whole situation. He could have been sitting on a beautiful lonely hilltop in southern Spain at this moment. Climbing in the Sierra Nevada or trekking along the Costa de Almeria in search of a deserted white-sand beach or cove where he could maybe rent a little place next to the sea and spend a while figuring out where his life was going. Not hacking through dirty traffic on a cold wet day in a city he had little love for and no longer any reason for remaining in.

‘Klein’s right,’ Ben said at last.

‘I knew you were going to say that,’ Raul muttered.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What are you going to do?’

Ben shrugged. ‘What can I do?’

‘I need a drink,’ Raul said.

‘Yeah, why not,’ Ben agreed. One for the road. Then he was out of here. Maybe by train or bus, back down south to where it was warmer. Maybe to Italy. He had friends there. He could drop in and see his old army comrade Boonzie McCulloch, the most ferocious grizzled wardog of a sergeant the SAS had ever unleashed upon the world, now retired to a cosy life growing tomatoes and basil with his Neapolitan wife Mirella in their tranquil smallholding up in the hills near Campo Basso.

‘There’s a place up ahead,’ Raul said sullenly, pointing through the rain-spattered windscreen. ‘Pull up here. I can’t face going back to the apartment yet.’

They hurried from the car and went inside. It was one of those kinds of upmarket café-wine-bars that Ben found a little too precious for his tastes, the sort of place they charged three times the going rate for a measure of ordinary scotch, just for the privilege of planting your arse on one of their dainty chairs and being served by some disdainful prick with an attitude problem. They took a table at the back and Raul ordered a stein of beer that came in a litre tankard shaped like a jackboot. Hello, Bavaria. Ben bypassed the local traditions and asked for a double whisky, straight, no ice. The waiter was a malnourished-looking guy in his twenties, stooped and bald-headed and brusque in his ways, at least with Ben and Raul. Maybe he disapproved of whisky drinkers at ten in the morning.

Neither of them had much to say. Ben was okay with that. Enough had been said already, and now they were at the end of the road, there seemed little point in prolonging the pain. They sat and worked quietly on their drinks, drawing one or two looks from people at other tables. They obviously disapproved, too. Ben was toying with lighting up a cigarette, just to scandalise the clientele even more. Then again, in Germany you could probably be clapped in irons or flogged in the town square for public smoking offences, so he decided to leave it.

Raul had the same look on his face that he’d had in Frigiliana when Ben had first seen him. He clutched the ridiculous boot with both hands and had already worked his way down to near the ankle when the woman walked in.

Ben had no reason to take much notice of her. Like most of the bar’s customers she was well dressed, middle class, affluent looking. If he’d given her a second glance he would have put her age around fifty-eight. She had a mouth like a razor slash. Blond hair turning to iron, scraped severely back and heaped and pinned up on her head like a Pickelhaube helmet. She draped her rain-spotted Burberry coat over the back of her chair, settled her ample frame down, and when the bald-headed waiter scurried over to take her order, all smiles and fawning, she asked for some kind of wild berry tea that arrived a few moments later in a tall chintzy pot with a matching cup and saucer.

Ben quickly forgot she existed. He cradled his drink and was back to thinking about how soon he could be out of Munich when he noticed that Raul was staring at the woman as if she’d sprouted horns.

Ben glanced over. She hadn’t sprouted horns. She was sitting demurely sipping her tea and studying what looked like an art exhibition brochure.

‘What?’ Ben said, but Raul made no reply and went on staring fixedly for twenty more seconds before he slid his jackboot stein away from him and stood up.

‘Raul,’ Ben said, warning him with his eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

But for reasons best known to himself, Raul was on a mission and didn’t seem to hear. He skirted their table and stalked intently across the room to where the woman was sitting. It was like watching a replay of the fight in the bar in Frigiliana, except this time Raul didn’t set fire to anybody. Not yet.

Raul stopped at the woman’s table and stood over her with his fists balled at his sides. ‘¿Dónde encontraste eso?’ he demanded loudly, then remembered where he was and repeated it in English, the only language he knew that she might understand. ‘Where did you get that? Tell me!’

Ben had sprung up from his chair and was immediately right behind him with his hand on the Spaniard’s shoulder. ‘What the hell are you at?’

The woman was gaping up at him. Her gash of a mouth opened an inch and quavered in bewilderment.

Raul turned to Ben. ‘Ask her in German. Go on, ask. I want to know where she got that.’

‘Got what?’

‘That.’

Raul pointed at the woman’s chest.

Ben stared, baffled, until he realised that Raul was talking about the piece of jewellery that was hanging around her neck. The pendant caught the light and sparkled against the black cashmere polo-neck she was wearing: a glittering cluster of fine-cut white and coloured stones arranged in a spiral pattern about three inches in diameter. Ben was no jeweller. The stones could have been any old cut glass, or they could have rivalled the Koh-I-Noor diamond for value. Either way, Ben was more interested in what had got into Raul Fuentes.

Ben wasn’t the only one who was perplexed by Raul’s sudden outburst. The bald waiter had spotted trouble and was quickly threading his way through the tables towards them. The woman’s eyes were wide open with terror. She backed away from the table and stumbled out of her seat to retreat from this crazy person who was accosting her.

Raul lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. She let out a yelp. People were turning to stare. The waiter was running faster towards the table.

‘For Christ’s sake, Raul,’ Ben said. ‘Let her go.’

Raul shook his head and held onto the struggling woman’s arm. ‘She’s not going anywhere. She could be one of them.’

‘Enough. Have you lost your mind?’

‘That’s Catalina’s necklace,’ Raul said through gritted teeth. ‘She’s not going anywhere until I get an answer.’

The waiter had reached them and was waving his hands frantically. ‘You, back off,’ Ben warned him in German, aiming a finger at his chest.

‘Ich werde die Polizei anrufen,’ the waiter said, drawing back a step as if Ben’s pointed finger were a pistol.

Raul picked up on the word ‘Polizei’ and said, ‘That’s right, you go right ahead and call them.’ He aimed a finger at the terrified woman. ‘We’ve got a kidnapper here.’

Ben turned away from the waiter and snatched Raul’s hand. He dug a thumb into the nerve point in Raul’s wrist. Just a little pressure was enough to make the muscles spasm and let go.

‘I said, enough,’ Ben told him seriously. ‘Look at her. She’s going to have a heart attack.’

The woman was bawling now, her face bright purple and wisps of hair coming loose from her pinned-up helmet. Most of the good citizens in the place had turned to gape in alarm. Two or three other men were half out of their seats, hesitating to weigh in. If enough of them rushed forwards at once, things could get messy. The waiter had raced back behind the bar to grab a phone and call the cops.

Raul’s eyes bugged. ‘I’m telling you, this bitch is wearing my sister’s necklace.’

‘It’s just a necklace,’ Ben said.

‘No, it’s not just a necklace, Ben. It’s her necklace. There’s no other like it in the world. It’s a diamond and sapphire spiral galaxy made just for her by a top jewellery designer. It was a gift from that bastard Austin Keller.’

Austin Keller again. ‘The one who broke her heart, I remember.’

‘She stopped wearing the necklace when they split up. It’s engraved on the back, All my love, A.J.K.’

‘It is mine!’ the woman shouted in heavily accented English, speaking for the first time. She clutched protectively at the spiral pendant with both hands, as if you’d have to break all her fingers to take it from her.

‘Ah, so she does understand,’ Raul sneered at her. ‘Fine. So you can tell that to the police.’

‘We’re not waiting for them,’ Ben said. ‘Let’s go.’ He grabbed Raul’s arm again, but this time Raul was ready for him and elbowed him sharply backwards in the ribs before tearing free of Ben, lunging after the woman a second time. Raul knocked her hands out of the way and clawed the pendant from her neck. The woman let out a cry as the flimsy silver chain snapped.

Raul clutched the diamond cluster in his fist, turned it over to examine the shiny silver mounting plate on the back and let out a ‘Ha!’ of satisfaction. ‘There. I knew it! I told you! Look!’

Raul turned triumphantly to Ben and showed him. Up close, the exquisite craftsmanship of the piece was unmissable. It was a beautiful thing. The glittering white diamonds radiated in an elliptical spiral from the bluer stones in the centre, the outer jewels delicately mounted on tiny silver arms to give the impression that they were floating freely in space. You could almost see the galaxy slowly rotating on its axis.

As Raul flipped the piece over on the palm of his hand, Ben could clearly see the fancy engraved lettering on the backplate.

All my love

A.J.K.

Ben looked sharply up at Raul. The Spaniard was grinning a nasty grin and his eyes were glittering almost as brightly as the stones. ‘How did I know that, hmm? How did I know that? This bitch took it from her, that’s how.’ He wheeled back to glare at the woman.

Unless Raul Fuentes was clairvoyant, Ben couldn’t see any other explanation either. In the blink of an eye, the situation had totally reversed.

Two men from nearby tables had eased from their seats and were slowly advancing. Ben gave them another warning stare and said in German, ‘Easy. Nobody’s getting hurt here.’

Raul was still questioning the woman. Now that she realised she wasn’t about to be murdered, she was coming out more freely with answers.

‘Ich habe es mir gerade gekauft … I – I buy it!’

‘When?’ Raul demanded.

‘She says recently,’ Ben said. She looked too frightened to be lying. In a gentler tone than Raul’s, he asked her in German to tell him exactly when and where she had purchased the piece of jewellery.

‘Not long ago … I think three weeks. I saw it in a window for sale … A pawnshop. I wouldn’t normally go into those places but it was so beautiful I—’

Ben said to Raul, ‘She says she bought it from a pawnshop three weeks ago.’

‘Bullshit!’ Raul spat, enraged. ‘Now, listen, you—’

‘Cool it, Raul.’ Ben was still holding up a hand to warn away the heroes from the nearby tables. It wasn’t easy to smile reassuringly in that position, but he needed to put the woman at her ease. ‘Please, Fräulein, tell me the name of the shop where you found it.’

The woman gave an address, and Ben repeated it back to her twice. She was crying, partly from shock and fear, and probably also partly because she thought she’d lost her precious pendant.

‘Let her have it,’ Ben said.

‘No way she’s getting it back. It’s Catalina’s.’

‘You can’t steal it from her. She’s telling the truth. For Christ’s sake, look at her. She’s scared to death.’ Ben held out his hand. Reluctantly, after a beat, Raul dropped the pendant into his palm. Ben returned it to the woman. ‘There. Everything’s fine. Please sit down and finish your tea. We’re leaving.’ He repeated it more loudly for the rest of the room to hear. ‘Okay? No problems here. We’re going now.’ He pulled a few euros from his pocket to pay for their drinks and left them on an empty table as they retreated towards the door. Then they spilled back out into the rainy street and ran for the car before the police arrived.

‘This is getting to be a habit since I met you,’ Ben said as he accelerated the Kia up the street.

Chapter Twelve

Around the corner, Ben squealed the car sharply into the kerbside and punched the address the woman had given him into the on-board satnav.

‘I was right,’ Raul was saying over and over. ‘I was right. Something happened to her.’

‘Let’s take this one step at a time, okay?’ Ben said.

Raul turned to face him with liquid eyes. ‘You see I was right, don’t you?’

‘About the diamonds,’ Ben said. ‘That’s all we know for now. Stay calm.’

‘How can I stay calm, damn it? A pawnshop. Can’t you see? It proves she was kidnapped. Whoever took her sold the jewels for some quick cash. Bastards!’ Raul punched the dash so hard that he cracked the plastic and left a smear of blood.

‘Don’t wreck the car,’ Ben said.

The address was just a few blocks away. If the woman lived in the area, it increased the chances of her frequenting both the shop and the café. Which meant it wasn’t the impossible coincidence Ben had first thought. How Catalina Fuentes’ pendant had ended up there, and what this turn of events signified, were questions still to be answered.

As they pulled up outside ten minutes later, Ben could see why a respectable middle-class denizen of Munich might not readily admit to shopping in the place. He’d seen shabbier pawnshops, but he really couldn’t remember when.

‘Are you coming in?’ he said to Raul.

‘Are you joking with me?’

‘Fine. Then try not to beat the guy up, all right? I’ll handle it.’

A bell tinkled as Ben pushed open the door, and a hanging sign saying GEÖFFNET slapped against the glass. There were no other customers. The pawnshop smelled stuffy inside, and there was so much clutter in the windows that it blocked much of what little light the grey sky was throwing down. Ben wondered if the murky ambiance was also meant to camouflage the crappy quality of most of what was on sale in the place. The usual assortment of golf clubs and hockey sticks and electric guitars and saxophones and exercise machines and dinner sets and racks of clothing and air rifles and a thousand other dingy-looking items traded for ready cash by their former owners stood, hung or were stuffed inside crowded shelves around the walls. A closed office door marked PRIVÄT lay behind the counter, which housed a glass-topped display cabinet that constituted the pawnshop’s jewellery wares not displayed in the window, consisting mainly of watches, along with a few brooches and earrings, bracelets and strings of fake pearls nestling in velvety little presentation boxes.

Whoever Catalina Fuentes’ ex-boyfriend Austin J. Keller was, Ben thought, he’d have to be pretty seriously rich to be able to afford a bobby dazzler like the spiral galaxy pendant. All the weirder, then, that it should have ended up in a dump like this, sitting among a pile of third-rate trinkets. Either Catalina must have hated the guy so much after they split up that she didn’t give a damn, or else she had to be desperate. Desperation oozed from every crack of this place.

Ben was gazing at the jewellery when the office door opened and a squat man with a scrappy beard, a flowery shirt and a pronounced leg length discrepancy limped through it.

Ben decided to skip the preliminaries. ‘Sprechen Sie Englisch?’

The guy shrugged, like saying, ‘So-so.’

Switching from German, Ben asked him, ‘Are you the owner?’

The guy’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I am the proprietor. What is this concerning?’

‘We’re here to inquire about an item of jewellery you sold about three weeks ago. A pendant made of diamonds, shaped in a spiral, blue at the centre, about so big, with a silver mount. Very distinctive. I think you know the one I mean.’

The guy made a big deal of trying to remember, but Ben could tell he knew exactly what piece he was talking about. ‘Ja. What about it?’

‘We’d like to know who sold it to you.’

‘Are you cops?’

Ben shook his head.

The guy pulled a face. He probably would have spat on the floor if he hadn’t been in his own premises. ‘Then is none of your fucking business who sold it to me. I do not remember anyway. Now I have business to run. You are not here to buy, the door is that way.’

Ben nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said. He turned and walked towards the door.

Raul stared at him. ‘Just like that?’

Ben said nothing. He reached the door, flipped the open sign around so that it read GESCHLOSSEN, then popped the latch. Then he walked back to the counter and said, ‘Your business is now closed until we say it isn’t. Ist das klar, mein dicker Freund?’

Three shades paler, the pawnshop owner raised his hands. ‘I want no trouble.’

‘That’s good,’ Ben said. ‘Because my associate here has a tendency to get extremely violent when people piss him off. Once he starts, I can’t stop him. The last person who pissed him off, he—’

‘Okay, okay.’ The guy glanced nervously at Raul, suddenly all eager to help.

‘What’s your name?’ Ben asked.

‘Mattias. Mattias Braunschweiger.’

‘Okay, Mattias. Now let’s rack our brains and see if we can’t remember who sold us that diamond cluster. I don’t believe pieces like that come your way every week.’

‘A woman sold it to me.’

Raul and Ben exchanged looks.

‘Description,’ Ben said.

‘Very beautiful woman. Dark. She looked familiar to me. I think afterwards, she is a movie star. Or singer.’

Ben smiled. The pawnshop had ‘haunt of the rich and famous’ written all over it. ‘Would you remember her face?’

‘You would not forget her,’ Braunschweiger said, showing yellow and grey teeth.

‘Is this her?’ Raul asked. He took a photo from his wallet. It was a duplicate of the one framed over his desk at home, showing himself and Catalina on a sandy beach. He’d folded it in half so that only she was visible.

Braunschweiger squinted at the picture and nodded. ‘Ja. That is the woman.’ His eyes darted back up at Ben and Raul. ‘You are not cops?’

‘Just tell us about the woman.’

‘She had lot of things to sell. Very good stuff. I show you.’

He limped back through the door that said PRIVÄT. Ben watched him in case he tried to run, though he wouldn’t have got far on that leg. Braunschweiger reappeared a moment later, carrying a tray that glittered even in the dingy light. There was a delicate gold watch with a tiny rectangular case, several pairs of diamond earrings and a bracelet studded with small emeralds. The stuff was on a different planet to the trash in the display cabinet.

‘I have to revalue,’ he explained. ‘I think after I sell the other, price is too small.’

Braunschweiger laid the tray on the counter, and Raul stepped close with a deep frown on his face to examine the things on it. He recognised them immediately. ‘This is Catalina’s,’ he said, holding up the small gold watch. Its rectangular face was studded with minute diamonds.

‘You’re sure?’ Ben said.

‘No question. It’s hers. A Cartier Tank Américaine. She’d always wanted one. I was with her when she bought it. And these earrings. You can see them in a lot of photos of her. And this bracelet—’

‘All right,’ Ben said, convinced. He turned to Braunschweiger. ‘When exactly did she bring you these things?’

‘Exactly? You want date?’ Braunschweiger considered for a moment, then grabbed a thick, well-thumbed ledger from beneath the counter and started flicking back through its pages, which were covered in entries: description of goods, date of transaction, price paid. After a few moments he tapped a page with his thick finger. ‘I find it. She come here Zwölftel Juli.’

July twelfth. Just four days before Catalina’s car had gone over the cliff. Ben and Raul exchanged glances. Raul’s brows were knitted and his jaw was clenched. ‘Are you certain this is right?’ Ben asked Braunschweiger.

‘You want see security recording? This prove it, ja?’

‘Get to it,’ Ben said.

The German led them behind the counter into his office, a poky room that smelled of stale body odour and was choked with clutter and stacked paperwork. On a scarred pine table that served as a desk was Braunschweiger’s grimy computer, hooked up to wires that ran up the wall, attached by duct tape, and disappeared through a hole to connect up to the security camera Ben had noticed in the corner of the ceiling overlooking the counter.

Braunschweiger cleared away piles of mess with a sweep of his arm and scraped up a chair. Air seemed to hiss out of him as he sat. ‘For insurance I must keep video footage one hundred days,’ he explained, pointing at an external hard drive that was plugged into the machine. ‘Then I delete.’

Catalina Fuentes’ car had gone over the cliff eighty-seven days ago. According to the entry on the ledger, the recording of her visit to the pawnshop should still be here.

Ben and Raul stood flanking Braunschweiger’s chair as he turned on the computer and spent a couple of moments dithering about searching for the hard drive icon on his busy desktop. Finding it at last, he clicked with his grubby-looking mouse and a window flashed up showing a menu of video files arranged by month. He scrolled back to July and clicked again, and a list of thirty-one separate files appeared with individual dates. Braunschweiger ran his cursor back to the twelfth of the month, clicked once more, and the screen dissolved to black, then flicked back into life with a wide-angle view of the counter and shop as seen from the raised perspective of the security camera. The light was so dim, it was hard to make anything out. A time readout in the bottom corner of the screen showed that the footage commenced at midnight.

‘I fast-forward,’ Braunschweiger said, and clicked a couple of keys on his keyboard. The image onscreen remained fixed, but the clock started to race ahead with an hour elapsing every few seconds. As dawn approached, the image quickly began to brighten in time-lapse sequence. The clock had hit eight thirty a.m. when the shop’s front door seemed to fly open and a crazily speeded-up Braunschweiger came waddling into the premises, looking as if he could limp for Germany in the Olympics. For a few instants he ricocheted around the shop like a steel bearing in a pinball machine, then shot out of sight. The time readout raced on. Nine a.m. Nine thirty. Nothing happened. The image was completely static.

Then the door flew open again and another figure hurtled into the shop.

‘There,’ Raul said.

Braunschweiger tapped the keys and the image reverted back to normal speed. The time readout said 09:42.

Raul leaned closer to the screen, and swallowed. ‘That’s her.’