Pepito didn't have to be told twice. After he'd strapped the holster around his waist and slipped the gun inside, he'd hurried down the stairs, double locked the door and straddled his bike. And now, he waits with Raphael in a bar across the street from the hotel. His eyes glued to the entrance and his hand poised in the air as he tips the shot glass down his throat with a lethal kind of precision. They wait. They wait with their butt cheeks clenched to their seats as Pepito stares at the entrance with a glassy concentration. He doesn't even blink. Doesn't shift his gaze for a measly second - just in case he misses her. Just in case, Candy, a tidy little number with a high class act, should slip out undetected.
"How long's it been?"Raphael wipes his nose on the back of his hand. "Half an hour at least." He raises his glass to his lips and throws his head back. He smacks his lips.
"What's the plan then?"
The plan was to follow Candy back to her flat, grill her, bribe her, whatever it took to find out what she knew about Rosa and why she called the police. A plan that had been hatching in his mind the minute he hit the street. The only problem now is Raphael. He isn't quite sure where this all might lead besides, he didn't want the kid to cramp his style. Or get hurt. Or both. Dropping his guard for a second he turns towards Raphael and starts to speak but the boy isn't listening, he seems distracted. He seems quite smitten as Pepito catches sight of a small, muscle honed body in the corner of his vision. He whips his head round and watches as she steps on high slingback heels towards the doorman, her dress stretched tight over her compact frame. She stops beside him, turns her back as she opens her purse and slips some money discreetly behind her, already counted and neatly folded, into his waiting palm.
The follow her down to El Born. A recent revival in the heart of the city, full of designer bars and shuffling tourists, which is not so bad if you know where you are going. If you keep on the right side of the dividing line. The dividing line between hip and wired. Happening and junkie. Something that's worth mentioning if you happen to stray over the line and wander into uncharted territory. Something that's not mentioned in the tourist guides. But maybe that's just the thing that keeps them coming back. How the past reaches over and touches the present. How the good wanders freely amidst the bad.
The taxi stops on a side street on the wrong side of the line and she makes her way through the milling bodies of late night dealers with Pepito and Raphael close on her tail. She stops outside a building and glances behind her before she slips the key in the lock and enters. Pepito pulls his bike onto the kerb further down the street and makes his way to the door of her building. Craning his neck upwards, he stands for a moment with his hand extended towards Raphael as a caution and waits. A light flicks on and he counts from the bottom up. One, two, three, four .. fourth floor, second flat. He steps towards the doorway and checks the buzzers then he reaches out with a decisive finger and presses the buzzer to her flat. The door clicks open. They enter. They climb the stairs, two at a time. They reach the door of her flat. With one hand clutching his hammering heart, Pepito pushes the door with the tip of his shoe. He takes a deep breath, gathers his wits and his side kick behind him and steps into the flat.
"Who the hell are you?" She steps backwards, the smile on her lips fading as she confronts Pepito.
But he doesn't want to scare her, at least, not yet, so he pulls out his badge and holds it up to her face. "Detective Pons," he says snapping the badge shut as he moves around her and walks through the flat. Now, there's no turning round, there's no going back. She follows his movements, watching Raphael through a curtain of lashes as he shuffles in behind.
"What the hell do you want?" It was a reasonable question, he couldn't deny it but he chose to ignore it anyway as he settled himself into a large leather chair in the living room.
"I've already told the police everything I know ..."
It's what Pepito has been waiting for, that subtle reference to the authorities, the assumption that links them together in that simple statement and he relishes the words that slide from his lips in response. In fact, he gets a kick out of it.
"I think you misunderstand me ..." he pauses for effect, "I'm not working for the police ... I work alone." He leans back in the chair and motions for her to sit with a sweeping gesture of his arm.
"I'm a private detective and my client has asked me to ...." he stops to think, choose the right words without giving too much away, "my client has asked me to look into this matter."
"Rosa's murder?"
He nods his head.
Her eyes flick over to Raphael. "Who's this?"
"Don't worry about him, he's not even here."
She chuckles to herself as she pulls out a chair and sits down. "Fire away Detective .. I've got nothing to hide." She crosses her legs to emphasize the point.
Pepito sits forwards and motions for Raphael to make himself scarce with a jerk of his head.
"How long have you known Rosa?"
She dips her head and slips Pepito a sly smile as she answers. "Couple of months."
"As long as that?"
"Could be more .."
"How did you meet?"
"Through Cisco .."
"Cisco?"
But it was too late, she'd already said too much. She shuffles slightly in her seat, uncrosses her legs and shoves her hands, palms down, beneath her butt.
"Cisco who?" He asks again but she shakes her head, refusing to speak, her face flushing and her foot nervously tapping out some erratic beat in the air.
"Francisco Turó." Raphael pops his head around the door and repeats the name through a mouthful of bread.
Francisco Turó. A name not unfamiliar to Pepito. A name which, in certain dodgy circles, trips off the tongue as easily as gun running, smuggling, extortion, drug dealing, prostitution, blackmail. Even murder. His career had kicked off at the tender age of twelve, stealing cars. He'd use a brick to smash the window and then jam that brick on the accelerator because his legs were too short to reach the pedals. As he grew older, his crimes grew with him and somewhere along his troubled path, he'd found the time and the inclination to put together a gang. A motley crew of loyal thugs they would have cut your throat if they thought it would please him, cut their own if they thought it would work. They had their fingers into everything and anything - anything he could get his hands on, for a fitting price, of course. It was even rumoured that they ran guns to the Basque Separatist Group ETA, at the height of their killing spree. From guns he moved to drugs, practically wiping out the competition - one way or another, with a slug in the guts or a bullet in the back. It didn't really matter. He'd clawed his way up to the top of the pack, with an outfit in Barcelona and a house in Marbella. All this and the police couldn't touch him - he was too clever for that. Apart from a short stint in prison in his early career, he'd managed to elude their attempts to catch him, shook off their efforts to pin him down although, there were plenty that had fallen along the way, they couldn't touch Francisco. Francisco El Malo. Nothing seemed to drag him down - he was as slippery as a snake and as slick as they come.
"Francisco Turó eh?" She shuffles uncomfortably in her seat. "Now what's a nice girl like you doing mixed up with a guy like Turó." He clucks his tongue, relishing the hiss of air compressed between his teeth as he circles around behind her and lays his clammy hands gently on her shoulders.
Bending down, he whispers in her ear, "And how did you meet Francisco?"
She wriggles free, stands up and crosses towards the window. Pulling back the curtain, she looks out, her head swiveling right and left before turning to face Pepito.
"I seen him around .."
"Francisco Turó eh?" She shuffles uncomfortably in her seat. "Now what's a nice girl like you doing mixed up with a guy like Turó." He clucks his tongue, relishing the hiss of air compressed between his teeth as he circles around behind her and lays his clammy hands gently on her shoulders.
Bending down, he whispers in her ear, "And how did you meet Francisco?"
She wriggles free, stands up and crosses towards the window. Pulling back the curtain, she looks out, her head swiveling right and left before turning to face Pepito.
"I seen him around .."
"Around where exactly?"
She walks over to the sofa and sits down, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
"Some party I was working, for businessmen, you know."
Unfortunately, he didn't but if he was up to the challenge he could take a good guess.
"Did he organize this party?" He's getting close, close to the real connection between Francisco and Rosa, he can feel it.
She shrugs but Pepito persists.
"Come on now Candy ... I can call you Candy can't I?" but he doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm not stupid," he lowers his voice and softens his tone, "you think I'm stupid?" it's a rhetorical question so he pushes onwards, "I know the kind of crap that Francisco is involved with ... we all do" he sweeps his arms around the room but there's no-one else there so he crosses over to the sofa and sits down beside her.
"Anything you want to tell me, stays in this room."
She flicks her head towards the doorway. "And him?"
"Don't worry about him, he doesn't count."
She stands up sharply and walks towards the door, checks behind it, then closes it firmly. She turns back towards Pepito, her eyes narrowing, sizing him up before she speaks. Before she lifts her foot again and jams it in her mouth.
"Sometimes he introduces me to people .. possible clients, you know .. but I'm strictly freelance, something like yourself." She leans backwards, a sly smile brushing her mouth.
"Did Rosa ever go to any of these parties with you?"
"A few .."
"How well did you know her?"
"Well enough," she launches herself from the doorway, pushing her hips forward as she walks across the room, "Well enough to know she was gonna ditch Carlos and her job at the strip joint."
"Really?"
"Really." She stands in front of a sleek black cabinet at the other side of the room, opens a drawer and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Extracting one with the tips of her nails, she raises it to her mouth.
"Got a light?" She holds it between her lips and watches from the hooded crack of a half closed eye as he crosses the room towards her. He pats his pockets distractedly, his eyes sweeping the room for a lighter, or a box of matches, anything really because, if the truth be known, he doesn't smoke and never has. He could never stand the smell of it. Could never quite take to a lungful of smoke, or the taste of tobacco in his mouth. It was enough to be surrounded by it, day in and day out, filling his life with its pungent presence and lining the shelves of the shop.
"Looking for something?" She holds out the lighter in the palm of her hand and he takes it from her, flips the top with a well worn thumb and holds the flame towards her. She dips her head, draws heavily on the filter so the end burns bright with a soft crackle and blows the smoke out with a languid breath. Pepito closes his eyes and holds his breath as the smoke floods over his face. She turns her back with a nonchalant shrug.
"Why?" he finally asks, expelling the air from his lungs with a tight lipped blast.
"Why else?" She throws herself down on the sofa. "She liked the money she could make at these parties as for Carlos ..."
"Was it just the money?"
"Why not? She liked nice things, you think she could get that working in a strip joint?"
She swings her legs up on the sofa so that the hem of her dress rides up above her thighs. Pepito averts his gaze.
"She knew she had to leave him - she couldn't have both."
"Did you know they were going to get married."
"Yeah, she told me."
"You mean she threw over that for this ...?" He throws wide his hands and turns around slowly, taking in the cheap prints arranged on the wall, the flashy furniture too big for the room in one long, steady sweep of his arms.
"She didn't love him," she exhales a cloud of smoke and taps the end into an ashtray on the table beside her. "She was grateful, sure .. he came along when she was still on the streets, doing drugs," she drags heavily on the cigarette, "it's not a pretty life .. but she didn't love him, I don't know if she ever did. Then she met Cisco."
"They were lovers?"
"What do you think?"
"Did you know she was pregnant?"
"Sure, she told me."
"Did she know who the father was?"
She throws her head back at this and lets a low breathless laugh trail from her throat before straightening up.
"What do you mean ... you think it was one of her clients?"
He shakes his head slowly. "I was thinking more along the lines of Carlos, you remember ... her fiance."
"And you've not been listening to a word I've said," she stubs the cigarette angrily into the ashtray and stands up. "I told you ... she wasn't, she didn't love him ... it was Cisco's, he was the father."
"You sure?"
She crosses to the door and holds it open. "I think you'd better leave now, some of us have to work for a living."
Pepito rises from his seat and crosses the room towards her.
"Not so fast," he says, his hand rising to close the door. "What made you think Carlos killed her?"
She draws back, crossing her arms beneath her chest and regards Pepito slowly from top to toe before moving across the room to the window. She pulls back the curtain and looks out.
"You figure it out, Detective Pons, that's what you're being paid to do isn't it?" She spins around, her hands straddling her hips. "Carlos isn't too bright but he can add up when he wants to .. the way I see it, he got mad when she dumped him, mad and mean ... maybe she even told him about Cisco .. maybe she even told him about the kid ... so he kills her in a fit of jealous rage and dumps her body."
"You think he's capable of doing that?"
"With that mother, anything's possible," she turns her back towards Pepito and continues staring out the window as if she's waiting for something or someone, or both. She turns back towards Pepito and regards him for a moment before speaking. "They had an argument a couple of weeks ago."
"Rosa and Carlos?"
"No," she shakes her head, "Rosa and Mariquita."
He starts to walk towards her, with short hesitant steps, his hand suspended in the air as if he's reaching for something but can't quite remember what it is.
"Did she tell you about it?" His voice falters.
She takes her time, relishing the delicate shift in power and turns back towards the window, contemplating the street outside.
"Not exactly .."
"Not exactly? Either she did or she didn't."
She turns sharply and glares at Pepito. "She was scared, okay?"
"Scared of Mariquita?" He doesn't miss a beat.
"What do you think?"
Pepito thinks she's lying, he has no other choice. He taps his chin with the cushioned pad of an index finger and contemplates his options. He could continue with this line of questioning in the accepted manner of question and answer - with him providing the questions and her, inventing the answers. Or, he could turn up the heat. He decides on the latter and crosses the room towards her with a purposeful stride directing his step. He stops in front of her, one hand rising to grasp her wrist and the other slipping into his pocket for the handcuffs. But he only has to pull them out and she only has to see them. She steps back with her mouth opening and her face twisting in seven different directions.
"I thought we could do this the easy way," Pepito says, pulling her wrist towards him but she shakes her head and tries to struggle free.
"Hold on, hold on .. just wait a minute." He slackens his hold and she slips from his grasp.
"I don't need this shit ..." She rubs her wrist. She turns towards him. She sticks her middle finger up. She spits.
"You wanna know what I think?" He steps forwards with the handcuffs clenched in his fist, "I think you know more than you're willing to admit."
"Oh yeah .." She flicks her head up, her face clouding with suspicion.
"When was the last time you saw Rosa?"
"Over a week ago."
"When exactly?"
"Saturday."
"How was she?"
"Nervous."
"Nervous?"
"I mean, she seemed a little strung out ... you know, on edge .. she wasn't her usual self."
"And what was her usual self?"
She crosses to the table and pulls out a chair. "Usually cool, calm .. " She sits down. "Nothing seemed to bother her."
"Except?"
"You tell me." She snorts, the air escaping from her nostrils in a sharp hiss.
"Did she ever talk to you about things?"
"Sometimes."
"She talk to you about Carlos?"
She nods her head.
"Did she ever tell you he hit her, messed her up?"
She shakes her head.
"She ever talk to you about Cisco?"
She nods, just barely.
"Was he ever violent to her?"
She lifts her shoulders and drops them. "Listen Detective eh .."
"Pons."
"Yeah, Pons .. where is all this going?"
"When were you going to see her again?"
"Wednesday night."
"The night she disappeared?"
"If you say so."
"What time was this party?"
"Around midnight."
Pepito scratches his head. Slowly, the picture was becoming clearer. Slowly, he was beginning to realise that Rosa was never going to make that party because she was already dead. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He steps towards the door and pulls it open but the sound of Candy's voice behind him stops him in his tracks.
"Just a minute, Detective Pons."
He turns around to face her as she moves towards him.
"Just out of curiosity - who's paying your wages? Who put you on to this case?"
He shakes his head wearily, one hand still lingering on the door. "I'm afraid that's privileged information."
"Uhhu," she nods her head, "let me guess," she taps the side of her chin with a ponderous finger, "let's see .. who would employ you to find her killer when the police already have Carlos. Hmm. Now, if I had to pull a name out of a hat, I'd have to say ... Mariquita." She spits the name through clenched teeth. "There's nothing quite like a mother's love now is there, Detective Pons."
She walks over to the sofa and sits down, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
"Some party I was working, for businessmen, you know."
Unfortunately, he didn't but if he was up to the challenge he could take a good guess.
"Did he organize this party?" He's getting close, close to the real connection between Francisco and Rosa, he can feel it.
She shrugs but Pepito persists.
"Come on now Candy ... I can call you Candy can't I?" but he doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm not stupid," he lowers his voice and softens his tone, "you think I'm stupid?" it's a rhetorical question so he pushes onwards, "I know the kind of crap that Francisco is involved with ... we all do" he sweeps his arms around the room but there's no-one else there so he crosses over to the sofa and sits down beside her.
"Anything you want to tell me, stays in this room."
She flicks her head towards the doorway. "And him?"
"Don't worry about him, he doesn't count."
She stands up sharply and walks towards the door, checks behind it, then closes it firmly. She turns back towards Pepito, her eyes narrowing, sizing him up before she speaks. Before she lifts her foot again and jams it in her mouth.
"Sometimes he introduces me to people .. possible clients, you know .. but I'm strictly freelance, something like yourself." She leans backwards, a sly smile brushing her mouth.
"Did Rosa ever go to any of these parties with you?"
"A few .."
"How well did you know her?"
"Well enough," she launches herself from the doorway, pushing her hips forward as she walks across the room, "Well enough to know she was gonna ditch Carlos and her job at the strip joint."
"Really?"
"Really." She stands in front of a sleek black cabinet at the other side of the room, opens a drawer and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Extracting one with the tips of her nails, she raises it to her mouth.
"Got a light?" She holds it between her lips and watches from the hooded crack of a half closed eye as he crosses the room towards her. He pats his pockets distractedly, his eyes sweeping the room for a lighter, or a box of matches, anything really because, if the truth be known, he doesn't smoke and never has. He could never stand the smell of it. Could never quite take to a lungful of smoke, or the taste of tobacco in his mouth. It was enough to be surrounded by it, day in and day out, filling his life with its pungent presence and lining the shelves of the shop.
"Looking for something?" She holds out the lighter in the palm of her hand and he takes it from her, flips the top with a well worn thumb and holds the flame towards her. She dips her head, draws heavily on the filter so the end burns bright with a soft crackle and blows the smoke out with a languid breath. Pepito closes his eyes and holds his breath as the smoke floods over his face. She turns her back with a nonchalant shrug.
"Why?" he finally asks, expelling the air from his lungs with a tight lipped blast.
"Why else?" She throws herself down on the sofa. "She liked the money she could make at these parties as for Carlos ..."
"Was it just the money?"
"Why not? She liked nice things, you think she could get that working in a strip joint?"
She swings her legs up on the sofa so that the hem of her dress rides up above her thighs. Pepito averts his gaze.
"She knew she had to leave him - she couldn't have both."
"Did you know they were going to get married."
"Yeah, she told me."
"You mean she threw over that for this ...?" He throws wide his hands and turns around slowly, taking in the cheap prints arranged on the wall, the flashy furniture too big for the room in one long, steady sweep of his arms.
"She didn't love him," she exhales a cloud of smoke and taps the end into an ashtray on the table beside her. "She was grateful, sure .. he came along when she was still on the streets, doing drugs," she drags heavily on the cigarette, "it's not a pretty life .. but she didn't love him, I don't know if she ever did. Then she met Cisco."
"They were lovers?"
"What do you think?"
"Did you know she was pregnant?"
"Sure, she told me."
"Did she know who the father was?"
She throws her head back at this and lets a low breathless laugh trail from her throat before straightening up.
"What do you mean ... you think it was one of her clients?"
He shakes his head slowly. "I was thinking more along the lines of Carlos, you remember ... her fiance."
"And you've not been listening to a word I've said," she stubs the cigarette angrily into the ashtray and stands up. "I told you ... she wasn't, she didn't love him ... it was Cisco's, he was the father."
"You sure?"
She crosses to the door and holds it open. "I think you'd better leave now, some of us have to work for a living."
Pepito rises from his seat and crosses the room towards her.
"Not so fast," he says, his hand rising to close the door. "What made you think Carlos killed her?"
She draws back, crossing her arms beneath her chest and regards Pepito slowly from top to toe before moving across the room to the window. She pulls back the curtain and looks out.
"You figure it out, Detective Pons, that's what you're being paid to do isn't it?" She spins around, her hands straddling her hips. "Carlos isn't too bright but he can add up when he wants to .. the way I see it, he got mad when she dumped him, mad and mean ... maybe she even told him about Cisco .. maybe she even told him about the kid ... so he kills her in a fit of jealous rage and dumps her body."
"You think he's capable of doing that?"
"With that mother, anything's possible," she turns her back towards Pepito and continues staring out the window as if she's waiting for something or someone, or both. She turns back towards Pepito and regards him for a moment before speaking. "They had an argument a couple of weeks ago."
"Rosa and Carlos?"
"No," she shakes her head, "Rosa and Mariquita."
He starts to walk towards her, with short hesitant steps, his hand suspended in the air as if he's reaching for something but can't quite remember what it is.
"Did she tell you about it?" His voice falters.
She takes her time, relishing the delicate shift in power and turns back towards the window, contemplating the street outside.
"Not exactly .."
"Not exactly? Either she did or she didn't."
She turns sharply and glares at Pepito. "She was scared, okay?"
"Scared of Mariquita?" He doesn't miss a beat.
"What do you think?"
Pepito thinks she's lying, he has no other choice. He taps his chin with the cushioned pad of an index finger and contemplates his options. He could continue with this line of questioning in the accepted manner of question and answer - with him providing the questions and her, inventing the answers. Or, he could turn up the heat. He decides on the latter and crosses the room towards her with a purposeful stride directing his step. He stops in front of her, one hand rising to grasp her wrist and the other slipping into his pocket for the handcuffs. But he only has to pull them out and she only has to see them. She steps back with her mouth opening and her face twisting in seven different directions.
"I thought we could do this the easy way," Pepito says, pulling her wrist towards him but she shakes her head and tries to struggle free.
"Hold on, hold on .. just wait a minute." He slackens his hold and she slips from his grasp.
"I don't need this shit ..." She rubs her wrist. She turns towards him. She sticks her middle finger up. She spits.
"You wanna know what I think?" He steps forwards with the handcuffs clenched in his fist, "I think you know more than you're willing to admit."
"Oh yeah .." She flicks her head up, her face clouding with suspicion.
"When was the last time you saw Rosa?"
"Over a week ago."
"When exactly?"
"Saturday."
"How was she?"
"Nervous."
"Nervous?"
"I mean, she seemed a little strung out ... you know, on edge .. she wasn't her usual self."
"And what was her usual self?"
She crosses to the table and pulls out a chair. "Usually cool, calm .. " She sits down. "Nothing seemed to bother her."
"Except?"
"You tell me." She snorts, the air escaping from her nostrils in a sharp hiss.
"Did she ever talk to you about things?"
"Sometimes."
"She talk to you about Carlos?"
She nods her head.
"Did she ever tell you he hit her, messed her up?"
She shakes her head.
"She ever talk to you about Cisco?"
She nods, just barely.
"Was he ever violent to her?"
She lifts her shoulders and drops them. "Listen Detective eh .."
"Pons."
"Yeah, Pons .. where is all this going?"
"When were you going to see her again?"
"Wednesday night."
"The night she disappeared?"
"If you say so."
"What time was this party?"
"Around midnight."
Pepito scratches his head. Slowly, the picture was becoming clearer. Slowly, he was beginning to realise that Rosa was never going to make that party because she was already dead. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He steps towards the door and pulls it open but the sound of Candy's voice behind him stops him in his tracks.
"Just a minute, Detective Pons."
He turns around to face her as she moves towards him.
"Just out of curiosity - who's paying your wages? Who put you on to this case?"
He shakes his head wearily, one hand still lingering on the door. "I'm afraid that's privileged information."
"Uhhu," she nods her head, "let me guess," she taps the side of her chin with a ponderous finger, "let's see .. who would employ you to find her killer when the police already have Carlos. Hmm. Now, if I had to pull a name out of a hat, I'd have to say ... Mariquita." She spits the name through clenched teeth. "There's nothing quite like a mother's love now is there, Detective Pons."
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