Police inquiries revealed that Palango was an evangelical Christian from a wealthy Georgia family. He had been staying at the parador which perched on a high bluff looking across the river to the city. According to the hotel, Palango had eaten an early dinner then gone out in his hired car sometime around nine oclock. The car was later discovered in a parking garage opposite the Alcazar. Extensive questioning in the neighbourhood revealed that the American had taken coffee in the Plaza de Zocodover at the heart of the old town, but in the general melee of the evening paseo no one had noticed when he had left the café or whether hed been alone. No one had come forward to say theyd seen him since.
Fiona leaned back in her seat and rubbed her eyes. No wonder Major Berrocal was so keen to enlist her help. The only significant information the police had gleaned from the second murder was that the killer was physically powerful enough to carry a ten-stone man up a ladder, and that he was bold enough to display his victim in a public place. In a handwritten note, Major Berrocal had pointed out that once the nearby café had closed in the early hours of the morning, the area around the church was quiet and although it was overlooked by several houses, the killer had chosen the farthest point of the facade for his exhibition, where he would be least likely to be spotted.
She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms above her head while she contemplated the information shed laboriously worked her way through. It was professionally intriguing, no question of that. What she needed to consider was whether she could offer anything constructive to the investigation. She had worked with European police forces on several occasions, and had sometimes felt handicapped by her lack of visceral understanding of how their societies worked. On the other hand, she already felt the faint stirrings of an idea of how this killer operated and where the police might start their search for him.
One thing was certain. While she dithered, he would be planning his next murder. Fiona refilled her glass and made her decision.
FOUR
Fiona was halfway downstairs with the Rough Guide to Spain when she heard the front door opening. Hello, she called out.
I brought Steve home with me, Kit replied, his voice relaxed into broad Mancunian by alcohol.
Fiona was too tired to welcome the prospect of late-night drinking and chat. But at least it was only Steve. He was part of the family, too well-rooted in their company to mind if she took herself off to bed and left them to it. She rounded the final turn in the stairs and looked down at them. The most important men in her life, they were an oddly contrasting pair. Steve, tall, wirily thin and dark; Kit, with his broad, heavily muscled torso making him look shorter than he was, his shaved head gleaming in the light. It was Steve, with his darting eyes and long fingers, who looked like the intellectual, while Kit looked more like a beat bobby who worked as a nightclub bouncer on the side. Now, they looked up at her, identical sheepish small-boy grins on their flushed faces.
Good dinner, I see, Fiona said dryly, running down the rest of the stairs. She stood on tiptoe to kiss Steves cheek, then allowed Kit to engulf her in a hug.
He gave her a smacking kiss on the lips. Missed you, he said, releasing her and crossing to the kitchen.
No you didnt, Fiona contradicted him. Youve had a great boys night out, eaten lots of unspeakable bits of dead animals, drunk she paused and cocked her head, assessing them both three bottles of red wine
Shes never wrong, Kit interjected.
and put the world to rights, Fiona concluded. You were much better off without me.
Steve folded himself into a kitchen chair and accepted the brandy glass Kit proffered. He had the air of a man embattled who warily senses he might finally have arrived in a place of safety. He raised his glass in a sardonic toast. Confusion to our enemies. Youre right, but for the wrong reasons, he said.
Fiona sat down opposite him and pulled her wine glass towards her, intrigued. I find that hard to believe, she said, a tease in her voice.
I was only glad you werent there because youre big-headed enough without listening to me ranting on about how Id never have had to endure todays humiliations if Id been working with you instead of that arse hole Horsforth. Steve held up a hand to indicate to Kit that an inch of brandy was more than enough.
Kit leaned against the kitchen units, cupping his glass in both his broad hands to warm the spirit. Youre right about the big-headed bit, he chuckled, his pride in her obvious in his affectionate grin.
Takes one to know one, Fiona said. Im sorry you had a shit day, Steve.
Before Steve could reply, Kit cut in. It was bound to happen. That operation was doomed from day one. Apart from anything else, you were never going to get away with a sting like that in a trial, even if Blake had swallowed the honey-trap and coughed chapter and verse. British juries just cant get their heads round entrapment. Your average man in the pub thinks its cheating to set people up when you havent got your evidence the straight way.
Kit leaned against the kitchen units, cupping his glass in both his broad hands to warm the spirit. Youre right about the big-headed bit, he chuckled, his pride in her obvious in his affectionate grin.
Takes one to know one, Fiona said. Im sorry you had a shit day, Steve.
Before Steve could reply, Kit cut in. It was bound to happen. That operation was doomed from day one. Apart from anything else, you were never going to get away with a sting like that in a trial, even if Blake had swallowed the honey-trap and coughed chapter and verse. British juries just cant get their heads round entrapment. Your average man in the pub thinks its cheating to set people up when you havent got your evidence the straight way.
Dont mince your words, Kit, tell us what you really think, Steve said sarcastically.
Id hoped you two would already have had the postmortem, Fiona protested mildly.
Oh, we have, Steve said. I feel like Ive been wearing a hair shirt all day.
Hey, Ive not been saying it was your fault, Kit reminded him. We all know you got stamped on from above. If anyone should be flagellating himself, its your commander. But you can bet your pension that Teflon Telford will be washing his hands like Pontius Pilate with a tin of Swarfega tonight. Itll be: Well, of course, you have to let your junior officers have their head sometimes, but I thought Steve Preston would have handled matters better than this. he said, dropping his voice to the basso prof undo of Steves boss.
Steve stared into his brandy. Kit wasnt telling him anything he didnt already know, but hearing it from someone else didnt make failure taste any less sour. And tomorrow, hed have to face his colleagues knowing that he was the one appointed to carry the can. Some of them would have sufficient grasp of the politics to understand he was nothing more than the designated scapegoat, but there were plenty of others who would relish the chance to snigger behind their hands at him. That was the price of his past successes. And in the competitive environment of the higher echelons of the Met, you were only ever as good as your last success.
Are you really not looking for anyone else? Fiona asked, registering Steves depression and trying to move the conversation in a more positive direction.
Steve looked mutinous. Thats the official line. To say anything else makes us look even bigger dickheads than we do already. But Im not happy with that. Somebody murdered Susan Blanchard and you know better than I do that this kind of killer probably wont stop at one.
So what are you going to do about it? Fiona asked.
Kit gave her a speculative look. I think the question might be what are you going to do about it?
Fiona shook her head, trying not to show her irritation. Oh no, you dont guilt-trip me like that. I said Id never work for the Met again after this debacle, and I meant it.
Steve spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. Hey, even if I had the budget, I wouldnt insult you like that.
Kit grabbed one of the chairs and straddled it. Yeah, but she loves me. I get to insult her. Come on, Fiona, it wouldnt hurt if you took a look at the entrapment material, would it? Purely as an academic exercise.
Fiona groaned. You just want it lying round the house so you can poke your nose in, she said, trying another diversionary tactic. Its all grist to your grisly little mill, isnt it?
Thats not fair! You know I never read confidential case material, Kit said, his expression outraged.
Fiona grinned. Gotcha.
Kit laughed. Its a fair cop, guy.
Steve leaned back in his chair and looked pensive. On the other hand
Oh, grow up, the pair of you, Fiona grumbled. I have better things to do with my life than pawing over Andrew Horsforths grubby little operation.
Steve studied Fiona. He knew her well enough to understand the kind of challenge that might overcome her stubborn resistance, and he was desperate enough to try it.
The trouble is, the trails really cold. Its over a year since Susan Blanchard was butchered, and its getting on for ten months since we were paying attention to anybody other than Francis Blake. I dont want to leave things unresolved. I dont want her kids growing up with their lives full of unanswered questions. You know the kind of emotional pain the absence of knowledge brings. Now, I really want the bastard who did this. But we need fresh leads, he said. And like Kit says, at the very least it might be a useful resource for you professionally.
Fiona shut the fridge door with more than necessary force. You really are a manipulative sod, she complained. But knowing he was deliberately pushing her buttons didnt shield her from the stab of recognition. Stung, she tried a final line of defence. Steve, Im not a clinician. I dont spend my days listening to people droning on about their sad little lives. Im a number-cruncher. I deal in facts, not impressions. Even if I did sit down and stifle my disgust long enough to plough through the entrapment files, I dont know that Id have anything useful to say at the end of it.