Turned to Stone (24 page)

34

The police found Hugo at ten past two in the morning, in a warehouse belonging to a bar that had closed down four months earlier. The commissioner on duty had been right to take the anonymous call seriously, and he was delighted he’d made that decision when he reunited the boy with his mother. Aside from a slightly upset stomach—his captor had fed him on a diet of Orangina and potato chips—Hugo was physically safe, and he narrated his adventure to the police as if it were the plot of a movie.

Amanda was shocked and overcome with emotion. She hugged and kissed her son, not wanting to let him go even for an instant, and told the commissioner about the kidnapping, the kidnappers’ warning not to report it, and the attack on Señora Julia without mentioning Oscar Preston’s role in the affair. Though her first instinct was to tell them everything, doing so would have put Paloma in a predicament. She and Jaime had specifically asked Amanda to be discreet and stick with the story of Paloma’s mother being sick, in order to justify her absence from the museum for a few days. If Amanda had told the police about Preston, all the beans would have been spilled.

But so what? What loyalty did she owe to Paloma? Paloma hadn’t behaved like a true friend. She’d put her interests before their friendship—and before Hugo. Still, Jaime Azcárate seemed to know what he was doing, and it was possible that Paloma remained in danger. It was clear to Amanda now that Preston wasn’t the bad guy—or at least not the worst guy—in this matter, so the threat was still real. She also had reason to believe that Hugo had been saved by Jaime and that friend of his, Roberto Barrero. Who, incidentally, hadn’t seemed at all bad. When he returned from his secret mission, maybe she would ask him out.

The policeman promised her he’d investigate the kidnapping and catch those responsible, and she assured him she’d contact him if she remembered anything. Once he was gone, Amanda cried for a while with Hugo in her arms, until the boy asked for permission to play video games. As usual, his mother gave it to him and lay on the sofa to enjoy a few moments’ peace after all the tension.

The sound of the telephone made her jump.

“Jaime?” she said upon hearing the voice at the other end.

“Hello, Amanda. Sorry to call at this hour, but I’m guessing you have good news.”

“Hugo’s here,” she said happily. “How did you do it?”

“It’s best if you don’t know too much. Did the police pester you for long?”

“No, it all went fine. Where are you?”

“With Paloma. Getting ready for tomorrow’s trip. I just wanted to make sure everything had gone the way we hoped.”

“Thanks, Jaime.”

“We’ll talk when we get back. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

After she’d hung up, Amanda wondered how Paloma had never before mentioned this extraordinary guy who seemed just as likely to threaten to smash someone over the head with a vase as to phone her to make sure everything was all right. Though he hadn’t admitted it, she was sure he’d had a hand in freeing Hugo. She closed her eyes and smiled at the sound of laser pistols and insults coming from her son, who was settled into a beanbag chair in front of the television.

She let him play for another hour and then decided it was time for him to go to bed. She was ready to do the same. All she wanted was to climb under the sheets and forget the nightmare they’d been through. She was putting Hugo to bed when she heard someone banging on the door.

“Señora Escámez?” came a voice from the hallway.

“Who is it?” she said, frightened. Through the peephole she could see a blurry human form.

“It’s Inspector Serrano. I have a couple of questions for you about the kidnapper.”

A few seconds later Amanda would regret her carelessness, but at that moment she saw no reason to be distrustful, even though the person she’d spoken to an hour before was named Commissioner Carneiro. As soon as she opened the door, someone shoved a foot inside. A man with a face full of bruises, his nose in plaster, burst into the apartment. He pushed her against the wall and locked the door.

“I lied,” he said. “I’m not a policeman. But I do have a couple of questions for you.”

35

Cagliari—Sardinia

Rosa Mazi woke when her cell phone began to vibrate under her pillow. Beside her, Dino woke up, too.

“What time is it, Rosa?” he murmured in the darkness of the bedroom.

“Almost three. Go back to sleep.”

“Who’s calling you at this time of night?”

“Business. Sorry, Dino.”

Rosa pushed aside the comforter and climbed out of bed. She and Dino had worked late at the gallery before going back to his house for dinner and a drink. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms after making love, and this interruption was like getting a bucket of cold water—or something much worse—thrown on their evening.

Rosa locked herself in the bathroom and took the call sitting on the toilet seat. “Clark, what is it?”

“Where are you? Why aren’t you on the yacht?”

“What’s it to you? Just tell me why you’re calling at this time of night.”

“Preston got away.”

“Clark, if the best you can do is botch things up, like you did with Paloma in the metro, it’s not going to come as a surprise when everything else goes wrong, too.”

“The incident with Paloma was a mistake, I admit it. I planned to follow her to her apartment, but when I saw her wander down the platform it seemed like the perfect opportunity. I took a big risk, and I messed up. But can you imagine it, Rosa? That bitch’s body, crushed between the train and track . . . It would’ve been a work of art, and I know how much you love art.”

“Clark, I’m going to hang up and vomit now. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Okay, okay. I was better prepared with Preston, but he had help. Some idiot dressed like Batman got me cornered. I think he was a friend of that Azcárate or his girlfriend. They’ve rescued the kid, I got the crap beat out of me by some homeless guys, and the police are out looking for me. And now those troublemakers are going after you, Rosa.”

“Me? Where did you get that idea?”

“I just came from Amanda Escámez’s apartment. She told me everything. She says they planned the handover of Paloma’s document so they could watch me. They’re planning to leave in the morning to go investigate the theft of the Medusa.”

“What have you done to Amanda?”

“Relax. I didn’t hurt her or her son. But she was so scared she spilled everything. I had to put the squeeze on the kid a little, but he’s fine, I swear.”

“And you’re worried about me just because they’re going to investigate the theft? Have you told them who or where we are?”

“Of course not.”

“So why do you think I’m in danger?”

“Don’t you get it? If they go to Verona and ask after you—”

“I don’t have anything to do with that museum anymore.”

“They’re stubborn bastards, Rosa. But don’t worry; I’ll get them off your back. Tell your father I haven’t failed. Not yet.”

“All right, Clark,” Rosa agreed, although she couldn’t help feeling some apprehension. The last thing she needed now was a bunch of amateur detectives showing up at her door. “Do what you have to do, but don’t call me again.”

“Are you with your boyfriend?”

“Good-bye, Clark.”

Rosa turned off her cell phone and went back to bed. Dino was still awake. “What is it that couldn’t wait until morning?”

Rosa considered the good and simple man who’d shown up at the gallery one afternoon looking for work. A deep bond, built on their shared dreams for the future, had grown between them. The problem was, Rosa hadn’t told him a thing about her family’s illegal activities, much less the role she still played in them.

“A cousin of mine’s visiting Sardinia,” she said. “He was worried because he’d been trying to call me all day. It was nothing important.”

“A cousin? Fantastic! We can meet him tomorrow for a coffee, if you want. I still haven’t met anyone in your family. I’m beginning to think you’re ashamed of me.” Dino yawned. “Now let’s get some more sleep. We don’t have to get up just yet.”

Dino made himself comfortable on his side of the bed and started snoring while Rosa turned off the light and was left staring up at the dark ceiling.

What did she have to do to free herself once and for all? She felt trapped between two worlds: one with Dino, the gallery, and the art school she planned to set up, and the other with the organization run by her father, who would only allow himself to be “seen” through his portrait. It was driving her crazy, and now on top of everything else, with Leonardo gone, Clark had begun looking to her as second in command.

She was tempted to run away from it all, but she knew she wouldn’t get far. Her father’s extensive contacts would quickly find her. And she couldn’t ignore the possibility that Alvino Nascimbene, her family’s mortal enemy, was still alive and looking for her.

That night she slept. But from the way she felt the next day, she could’ve sworn she’d spent the hours with one eye open.

36

En route to Verona

Once Jaime and Roberto left behind the morning rush-hour traffic and turned on to the Zaragoza road, the day brought them a brief rain shower that subsided and left the sky clear.

From his position at the wheel of Roberto’s Fiat Doblò, Jaime Azcárate looked in the mirror every few seconds to make sure no car was following them. He shook his head and tried to free it of his fears. He was going to need his mind completely clear. He searched through Roberto’s music, hoping to find something that would help him relax, but he didn’t recognize any of the bands:
Vicious Brutality
,
Coprophagous Sphincters
,
Pepito the Fundamentalist
. . . He shook his head and looked out of the corner of his eye at Roberto, who was asleep beside him with his head back and mouth open.

“I’ll admit, you’re a brave man,” he said, even though he knew Roberto wouldn’t hear him. “But we’re going to have to work on your taste in music.”

To his surprise, Roberto stuck a hand in the pocket on the passenger door and then held a CD out to Jaime: the soundtrack to
Out of Africa
.

“What’s this?” Jaime asked in amazement.

“You never know when some mama’s boy is gonna be driving your car.”

With that, he fell back asleep. It had been a long night.

As the soft chords began to play, Jaime stretched in his seat. Behind him, Paloma and Oscar were also sleeping, having first positioned themselves carefully to make sure they wouldn’t accidentally touch each other. Jaime sighed. Four people in a car, and it was still going to be the loneliest and most boring of drives.

The plan that he’d been working on when he first learned that Paloma was in danger had centered on taking her somewhere remote, like a mountain lodge, in order to put distance between her and her pursuers. However, he and Roberto had ultimately decided to kill two birds with one stone and head to the Pontecorvo House Museum to see if they could find a connection between the former museum director, who was the daughter of Angelo Carrera, and the theft of the Medusa.

The previous night, while Roberto was saving Preston’s life and locating Amanda’s son, Jaime and Paloma had ruined their backs on a sofa at the Center for Historical Research, which they assumed was a safer location than either of their homes.

“You haven’t changed,” Paloma had said just before they tried to get some sleep. “Always trying to solve things by yourself.”

“You must admit it makes things exciting. Anyway, I have Roberto to back me up.”

“A fat geek who thinks he’s Batman. How reassuring for you.”

“That’s not completely fair. Sometimes he thinks he’s Chuck Norris.” Jaime put his arm around her shoulders. “What have you told Amanda?”

“That we’re going away until the danger’s passed.”

“Did you tell her where, exactly?”

“No,” Paloma lied. Jaime had insisted that, for everyone’s safety, no one could be told where they were going. But Paloma had already hidden too much from her friend, and in the telephone conversation they’d had that afternoon, she’d let slip that they were going to investigate the theft of the Medusa.

“Good. And the copy of your work for Ricardo Bosch?”

“I emailed it from Laura’s office. I hope I’m not risking my job by doing all of this.”

“Quite the opposite—you’ll see.”

At six in the morning, Roberto Barrero arrived to collect them in the van. In the trunk were the few pieces of luggage they’d loaded up the day before. And in the passenger’s seat was Oscar Preston, unwilling to be separated a single centimeter from the man who had saved his life.

Roberto woke up when Jaime stopped at a toll point.

“Where are we?”

“Just past Alfajarín. We should reach Girona in about three hours.”

“Do you think the police have nabbed our friend with the mustache yet?”

“If they have, he’ll have already told them everything he knows.” Jaime looked through the water-stained windshield. “Being interrogated by a police inspector isn’t quite the same as talking to a bat with a beer belly.”

“A few minutes more and he’d have told me everything he knew. And for your information, I don’t have a beer belly. Those are my abs.”

“Yeah, sure. You really had him scared; that’s why it took five squatters to make him talk.”

“So what? All superheroes have sidekicks. Besides, that criticism’s pretty ironic, coming from you. You’re practically a Perseus tribute act. At least we know Hugo’s back home.”

The truth was, that was all they knew. From the description Roberto had given him, Jaime had gathered that Preston’s attacker was the same guy who’d tried to freeze him to death in El Burgo de Osma and who had tried to kill Paloma on the metro. Another member of Angelo Carrera’s family or a hit man for his organization, no doubt.

Oscar Preston leaned forward and put his head between the two front seats. His bloodshot eyes had dark rings around them.

“The guy called himself Clark. He didn’t tell me his real name.”

“That’s because not even
he
trusted you,” Paloma said from the other side of the backseat. “I’ll ask again: Why did we have to bring this slug with us?”

“He didn’t want me to leave him at his apartment,” Roberto explained. “He started crying like a little baby and left me with no option but to bring him with me. It’s like that Chinese code of honor: if you save a life, you become responsible for it. This includes puppets and brownnosers.”

“Please, I think we’ve already discussed this enough. I don’t want to go home. I’m not safe there. I promise I’ll do what you say.” Preston looked at Paloma. “I think it’s time to put an end to our rivalry; we’re in the same boat now.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you can drop dead.”

“Stop bickering back there,” Jaime said in a tired voice. “Preston’s right. These people are after both of you. For the moment at least, it’s best to put aside your differences and stick together.”

“I’d rather be stuck with a dung beetle,” Paloma replied.

Roberto grinned. “Is there a difference?”

“Mind your own business, jerk!”

Jaime looked at Preston in the mirror.

“Have some respect. Roberto saved your life, so shut your mouth. If you get bored, count yellow cars.”

Preston grumbled, settled back in his seat with his arms crossed, and looked back out the window.

“I feel sorry for Amanda,” Paloma said. “Poor girl! She’s going to get bombarded with questions about this creep, and about me. I don’t like disappearing at a time like this, but at least I know Preston won’t be there, kissing Ricardo’s ass while I’m gone.”

The tension in the backseat was thick. Jaime and Roberto tried to ignore it and concentrate on the immediate future. Roberto took the wheel for the next leg of the drive and tortured the others with one of his underground rock CDs.

“By the way,” he asked Jaime, “what exactly do you expect me to do on this trip? I hope I’m not just here as a bodyguard for your girl and the brownnoser. I’ll remind you that even though the security guard gig pays the bills these days, I’m really a man of adventure.”

“Don’t worry. Not only have you proven yourself to be the most unsavory superhero this side of Gotham, you’ve demonstrated you have a real flair for investigation. I want you to help me make a timeline of everything we’ve established so far: details, dates, events, people—”

“I see. So you want me to write your report for you.” Roberto turned to Paloma. “Old habits die hard for this guy.”

“I’m sure you’d love it if I asked you to write the article for me,” Jaime said. “But that’s not what the timeline’s for. I was going to do it in Madrid, but then everything got crazy. I figured that if we put together a good outline of all the information we have, it might help us find the Medusa.”

Preston stopped gazing at the damp landscape they were passing and turned to Paloma.

“The Medusa? Is that what we’re looking for? Paloma, is all that stuff true? The thing about the blood and—”

“That’s none of your business,” Paloma snapped back, practically tearing Jaime to pieces with her glare.

But Preston persisted. “I have to congratulate you. There’s no doubt you deserve the deputy director’s position more than I do. How did you do it? I mean, how did it all start? What made you suspect that the Medusa was older than the catalogues said?”

Roberto answered for Paloma. “You heard what she said: it doesn’t concern you. You’re here because someone wanted to turn you into a spot on the pavement, so you’d better shut your mouth or we’ll throw you out of the window with a flare up your ass to make it easy for them to find you.”

Though Paloma wasn’t in a good mood, she laughed heartily at that. Red with rage, Preston sat back again and resumed watching the scenery with a sulky expression.

They spent the night in Arles, and the next day they set off again very early, skirting the Mediterranean coast in Roberto’s car. Like they had the day before, Jaime and Roberto took turns at the wheel. At around one in the afternoon, they stopped to stretch their legs by Lake Garda, and an hour later they arrived in Verona.

Guided by Roberto’s GPS, they crossed the River Adige at Vittoria Bridge and soon arrived on Piazzale Aristide Stefani, in front of an imposing hospital building. There, by a busy bus stop, was the bed-and-breakfast where Jaime had booked their reservations.

When Paloma saw the building, she shook her head in disbelief.

“Here? I don’t believe it, Jaime.”

“What’s wrong with it?” He gave her a wink.

Not understanding the exchange, and because parking on the street proved impossible, Roberto left the others at the entrance and drove the van to a parking lot on the other side of the river. The hotel was on the third floor of the building, and Jaime, Paloma, and Preston carried their luggage up to the front desk. There they were met by a friendly, red-bearded young man who spoke perfect Spanish. The place was clean and modern, and everything smelled new. The doors were white, and no mark blemished the immaculate paint on the walls. After requesting their identity documents and explaining the rules of the establishment, the friendly owner accompanied them to the two adjacent rooms that Jaime had booked the day before.

“Paloma and I will sleep here,” Jaime said to Preston. “You and Roberto can take that one.”

“Why can’t I have my own room?” Preston complained.

“Because Roberto is your life insurance. In fact, if I were you, I wouldn’t breathe easy until he gets back.”

Enjoying the look of fear on Oscar Preston’s face, Jaime walked toward his and Paloma’s room and gestured for her to go inside.

The room was spacious and minimalist, with a padded headboard secured to the wall; furniture with clean, straight lines; and shaded lamps. Paloma put her hands on her hips and looked at Jaime with irritation.

“You did this on purpose.”

“What?”

“Are you going to tell me there are no other hotels in Verona?”

“There are plenty of others. But I have good memories of this one. Don’t you?”

“You’re unbelievable, Jaime Azcárate.” She might have been flirting with him, but it sounded more like a scolding. “I suppose now you’ll tell me you didn’t know the twin beds would be pushed together.”

“It seemed presumptuous to ask for a double. We still have a lot to work out.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” She slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Jaime left the luggage on the floor and lay faceup on one of the beds, his arms crossed under his head. The bathroom door opened and Paloma reappeared.

“Are you being serious?”

Jaime tipped up his head so he could look at her.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I . . .” He didn’t know where to begin, so he let the words guide his thoughts and not the other way round. “I suppose this is as good a time as any to say I’m sorry. I know it sounds absurd for me to say it now, but I’ve finally realized how much I hurt you.”

The look on Jaime’s face didn’t go unnoticed by Paloma. It was that sparkling look he got sometimes that made people wonder whether he was being serious or joking. She’d experienced it before. She had also felt the breathlessness to which this man was able to drive her, and she wasn’t about to take the bait.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit late to suddenly realize something like that? There’s a time and a place for everything.”

“Those times and places aren’t fixed. They can change over the course of a person’s life.”

“Sure. That’s why at thirty-four you still act like a fifteen-year-old. Sorry, Jaime, but it doesn’t work like that.”

“Do you remember a letter you wrote to me toward the end of our relationship? You told me that, one day, with the help of a psychologist, I’d realize how egotistical and insensitive I was, and how little I cared about other people. I just want you to know that I’ve saved a bundle on shrinks, because I haven’t needed them to make me see all those things. I know now. I know how much I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I was a different person back then.”

Paloma’s eyes filled with tears. The last thing she’d expected to happen on this trip was for them to reconcile. Since they’d broken up years before, she had often wondered if she had pressured him too much. She wanted to tell him that, but this didn’t feel like the time or the place. She picked up her purse and went back into the bathroom.