Питер Мэй - A Silent Death

He saw Mackenzie’s gaze wander towards the CCTV camera at the entrance to the supermarket.

‘Defunct,’ he said. ‘That entrance has been closed for over a year. No one uses this car park any more. Too many muggings and break-ins. I’ve got officers questioning shoppers who were in the supermarket in or around the time of the shooting, or in the car park outside, but no one seems to have seen the killer’s car leaving. Although, from those tyre marks I’d say they must have left in quite a hurry.’ He gazed thoughtfully at Mackenzie. ‘So what do you think?’

Mackenzie shook a despairing head. ‘I have no idea what to think.’

‘Cleland?’

Mackenzie shrugged. Somehow he didn’t think so. But he had no logical way to express that.

‘It would make sense,’ the Jefe said. ‘This is how he gets back at Cristina. Why kill her when he can murder her husband instead and make her suffer like him?’

Mackenzie’s eyes wandered again back to the body of the young man lying in his own blood. The curl of dark hair on his forehead, the crook of the bloodied finger that wore his wedding ring. Blood-stained blue socks that he had pulled on just that morning without the least expectation that he would never again pull on a fresh pair. A life broken and ended in a few fatal seconds.

He thought of Lucas who had just lost his dad. He thought of Cristina, who had saved his life while others were taking the life of her husband. Three lives shattered. One lost. Two that would never be the same again.

He allowed his head to drop, and saw a single tear make a crater in the dust of the floor at his feet.

Cleland heard the buzzing as soon as he opened the front door. For a moment he thought it might be some electrical fault. But then the few stray flies which had made it downstairs, along with the stink of decomposing flesh, brought him sudden horrified realization. He closed his eyes and cursed himself. He should have disposed of the body during the hours of darkness. Everything decayed so quickly in this heat. It was the reason the Spanish always buried their dead within twenty-four hours.

He took the steps two at a time, up into the thick air of the upper floor. It was filled with flies. He screwed up his eyes with disgust, forced to keep his mouth closed and breathe in noxious air through his nose. He saw immediately that Ana was not at her computer and turned back into the hall.

Sandro’s barking fought to be heard above the din of the flies, but he was hoarse now, and his bark carried little force. It was coming from the room where Cleland had dragged Sergio’s lifeless form the day before. The door stood open. Ana lay sobbing on the floor, half-sprawled across the body of the dead Sergio. A sight that sickened him almost more than the stench. He stepped quickly into the room, stooping to lift the prostrate form of the deaf — blind woman from the floor. Beyond an initial stiffening of her body she offered no resistance. She seemed surprisingly light as he pulled her out of the room, arms folded under her breasts, dragging her heels across the floor of the hall and into the living room.

He laid her down carefully and hurried back into the box room to open the window, then retreat to the hall and close the door behind him. Sandro danced and barked around his feet as he went through the house opening every window wide to let out the flies and the smell. In the kitchen he found scented candles and lit them along the counter top.

Ana’s sobbing had reduced itself to a whimper, but deep trembling inhalations still racked her body as she lay curled up on the floor where he had left her. Impossible now, he realized, to stay here much longer. In two strides he crossed to the table with the computer screens and got down on his knees to reconnect them to the mains. Then he hooked his arms under Ana’s shoulders and dragged her to her chair. She slumped into it, eyes open but unseeing. He brushed maggots from her face and hair. Nature wasted no time in employing death for renewal. The worst of the stench of Sergio’s decaying body had escaped through the open window. But the corpse in the back room, he knew, would continue to generate noxious gases. All that Cleland could do now was keep the door closed on them, and the windows open, for as long as it took to get Ana and himself out of here.

He fumbled on the table for Ana’s buzzer alert and pinned it to her blouse, waiting with impatience for the computer to boot up. It was infuriatingly slow. He circled to the other screen and saw finally that he had a blinking cursor. He pulled up a chair and typed.

— Ana. Ana, I need to talk to you.

She did not respond. He was almost overcome by an urge to slap her again, but he didn’t like the unaccustomed guilt that went with that and restrained himself.

— Ana. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill Sergio. Please believe me. If I could undo it I would. He could barely believe that these words were tripping from his fingertips. He would never have been good enough for you anyway. What took him so bloody long to come back? Twenty years, for God’s sake! If he’d been half a man he’d have stood up to his parents, and yours, all those years ago. He wasn’t worthy of you. You deserve better. Some part of him was desperate for her understanding. Although he had no idea why.

Finally she stirred, pulling herself more upright in her chair to pass her fingertips over the braille. Her eyes moved as if searching the room to locate him. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘Take me to the church. I have not been for two days. And we must take the dog out.’

The church? Why the hell did she want to go to the church? He had never understood this impulse that people had to seek solace in God. And hadn’t she told him herself that she’d never had any time for religion? As for the dog... he wished now that he had dealt with Sandro as he had with Sergio. The animal had retreated to a corner of the room and was glowering at him darkly.

— There are too many people out there. It’s the feria. The town is crowded.

Her voice was insistent now. ‘I want to go to the church. It’s the least you owe me.’

Owe her? What did he owe her? He screwed his eyes shut. Jesus, who was the hostage here? He forced himself to calm down and steadied his fingers on the keyboard.

— Okay. I’ll take you to the church. I promise. But I have some business to take care of first, some phone calls to make.

‘Don’t leave me again!’ The plaintive appeal in her voice both surprised and touched him. And he couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of turmoil she was facing alone in the prison that was her body. He reached out to place his fingers on her hand. She pulled it sharply away, an instinctive response to his unexpected touch, and to his consternation he found that he was hurt by it.

— I’m still here. I won’t leave you. I’ll use your phone. And then, I’ll be as quick as I can .

Marviña was deserted in the late afternoon heat. Sunlight struck off dusty bleached stone, reflecting light into the darkest shadows. Sensible folk snoozed in cool rooms behind closed shutters after a late lunch. Not a soul, not even a dog, stirred in the shimmering furnace of the Plaza del Vino. But in the ill-named Calle Utopía the blue lights of umpteen police vehicles flashed intermittently, and half a dozen officers stood around smoking and speaking in hushed tones. The entrance to Cristina’s apartment block was wedged open, and the darkened stairwell breathed cool air into the baking heat of the street.

Mackenzie cast sad eyes across the scene in the narrow road as the Jefe drew his Audi into the kerbside and the two men stepped out of its air-conditioned interior to be assaulted by the Spanish sun. At almost the same moment, a solitary figure cast a short shadow on the flagstones of the square as it made erratic progress towards the group at the top of the hill. Paco took a couple of minutes to reach them, hobbling on his crutches.