The policeman didn’t smile. He sat behind his desk in the air-conditioned office, leaning forward slightly, running through the report that the Guardia Civil had made after they’d arrived at the scene. Fairly soon, others arrived. Heavy-duty. National Police. Big guys, mean-looking. Even meaner than the Guardia.
After the killing, Chaise clambered out of the car and sat on the side of the road, punching out the number on his mobile. His Spanish was good and there was no misunderstanding. Within five minutes they arrived. In the pause, Chaise made another call to Angelina. Without any preamble, he put it plain and simple, “Hi. I’ve got a problem.”
“Oh God, don’t tell me it’s the car.”
“No. Worse. Much worse.” He tried to keep his voice flat, void of emotion. It was becoming harder. The s
