The Little Spanish Girl Read online

  THE LITTLE

  SPANISH GIRL

  ALES MATKO

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2018 by Ales Matko

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Amazon and the Amazon logo are trademarks or Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  Edited by David Greenwald

  Cover design by Boris Horvat

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  A grandes males, grandes remedios.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Somewhere in the north of Spain, 1952

  A grey country road, surrounded by misty grey swamps as far as one could see. Grey clouds drearly sliding across the winter sky. Even the leaves on the moss-covered trees, though able to persist in this inhospitable weather, were grey in color. The snow, covering a fair share of the land, peeking out from the murky waters, was also grey, and not white as one would expect, as if it had been somewhat dirty to begin with, having fallen from the grey sky. The shack, blocking the passage with a long barrier - it too was grey.

  The only object that stood out from this morbid colorless background was a very loud, red car, a 1948 Eringo Rivera, rattling as it made its way up the road.

  The vehicle stopped a good few feet from the barrier and three gruff men, heavily armed and dressed in warm winter coats, swiftly approached. One of them knocked on the window with the barrel of his machine gun.

  Chief Inspector Beatra, a bald and skinny man with a thick dark beard, calmly explained the situation to the much-alarmed man in the passenger's seat beside him.

  ''Nothing to worry about, detective.''

  He lowered the window on his side.

  ''Buenas tardes. We are here to see señor Elsa. He is expecting us.''

  ''Step outside, both of you,'' replied one of the guards harshly.

  ''It that really neccesary?'' the inspector asked, forcing a smile.

  As he did not get his smile returned, but instead found himself staring down the barrel of one of the guns, he again turned to the detective, this time a little more uneasily.

  ''It’s ...'' he stammered as he and his passenger exited the car. ''This will only take a minute or two. Standard procedure, I believe.''

  The inspector's companion, Emmanuel Klauder, was a well-fed man to say the least, with a massive gut, fatty deposits around the kidneys, hammy legs, chunky arms, and not only a double, but a triple chin. Yet even this padding could not prevent the famous detective with short, dark-red curls from shivering outside in the grey cold.

  He was noticably displeased when one of the armed men began to frisk him rather too thoroughly, while Chief Inspector Beatra was undergoing the same procedure on the other side of the car - and even the old red Rivera itself was rigorously inspected.

  The guard found a case in the detective's vest.

  ''¿Qué es esto?''

  ''A case?'' the paunchy Klauder replied.

  ''And what is inside it?''

  The question was apparently retorical, as the guard opened it up before Klauder could answer. Inside was a set of vials and hypodermic needles.

  ''Insulin shots,'' replied the detective tersely. ''I'm diabetic. Now, if you don't mind ...''

  He certainly did not like people messing with his life-saving medication, and he was afraid the man would not return the case, but luckily it was indeed handed back. Still, the same could not be said for Inspector Beatra’s two guns, both of which were seized upon discovery.

  ''You know the rules, inspector. They'll be returned when you leave.''

  A couple of minutes later both visitors were again sitting in the loud red car, driving past the checkpoint and heading deeper into the partially frozen marsh.

  ''¡Dios mío!'' exclaimed Klauder. ''You let them take your weapons, just like that? Seeing as how you are a police officer, I was expecting they would need to hand theirs over to you, not the other way around!''

  ''You truly are a novice in these matters, señor Klauder,'' the bald Beatra smiled. ''This place has its own set of rules. The man in charge is a ruthless gangster, a sinister fellow lacking any semblance of a sense of humor.'' He gave Klauder, whom he had been instructed to pick up from the airport about half an hour earlier, a quick look, and after seeing how cranky he was, added: ''Might I suggest taking a deep breath and calming down, detective? If guns and dangerous-looking men make you nervous, then I have to warn you - it will only get worse.''

  He wasn't lying. As they progressed through the grey swamp, stuck on the narrow, grey, snow-covered road, they were stopped and frisked no fewer than an additional four times. On two occasions, they were even sniffed and barked at by vicious-looking hounds on leashes.

  ''¡Madre mía! What have I gotten myself into?''

  Klauder was flicking snowflakes from his hair and shaking his head in disbelief, hoping this would be the final pat-down.

  ''So they haven't told you?'' inquired Beatra, driving on. ''You have no idea as to why you are here?''

  ''All I have, inspector, is an invitation stating that my services are needed here in exchange for a generous payment. Still, to tell you the truth, I don’t really care about the money all that much. Curiosity is what made me sit on the plane and come here.''

  ''That's too bad. I was hoping you'd fill me in. Well, no matter. I think we'll both know soon enough what all the fuss is about.'' As the detective remained quiet, Beatra continued: ''I have to admit I am somewhat of a fan, señor Klauder. I've read about you in the papers. How long have you been a private investigator?''

  ''Well, I became famous only about two years ago after tracking down the missing wife of one señor Velalobos. it was a pretty notorious case, you probably heard of it. But even before the media picked up on my success and started pedantically documenting my activities, I had been active for a good five years or so.''

  ''Have you ever come across a case you couldn’t crack?''

  ''Frankly, I don’t think a case like that exists - or ever will.''

  The inspector chuckled.

  ''I like your confidence, detective. But you know what they say - never say never.''

  Emmanuel Klauder, this funny-looking yet highly capable fellow, curled his fatty lips, unable to conceal his self-satisfaction.

  ''I wouldn’t hold my breath, inspector.''

  A little while later, they were stopped and frisked for the sixth time.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The enormous estate slowly came in
to view through the fog. At the last checkpoint a couple of armed men had opened large iron gates – although, to the great surprize of the inspector and his guest, they decided for once to skip the frisking – and then closed them with a chilling click as soon as the red car had entered.

  The long driveway was surrounded by dry land, covered in snow and occupied by slim willows growing in unsettling poses. And then, a couple of minutes later, sure enough, a mansion emerged from the mist. It was truly an architectural wonder. Though made of only the finest materials, it was a cold and unfriendly structure whose colors were mostly grey hues.

  At the front of the house there was a parking area boasting a few limousines and a much greater number of off-road vehicles, similar to those used by the army. All of them were covered in snow. Loafing guards were scattered around the place, all armed to the teeth, all with faces that were clearly more accustomed to menacing grins than to laughter.

  Before getting out of the car, Inspector Beatra turned to Klauder.

  ''A word to the wise, detective. These people are delicate to work with. One wrong word, one wrong gesture is all it takes to start trouble. Now, I am not familiar with your character, but I hope you know how to conduct yourself. Life has a different value around here.''

  Klauder gulped, as if he already regretted comming to this place. But at this point it was both too early and too late to leave, so he took a deep breath, stepped outside, and followed Beatra through the parking area.

  The location was anything but placid. An eerie silence seemed to permeate the whole area, and somehow even the sound of the guards walking barely penetrated the thick atmosphere.

  The massive mansion must have had at least six stories climbing up into the murky clouds. A few more armed men were standing by the front door, some of them smoking cigarettes. They said nothing, and when greeted they only nodded in response.

  The inside of the mansion was just as monotonous as the outside, although considerably warmer, with dark wood, stone tiles, oil paintings, antique furniture, and an imposing crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling in the lobby.

  ''Buenas tardes, señores. May I take your coats?''

  Detective Klauder gasped as a figure suddently emerged from the darkness, a man who seemed to blend into the background like a statue.

  ''Yes, dear Jago, por favor,'' replied Beatra while the detective was collecting himself.

  The elderly gentleman was a butler of sorts. He was dressed in a darkish tailcoat and had thinning white hair. His eyes were small, wattery and bluish in color, and he had a dignified look to him.

  ''Erm ... Claro,'' mumbled Klauder as he handed the top layer of his clothing to the old man.

  ''Would you gentlemen care for a cup of tea while you wait?''

  He must have been informed that the duo would be visiting, and the men gladly accepted the offer. While waiting for the butler to return, the corpulent investigator strolled around the lobby, admiring the rich furnishings.

  ''It’s really something, isn’t it?''

  ''My word, yes. You're often a guest here, inspector?''

  ''I come every now and then. When I'm summoned, if you know what I mean.''

  Whoever called the shots in this place must have been quite important to have had, among other things, a senior police inspector in his pocket and enough armed men outside to occupy Madrid.

  The butler returned carrying two cups on a tray. But before the visitors could take their first sip of tea, footsteps were heard, along with an angry voice.

  ''These people, who do they think they are? The nerve! Not only do I ... This really pisses me off!''

  A woman – a maid, judging by her uniform - was coming down the stairs, cursing under her breath. In her fifties, she had a scarf on her head and anger on her face. She did not even notice the three men in the lobby, nor did she reply when the two visitors greeted her, but carried on with her frustrated performance, soon vanishing down one of the many hallways.

  ''Señor Elsa will see you now,'' the butler announced rather indifferently.

  The visitors left their steaming cups in the lobby and followed the elderly gentleman up the stairs.

  ''The soldiers seem tense,'' Beatra muttered. ''What happened, dear Jago?''

  ''A terrible thing, inspector,'' replied the old fellow.

  ''What exactly?''

  ''Something horrible!''

  Realizing the seasoned butler was not going to reveal anything, they continued on in silence. They exited the stairway on the second floor and continued down a series of murky coridors. Strangely, certain places in the mansion were almost as cold as outside, while others were warm to the point of being uncomfortable.

  ''It must be quite a job to keep this place warm,'' mumbled the detective, mostly to himself.

  They soon arrived at a wide double door made from an unfamiliar but apparently exquisite, reddish wood. Angry voices were coming from the other side. The butler waited for a moment, then took advantage of the first quiet interval to knock.

  A short silence was followed by the firm footsteps of someone approaching, and the door was energically opened by a tall and strong, mercinary-looking man with long hair, ten o'clock shadow and a motley wool sweater. A sniper rifle was hanging on his shoulder, and he shot a suspicious look at the visitors with what seemed to be a half-paralised face before finally stepping aside.

  The buttler bowed, then returned down the hallway without a word.

  ''Please, gentlemen,'' the burly man said as politely as he knew how, ''step inside.''

  The two visitors entered what apeared to be some sort of a study with mahagony and parquet flooring, a brown wool rug, and an open fireplace that made the room seem almost cozy and inviting, at least in theory.

  There were three people already present in the room: the armed man, who was obviously someone's bodyguard, another man who was standing so close to the window that he could barely be seen due to the glare behind him, and a beautiful, well-dressed brunette in her thirties wearing quite a lot of jewlery, mostly gold.

  ''Beatrice,'' the figure by the window said in a hollow voice, ''I'd like to speak with these gentlemen alone.''

  Her reaction was proportinately cold, and as she stood up and walked pass the two visitors, a contemptuous smirk flashed across her otherwise pretty face.

  ''Señora Beatrice,'' Beatra said with a half-bow.

  ''Inspector,'' she nodded, looking at his companion with an interest she could not hide. Klauder made a half-hearted bow as well and murmured a greeting. He could not help but notice that the woman seemed slightly inebriated.

  Beatrice left and the long-haired guard closed the door behind her, leaning on it as if to prevent the two visitors from escaping.

  ''That woman will be the end of me,'' murmured the man near the window. ''Had I known what a pain in the ass she'd turn out to be, I would have never married her. Ah, gentlemen, it's true what they say. Before matrimony a dove, and afterwards a falcon.''

  The master of the estate, a gangster known as Gustav Elsa, finally stepped out of the dazzling light to shake hands with the two visitors. He was a man of short stature, but despite his limited frame he managed to project immense power and create fear in those around him. In his late forties and sporting a copious mustache and short brown hair combed to the sides, his eyes were dark and sinister looking, as if the devil himself had molded this notorious man in his own image.

  ''Emmanuel Klauder.''

  ''Sí, señor Klauder. I have heard a great deal about you.''

  It was a compliment, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice.

  ''Señor Elsa,'' Beatra said, offering his hand.

  ''Ah, Beatra. Glad you could make it.''

  ''Of course, of course. At your service. But all this secrecy is getting to me, I'm afraid. Might I ask what the reason for our visit is?''

  Elsa more ordered than asked both men to sit down. Then, leaning back on the mahagony desk, he took a deep breath and exhaled as if in ex
asperation.

  ''It's my daughter, my little girl. She went missing four days ago. Just vanished from her room Friday evening, and we haven't been able to find her since.''

  ''Little Ana-Maria?'' Beatra said. ''Have you informed the authorities, señor?''

  ''I didn't consider it neccesary.''

  ''¿Por qué no?'' Klauder asked, understandably confused.

  ''Because there is no way she could have left, detective. The nature of my line of work requires that the estate be heavily guarded, and that includes the road that leads up to it. Everyone is thoroughly searched multiple times, as is their vehicle, both when entering and exiting, and there are no exceptions. And my girl was not seen trying to leave that day, nor anytime after, either alone or in the company of others.''

  ''And the surrounding marshes?''

  ''A tall, sturdy fence prohibits anyone from passing there, and there are miles upon miles of icy water, ferocious aligators and sinkholes.''

  Klauder wrinkled his forehead.

  ''Had the fence been damaged? Did you check?''

  ''Yes. And no, it had not.''

  ''The estate itself, then?''

  ''Come again, detective?''

  ''The estate. Has it been thoroughly searched? The mansion, the land, the ... I don’t really know how far your property extends, but have you searched all of it? The girl might just be playing hide and seek with you.''

  ''My men have been investigating around the clock for four days, four very long days,'' Elsa replied. ''We put a stop to nearly all other activities. But still we could not find her, nor do we have any leads, clues, or anything else for that matter! I finally realized that my men may simply not be up to the task. They are excellent guards, but detectives and investigators they most certainly are not.''

  Elsa's long-haired bodyguard said nothing, but the two visitors could feel his eyes drilling holes into their heads.

  ''I decided to call upon you two out of sheer desperation. My friend Beatra, whom I can always count on, I am sure ...'' The inspector nodded faithfully, as if he were on Elsa's payroll. ''And the famous detective, who is known as a master of unraveling mysteries, of which this most certainly is one, albeit a painful one. So tell me, señor Klauder. Can I count on you to find my little girl?''