“Do they get along? The couple, I mean.”
“Victor and Monica? Oh, yeah, they make such a nice couple, both so good-looking. And so crazy about each other.”
“What do you think could have happened to Mrs. Pradell? I mean, do you know or suspect whether she had some motive for disappearing just like that?”
“I’ve no idea. It’s all so strange… poor Victor. I recall that they had an argument that night we had dinner, well, a friendly argument, anyway, nothing tragic, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, miss; I’m just telling you so you’ll see how much they loved each other, well…”
“What was the argument about?”
That was the first I’d heard about the development. I pretended I wasn’t too interested. I didn’t want to jump the gun before I was pretty sure about it. When I left Mrs. Torres’s place, I called Quim right away.
“I’m asking you as a professional favor, man.”
“But I’ve never done anything like that, Lònia!” he whimpered.
“Tell them you’re there on my behalf. They’re not going to hassle you. And do it now, okay? I need to know by noon today.”
“Why don’t you go yourself, sweetie pie?”
“Because I have other things to do, sweetie pie yourself! Oh, come on, man. You owe me more than erne favor, you know that.” And I hung up.
I dialed again. Patricia still wasn’t answering. I dialed again: my friend at the telephone company gave me the address.
When I got to the office I found a note from Quim on my desk: “Kid, I can see you really know how to get along with people. When I gave your name to those guys at the Property Registry, and at the College of Lawyers, too, they treated me like a king. How do you do it, honey? You’ll have to clue me in, I include, under separate cover, the results of my research. I’m at your disposal for whatever might be necessary, Mrs. Paloni, you know that. I’m having dinner at that rabbit restaurant of yours and I’ll have them put it on your bill. I deserve it, don’t you think? Oh, yeah: your beloved client called-wants you to call.”
Quim’s research, as he called it, confirmed that Mr. Pradell was the owner of some land along the seashore. And that there was a project in the name of Victor Cabanes to develop it, already presented and approved, but held up “sine die.” So far, okay.
Then to Patricia’s place. But she’d already flown the coop. She’d left the apartment four days ago, without leaving a forwarding address.
“What if she gets mail?” I asked the doorlady.
“She said she was sure she wouldn’t get any.”
At the nearest telephone booth, Victor Cabanes’s secretary asked me if it would be convenient to come by the office.
“Right away,” I said.
Ten minutes after that “right away” they were showing me into Victor’s office. He was waiting for me, looking as though he needed to ask me to do him a favor.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” he answered with a sticky sweetness.
“Why did you want to see me, Mr. Cabanes?”
Naturally, he wanted to know how my investigations were going. What his wife’s friends had told me. If studying Monica’s datebook had turned anything up. Etc., etc.
“What do you know about Patricia?” I cut him off.
“Who’s Patricia?”
“A very good friend of your wife.”
“I remember she had a Mend who was a little on the flaky side… but what does that have to do with Monica?”
“It turns out you’re the only one who doesn’t know anything about the friendship your wife had with this woman. It also turns out that she left her apartment exactly four days ago: the very day after Monica Pradell’s disappearance. What do you think about that?”
He was taken aback. I took advantage:
“By the way, how’s the development going?”
“Development? What development?”
“Blue Sea. It’s a terrific project, Mr. Cabanes. Too bad it’s being held up, isn’t it? And I’m afraid that if your wife doesn’t turn up, Mr. Pradell won’t ever get around to closing the deal on it…”
“I’ve no idea what you’re getting at, Miss Guiu…”
“Do you love Monica Pradell, Mr. Cabanes?”
“Listen, what did those reptiles tell you? What are you thinking, Miss Guiu? What do you suspect?”
It took God’s help and then some to get him to confess. And once I had it, I realized that the confession wasn’t going to do me much good. No, he didn’t love Monica anymore. He was looking for her because, in fact, her father wasn’t about to let that land be developed if his heir didn’t go along with it.
“And you don’t know where she is, right?” I said with my very best sarcasm. “You don’t suppose she could have run off precisely so she wouldn’t be forced to say yes to something she didn’t want, do you?”
I was beating him to death, and behaving like a spoiled kid, too. Victor was thrown completely out of gear.
“No, I don’t think that,” he said. “Nor do I know where she is, Miss Guiu. And I must say I don’t care one bit for your attitude.”
“Well, it’s up to you. I’ll drop the case.”
“No, don’t do that.”
“Could this be revenge on your wife’s part?”
“Revenge? For what?”
“You told me you didn’t love her…”
“Monica doesn’t know that. Or if she knows, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t love me either.”
“Why do you live together, then?”
But that was going beyond the limits of conjugal intimacy, propriety, appearances, and all that.
He invited me to dinner at his place again, this time not on working time, he said. What a pity to have met him under such circumstances.
The soiree was delightful, and I went home with Monica’s dog. It seems the Pradells were heartbroken to see her so sad and thin, and Victor didn’t want to take her to the kennels, but he couldn’t take care of her, either. She paid so much attention to me, and maybe I’d like to keep her until Monica came back.
Sure, glad to.
When I left, he kissed me on the cheek.
“Tomorrow I’ll start investigating Patricia,” I told him. “I think we might just find something there.”
“Fine. Give me a call.”
V
“Hadn’t she ever mentioned that she was thinking of moving out of the apartment?”
“She wasn’t nice at all. If I didn’t say hello to her, she never said a word to me. Why would she mention anything to me?”
“Did she live alone?”
“Yes, but she had a lot of company… especially men. Well, I don’t want to bear false witness… sometimes women came over, too.”
“What did she live on?”
“I don’t know… I suppose the people who came to see her, don’t you think?”
“She didn’t have a job anywhere?”
“Not that I know. Listen, miss, has she done something?”
“Have you ever seen this woman?” I showed her Monica’s picture.
She looked it over from every angle. Up close. Far away. She examined the details.
“This face looks familiar to me, it looks kind of familiar, all right.”
“Could I have a look at the apartment?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t be able to do that, miss. You’d have to go to the agency that rents it out. I…”
“You have the key, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I can only show it to people with a card from the agency. Besides, there isn’t anything of hers there anymore.”
“How about if instead of a card from the agency, I give you one of mine?”
I showed her a ten-dollar bill.
“Well, okay, just because I think you’re okay. But don’t go telling them at the agency that I let you in.”
The elevator stank of trash, and it was slow.
“Did she live here for long?” I kept up the questioning.
“About two years, more or less.”
“Did she get any mail?”
“A little, not much. Maybe one or two letters the whole time she lived here.” She opened the apartment door. “Both from here, from banks… they weren’t personal letters. The fact is that people don’t get personal letters anymore, do they, miss? Just letters from the bank and junk mail.”