He hesitated for a couple of seconds, thinking the tree might not have been the best idea after all, but there was no going back now. Sirens started whining in the distance, creeping closer to the scene of the crime. He had to act now.
Sean twisted his body around and grabbed onto the limb with both hands. He lowered his right leg, then his left, until he was hanging at full stretch from the branch. His eyes locked in on the next landing, focusing all his energy. It seemed only inches away, but he knew it was at least twenty, and may as well have been a hundred. The ground loomed below, a deadly reminder of what awaited if he missed his landing.
There was no time to delay, especially with the sirens growing ever closer. Sean gripped the branch with fingers like hooks and let his body swing gently back and forth as he dangled in the air. On the fourth swing, he felt confident that his feet were over the next branch and thought to let go, but didn't. He had to make sure. The bad news was, there was only one way to make sure, and that was to let go. His legs swung out over the limb again, and this time Sean released his fingers. He dropped diagonally down and instinctively bent his knees and crouched over. The soles of his shoes touched the limb, and he instantly stuck out his left arm to grab the tree trunk and halt his momentum. His wrist smacked the broad bark, and his muscles tensed, but he held firm and kept his balance.
Sean looked down at the next series of branches. They were much closer together and almost appeared to be a natural staircase, for which he was eternally grateful. Still wary of the fall, albeit six feet shorter now, he took the next step, gradually making his way down, wrapping around the tree toward the bottom. The last limb was still a good ten feet off the ground. When he reached it, Sean wrapped his hands around it as he'd done with the first branch, and let himself hang low. The drop to the ground was only a few feet, and he didn't wait for an invitation to let go. When he landed, a wave of relief rushed over him.
That feeling didn't last long. Amid the sound of the approaching sirens, he could hear a crowd gathering around the scene of the crime. Making his way up the steep hill and circling around would be impossible. The only way out would be around the front. A hopeful thought entered his head. Maybe he could use the mob to his advantage.
He casually walked around the end of the house on the opposite side of where the body lay. A few people were hurrying past the home's corner toward the calamity to get a front-row view. People, it seemed, were the same everywhere. They couldn't look away from a catastrophe. It was the perfect cover for Sean's getaway. He pulled the beanie down tight over his ears and low to his eyes as he made his way down the length of the house and to the sidewalk. A young woman and man were approaching at a jog with concerned looks on their faces. They whisked by without even noticing Sean as he appeared from the shadows. He followed them with his eyes and noted the number of people gathering around the alley. Magically, as if from nowhere, at least two dozen onlookers had gathered to see what had happened. It was more people than he'd seen at one time since arriving in San Sebastián. Now, like moths to the flame, they appeared, fluttering to the body.
Sean drifted toward the throng for a moment, pretending to try to see past the people in front and figure out what they were looking at. Someone might have noticed if he'd walked out from behind the house and gone in the opposite direction of the commotion. Blending into the crowd for a minute or two until the police arrived would actually be the best course of action. Sean had used massive clusters of people to his advantage more times than he could recount. Authorities often had a difficult time finding someone right under their noses because they were acting like everyone else. At the moment, rumors were circulating through dozens of ears about a body in the alley, a jumper, and questions about who the man was.
The first police car arrived on the scene with its siren screaming through the canyon of tall homes. The driver screeched to a halt and jumped out, pointing with one finger and keeping the other hand on his weapon. He was yelling something in Spanish about clearing the scene.
Another car showed up fifteen seconds later, coming from the same direction. Its driver parked next to the other squad car and got out, talking into the radio on his shoulder. The people milling around the edge of the alley began to disperse to the farther reaches of the little area, clumping together with people they knew to discuss what was going on. Others spoke of what they'd seen: a bloody mess, possible suicide, and various other theories.
Sean drifted through the still-growing crowd, facing toward the scene but sliding his feet backward. Someone bumped into him from behind as they tried to get a closer view. He shook his head as he kept pressing back until the mob began to thin. He felt his back touch something solid and turned his head to see what he'd run into. It was one of the homes on the other side of the street, forty feet from the other sidewalk. There were only a few people standing on this side, pointing fingers at the chaos, like everyone else, wondering what was going on in their quiet piece of the world.
Sean turned to the right and started walking away at a stroll. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, never looking back, hoping no one noticed as he disappeared around the next corner.
He picked up the pace once he was out of the mob's view, though kept it to a fast walk. There were still more citizens coming out of their homes and the few shops that occupied the area. It was like someone turned on the lights inside the buildings and now all the cockroaches were running.
Down the street, back toward the bay, the herd thinned significantly, and eventually, when he turned right and headed back the way he'd originally come, the streets and sidewalks were once again vacant.
A gust of wind zipped through the thoroughfare, sending a chill across Sean's skin. It wasn't as bad with the coat on, but somehow the cold still found a way.
He wondered who the man was that had killed Wolfz. Did Wolfz know something? If so, why kill him unless he'd given up the information? Nothing was making sense.
As he strode at a near-Olympic pace, he noticed a coffee shop open on the right and veered off course, pushed through the glass door, and walked into the warmth. Getting off the road for a few minutes was probably a good idea. Having a cup of coffee would give him some witnesses and plenty of alibis, just in case.
Around a dozen people were sitting around at various tables in the cafe. Most of them were either reading or working diligently on laptops. Some were engaged in conversations about movies or shopping but nothing worth noting. Sean stepped up to the counter and was greeted by a young Argentinian woman with a bright smile and beautiful black hair that hung past her shoulders.
"Welcome," she said in Spanish. "What would you like today?"
"An Americano, please," he answered in her native tongue.
She smiled at his request and wrote down the order on the side of a paper cup then passed it to the young man next to her who donned a matching blue apron. She told Sean how much it would cost, and he passed her the money, telling her to keep the change. This broadened her grin, and she happily placed the extra money into a small tip jar next to the register.