As they stood there the taxi drew into the kerb and the rear door opened. The passenger got out, pretended to pay the cab driver, and strode across the pavement in front of them towards the corner doorway, disappearing into the shadows inside.
‘Okay?’ Alvarez said, sounding ready to pack up and drive them to the airport.
‘Well…’ Peter McNeil frowned, still trying to get his bearings. ‘Let me see. Yes, I suppose this must be the place…’
‘Well, it doesn’t feel right to me,’ his wife said.
‘What’s wrong, Audrey?’ Kathy prompted.
‘I don’t know…Are you sure the sun’s in the same place? Only it’s practically shining into our eyes, so you could hardly make out that man’s face.’
Captain Alvarez’s mouth tightened. This obviously wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and Peter wasn’t best pleased either. ‘Oh yes you could, Audrey. At least, I could.’
‘My eyesight’s every bit as good as yours, Peter. And anyway, he went up some steps at the entrance to the building. I remember that now.’
‘You didn’t mention that before,’ Kathy said.
‘No, it’s just come back to me. The building looked like this one, the same warm stone colour, but there were a few steps.’
‘You’re quite sure? Peter?’
He shrugged, dubious. ‘I was only thinking about recognising his face. I didn’t pay much attention to the building.’
Kathy turned to the Spaniard. ‘Captain, they’re agreed that they saw the person somewhere between the Casa Mila and the metro station. Could I suggest that we walk the whole of that route, just as they did?’
Alvarez frowned and asked her to say it again. She did, more slowly, and he shook his head. ‘Is this necessary? It is long ago. They don’t remember.’
He relented, however, and called his man back from the building entrance and gave him new instructions. They turned and walked the three blocks north until they were standing in front of the undulating facade of Gaudi’s apartment building.
‘Right,’ Kathy said, ‘I recognise this from your photograph. So from here you said you crossed the street to try to get a better picture.’
They crossed over, and the taxi, which had kerb-crawled behind them, did a U-turn and followed. They walked a block south, and then Kathy pointed to a corner entrance, with three steps leading into the shadowed interior.
‘Yes, that’s the sort of thing,’ Audrey said.
‘But it’s on the wrong side,’ Peter objected. ‘It’s to our right. He crossed from right to left. I’m quite sure of that.’
‘I’m not,’ his wife said stubbornly. They stood in irritated silence, glaring at each other, while the stream of well-dressed shoppers with expensive-looking carrier bags parted around them. Kathy sensed Alvarez reaching the end of his patience.
‘Well, let’s try something,’ she said, sounding just a little desperate, she thought. She waved the taxi forward and pointed to the kerb just in front of them. It moved to the spot and the passenger got out and began his mime once more.
‘Okay, we’re moving forward, and you notice him, Peter. You’re looking at something else, Audrey.’
‘Yes, I can remember being attracted by the bright summer fashions in that window over there, but they’re muted now, for autumn.’
‘As he pays the taxi we walk on, past him, and he begins to cross the footpath behind us. You look back over your shoulder, Peter, because you think you’ve recognised him, then you tell Audrey who you think it is. Audrey turns and sees him disappear up the steps into the building. You’re both right, you see-at first he was moving across from left to right, then when you were looking back he was going from right to left.’
‘Ingenious,’ Peter conceded, ‘but I don’t know…’
‘You could be right, Kathy.’
‘And when you turned to look at him, the sun was behind you.’
‘I don’t believe we could have got it so completely wrong,’ Peter protested.
Alvarez evidently agreed. He was shaking his head in disbelief. Kathy hurriedly said, ‘Okay, let’s keep going.’
She took a note of the address of the corner entrance, Passeig de Gracia 83, and they continued along the route the McNeils had taken, crossing back to the east side of the Passeig, past the place where they had begun, and on to the entrance to the metro. Along the way they examined five more corner entrances as possibilities, but none had steps.
‘So it really comes down to how positive you are about those steps, Audrey,’ Kathy said.
‘Oh Lord,’ she sighed and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the mental image. ‘I was quite certain when it first struck me, but the more I try to visualise it, the harder it gets.’
Captain Alvarez was examining his wristwatch pointedly and Kathy said, ‘I think that’s as much as we can do. Thank you for your help, Captain.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yes. Oh, there is one thing. Do you think you could get me a list of the businesses who use that entrance over there.’ She pointed back across the street to the entrance with the steps, and checked the address from her notebook, ‘Passeig de Gracia 83’.
He seemed about to object, but then thought better of it and called to his officer in the taxi and gave him instructions. ‘Now I take you to your friends.’
Kathy thanked him but said that she wanted to spend more time with the McNeils, who were looking bewildered. Alvarez gave her a card and pointed to the address, then turned and marched off to his car further up the street.
‘He wasn’t very friendly,’ Audrey said. ‘Did we upset him?’
‘Don’t worry about him. Let’s have a cup of coffee.’ She led them to a cafe, where they gradually relaxed. ‘It felt like we were sitting an exam,’ Peter said, ‘and getting the questions wrong.’
When they’d finished their coffees, Kathy took them back up the Passeig to the Casa Mila, and walked them over the route again. Although they were now at ease and chatting freely, nothing new emerged. As they passed number eighty-three, the policeman in the black leather jacket emerged from the doorway into the sunlight, stuffing his notebook into his pocket, and headed away. Out of curiosity, Kathy went over to the entrance and mounted the steps. Inside, a directory board listed the occupants, but Kathy wasn’t able to make out what businesses they carried on, and after a moment she gave up and they continued on their way back to the metro station. There she thanked the McNeils and told them their time was now their own. They were apologetic about not having been more help, and waved goodbye as Kathy hailed a cab.
As Kathy had expected, Linda and Tony’s time had been much more productive. The bank had been able to provide several useful pieces of information, beginning with an address for their client, Martin Kraus, in an apartment block in the northern part of the city. They had gone with a carload of local cops to the address only to discover that the flat number didn’t exist.
‘Yet the bank forwarded monthly statements to that address over a six-month period,’ Tony explained to Kathy. He was animated and so taken up with the chase that, Kathy noticed, he was able to keep his eyes off Linda for whole minutes at a time. ‘I reckon he’s done the same thing as he did with Turnstile Quality Systems in Neasden. There he got the Post Office to divert TQS mail to a business-accommodation bureau, where they held it for collection. They deal with hundreds of mail-drop customers, most of them dodgy, and couldn’t give a description of whoever picked up the mail. Jeez’s lads are checking that line now.’
‘Did the bank manager ever meet Kraus?’
‘He doesn’t believe so, and there was no note of a meeting in the file. The account was opened by an assistant manager who’s since moved to Madrid. They’re trying to track him down, and a copper is talking to the rest of the staff at the moment, with a picture of Verge. The other thing that’s really interesting is the history of the account. It was opened in October of last year. I’ve spoken to London, to get them to check if Verge was over here then.’