Read Online The Cassandra Sanction by Scott Mariani - Free Book Online

was on the top floor of an upscale building in the fashionable district of Glockenbach, off Palmstrasse just a few blocks north of the River Isar. The area was Munich’s answer to Greenwich Village, a popular haunt for musicians and artists and writers and other left-leaning individuals of the creative variety whocould somehow afford to live there and frequent its bohemian cafés and bars. Raul produced a key as they stepped out of the lift onto a broad landing that smelled of pine air freshener and new carpet, and led Ben to one of only two glossily varnished doors at opposite ends. He paused at the door and looked about to ring the buzzer, then drew back his hand and closed his eyes with a sigh. Then heinserted the key in the lock and pushed open the door as if his own death lay beyond it.
    Ben followed Raul inside the apartment, and closed the door behind them. Raul strode along a short hallway with a gleaming parquet floor that opened up into a large modern open-plan space. He took off his jacket and slung it on the back of a white leather armchair, as if he’d done it a hundred times beforeand was at home in the place. He glanced around the room, and for a second Ben thought he was going to call his sister’s name, in case she might suddenly appear, smiling her perfect smile at this unexpected visit and wanting to be introduced to Raul’s interesting new friend. But Catalina Fuentes didn’t appear, and her brother turned to gaze heavily at Ben.
    ‘My parents want to sell this place,once all the craziness with the lawyers is settled,’ he said. ‘Can you believe that, so soon? I told them I wouldn’t let that happen, no way. It’s still her home, you know?’ He shivered. ‘It’s cold in here. You’d think the building manager would keep the heat on.’ Going over to a panel on the wall, he flipped open a cover and prodded small buttons. Ben couldn’t see radiators or pipes anywhere.Without them, the lines of the room looked clean and elegant. Electric heating, magically hidden under the gleaming wood floor.
    Raul gazed around the big living room with a wistful frown. ‘It all looks just the way I remember it.’
    ‘When were you last here?’ Ben asked.
    ‘I know the exact number of days,’ Raul said. ‘Too many. It was last autumn. Our birthday, November third. I stayedhere for a week.’ He thought for a few moments then added in an undertone, ‘In fact I hardly saw much of her. She was so busy with her work, some new thing she was working on that she was terribly excited about. I didn’t even ask her what it was.’
    Raul’s voice trailed off as he lost himself in memories of the last time he’d seen his sister alive. In one corner, a gleaming classical guitarrested on a stand. He went over to it, gazed at the instrument for a moment and then softly drew his fingers across its six strings. Its sound was deep and sonorous. ‘Catalina’s guitar,’ he murmured.
    Feeling he should say something, Ben was about to ask, ‘Did she play well?’ Too much past tense, he decided. Against his instincts, and to avoid hurting Raul, he said instead, ‘Does she play well?’
    Raul smiled sadly. ‘I suppose so. She took it up years ago. But I never heard her play. She always kept it to herself.’
    Too much past tense. Raul had snagged the emotional tripwire that Ben had managed to avoid. He began to droop as if his limbs and his head weighed nine hundred pounds, and lowered himself into the nearest armchair with his elbows on his knees, forehead cupped in both handsand his eyes screwed tight.
    Ben walked slowly around the room. It was an elegant blend of modern and old that spoke of good taste and a fine eye. He paused at a heavy sideboard, brushed his fingertips along wood that felt like oiled silk, and snicked open one of its doors. His guess had been right: drinks cabinet. Catalina’s good taste extended to single malt scotch, nothing less than a fifteen-year-oldGlenfiddich. He grabbed the bottle and