Read Online Barcelona 03 - The Sound of One Hand Killing by Teresa Solana, Peter Bush - Free Book Online Page A

lunch,” he said in the end. In fact, we can’t have left the flat until about four, what with cleaning Brian Morgan’s flat and waiting for the locksmith.
    â€œThat means the door to the victim’s flat must have been shut and someone must have opened it between half past one and five,” deduced the Inspector, jotting on a sheet of paper. “That was why the stench had reached the staircase.”
    â€œHave you caught the culprit?” asked Borja.
    â€œNot yet. My men are pretty good, but not that good!” the Inspector exclaimed with a smile. “In fact, Mr Masdéu, that’s why I had you brought in.”
    When the Inspector persisted in addressing Borja by his fictitious name, although he knew he was a Martínez and that we were brothers, I felt we were done for. I was sure he had it in for us.
    â€œMr Masdéu, a neighbour living in the building opposite swears she saw you opening and closing the windows in the victim’s flat on Monday morning.” The Inspector suddenly changed his expression and looked extremely severe. Borja went bright red. I turned white.
    â€œCome off it!” was my brother’s immediate reaction. “The only windows I opened were in our office. The neighbour must have mixed them up.”
    â€œMixed them up?”
    â€œYes, as our office windows are right under the windows in the dining room of that Brian…”
    â€œSo you have been inside Mr Morgan’s flat. Or at least his dining room…” retorted the Inspector.
    â€œWell, yes, I mean no, obviously not,” mumbled Borja nervously. “I imagined the windows overlooking the street are in the dining room. Or am I mistaken?”
    The Inspector stared through Borja, but said nothing.
    â€œDid you know the victim?” was his only response.
    â€œNot really. We may have passed him on the stairs now and then,” said Borja.
    â€œWhat about you, Mr Martínez? Did you know Mr Morgan?”
    â€œI just said ‘Good morning’ to him a couple of times,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders to underline the fact that I couldn’t care less that a total stranger was dead.
    The Inspector consulted his dossier.
    â€œDo you know what his line of business was?” he asked, keeping his eyes trained on his sheaf of papers.
    â€œI was under the impression that he worked for an American company and was always on the hoof. I believe it had to do with electrical components,” replied Borja in a tone that indicated that he wanted to cooperate.
    â€œThe fact of the matter is that Mr Brian Morgan was really Brian Harris and worked for the government,” the Inspector explained.
    On this occasion, our shocked expressions were for real.
    â€œThe government? Which government?”
    â€œThe government of the United States, naturally.”
    â€œOh, you mean he was in the FBI?” asked Borja, sounding frightened.
    The Inspector sighed.
    â€œThe FBI is the federal police force. Don’t you ever watch television?”
    â€œThat must mean he was in the CIA, right?” I asked.
    The Inspector smiled, but said neither yea nor nay.
    â€œWe have to handle this case with kid gloves,” he said finally. “We must of course investigate Mr Harris’s death, and that is what we are doing, but I am under orders to collaborate with the Americans and not to interfere in their investigations unless I am asked to.”
    â€œSo what you are saying is that the Americans will take over the case,” said Borja as if he were au fait with police protocol in such situations.
    â€œNot at all. This is our business. Though it does complicate matters considerably,” he admitted. “If I brought you here it is because your office is in the same building, and I know how very observant you both are…”
    â€œIf you say so…”
    â€œI thought you might have come across the occasional foreigner or