Barcelona 03 - The Sound of One Hand Killing Read Online Free PDF Page A

Badia personallyadvising that writer of thrillers to have recourse to our services, a woman who didn’t at all look as if she was familiar with Barcelona’s criminal underworld. The Inspector knows perfectly well that we aren’t professional detectives and are unlicensed, and is too clever by half to think our kind of endeavours are at all legal.
    â€œThe Inspector is right,” Borja reacted after a short pause. “There are certain matters where it’s best to keep the police at arm’s length.”
    â€œYou’ll perhaps think what I’m after is rather strange. I mean, I don’t know if it is the kind of work you normally undertake,” said Teresa Solana, who, despite her apparently naive, innocuous manner, was making a mental note of everything around her, us included.
    â€œI can vouch that my partner and I are extremely versatile and have tackled projects of all shapes and sizes,” Borja was quick to reassure her yet again.
    â€œIn any case, I want you to feel it is your kind of—”
    â€œAbsolutely. Besides, I think I know what we’re talking about,” Borja winked, sprawling, his arm round the back of his chair.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œIt might be preferable to let Mrs Solana explain herself,” I interjected, trying to stop my brother from putting his foot in it. However, Borja adopted the pose of the experienced detective who is rather ragged at the edges and slouched even more in his chair.
    â€œYou want us to keep an eye on your husband. I assume that’s what this is about?” Borja glanced at the wedding ring Teresa Solana was wearing on the ring finger of her left hand.
    â€œMy husband? Why should I want you… Ah, I see now!” She burst out laughing. “No, it’s not that. I don’t think I’ve made myself clear. It is a professional, not a personal matter.”
    â€œOh!” was all Borja could manage by way of response.
    â€œExcuse me,” Teresa Solana asked, looking at the ashtray on the coffee table out of the corner of her eye. “May I smoke?”
    â€œWell, of course!” said Borja, quickly extracting a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offering her one. That’s a piece of luck, I thought; the smell of tobacco will help hide the stink from the kitchen.
    â€œThe fact is I am writing a novel about alternative therapies,” she continued, still amused by my brother’s wild assumption.
    â€œWhat kind of therapies exactly?”
    â€œParticularly ones based on homeopathy and Bach flower remedies,” she replied. “But also any that promise to bring happiness or cure illnesses via yoga, meditation or feng shui… I’ve visited centres to see the kind of services they offer, but would like to set some of my chapters in the higher reaches of the city. That is, north of the Diagonal. I envisage it as an exclusive, luxury alternative centre. And that’s where you come in.”
    â€œWhere we come in?” echoed Borja, who was still rather shamefaced.
    â€œWhen I told Inspector Badia about the project I was working on, he told me that you, Mr Masdéu, have excellent contacts in the upper side of the city.”
    â€œThat’s true enough,” purred Borja.
    â€œI need you to find me a centre that’s in fashion, north of the Diagonal, and go there for, say, a couple of weeks and then tell me all about it: how it works, the services they offer, the treatments, the kind of people that go there… I thought you might enrol on a short course and use that as an excuse to talk to clientele and staff. Then report back to me, naturally.”
    â€œBut wouldn’t it be better if you did that yourself?” I asked.“I mean, if you need the information to write a novel, you ought to have it first-hand.”
    I saw Borja give me one of his looks that killed. And I shut up.
    â€œMy problem is I’m going on my travels today and