Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

he knew immediately that it was likely the same man who had attacked him twice in London. He told the officer about his encounters with the man, and at last feeling he was getting somewhere, he asked to have the Inspector paged. While they waited he asked the officer to tell Annunciata why he needed the help of the police, about his sister, Olivia, and about Valerie.

When he finished, she shook her head in disbelief and said, “Aye … las mujeres pobres.”

“Si,” Ben said, agreeing that the two were indeed ‘poor women.’ He took Annunciata’s hand, looked at her squarely and said, “Muchas gracias, señora. ¿Por favor, cuál es su nombre?”

“Annunciata. Annunciata Domingo, señor. ¿Hice lo que me dijo?”

He told her that yes, what she had said helped more than she could know, and that perhaps now, with this new information, the Inspector would help him. She smiled and nodded, knowing that she had done the right thing. Gonzalo Macias came striding out of his office, his expression one of impatience. Clearly he wished the pair would be on their way, but he was mandated to treat tourists with respect and cooperation. He faced them and explained that the officer who translated had told him all of what had been said. He reasoned that even though the man described seemed to be the same one each had encountered, there was, alas, no proof and still nothing to go on. He took the time to explain the same in Spanish.

Annunciata stood and faced him, asserting herself and pointing out the coincidence regarding the house. Macias explained again that it wasn’t against the law either to rent a house or hire someone to clean it. And within that house a person could keep whatever he wished, within the law. He pointed out that rope, tape and handcuffs were legal possessions. He found no significance in the presence of old mattresses. She sighed, slumped her shoulders then turned to Ben, who had understood much of what she had been told. The Inspector repeated his admonitions and his offer to help if something definite developed. He then returned quickly to his office and shut the door.

It had been over an hour since Ben had arrived at the Comisaria, and the woman had been there longer. They sat together for a short time, Ben mulling over in his mind what his next step would be. He was on his own. This he knew. Ana would be wondering where he was and what he was doing. She would worry if she didn’t hear from him. Yet he knew she would balk at what he planned to do next. Actually talking to her face to face would be his undoing. He couldn’t mislead her and wracked his brain for a way to handle it. Annunciata sat beside him, tapping her foot impatiently and glancing in his direction every few minutes. She finally spoke up.

“¿Señor, qué va a hacer usted?

She had asked Ben what he intended to do, and he wasn’t sure how to accomplish telling her. In his halting version of Spanish he managed to ask her to come with him to the hotel lobby. He knew that once there, the concierge would translate for them. While there he would ask the woman to give Ana a message—to say he was in a great hurry, not to worry, and he would call her soon. Annunciata nodded that yes, she would accompany him, but she looked confused. He reached down and took her belongings then helped her up. She willingly followed him out of the Comisaria, the duty officer tracking them with his eyes all the way to the exit.

They crossed the plaza and entered the hotel. Ben waved to the young concierge, who eagerly left her desk to attend to the handsome guest. She also hoped to satisfy her curiosity about the shabby woman beside him. He explained that he needed help communicating and would she translate. She agreed, and Ben explained to Annunciata that he would like her to come with him in his car and show him the location of the derelict house. She answered that she would help in any way possible, but that she would have to see a map of the city to find the street and work out the best route. She had lived in Pamplona all her life, but the nicer residential neighborhoods remained foreign to her.

Outside the hotel’s main entrance, the attendants waited beside the lock box that held keys to the guests’ cars. Ben asked for his rental car and within five minutes an attendant pulled the car up in front of them. He left the engine running and came around to open the door for Annunciata. Ben motioned her to get in. This type of attention was also foreign to her, but she did as she was asked. Ben slid into the driver’s seat and gestured that she should buckle up. He turned toward her and smiled, all the while thinking it was going to be very difficult to understand her directions. He asked her for the address then entered it into the car’s GPS. He had expected a long drive in traffic across the city to some remote neighborhood, but he was wrong. The address seemed to be less than two miles from the hotel.

After several wrong turns in spite of the GPS, he found the street. She became agitated, but confirmed the location of the house, a little more than half way down. Ben slowed the car and proceeded down the street. The houses were large, and most were partially hidden behind stucco walls with tall iron gates that discouraged entry. The neighborhood had seen better days. Cracked stucco and fading paint told the story, as did the wild overgrowth of gardens, barely visible through the ironwork.

Suddenly Annunciata pointed ahead and to the left. “Ahí está la casa! A la izquierda!”

“¿Esa pequeña casa?” Ben asked. She nodded confirming that to the left was the little