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

spoke as well as he could, asking if the officer spoke English. The officer indicated that he spoke a little—a must, he said, considering the trouble tourists get into.

“Please listen … Escucha por favor,” Ben said, hoping to show his sincerity by attempting to speak the officer’s language. “Inspector Macias… I know … Conozco … I spoke with him yesterday about what has happened. Por favor, let me see him.”

The officer scrutinized Ben’s bloodied face and disheveled appearance suspiciously as he picked up the phone to page the inspector. Ben shifted from one foot to the other and self-consciously rubbed his shoulder. His bruised jaw had become swollen and there was dried blood on his face and clothing. Inspector Macias leaned forward to put his call on hold and answer the page. When Ben heard the officer speak to the inspector he interrupted. “Tell him it’s Ben McKinnon, the man who talked to him about his sister’s disappearance.”

The inspector heard Ben’s voice in the background and immediately got up from his desk. He came through the door with his arm extended for a handshake. When he was close enough to get a good look at Ben he asked, “Dios mio! Were you mugged?”

“No sir,” Ben answered. “I was in a fight for my life … and my sister’s.”

“Come with me.” The inspector’s tone had turned serious and he took Ben’s arm, leading him into the private area where his desk was located.

Ben sat down carefully and with a slight groan. Inspector Macias asked if he needed medical attention. He declined and said there were more important things to deal with. The story of what had transpired since they last met unfolded quickly as Ben recounted the details of what had occurred up to the time he arrived at the hospital. Macias had to remind Ben that English was his second language and he should slow down. Protocol dictated that he reprimand Ben for conducting his own investigation, pursuing the kidnappers and chasing a man who could have been armed.

Ben countered with the fact that no one at the station would take him seriously and he knew there wasn’t a moment to lose. The inspector reluctantly admitted regret for not having been of more help. He was convinced it was fate—‘suerte,’ as he put it—that Ben had overheard the woman reporting what she thought was suspicious activity in the little house. The inspector made it clear that after he read the police report there would be more questions for Ben to answer. After all, a man had died.

Two men died, Ben thought. It was evident that a report on what had happened in the little house had not yet reached the Comisaria.

The inspector excused himself and went out to speak to the officers who had brought Ben in for questioning. They turned and left. Ben was once again relieved. When Inspector Macias returned he asked what, if anything, he could do to help. Ben needed to know where his sister and Valerie had been taken. After Macias made a couple of calls Ben was ushered into the back of a police car and on his way to Hospital de Navarra.

Heads turned as Ben walked through the hospital lobby to the information desk. Before he could make an inquiry, the nurse on duty told him in heavily accented English that access to the emergency room was down the hallway to the left. He wondered just how bad he looked, but then explained that he was looking for his sister, Olivia McKinnon. He knew it would be useless to inquire about Valerie and hoped that with Ana’s help his parents had found their way to the hospital. Time dragged as the nurse checked the computer for Olivia’s name.

Finally she looked up and said, “No, señor, I do not see her name.”

“But I know she’s here. The police checked for me.”

“If she is still in emergencia, we would not yet have her name.”

Ben let out a sigh of frustration and asked, “So you said emergency is down the hall to the left?” She gestured in that direction. He turned, walking away as he said, “Gracias.”

At the end of the hall were double doors stating ‘Prohibida la Entrada.’ To the right of the doors was a window and counter with a woman seated on the other side. His inquiry yielded the information he hoped for, and within a few minutes he was led through to a curtained cubicle. He heard his mother’s voice. The nurse pulled the curtain aside just slightly and there sat everyone he cared for most.

Paris and Hugh sat on either side of the bed, each holding one of Olivia’s hands. Ana stood on the opposite side of the bed from Ben. She looked as if she were carrying the weight of the world. Yet when Ben pushed aside the curtain completely and her eyes locked with his, all the fear drained from her expression. She quickly approached to embrace him. He winced with pain when she tightened her arms around his torso. She backed off quickly and took a closer look at his face, and as she touched it gently her pent up tears began to flow. Ben carefully embraced her as he glanced first at his father then his mother, waiting for them to speak. Foremost in his mind was Olivia’s condition. Paris urged him to speak softly because Olivia had been given a sedative and what she needed most was rest.

Following the initial relief and outpouring of tears Ana became aware of Ben’s swollen face and the dried blood on his clothing. Back at the little house everything had happened so fast she hadn’t had a good look at him. In spite of her insistence, he refused to be seen by a doctor. The next logical question was about Valerie, although he was afraid to ask.

Hugh’s voice was subdued, his tone serious. “She’s still in surgery. The doctors say her generally weakened condition and blood loss could work against