Read Barcelona 03 - The Sound of One Hand Killing for Free Online Page B

We’ll put it back into circulation and help reactivate the country’s economy.”
    â€œTrue enough,” I was forced to admit.
    â€œWhat’s more, as we will have to spend the money, we will pay taxes to the state in the shape of VAT.”
    â€œWhen you put it like that…”
    â€œSo, there you are,” he said, getting up. “Think where we can hide it so the girls don’t find it.”
    We decided the best place to hide the statue would be the trunk in the double room where Montse keeps our thick winter wear. I think the twins and Arnau creep in there from time to time and rummage through the drawers – and perhaps my mother-in-law does, too, as she spends a lot of time by herself in the flat and has discovered the pleasures of poking your nose everywhere. That trunk only had cold-weather items, and I was sure nobody would pry there. I very carefully removed a stack of jerseys, wrapped the statue in one of my woolly jumpers and returned it to the bottom of the pile.
    â€œIt’ll be safe enough there,” I said.
    â€œThanks so much, kid.”
    â€œIt’s almost half past six,” I said, looking at my watch. “Do you reckon the concierge will have rung the police?”
    â€œWe can drive by and take a look to see if the filth’s cars are around,” he said. But the second he saw the alarm on my face, he added, “Don’t worry. We’ll take the Smart. And we won’t stop.”
    We saw a fire engine, an ambulance and a couple of patrol cars parked in front of the block that housed our office. The mossos had cordoned off the entrance to the building with tape and a crowd of onlookers had gathered round who didn’t want to miss the spectacle of the male nurses carrying a corpse in a black sack to the ambulance. Paquita was standing next to the ambulance, replying to questions she was being asked by a plain-clothes policeman who was taking notes.
    â€œPoor woman! She must have had the fright of her life!” I said. Deep down I felt guilty for preparing the terrain that meant she was the one to find poor Brian in his kitchen.
    â€œI wouldn’t be too upset if I were you. You can bet she’s enjoying every minute.”
    â€œHey, you know, coming across a stinking corpse is hardly fun. We’ve probably traumatized her for life.”
    â€œTraumatized her? For Christ’s sake, this is Paquita!” rasped Borja. “Finding a murdered tenant in her building must be the best thing that has happened to her in years! This will allow her to queen it over the neighbourhood for weeks, and you just see how that rejuvenates her.”
    â€œIf you say so…”
    A depressed, angry Montse was waiting for me at home. She was angry because she’d been ringing me all morning, and, for a change, my mobile was flat. She was depressed because the bank manager had told her and her partners there was not a cat in hell’s chance of getting a loan.
    â€œDon’t you worry, we’ve got a good job on,” I said to cheer her up. “On top of that, Borja and I are dealing with a little matter that will save our bacon, if it turns out right.” And I tried to sound convincing when I added, “I expect things will sort themselves out in the end.”

4
    The following morning we met up in the San Marcos, a café on the high street in Sarrià that we convert into a kind of second office in winter, because the central heating doesn’t work in our own office and we freeze to death. After everything that had happened, we decided it would be best not to go to the office for a few days and thus avoid bumping into the mossos . That way, we’d not have to give explanations or answer any questions.
    â€œRemember we know nothing and have never seen the inside of Brian’s flat,” said Borja, chewing on his Danish pastry.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œFrom now on we forget this whole