‘I will see you back here soon, no?’
I felt a pang of guilt, because of course I wouldn’t be back. But I could hardly tell her that, so I thanked her again and rushed up the hallway to the stairs.
When I’d found the hostel, I paused out the front to collect my thoughts. It would hardly be subtle to burst in and tell the owner that her brother was wanted by police for possible murder. Through the window, I could see a young guy behind the reception counter chatting and laughing with a couple of girls with enormous backpacks. Across the room, a red-haired woman who looked about forty traced her finger across a map for the gaggle of tourists huddled around her. She was obviously much older than Ford, but she had the same angular face and sharp cheekbones. It had to be her.
I waited until the group had left before I entered the lobby. She was just turning to walk out of the room when I called out to her in a far louder and stronger tone than I’d rehearsed in my head. ‘Excuse me, Ms Ford?’
She and everyone else in the hostel swung around to look at me, and I felt my face grow hot.
‘Yes?’
‘Do you have a few minutes for a quick chat?’
She gave me an aloof look, as if to imply that I should wait my turn like the other customers.
‘It’s about Chris,’ I added.
She had a half-smile on her face, but her blue eyes pierced the space between us with a shrewd intensity. I’d have to tread carefully with this one. She was already suspicious of me. She looked around the room as if to assess the possible fallout of making a scene by refusing me.
‘Pere, will you be OK looking after things here for a while?’ she asked the young man at the reception desk.
‘Of course,’ he replied.
She gestured to me. ‘Come this way.’
But her voice and her manner were too casual, and she had avoided eye contact. I knew then that she must have spoken to her brother since his hasty departure from Australia.
We walked through a door into a small courtyard that seemed to be a common area for hostel guests. Several couches surrounded low coffee tables. Backpackers laughed and smoked and tapped ash from the tips of their cigarettes as they chatted in small groups. Not exactly a private place, but I felt sure this too was calculated.
She sat down on one couch and gestured at the one opposite. She looked right at me then, her pale face wreathed in a chilly smile. I may not have been an experienced journo, but I knew a game face when I saw one. She had a plan, and she was going to stick to it.
‘How can I help you?’ She pulled a tiny cigarette packet from her pocket and held it out to me.
I shook my head and waited until she’d lit a cigarette and taken the first drag before I spoke. ‘You’re Chris’s sister?’
She nodded, watching my face through narrowed eyes as she took another drag. ‘Barbara.’
‘I’m Sar…’ I paused. Better not to reveal my name in case she spoke to her brother and he put two and two together. ‘Samantha Turner. I met your brother in Australia—’
‘I thought I recognised your accent,’ she broke in. ‘I get plenty of fans from the UK asking around for Chris, but you’re the first Australian.’
‘I’m more than just a fan, Barbara. Chris and I are… involved. I really need to see him.’
She gave a dry laugh. ‘Well, now I’ve heard it all. You do know that he’s in Australia at the moment, right?’
‘Actually, he flew into Barcelona last night.’
She paused a moment too long before she spoke again. ‘He hasn’t been here for months, lass. You’d think I’d know if my own brother was in town.’
‘I think you do know.’ The words surprised me even as they came out of my mouth. ‘I think you’ve spoken to him.’
A faint ripple creased her forehead. Her eyes became hard. ‘What do you want?’
‘I told you. I need to see him. I checked his apartment but he wasn’t there, so I’m hoping you can help me. He’s in trouble and I think I can help him.’
‘I’ve rented his apartment to a German couple for the next week. I’m not expecting him back anytime soon.’
The crease was still between her eyes, but her voice was steady and confident. She wasn’t going to be easily shaken. I decided to change tack. ‘What do you know about Angus Bright?’
She started slightly. ‘From the band? Barely know him.’
Her discomposure lit a fire within me. I leant towards her. ‘Come on, you grew up in the same street as him.’
‘I haven’t seen him in years. I’m ten years older than Chris, and I moved to Barcelona when I was in my twenties. My last memory of Angus is of a pimply fifteen-year-old trying to cop a perve when I was in the bathroom.’
‘Chris must have spoken to you about him, though,’ I persisted. ‘It’s widely known the two were having issues.’
‘You think I believe the trash in the magazines?’ she snapped. ‘Chris and Angus have been mates since they started high school. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.’
‘Who said anything about hurting anyone?’
Panic flashed across her face.
‘Is he here?’ I pressed.
‘Here?’ She laughed, a little too loudly. ‘Most of my guests are British, lass. He’d be mobbed within minutes if he stayed here.’
‘So he is in Barcelona, then?’
She pressed her lips together in a firm line and said nothing.
‘Ms Ford… Barbara,’ I said gently. ‘I know the police are looking for Chris. I have information that could help him.’
She leant forward and extinguished her cigarette with two vicious stabs. Her eyes never left mine. I waited.
‘I told you, I don’t know anything. We’re done here.’ She began to stand up.
‘Angus Bright is dead,’ I said.
She plonked back down on the couch, her face white. ‘I don’t believe you.’
I
