Balance of Power

“This tour was arranged by whom?”

“I don’t know,” said Aideen.

“Oh?”

“My companion set it up through a friend back in the States,” Aideen informed him.

“Would you be able to provide me with the name of this friend?” the inspector asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Aideen replied. “I don’t know who it was. My coming on this trip was rather last- minute.”

“Possibly it was a coworker who arranged it,” he suggested. “Or else a neighbor? A local politician?”

“I don’t know,” Aideen insisted. “I’m sorry, Inspector, but it wasn’t something I thought I’d need to know.”

The inspector stared at her for a long moment. Then he lowered his eyes slowly and wrote her answers in his notebook.

Aideen didn’t think that he believed her; that was what she got from the disapproving turn of his mouth and the stern knot of flesh between his eyebrows. And she hated stonewalling the investigation. But until she heard otherwise from Darrell McCaskey or Deputy Serrador, she had no choice but to continue to play this by the cover story.

Comisario Fernandez turned slowly and thoughtfully to a fresh page of the notebook. “Did you see the man who attacked you?”

“I didn’t see his face,” she said. “He fired a flash picture just before he reached for his weapon.”

“Did you smell any cologne? Aftershave?”

“No.”

“Did you notice the camera? The make?”

“No,” she said. “I wasn’t close enough — and then there was the flash. I only saw his clothes.”

“Aha,” he said. He stepped forward eagerly. “Can you tell me what they looked like?”

Aideen took a long breath. She shut her eyes. “He was wearing a tight denim jacket and a baseball cap. A dark blue or black cap, worn with the brim in front. He had on loose khaki trousers and black shoes. I want to say that he was a young man, though I can’t be entirely certain.”

“What gave you that impression?”

Aideen opened her eyes. “There was something about the way he stood,” she replied. “His feet planted wide, his shoulders squared, his head held erect. Very strong, very poised.”

“You’ve seen this look before?” the inspector asked.

“Yes,” Aideen replied. The killer had reminded her of a Striker, though of course she couldn’t say that. “Where I went to college there was ROTC,” she lied. “Reserve Officers’ Training Corps. The killer had the bearing of a soldier. Or at least someone who was skilled in handling firearms.”

The inspector made an entry in his notebook. “Did the gunman say anything to you?”

“No.”

“Did he shout anything — a slogan or a threat?”

“No.”

“Did you notice the kind of weapon he used?”

“I’m sorry, I did not. It was a handgun of some kind.”

“A revolver?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she lied. It was an automatic. But she didn’t want the inspector to know that she knew enough to tell the difference.

“Did he pause between shots?”

“I believe so.”

“Was it loud?”

“Not very,” Aideen said. “It was surprisingly quiet.” The gun had been silenced but she didn’t want to let him know that she knew that.

“It was probably silenced,” the inspector said. “Did you see the getaway car?”

“Yes,” Aideen said. “It was a black sedan. I don’t know what kind.”

“Was it clean or dirty?”

“Average.”

“Where did it come from?” the inspector asked.

“I believe it was waiting for the killer down the street,” Aideen said.

“About how far?”

“Maybe twenty or thirty yards,” Aideen said. “It seemed to creep up along the curb a few seconds before the man opened fire.”

“Did any of the shots come from the car?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “The only flashes I saw came from the one gun.”

“You were behind the other victim, the postman, for part of the attack. You were very conscientiously attending to his wound. You might have missed a second gunman.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I was only behind him at the very end. Tell me — how is the gentleman? Will he recover?”

“Sadly, senorita, he has died.”

Aideen glanced down. “I’m sorry.”

“You did everything you could to help him,” the inspector said. “There is nothing you should regret.”

“Nothing,” she muttered, “except moving in that direction. Did he have a family?”

“Si,” said the inspector. “Senor Suarez supported a wife, a baby son, and a mother.”

Aideen felt her temples grow tight as fresh tears formed behind her eyes. Not only had she failed to do anything to help Martha, but her instincts to draw the gunman’s fire had cost an innocent man his life. In retrospect, she should have jumped toward Martha. Maybe she could have put her body between the gunman and Martha or tried to pull the wounded woman behind the goddamn sentry booth. She should have done anything but what she’d done.

“Would you like a glass of water?” the inspector asked.

“Thank you, no. I’m all right.”

The inspector nodded. He paced for a moment, staring at the floor, before looking back at Aideen. “Senorita, ” he said, “do you believe that you and your companion were the gunman’s targets?”

“I believe we were,” she replied. She had expected the question and now she wanted to be very careful about how she answered it.

“Do you know why?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“Have you any suspicions? Are you involved in any kind of political activity? Do you belong to any groups?”

She shook her head.

There was a knock on the door. The inspector ignored it. He regarded Aideen harshly and in silence.

“Senorita Temblon,” he said, “Forgive me for pressing you at this time, but a killer is free in the streets of my city. I want him. Can you think of no reason that someone would want to attack you or your friend?”

“Comisario,” she replied, “I have never been to Spain nor do I know anyone here. My companion was here years ago but she has — she had—no friends or enemies that I know of.”

There was a second knock. The inspector went to the door and opened it. Aideen couldn’t see who was standing outside.

“Si?” the inspector asked.

“Comisario, said a man, ”Deputy Serrador wishes for the woman to be brought to his office at once.“

“Does he?” the inspector asked. He turned and looked at Aideen. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Perhaps, senorita, the deputy wishes to apologize in person for this terrible tragedy.”