twenty-five
“Damn, this coffee’s good! Has to be the best I’ve tasted since…”
“I told you it wasn’t true what you were going on about. They do have decent coffee in the UK, and good food. Now do you believe me?”
Jaume had spent the entire flight moaning about the supposedly terrible food traditions of the British and lamenting the fact that they’d have to survive on nothing but pizza and chips for however long their investigation took.
But no sooner had they touched down at Leeds Bradford than he’d been entranced by the smell of a Cornish pasty stand, wolfing down one, and purchasing another couple for the journey, followed by the full-flavored coffee whose praises he was now singing.
“Who’d have thought! Do you think they do other foods as good as this they haven’t told us about?”
“Well, haggis is supposed to be quite a treat, but that’s a little further north, in Scotland.”
Ramon looked around the airport for the car hire office.
He had asked the North Yorkshire Police for a liaison officer, a common courtesy in cases like this when they were investigating outside their jurisdiction.
But he’d been told they would be met at the village of Ravenscragg.
At least the British food had improved his partner’s mood.
He didn’t fancy the soundtrack for the long car journey ahead being a repeat of the flight: Jaume’s endless litany of complaints.
“There it is.” He nodded toward the car hire office, which should have their reservation. “Come on.”
Ten minutes later, they were unlocking a metallic gray Opel Corsa and throwing their bags in the trunk.
“I’ll drive, you navigate.” Though Ramon was already settling into the driving seat as he simultaneously keyed in their destination on his phone and set it in the hands-free device on the dashboard.
“I’m a crack driver,” grumbled Jaume, getting into the passenger side.
“Finish your pasty and coffee. You can’t drive while you’re scoffing those.”
And he was already nosing out of the car rental park and onto a minor road signposted as Whitehouse Lane.
So far so good. He just needed to remember to drive on the left for the next hour and a half, especially when turning corners.
Driving in Britain was a complete contrast to Catalonia.
Their route didn’t seem to include any major freeways, just mid-sized roads having a single lane in each direction.
Thick hedges bordered the road on either side, hiding smaller unseen roads from which cars might dart out.
So he kept his speed down, wary of ending their investigation with an accident before they’d begun.
Jaume, after finishing his coffee and pasties, stared out the window for a while at the lush green landscape rolling past, such a contrast from Catalonia’s arid terrain. Finally he turned to Ramon:
“So, tell me what’s been going on with your stable boy.”
This was it. Ramon took a deep breath and began to speak.
They had time to kill on the journey, so he began at the beginning and told his partner everything, even the trip they’d taken down to the Delta.
Naturally, he left out the intimate scenes in their time together—Jaume was straight, after all, and that might be a confession too far—but he told him almost everything else.
He was aware of trying to put the case for David’s innocence.
If he was going to prove it, he needed Jaume onside, or at least not openly hostile to the idea.
Jaume listened, occasionally asking a question, but not saying much until Ramon had talked himself out.
“Your theory,” he finally said, “is that the boy is one hundred percent innocent?”
“I know he didn’t commit the violent crime that’s hanging over him.”
“So you suspect he might have had some involvement?”
“That’s what we’re coming up here to find out.”
Jaume didn’t say anything else, for which Ramon was thankful, and they drove in silence after that.
Ramon was sure that Davey was one hundred percent innocent, though there was one remaining fact that kept bugging him. Santi Gasol, his supervising officer, had called him into his office the day before as he was booking tickets for this trip.
“Sit down, Ramon.”
That didn’t sound good.
“Odd name, Ravenscragg, isn’t it?”
“Yes Sir, I guess so.”
“Too odd a name that if it came up twice in a week, you’d assume the two events were unrelated.”
“It would make me want to investigate further, I imagine.”
“And if you throw ‘La Foixarda’ into the mix, what would you say?”
“Definitely related, Sir.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
“I’m not following you, Sir.”
“What are the odds? It turns out our English burglar, the one who robbed La Foixarda? He comes from Ravenscragg too. Got a police record back in the UK, and his last known address is listed as Ravenscragg. How would you interpret that?”
Santi’s eyes were trained on him, observing closely.
“I’d say they know each other obviously, but—“
“And were working in cahoots?”
“No!” That was too forceful. He needed to stay calm.
“It could mean any one of a number of things: perhaps the Howard… suspect… had talked about the stables to a friend from home, who decided to act on his own initiative…. Besides, Da— the Howard suspect wasn’t in Barcelona when the burglary occurred. I… understand he has an alibi.”
Santi stared at him for long moments, while Ramon tried to gage what thoughts were going on behind his boss’s poker face.
“So,” Santi finally said, “when you get over there and start asking around, try and keep an open mind about the investigation. Don’t let your… preconceptions cloud your judgment, Ramon. OK?”
“Yes, Sir.” And with that he was dismissed, like a dog that had been disciplined, its tail between its legs.
Ravenscragg Stud Farm was a tricky property to find, even using the navigation app on their phones, and they drove past the unsignposted lane several times before taking a chance on it.
Finally they came to a high weathered white-painted fence bordering a hilly property, over which towered a rugged escarpment carpeted in sessile oaks and birches, punctuated by sheer limestone cliffs that looked out toward the sea.
“That’s Ravenscragg, and the stud farm should be around here somewhere,” Jaume said, checking his phone. “Ravenscragg. What sort of a name is that?”
“Sounds like something Bram Stoker would have invented,” Ramon agreed, “but the countryside’s stunning.”
The road was taking them around the base of the hulking mountain, and as they came out on the seaward side, the view was breathtaking.
Soon after, they arrived at an entrance gate, where a board beside it read “Ravenscragg Stud Farm” in faded green lettering.
The gate was open, so they turned into it and drove up the long narrow drive bordered with silver birches.
“Weren’t we supposed to wait for our contact, Officer Benson?” Jaume asked.
“He’s meeting us in the village. But we’re here now. We’ll just take a quick look.”
To be honest, Ramon didn’t want to waste time on bureaucratic wrangling with a foreign police force, not while Davey was lying in a coma back in Barcelona.
He wanted to solve this case fast. At the top of the drive, they came to a sprawling collection of whitewashed buildings with gray slate roofs.
The whole complex had an unkempt look about it, though in the past it had clearly been an impressive property.
So this was where Davey was from? Ramon could imagine him living and working here, though he would never have let the place get so rundown.
Parking up by the main house, both policemen got out.
A couple of stunning thoroughbred horses were standing behind the near fence, watching them, one a dark bay, almost black, and the other a lighter bay with a white blaze on its face.
“Beautiful animals,” Jaume commented.
“Yeah, though they could use some exercise. They’re running to fat.”
They walked up to the door, knocked, and waited. And waited. Jaume knocked again, and then after waiting some more, tried the door. It opened.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
There was a muffled yell from a distant part of the house, as of someone waking and struggling out of bed.
Ramon looked at his watch: eleven-thirty a.m. They stood at the door waiting, until an unshaven disheveled man of around sixty appeared in the hallway.
Ramon knew immediately he was Davey’s father from the photo he’d seen above the tack room.
They had the same eyes, but whereas Davey’s were that deep amber-flecked blue, like deep pools you could drown in, his were a faded, grayer tone, though likewise flecked with honey.
He was short like Davey, and walked with that same fluid lope.
But there the resemblance ended. This was a man who was wrecking himself with alcohol.
And those same Davey-like eyes were ringed with red, while his face was a fine patchwork of burst blood vessels.
His graying blond hair was greasy and uncombed, and the faded shirt and sweatpants he wore bore numerous stains, including what looked like red wine.
“Simon Howard?” Ramon asked as he came toward the door.
He coughed, clearing his throat and nodded. It cost him to speak, as if he was unused to it, but he finally got out:
“Yes, that’s me. Who’s asking?”
“I’m Officer Ramon Rovira, and this is Officer Jaume Pellicer, from the Mounted Unit of the Catalan Police Force. We’re investigating—“
“Mounted, eh? Didn’t think they were still active anywhere. I thought you lot only did ceremonial parades nowadays. Here, we got ’em, but mainly for parades and the like.”
“Yes,” Jaume broke in eagerly in his halting English, “we have one hundred twenty horses and policemans, all active, working traffic, parks, festivals, wherever there is need.”
“What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“We’re here about the assault and battery that occurred here a year ago. On October sixth, wasn’t it?”
“Still got the lump on my head.”
And Simon Howard bent his head forward, spreading his greasy hair apart with his fingers to show a prominent lump on his scalp. Had Davey done that, hit his own father? Ramon’s stomach turned over. He couldn’t believe it.
“So, your son David…” he began.
“Davey didn’t do it, I can tell you that.”
“But his fingerprints, we have them, on the… the bar that hit you,” Jaume blurted out.
Davey’s father looked up at them, squinting and shaking his head.
“It wasn’t him, I tell you,” Howard insisted. “He couldn’t do that. The lad hasn’t got a violent bone in his body. I told the police that a year ago, but they wouldn’t listen. You should speak to that other no good son of mine.”
“Is Owen here?” Ramon asked.
Howard shook his head. “After everything that happened, I ran him off the property. I want nothing more to do with him.”
“Know where we can find him?”
“I heard he’s staying in the village. He knows if he sets foot on this property before Davey’s turned thirty, I’ll have him arrested for trespass.”
“Did you know that we have located your other son, Mr. Howard?”
The man stilled, and his eyes searched Ramon’s face. “Oh, yes?”
“He was working at a stables in Barcelona under an assumed name…”
“That’d be right,” the old man chuckled. “He loved Barcelona. It was always his plan to go there. He was learning Catalan and everything.”
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“He’s been in an accident.”
“Oh my God!” The man’s face went white and he looked like he might be about to faint.
Ramon cursed himself silently for not being more tactful.
“He’s alive… and stable,” he added quickly. “He’s currently in hospital in Barcelona. They’ve put him into an induced coma, but he’s stable. It’s more to protect his brain, give it time to rest and heal. We’re hoping there won’t be any lasting damage. He has no other serious injuries.”
Simon Howard’s eyes widened as he took this in. He shook his head, as if trying to clear something from his vision.
“Davey? No….”
Jaume and Ramon shared a look. In the car coming up here they had debated how they should break this news.
Ramon had opted to be direct, while Jaume had insisted they hold back on telling him until the last moment, to give them time to interrogate him on the case first, before gaging his reaction to the news.
It was now clear that Simon Howard didn’t believe his younger son had anything to do with the assault.
“Can I see him?” he asked. “I’ll book a flight to Barcelona today.”
“We need to speak to Owen,” Ramon said. “If we get things wrapped up here, we’ll be flying back to Barcelona this afternoon as well.”
Howard nodded, but he barely seemed to be listening. He had already turned back into the house and picked up his phone, was searching for something on it, leaving Ramon and Jaume abandoned on the doorstep.