Chapter Fifteen
 

 Sergeant Fernandez was looking through files, selecting odd items, seemingly at random.

"What exactly are you looking for Sergeant?"  Gonzalez asked.

 "I don't know.  But I will know when I have it in my hands."

 Gonzalez thought about that.  A puzzled look crossed his face and he went back to cleaning his gun.

 Fernandez chewed on the long strands of his moustache as he read over the files he had picked out.  They were mainly copies of town planning permissions.  He took note of the names of the construction firms, the solicitors who had handled the legal work and the clients who had commissioned the buildings.  He indulged himself in thinking aloud:

 "Hmm, there seems to be no obvious pattern here and the name I was hoping to find is conspicuously absent."

 Gonzalez liked giving his boss the chance to show his superior education; it made the sergeant feel good.  And when the sergeant felt good?  Well, life was a lot easier at the station.

 "What does 'conspicuous' mean?" he asked, innocently.

 Fernandez raised an eyebrow and took a deep breath:

 "It is another word for obvious," he replied with a self satisfied smile.

 "How can something be obviously absent?  If it is obvious, it has to be there, doesn't it?" asked Gonzalez, regretting instantly that he had opened his mouth.

 Fernandez frowned, he was not sure that Gonzalez was as naive as he often appeared to be.  He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again without a word.  Suddenly, he slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand saying:

 "You're right Juanco, you're right!"

 "I am?"

 "Out of the mouths of fools and innocents... Er, if you'll pardon the expression."

 Gonzalez did not have a clue what his superior was talking about and said:

 "Of course, of course."

 Fernandez stood up and looked down on Gonzalez from his full one metre seventy.  He began wagging his finger with excitement as he asked:

 "Who built the sports pavilion?"

 "The town hall,"  Juanco replied.

 "No, I mean who were the builders?"

 "Raimon Villanova's firm, wasn't it?"

 "And who built the new school wing?"

 "The same, if I remember rightly."

 "And who built the hospital?"

 "Sorry, that was before my time."

 "I'll tell you who," Fernandez said, pausing dramatically, "Raimon Villanova!"

 "Oh... Er keeps himself busy then," Juanco said, not knowing where this was leading.  His boss laughed and said:

 "You were right, the absence of the obvious is conspicuous in the extreme!   If Villanova's company has done so much construction for the council, why doesn't his signature feature on a single application to start a public work?"

 "Now that is a bit odd," Gonzalez agreed, adding to himself:

"Here we go, there'll be no stopping him now.  Well, Juanco old son, prepare yourself for an earful."

 "There is definitely more to that burglary at his house than he wants to admit," Fernandez began.  "So I ask myself what he is up to and I decide that he must be hiding something...."

 Half an hour later Fernandez concluded his theories and added finally:

 "I want him watched!  Round the clock surveillance!"

 Juanco thought this might be a bit difficult, seeing as how the station only had four agents, but he nodded saying to himself:

 "Oh I do wish he'd stop reading them detective stories."
 
 

 Maria Ponts was glad when the bell rang for the end of her shift.  She had not had her mind on her work all day.  She had been too busy thinking about the letter she had received that morning from the finance company.  It was in her thoughts again as she walked home.

 It was a dark night and anybody walking alone in the city might have been looking around them, anxiously, as they walked down the narrow, ill-lit streets.  Maria, accustomed to the security of a small town, did not notice the two figures who stepped out of a doorway a few moments after she passed them.

 "I wonder if I should go to the police?" she was thinking, her mind still on the black edged letter.  "Surely these threats are not legal?  I know we owe money but..."

 She became aware of heavy footsteps some way behind her.  She slowed her pace a little and was disturbed to note that whoever it was did the same.  She quickened her pace; so did they.  She looked up the street, hoping to see someone - anyone - but there was nobody about.  She quickened her step again and her alarm worsened as the footsteps speeded up too.  She glanced around and saw two figures dressed in black motorcycle leathers and full face crash helmets with their visors down.

Before she even realized she had told her feet to run, they were running.  So were the men behind her.

She could not believe this was happening in her town and in her panic she even forgot to shout out for help.  She rounded the corner into a square - surely there would be people there - but the cold autumn breeze had kept the usual evening strollers indoors.  She thought of hammering on a door - any door - she knew everyone in town and they all knew her.  But her sense of shame overrode her common sense.

 Strangely, the men behind her did not seem to be gaining on her.  Nearly breathless, she ran through the arch at the end of their street and sprinted the hundred metres to their garden gate.  Fumbling with her keys she heard the two men catch up to her and start laughing, she turned to face them, her fear turned to fury:

 "Who are you?  What do you want?  Why have you been chasing me? Is this your idea of a joke because-"

 The taller of the two men interrupted her, his voice muffled by the helmet.

 "No joke, sweetheart.  You know who we are and what we want."

 "And I wouldn't go to the cops if I were you," the second figure said menacingly.  "Not if you ever want to be a grandmother."

 "We're keeping our eyes on you," the first man added and then both of them turned and walked away.

 Maria's hands were shaking so badly that she could not use her key and had to ring the interphone.  Her mother-in-law opened the door and ran over to the gate, noting immediately the terrible state she was in:

 "Maria?  Whatever is the matter?"

 Maria felt she could not keep it bottled up inside her any longer and before they had crossed the garden into the house she was telling her all about it through her sobs.
 

 Josep's ghost hung his head in shame.

 "You brought all this on," his phantom father reminded him as the pair watched their wives holding each other and weeping.  "You and your childish habit of hiding your money and papers all over the place."

 "I know Dad, but-"

 "Don't call me that!"

 "Sorry, Isidre, but-"

 "Don't come to me with excuses!  We need solutions here.  What are you going to do about it?"

 Josep realized the urgency of getting back in touch with his children, but unfortunately they had shown no sign that they were going to try and use the cat to communicate with him again and as for Misha, well, she had been avoiding him recently.

 "I'll think of something to help them!" he said, resolutely.

 "Help who?"  Isidre said, looking vague.

 "Help them!"  Josep said, suddenly aware that the room was now empty.  "Oh I don't think I'll ever get used to these time shifts," he sighed.