Turned to Stone (26 page)

“
Arcadia
? Is that all you can think about? Publishing another of your sensationalist stories?”

“No.” Jaime dropped his playful tone. “I’m thinking about your safety. And your work. When we find the Medusa, it will be you and you alone who breaks the news to the world, but don’t forget I have to earn a living, too.”

“And what will happen to Preston?”

“He’ll get what he deserves. He’ll get to sit in the front row, watching and biting his nails with rage, while you get named Doctor
honoris causa
or awarded the Nobel Prize.”

“I’ll be more than happy if I get the deputy director’s job.”

“It’s yours,” Jaime said with complete confidence.

“But how? Those bastards have my work.”

“You have it, too. And so does Ricardo Bosch, if you sent it to him by email like I asked you to.”

“Of course I did.”

“Well, there you go. Whatever anyone else does, there’s more than enough evidence to show that the work is yours and yours only. But first, my almond-eyed girl, let’s go find this Medusa and take a couple of nice pictures of you and her together.”

38

After Jaime and Paloma had eaten with Roberto and Preston at a trattoria near the hotel, the four of them returned to their rooms. While Paloma and Preston each went to take showers, Jaime sat at the desk and drew up a timeline of events related to the Medusa, including his latest findings.

“So you’ve found your old flame from El Burgo de Osma?” Roberto stretched on the bed where just a few hours earlier Jaime and Paloma’s bodies had been reunited. “What are you going to do? Turn up at her gallery with a bouquet of flowers?”

“No. I told you, she was a bit frosty on our first date.”

“You think she has the Medusa?”

“Unless she’s sold it, it’s a good bet she still has it. But first she’ll want to polish up Paloma’s work. In the short time I knew her, she struck me as someone who pays attention to detail.”

“You’re made for each other. You should take her out dancing.”

“Oh, she’ll be begging me to take her out. Out of
jail
, that is. How’s your guest behaving?”

“Well enough, I suppose. All he does is watch TV. But I call dibs on the room with the girl next time. The hotel manager has come by twice to offer us a gay tour of the city.”

Jaime laughed. “Patience. You’ll be free of him soon enough.”

“He’s such a sissy! When this is over I’ll bet he tries to hire me as a bodyguard. What about you and Paloma? The bed wasn’t looking too professionally made when I got in here. Did you—”

Roberto punched away the cushion Jaime threw at him.

“What? Can’t I even ask?”

“Some things, no.”

“Fine. Then try this question: Do you really think that statue contains the blood of Medusa?”

“I don’t know, Roberto. We’ve seen stranger things.”

“That’s for sure. For example: the similarities between the myth and your life right now.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether he liked what Roberto was insinuating. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on. The myth of Medusa is about the fear men have of being possessed by strong women. From the way you act in front of Paloma, it’s obvious you still feel bad about what you did to her.”

Jaime didn’t take the bait. He just looked toward the bathroom door, behind which Paloma was showering, and imagined her naked body. Deep inside him, nostalgia and desire swirled in a bubbling cocktail. He shook his head to return to the present.

“That’s a very interesting theory. Now, why don’t you go find a computer with Internet access and book us a lovely hotel in Cagliari?”

Roberto smiled. “Sardinia, huh? Let me guess: you want to visit that other strong woman—the one who almost turned you into an ice sculpture. And you still have the nerve to deny that the Medusa story bears any resemblance to your life.”

“I’m not denying anything. And yes, I think it would be good to pay her a visit. How could it not be, given how hospitable she was last time we met?”

“You’re a hopeless romantic.” Roberto got up from the bed. “All right, a hotel in Cagliari. With three rooms, a pool, and a gym. Batman’s getting pudgy.”

When he was alone, Jaime reviewed the notes he had made based on Paloma’s research and his own.

Third century BC. An unknown artist sculpts the bust of Medusa, possibly on commission from a physician who wants to use it to store the creature’s blood. Origin of the blood? No idea.

Circa 1630–50. Bernini acquires the bust of Medusa and uses it as a model for his piece, now exhibited at the Capitoline Museums.

1656. Bolgi, who had stolen the ancient Medusa from Bernini’s workshop, presents it to Domenico Corsini as his own work. Soon after, a plague ravages Naples. Corsini, seized by the delirium of the illness, dies in his garden (first victim of the “curse”). Bolgi dies the same year.

1799. Pietro Parodi buys the Medusa for his private collection. It’s passed down through his heirs until 1940.

1940. Luca Parodi takes it from Naples to Rome.

1970. Before his death, Parodi sells it to the Leoni Antique Center.

1998. The Leoni Antique Center burns down. The Medusa survives.

2009. The Petrarca Gallery buys part of the Leoni collection, including the Medusa. Angelo Carrera buys it from the Petrarca and takes it to the museum run by his daughter in Verona.

2010. Angelo Carrera dies when his yacht sinks.

2012. Rosa Mazi leaves the Verona museum, probably to focus on an art gallery in Cagliari (Sardinia) which she runs with her fiancé (?).

2013. Rosa Mazi’s brother steals the Medusa from the museum in Verona. A security guard dies during the robbery after being drugged.

These were the facts only, without any hypotheses or conclusions, though for some time Jaime’s mind had been exploring much deeper avenues than his notebook suggested, and a picture made up of ghostlike snippets had begun to take shape. Now he just needed to find out what Rosa Mazi intended to do with the sculpture and Paloma’s work. Sell them to someone, no doubt. But who?

He was about to reread his notes again when the door opened and Roberto appeared, looking like a man who’d just swallowed a live toad.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jaime, looking back down at his notes. “No hotels with a pool?”

“Worse,” his friend replied. “You’d better come see this.”

Oscar Preston was lying naked on the ceramic shower floor. A stream of blood flowed into a large red pool that was gradually pouring down the drain. A bar of soap lay a few centimeters from his right foot.

“I came in for my wallet and found him like this.” Roberto sounded apologetic. “An accident?”

“Yeah, like the accident I had in El Burgo de Osma.”

Jaime did a quick check of the room and saw that the window was ajar. The temperature outside was cold, and he doubted Preston would have opened the window to let air in. A terrible hunch suddenly pierced his soul.

“Paloma.” He ran back out and toward the other room, cursing himself for not checking the bathroom window before she went to take her shower.

The door was locked and he could hear the sound of running water inside.

“Paloma!” he yelled. Receiving no reply, he stepped back and kicked the doorknob, breaking the door open with one blow, and rushed inside.

In the shower stall, two pairs of eyes looked back at Jaime: those belonging to Paloma, who was naked and terrified, and those of the mustachioed man who had one hand around her throat. As Jaime ran in, the man aimed a pistol between his eyes.

“Stop right there, Jaime Azcárate. Move and I’ll blow your brains all over the walls.”

Jaime raised his hands and froze.

“A gunshot isn’t a bar of soap,” he said, trying to control his voice. “It won’t look like an accident.”

“It doesn’t have to. You just hold still and do what I say.”

“Jaime, what’s going on?” Roberto called from the bedroom.

Jaime opened his mouth to sound the alarm, but Clark’s menacing expression stopped him. Jaime realized that this guy had a broken nose thanks to him, and he’d taken a beating courtesy of Roberto. The look in his eyes didn’t suggest that any of them could hope to receive mercy.

Clark gestured for Jaime to call Barrero to the room. “Come on in, Roberto,” Jaime said. “Everything’s fine.”

“That’s great,” Roberto answered.

But instead of simply walking into the bathroom, he jumped in and aimed a pistol at Clark.

Jaime gave a defiant smile. Paloma screamed and Clark burst into laughter.

“Well, look at that. Now the fat Batman thinks he’s Dirty Harry. By the way, that gun’s mine.”

“The fuck it is. It’s the spoils of war.” Roberto kept the weapon trained on him. “And for your information, I’m not fat. My last BMI test was—”

“Drop the gun,” Clark ordered. “If you shoot, first the girl will die, and then your friend.”

The smile slid from Jaime’s face. Roberto had made a mistake in entering the bathroom rather than saving himself and going for help. The thug was right. If Roberto pressed the trigger, Paloma could get shot just as easily as Clark.

“Do what he says,” he told Roberto.

“Yeah, right.”

“Roberto, put the gun down.”

When he didn’t obey, Clark stopped aiming at Jaime and raised the gun to Paloma’s temple.

“Roberto, please!” Jaime cried out.

Barrero spoke in a tone of exaggerated calm. “Don’t worry, Jaime. This bastard’s screwed. I’ve called the police. They’ll be here any minute.”

Clark’s expression changed, but only momentarily.

“Do you think that scares me? When the police come they’ll find an open-and-shut case. Paloma and Preston hate each other; everyone knows it. They argued, things went too far, and they killed each another.”

“And what about us?” Jaime asked. “I suppose we were trying to stop the fight and just walked into a couple of doors?”

“Make your friend drop his weapon or I swear I’ll kill her right now.” Clark pressed the barrel against Paloma’s terror-stricken face.

Jaime couldn’t take it. He knew this man would try to make the scene look like an accident if he could. But this was the same guy who’d tried to push Paloma onto the subway track from a platform packed with people. Discretion wasn’t his strong point. If he had to kill them the hard way, he would. Preston had been easy prey. They were next, and there was no room for negotiation.

“How did you find us so fast?” he asked in a desperate attempt to buy time.

“It was easy. Paloma’s friend couldn’t resist my charms.”

Paloma went pale. “Amanda? What have you done to her?”

“We just talked. Don’t worry; I didn’t hurt her or her little brat. It’s you three I’m interested in. Now drop the weapon or I swear I’ll kill you all. You’ve got until three. One . . . two . . .”

Jaime grabbed Barrero’s gun by the barrel and threw it in the garbage can beside the sink.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Roberto protested.

“The right thing,” said Clark, leading Paloma out of the shower. “Now, in there, the two of you. On your knees.”

As they crawled into the shower beside one another, Roberto looked at Jaime like he was the one he wanted to kill. Keeping his gun on Paloma the whole time, Clark stepped out of the way and took the second pistol out of the garbage.

“Now you get in there with them,” he said to Paloma, who followed the others into the shower. The three were then cramped together in the tight space. Clark laughed. “What a bunch of pervs. The three of you in the shower! I should make you strip and put on a show.”

“Why don’t you join us?” Roberto dared him. “You seem to like what you see.”

“I can see plenty from here, Batman. Now, everybody say ‘Cheese.’ ”

Jaime saw Clark shift position to try to get a better line of sight.

“Hang on,” Jaime asked. “I thought you were going to stage this like it was a fight between Paloma and Preston.”

“You pointed out yourself that your presence would make that story a hard sell. So I’d better just finish the job as quickly as possible.”

Clark’s mocking smile was chilling. His blue eyes bulged madly over the plaster cast and the extravagant mustache. He aimed at Paloma and prepared to fire.

“Just one more question,” Jaime said. “How much is Rosa Mazi paying you for this?”

Clark’s eyes betrayed surprise.

“Rosa? How do you know—”

Roberto Barrero took advantage of the momentary confusion and launched his sizable body toward Clark, who staggered back toward the window. The pistol, now pointing upward, went off, shattering the glass shower door.

Several shards fell on them. One stuck in Clark’s scalp, but he didn’t seem to notice as he clutched the butt of the gun, holding it high enough that Barrero couldn’t snatch it from him.

Taking advantage of the gunman’s precarious position, Jaime climbed to his feet and rammed his elbow into the man’s stomach. Clark grunted in pain and bent forward just in time to receive Roberto’s fist in his mouth.

“Get out of there, come on!” Jaime shouted to Paloma while he and Roberto held the thug down. Despite everything, he managed to cling to the weapon.

Paloma climbed out of the shower and threw on a bathrobe as she ran into the hallway to call for help. She was distraught to find no one at reception. The hotel, which took up the entire third floor and had been nearly empty when they’d arrived, now seemed completely abandoned. The low season that had made it possible for them to get a last-minute reservation now threatened to contribute to their deaths.

“Hey! Is there anyone there?” she cried in desperation. Then she heard footsteps coming from the hallway and Jaime and Roberto appeared at a run.

“No time!” said the journalist, taking her by the arm and pulling her toward the exit.

“Hey!” Paloma protested. “I’m half-naked!”

Jaime held out her boots. “I came prepared.”

The three of them ran out the door and down the stairs. On their way out, they bumped into the owner of the hotel, who at that moment was coming up with a package.