Page 39 of His Worst Crime

Ramon blushed. Moment of truth.

“Ah, yeah, my bad. I added the wrong case number by mistake.”

“But who were you fingerprinting?”

“It was a suspicion, it went nowhere.”

“Who?”

“It was… for a friend. She was worried one of her employees might have been up to something. I said I’d check it out. But it was silly. It went nowhere. I shouldn’t have used police resources for it.”

“Really? Because I recovered the files from the security back-up, and ran the prints myself, just out of curiosity. Three of them were negative, local people with no criminal record: yourself, one Carme Bruc Sentís and… a Maria Puig Gelobert. Director and employee at La Foixarda stables, where you were keeping your horse. But the fourth set of prints came up positive.”

“Oh?” Ramon stalled, caught in his own lie. “I didn’t end up running them myself because my friend—Carme—said the problem was sorted out. What did you find?”

“Breaking and entering. Assault and battery. North of England.”

Ramon’s heart hit the floor, his worst fears confirmed. David? It wasn’t possible. He just stared at his supervising officer, not knowing what to say. Finally, he got out:

“When?”

“Three months ago. A tiny village called Ravenscragg. Nothing there really, just a stud farm and a couple of houses. There were two of them involved. That set of prints is positive for one of the intruders.”

David involved in hurting someone? He couldn’t believe it. Santi went on:

“We don’t know much about it yet. We’re still waiting for the UK police to send over the files. Since Brexit, getting cooperation from the Brits is like convincing someone to give you the PIN number to their credit card, but they want this. They want to close the case. It made all the headlines over there—I’ve been reading up about it: stud farm owner bloodily assaulted in a burglary. One of the sons took off right after, so obviously he’s a key suspect—“

“But if they have prints, don’t they have the identities?”

Santi huffed: “The British are very particular about their privacy. They don't take prints for anything, not even for a passport. Not like over here, where they stay on record, and are linked to your ID. So you can have prints, but if the perpetrator doesn’t already have a criminal record, that doesn’t mean much.”

“I see.”

“So,” and Santi gave him a long serious look, “we need to open a case, and you are the best man for that job right now. Who is this bloke? Any idea of his whereabouts?”

The time for lying was past. Under Santi’s searching gaze, Ramon said, “He goes by the name of ‘David Cooke’. He was working at La Foixarda, but I have no idea where he is right now.” That much was true.

“Then, you know the drill. Open a case file. Get onto it. Give me your opening thesis by lunchtime. I’ll assign another officer to the investigation with you.”

Ramon went back to his desk stunned. For ten minutes he sat there, unable to get his mind to undertake even the simplest task. David guilty of assault and battery? It simply wasn’t possible. That he was the missing son of that stud farm owner, he could believe. But attacking someone? No way. The David he knew wouldn’t, couldn’t have lifted a finger against anyone. Could he? If Ramon had learned anything as a policeman, it was that people were unpredictable. They had secrets. They hid their darkest faults skilfully. But even so, David was innocent, Ramon knew that. It looked bad, but he had to prove it. Or… or what? Would he, what if David were proven guilty? Would he… He had to focus on David’s innocence, and he would prove that, whatever it took.

Lunchtime here meant two p.m. That gave him an hour and a half before he had to report back to Santi. He opened up the police database and registered a new case, then copied the fingerprint files over from his personal drive into it. First of all, he went online to Europol and ran his own check. As Santi had said, the confirmed prints that came back from the picture frame were Carme’s, Maria’s, and his own. All of them must have picked up the photo at some point to look at it, nosy bunch that they were. Then there was the fourth set: unknown identity, but matched to a crime scene investigated by the Yorkshire Police.

“Hey, partner!”

He looked up to see Jaume standing there.

“Mare de Déu! What are you doing here!”

It was so good to see his former partner. He’d missed him, and hadn’t realized how much.

“We’ll be working together on this one. Eben’s just been given a week’s holiday. I asked if I could share the paddock with her, but the Boss said no way, I have to keep slaving away. So it looks like we’re stuck together again as partners, Partner.”

“That’s great news! For me anyway. You don’t know how frustrating it’s been being chained to this desk.”

“I’m about to find out, I guess.” Jaume pretended to look despondent. “Chained to a desk together! Torture!” Then he laughed, breaking the mood. “OK, the boss just gave me the rundown. What have we got?”

Ramon smiled, even as he sighed inwardly. It was good to be back working with his partner again. He had honestly missed his incessantly cheerful company. But it also meant the case was no longer just his own. David’s guilt or innocence was being shared out across the force. He would no longer be able to protect him. With misgivings, he began to fill Jaume in on the details. The only thing he left out was his and David’s trip to the Delta, something he hadn’t told his boss either. He knew that was going to come back to bite him, but he couldn’t bring himself to fess up. Jaume listened quietly. He no longer made jokes about Ramon fancying the stable boy. It was a subject that sat between them, but they both ignored it for now. They’d find the way to get around to it.