Page 44 of His Worst Crime

“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.”