'Yeah,' Linda agreed. 'Take a city tour on the Bus Turistic. You can catch it just up the street, in the Placa de Catalunya.'

'I know the place,' Peter said, 'and the kiosk where you get the tickets.'

Kathy didn't fancy being stuck with Peter McNeil all morning, but couldn't think of any polite way of saying so.

'Oh, great. But don't you want to go with Audrey?'

'Good Lord, no,' Audrey said. 'I don't want him hanging around when I meet Juanita.'

Twenty minutes later Kathy and Peter stood at the bus stop, clutching their tickets and complimentary guidebooks. They had debated which of two city circuits they should take, the red or the blue. Peter preferred the red, because it included the Sagrada Familia, but Kathy, trying to ease her conscience at skipping work, said they should try to see as many places as possible that Charles Verge had been involved with. This meant the blue circuit, since it included the sports facilities for the 1992 Olympics on the hill of Montjuic, including a small kiosk that the Verge Practice had designed there, as well as the new apartments of the athletes' village at Vila Olimpica on the waterfront.

'You can call it research,' Peter suggested conspiratorially. 'Getting into the mind-set of the murderer.'

The amateur sleuth, Kathy thought. At least he hadn't suggested that they might look for clues. Yet she had to revise her scornful judgement less than an hour later, when they reached the entrance to the Montjuic site.

The idea with the Bus Turistic was that you could get off at any of the designated stops, then rejoin the tour on a later bus following the same circuit. They had stayed on for the first three stops, but then Peter suggested getting off at the Placa d'Espanya, at the foot of Montjuic and at the monumental entrance to the group of buildings constructed for the International Exhibition of 1929.

'There's something here that Verge would have loved,' Peter said. 'And from here we can walk up the hill to the Olympic buildings.' They set off up the formal avenue and came to the foot of a series of terraces and fountains lying in front of the Palau Nacional. 'This way,' he said, leading Kathy away from the main axis towards a grove of trees.

They rounded the corner of one of the buildings and Kathy came to an abrupt halt.

'What's the matter?' Peter inquired. 'You look as if you've seen a ghost.'

'Not a ghost, a ghost house,' Kathy said, staring at the single-storey building lying in front of them, uncannily like the top floor of Briar Hill, the house that Charles Verge had built for his mother in Buckinghamshire. There was the terrace, the hovering roof planes, the gla.s.s pavilion that at Briar Hill enclosed the entry and stairs to the lower levels.

'Is this what you brought me to see?'

'Yes. I remember reading an article by Verge in which he said that his favourite architect, and the greatest influence on him, was Mies van der Rohe. Well, this would be just about his most famous building, the German pavilion for the 1929 Exhibition. It's one of the cla.s.sic masterpieces of modern architecture, and it doesn't look the least bit dated, does it? I mean, it could have been designed yesterday, wouldn't you say?'

'So Verge would have seen this when he was a boy growing up in Barcelona? His father, the architect, would have brought him here, surely?'

Peter laughed. 'Well, no. After the exhibition they demolished the pavilion, and it was only rebuilt here in 1986, on the centenary of van der Rohe's birth. But Verge would have known the building from photographs. Every architecture student in the world would know it.'

They walked on to the open terrace of the building, now known as the Pavello Mies van der Rohe, while Kathy tried to come to terms with the strange sensation of having been here already, but on an English hillside, as if the polished stone and gla.s.s structure were capable of floating from place to place like a magic carpet. The smaller gla.s.s enclosure now contained a visitors' shop, and as they went inside Kathy half expected to see the artist Luz Diaz standing waiting for her. Instead, there was a young woman behind the counter, wearing one of the black T-shirts on sale, with Mies's famous slogan, 'Less is more', in white lettering across the chest.

All the gifts and souvenirs in the gla.s.s cases were of elegant design, and among them Kathy spotted a silver pen that looked identical to the one that Sandy Clarke had used. It wasn't particularly expensive, either, and she thought she might buy it for Leon. As she was studying it, Peter suddenly appeared at her elbow, his eyes bright with some new discovery.

'I've found something,' he whispered excitedly in her ear. 'A clue!' Then, seeing the look that crossed Kathy's face, he added, 'No, really. Come and look!'

'Hang on.' Kathy replaced the pen and followed Peter to a corner of the room, where a book lay open on a table.

'Visitors' book,' he hissed, as if a sudden noise might frighten it away. He took her arm and led her to it, then turned the pages back to the month of May. 'There!' he cried triumphantly.

And there, indeed, it was. Kathy recognised the black, spiky architectural script even before she focused on the words. There was no date, but the entries before and after were both dated the fourteenth of May. The message read, To the New Era!, and in the s.p.a.ce for name and address was written simply Carlos.

'My G.o.d,' Kathy whispered, catching Peter's mood of shocked elation.

'That was the day we saw him,' Peter breathed. 'He must have come here. Like a pilgrim to the shrine, to pay his respects, or gain strength perhaps. What do you think?'

It seemed a rather fanciful idea, but not more fanciful than the fact of that spiky script sitting there in public view all this time.

'Excuse me.' Kathy turned to the woman behind the counter. 'This entry here . . .'

The woman came over and looked. 'Oh, that was a phrase that Mies used, "the New Era". It was the t.i.tle of a famous speech he gave in 1930, the year after this building was built.'

'You wouldn't happen to remember the person who wrote this, I suppose?'

'When was it? Last May? Oh no, I couldn't possibly remember.'

Kathy reached into her bag for the photograph of Charles Verge and handed it to her. 'Would you remember this man coming here?'

'Hm, he looks familiar . . . Oh, of course! It's Charles Verge, isn't it?'

'You recognise him?'

'Certainly. I'm an architecture student. We all know his work, and since May . . .' She stopped and stared again at the entry in the visitors' book. 'Oh, Carlos!'

'Yes.'

'He was here?' Her face lit up with excitement. 'Wait until I tell the others!'

'No! Look, I'm a police officer, from London.' Kathy dug in her bag again for her ID. 'It's very important that we keep quiet about this, okay? What's your name? Please?'

The girl looked disappointed, but also captivated.

'Clara.'

'Well look, Clara, there are some very heavy detectives here with the CGP who will be very upset with you if this gets out. Understand?'

Clara made a face, then shrugged. 'Okay. I don't know how I'll be able to keep it to myself, but I'll do my best.'

'Anyway, it may not be him. We'll need to borrow this book for a while to do some tests. I'll give you a receipt and the names and telephone number of the local police you should contact if you remember anything.'

'What do I tell the boss when he notices the book is missing?'

'Tell him the police confiscated it and he should ring Lieutenant Mozas if he wants more information.'

Clara gave her a plastic bag for the book and called them a cab. Kathy thanked her and the girl said as they left, 'You know, I hope you don't catch him,' and gave them a broad grin.

Kathy dropped Peter at the hotel on her way to the police offices. As they shook hands on the pavement there was a cry from Audrey McNeil, hurrying towards them, looking fl.u.s.tered. It seemed that the meeting with her bridge partner had been something of a disappointment, not to say a shock, for 'Juanita' the grandmother had turned out to be a forty-year-old, childless, male butcher, who had taken a great deal of shaking off. He had been unapologetic about his deception, apparently, and became quite plaintive when Audrey said she would never play bridge with him again.

'The shocking thing, when I think about it,' she said, 'is how convincing he was as a grandmother. I remember all our little exchanges of news about our children and grandchildren, and he was so plausible. I thought I knew Juanita so well! I can still hardly believe she doesn't exist.'

'Well, maybe you should think about becoming someone else,' Peter said, clearly enjoying this. 'Become a biker or a lion-tamer or something. Wouldn't be hard for you.' He winked at Kathy, who was getting back into the taxi.

It seemed that the only progress that Linda and Tony had to report was that Kathy's list of the occupants of Pa.s.seig de Gracia 83 had been left for her attention. They were twitchy with impatience at the delays. 'Jeez says that there's been some panic over an ETA bomb threat or something, but reading between the lines, I think he's embarra.s.sed. My guess is that Alvarez is making us wait.'

'But why? What's his problem? He was pretty unhelpful with me yesterday.'

'Yeah, well, it was d.i.c.k Chivers' fault really. When he was over here a couple of months ago, Superintendent Chivers got a bit stroppy, acting as if these guys were working for us. Jeez says that at one point the super made Alvarez look bad in front of his superiors, and he hasn't forgiven him. If he's found out anything he's probably holding onto it to see what glory he can earn for himself before he pa.s.ses it on to us.'

'Well, I've got something that might help us.' She described her visit to the Pavello and showed them the entry in the visitors' book.

'Wow!' As Linda craned forward to look, Tony leaned over her shoulder, unconsciously stroking her arm. 'That is his writing, isn't it?'

'Looks like it.'

'Have you checked the rest of the book?'

'Not yet.'

Linda turned the pages back. 'Let's start at the beginning.'

While the two of them pored over the entries, Kathy examined the list that Alvarez's officer had left for her. The information was spa.r.s.e, confined to a single sheet. Thankfully, she saw that the business descriptions had been translated into English. The building contained a lawyer, a financial consultant, medical consulting rooms, an accountant, a media company of some kind, two stockbrokers and an insurance broker. Almost any of them might have been of use to Charles Verge, Kathy guessed.

'Is anyone around?' she asked.

Linda looked up. Tony's hand was now stroking her neck.

She caught Kathy's look of amus.e.m.e.nt and shrugged his hand away. 'Jeez left his extension number if we need him.'

She handed it to Kathy who dialled and asked Lieutenant Mozas if someone could help her with the list. He came in after a few minutes with Alvarez's detective in tow.

'How can we help?' He gave Kathy a smile that was almost too big to be sincere, as if he felt compelled to compensate for his captain's offhandedness.

'I wondered if you had any more information on these companies?'

Jeez translated to the other man who seemed to have no English, then turned back with the answer. 'No criminal connections that we know of.'

'Okay, but what else? The lawyer, for instance?'

Again there was some discussion in Spanish or Catalan.

The other policeman consulted a notebook, then Jeez said, 'Family law.'

'Well, that doesn't sound likely. What about the financial people? Could they have any connections with the UK?'

'That would take a lot of investigation,' Jeez said doubtfully. 'There's no one shady there that we know of.'

Kathy persisted. 'What kind of doctors are in the consulting rooms?'

More discussion and studying of notes. 'There are three doctors on the nameplate; an endocrinologist, an orthopaedist, and a third man who's retired.'

'Do we know what he did?'

Jeez shook his head.

Kathy thought about the list, then spoke to Tony, telling him about Pa.s.seig de Gracia 83. 'It's probably a wild goose chase, but five of these businesses are in the field of finance.'

'Yeah.' Tony rubbed his nose thoughtfully. 'Why don't we send their names back to London, check if they've done any transactions with the UK recently. At least it would look as if we're doing something. They're probably thinking we're sunning ourselves on the Costa Brava for all the activity they've seen.'

Jeez got to his feet and asked if there was anything else he could do. Afterwards Kathy recalled that she had very nearly thanked him and let him go, but instead she said, 'Could we find out what the third doctor did, and also whether the lawyer ever had any of the Verges family as clients?' She saw the look on Jeez's face and added, 'I'm sorry, Jeez. I'd do it myself if I could.'

'No sweat.' He smiled graciously. 'We'll do it right away.'

An hour later he found her in the corridor by the water cooler. She had stepped out for a drink and to get out of the stuffy atmosphere in the office. Burly cops with guns and combat boots strolled by, eyeing the unfamiliar blonde.

'Okay, the information you wanted. The lawyer says he's never acted for the Verges family and has never met Charles Verge or his cousins. The doctor was a reconstructive surgeon.'

'Reconstructive?'

'Plastic.' The immobility of Jeez's features was more telling than any expression would have been. 'A pioneer of . . .' he peered at his notes, '. . . closed rhinoplastic procedures, whatever they are.'

'Well . . .'

'You know we checked out all the plastic surgery clinics in Barcelona for Superintendent Chivers, don't you?'

'I didn't know that, but . . .'

'This man retired four years ago, on his seventieth birthday.'

'I'd like to talk to him.'

'I don't think that would be worthwhile. He's too old, he doesn't work at Pa.s.seig de Gracia 83 any more and, also, he's known to us.'

'Known to you? You mean he's a crook?'

'Quite the opposite. He was awarded a police medal for his work on two of our men who were badly hurt by a bomb. He is very highly regarded by the CGP, especially by Captain Alvarez, whose men were the victims.'

'I see. I'd still like to talk to him. Will you come with me?'

'Only if Captain Alvarez approves.'

'Well, I'll speak to him.'

'He isn't here.'

'Jeez . . .' He was being obstructive, she realised, his embarra.s.sment only making him more stubborn. 'We can reach him on the b.l.o.o.d.y phone, can't we?'

Jeez clenched the muscles of his jaw, then said, 'I've already spoken to him, Kathy. He's busy and doesn't want to talk about it just now. He'll discuss it later. Maybe tomorrow.'

'Maybe tomorrow?'

'That's what he said.'

'Jeez,' Kathy heard herself speaking slowly and deliberately, holding back her irritation, 'did he specifically say that I wasn't to speak to this man?'

'Not specifically.'