Hayward wound his way back down the mountain, pushing the small car’s suspension and brakes at every corner, his jaw set, his teeth grinding.
He recalled a particular weekend. He and Katrin had left her father’s house and taken the very route he was currently traveling, heading toward the A92 for the two-hour drive to the Costa del Sol. The glittering brooch had caught his eye; Katrin explained that she’d bought it specially for their trip, a kind of memento in advance, because she knew they were going to have an amazing time together.
They’d spent full days touring Phoenician ruins and art museums in Malaga, long evenings sampling the city’s cuisine, and long nights wrapped around each other in a ravenous, frantic, reckless embrace. It confirmed what he already knew. He needed her like a drug, and it had scared the hell out of him, because he was having a difficult time imagining a scenario with a happy ending.
Night fell. Hayward pushed the car to its limits, well beyond the 120-kilometer-per-hour speed limit, praying he wouldn’t be intercepted by a traffic patrol but thankful for once that he was in Western Europe’s most corrupt nation. Almost all situations involving the police could be resolved instantly by making an appropriate cash donation.
He wondered what Katrin’s clue was meant to lead him to. He wondered if it was a clue at all.
At last, he arrived at the beachfront apartment. He used a credit card to defeat the lock. The Ferdinand-Xaviers’ beach getaway was empty and dark. He wondered whether he had gotten it wrong, misinterpreted what she’d meant by leaving the brooch, if she’d meant anything at all. Was it a mistake, or had it fallen off during . . . he couldn’t bring himself to imagine what they might have been doing to her.
Gun drawn, he searched the place, turning on lights as he went. It smelled musty, full of stale sea air. He saw the plush sofa in the sitting room where he and Katrin had made love in the afternoons, and the overstuffed bed in the master suite where they’d awoken tangled in the sheets and each other. He felt pangs of loss and guilt. She hadn’t known that weekend what lay ahead of her. But he had known. At least, he thought he knew. He sure as hell didn’t think it would ever come to this.
A picture hung ajar in the study. It caught his eye because everything else was in order. Slightly disused, unvisited in too long, but in order. He lifted the picture away from the wall and found a small metal door with a keypad in the center.
He fished in his pocket for the badge with the Chinese characters and the Westerner’s face—Katrin’s face—and, on a hunch, swiped it against the key reader.
The device beeped once. He typed the memorized code and held his breath. The latch released. He moved his hand to pull open the safe.
An electric explosion detonated inside his skull. He heard, felt, smelled the blow. He crumpled in an unconscious heap.