Chapter 12

 

For the next hour, Burke went through the last few kilometres he’d ridden with Bothwick. The details came back to him easily. Ochoa interrupted with a few questions, but generally stayed quiet and made notes, sometimes in his notebook and a few times on his tablet.

When Burke was finished, he leaned back, tired from trying to remember everything he and Bothwick had discussed and seen. He also believed more than ever that his old rival had been killed on purpose, but he still had no idea why. And when he looked at the police officer opposite him, he could see Ochoa was equally puzzled.

But at least the local police were interested. Finally.

“So what’s next?” Burke asked.

“For you? Nothing. You just go on your way to Tarragona, and leave what happened to Colin Bothwick to us,” Ochoa said as he put away his interviewing tools.

Burke didn’t argue.

Five minutes later, standing outside the police station, Burke checked his phone. He had a text from Suzanne Godard saying she wanted to meet with him as soon as he was done with the police. She added her TV crew would be moving onto Tarragona that evening.

Burke replied he’d be at her hotel in 15 minutes.

He opted against catching a taxi. With thousands of people moving about, it would be next to impossible to find one nearby. So he began walking. He didn’t have far to go and he wanted to process what he and Ochoa had discussed even though he wasn’t supposed to be involved anymore in Colin Bothwick’s death.

Burke soon discovered he couldn’t move quickly. Downtown traffic was bumper to bumper and throngs of people were strolling the sidewalks and the sides of streets, chatting and laughing in a post-race euphoria. He’d seen that before. A race would end with such excitement that the crowd needed time to lose its collective buzz. For most people in Peῆíscola, the Vuelta stage was probably their first exposure to high-end racing and they’d likely been shocked at the speed of the cyclists and how dangerous it had been.

Burke tried to relax as he walked. He smiled at others, felt the late-afternoon warmth of the sun, enjoyed the view of the beach and marveled at the languid, turquoise Mediterranean Sea.

But he couldn’t relax.

Colin Bothwick was still haunting him.

When he reached Godard’s hotel, he saw her waiting for him in the foyer.

“I thought you said 15 minutes,” Godard said. She tapped her watch. “It’s been almost 25. Anyway, how was your interview with the police? Do they need more of your time?”

Burke smiled to himself. Suzanne Godard was always on the job and he hoped her bosses appreciated her single-minded focus.

“It was fine,” Burke said. “Nothing to worry about. They’re done with me, too.”

“And you’re done with them, right?”

Burke recognized she knew about his tendency to get involved in investigations. “I’m only interested in covering the Vuelta,” he said.

Godard looked at him for a few moments and then nodded. “OK, now come with me and let’s go over what happened today and what will occur tomorrow.”

She led him to the same room where they’d met before. This time, though, it was just the two of them. Not even Monique Chan was around which surprised Burke. The young intern was usually never farther than Godard’s shadow.

As usual, Godard wasted no time in pleasantries, getting right to her analysis of Burke’s performance. She said he’d done a good job in providing an insider’s viewpoint, but that he occasionally drifted and needed to be prodded by Menard to stay focused. Burke couldn’t disagree.

“If you can avoid those small mental lapses, you’ll be doing exactly what you need to do,” she said.

Burke said he’d try.

“Don’t try, Paul, just do,” she said.

Burke nodded.

Then she discussed how everyone would be getting to Tarragona. In Burke’s case, he’d have to check out by 6 p.m. which was an hour away. A van would collect him and Menard, and deliver them to their hotel. The trip would take 90 minutes at most.

“There’s another soirée in Tarragona tonight for our sponsors and we want you there,” she said. “It’ll be the same deal as what you did at the castle here in Peῆíscola. So, check into your hotel, clean up and get to the event. It starts at 8:30.”

“I was hoping to review the route this evening,” Burke said.

“Get up early and do it tomorrow morning. Tonight, your presence is required at the function. Here are the details.”

She handed him a single page of paper. It provided where the soirée would be – the Roman Amphitheatre which was a stone’s throw from the sea. Burke had visited it several years before and been impressed by its scale and how well-preserved it was. Whoever was organizing the evening events for the Vuelta sponsors was using some spectacular venues.

“Your hotel is only a half kilometre away,” Godard said. “So, you can walk to the event. And don’t forget to wear your nametag on the right side.”

“Should I wear a toga?” Burke said, trying to add some humour to the conversation.

“Ah, yes, the famous Paul Burke humour,” Godard said. “I’ve heard you occasionally try it on for size. Just don’t use it tonight, OK?”

Burke nodded. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

Godard finished by saying there would be a broadcast briefing the next morning at 9 at the hotel restaurant.

“Otherwise, I’ll see you tonight at the event,” Godard said. “And don’t be late. People will want to talk to you.”

Burke had doubts about that. “Will there be anyone there who was at our evening party here in Peῆíscola?” he wondered.

“Actually, I expect maybe a third of the Peῆíscola crowd will be in Tarragona. Quite a few are following several stages of the Vuelta. Having our events in such places as the Templar Castle and the Roman Amphitheatre is quite an attraction for them.”

“And what’s the plan for Girona?” asked Burke, wondering if there would be another big event on his final night with the Vuelta. He was worried if he’d have enough clean clothes for his extended stay in Spain.

“For Girona, we’re having another get-together by City Hall in the Old Town and not far from where they did some filming of the Game of Thrones.”

Burke had never watched the TV series, but thought he’d give it a try. He expected the guests at the Girona event would be pleased by the venue.

“That should be popular,” he said.

“That’s the idea,” Godard said. Having crossed off another task on her to-do list, she stood. “We’re done. Get yourself checked out and I’ll see you in Tarragona at tonight’s sponsors’ party.”

“Are you staying at the same hotel?”

“We all are. And, by the way, it has a laundry service in case you need to use it.”

And then Godard marched out. For her, Peῆíscola was in the past and he sensed so was Colin Bothwick.

But he wouldn’t be forgetting Bothwick. Not for a long time.