Chapter 38

 

Burke looked at the intern who stared back.

“Are you really suggesting they wanted to know more than how I’m feeling?” Burke said.

“I’ve sat through interviews and I’ve conducted them. Those people wanted to find something out and I’m not talking about your general well-being.”

“But why?” asked Burke, still not convinced Monique Chan was right.

“Good question.”

Burke suddenly felt vulnerable and glanced about. No one was looking back, not even his security detail. Chan’s suggestion had unnerved him enough that he wished his police escort was right beside him. He was probably safe, but he was starting to have doubts.

“You’re making me paranoid,” Burke told Chan.

“That’s not my intention. And I don’t think you should be. You have a police escort just over there and others around you.”

“So, what makes you think I was being interviewed?”

“Like I said, experience. They were studying you, trying to make sure what you said was the truth. They might have sounded like they were making polite conversation, but it seemed to me they were probing. And once they were convinced of your truthfulness, they left.”

Burke digested her comments. He still didn’t agree, but maybe she had a point. But why would López, Fritz and Klassen, all of whom he’d talked with before, be seeking more than casual comments? He suddenly felt very tired.

Moments later, the rest of Burke’s tablemates showed up and conversation drifted to the day’s stage and if there would be any more political protests. The consensus was there might be a few protest signs and some Catalan flags along the route, but that would be it. The police and even a small military presence would inhibit real action. Or so most thought. As for Burke, he listened, but didn’t contribute much. He believed protests were definitely possible, but kept that thought to himself.

When lunch was over, Burke, Tessier, Menard, Goddard and Chan left for the booth. As they walked, Burke spotted his security detail trailing behind a few metres. He wondered if they were carrying guns. He hoped so.

The race was nothing special. A breakaway group of four led until the last kilometre when they were swept up by the peloton with an Australian sprinter winning by a wheel.

“Good work to both of you,” Godard told Burke and Menard through their headphones as the telecast ended.

Burke rated his performance as average at best. He’d been distracted, largely by what Chan had said, but also because he was stiffening up even more from his injuries. It was usually the second day after a bad tumble that his body really began aching and Burke felt the next few hours would be unpleasant, if not miserable.

“We wish you well, Paul,” Godard continued. “Thanks for all your efforts. I’ll be in touch later to see how you’re doing.”

“OK,” he replied. “And thanks for the gig.”

Then Burke shook hands with Menard and Tessier. As they started to leave the booth, Burke pulled Tessier aside.

“I know you’ve got more work to do here and then you’ll be rushing off to Figueres for tomorrow’s stage, so I don’t know if I’ll see you later. If I don’t and if you discover anything else about Chef Andres and his business partners, please send it to me.”

“I will.”

“I also hope we get a chance to work together again,” Burke said, patting the younger man on the shoulder. “You’re a formidable young man, Jules.”

Tessier smiled. “Thanks, Paul, and I’ll send you anything I find out. And I’ve enjoyed working with you as well – and even getting involved in whatever we’ve gotten involved in. And if I don’t see you later, take care of yourself. And don’t do anything wild and crazy.”

Burke grinned. He didn’t intend to do anything remotely close to ‘wild and crazy.’ He just hoped no one else had something nasty planned for him.

Burke strolled toward a taxi stand and was about to get into one when he heard his name. It was the young female cop assigned to watch him and she was striding in his direction.

“Why don’t you come with us, Seῇor Burke? We’re going in the same direction.”

Burke understood it wasn’t a suggestion as much as a command. He didn’t argue, just thanked her and followed her and her partner toward a black sedan. He got into the back seat. The car smelled like stale coffee.

“Traveling alone is not a good idea, Seῇor, at least for you,” the female officer said from the front passenger’s seat. “By the way, I am Sergeant Gomez and this is Officer Cruz.”

Burke was surprised a sergeant was involved in his security detail. He had guessed babysitting him would be a job for the lower ranks.

“We’ll take you to your hotel,” Gomez said as Cruz shot the car into traffic.

“I was OK with the taxi,” Burke said although he felt safer having them by him.

“We weren’t,” Cruz said.

The rest of the short trip went in silence. Cruz found a parking spot a block from the hotel and they walked quickly to Burke’s accommodation, still not saying anything. As Burke opened the outside door to the building, he glanced around and saw the two officers doing the same, almost like they were expecting something to happen.

They were just inside his room when Gomez stepped aside, pulled out her phone which had obviously been on vibrate and said “Hola.” She listened for a few seconds, said “un momento” and went to a corner so she wouldn’t be easily overheard.

Burke offered Officer Cruz a drink, but the flic said he wasn’t thirsty and sat on a nearby chair. Burke filled a glass of water from the kitchenette sink and sat on the couch. He didn’t try making small talk with the officer, partly because he wanted to sit without thinking and partly because he thought Cruz wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

After five minutes, Gomez came over, sat on the couch and looked at Burke.

“I’ve been talking to my superior and she’s coming over to talk to you,” Gomez said.

“Inspector Torres?”

“Yes.”

“OK, but why? Has something happened? Has someone been arrested for attacking me?”

“You’ll have to wait, Seῇor Burke.”

So they did. In silence. Burke wondered why Torres wanted to talk to him and he produced a half dozen reasons. A couple of times he glanced at his security detail and spotted them working on their phones. He had once read that people in western cultures spend 10 per cent of their waking time looking at their smartphones, the equivalent of a month of non-stop time every year. He made a mental note to keep his own phone use to a minimum. Life was too short to use it staring at a tiny screen.

There was a knock on the door. Cruz quickly opened it and Torres and Sgt. Martἱn walked in. There were no pleasantries offered as the two detectives walked over to where Burke was sitting. Torres took Cruz’s spot and Martἱn went on the other side of Burke who thought he was the middle of a law-enforcement sandwich.

“We’ve been in contact with the police in Peῇíscola,” Torres said.

Burke waited.

“The orange material you mentioned that you saw outside Oropesa has been identified as turmeric,” Torres said.

“You mean, the spice?”

“Yes, the spice. There were also remnants of another spice – saffron. You know about saffron, Seῇor Burke?”

“The world’s most expensive spice, isn’t it?”

“Some describe it that way. Regardless, saffron is extremely expensive.”

Burke nodded, trying to control his impatience. Torres would get to her point when it suited her, not him.

“Other spices were discovered on that driveway as well,” Torres continued. “There was an attempt to wash the materials away, but it’s not as easy as people think or at least it isn’t when a good forensics crew is examining a site.”

Torres turned to Martἱn who took over the conversation. “Seῇor Burke, do you recall the accident involving a Vuelta food truck on a side road in the Ebro Delta?”

“I do.”

“Well, Officer Ochoa heard about it and managed to get some forensics people to examine it. Guess what the tech people found besides a dead driver, Seῇor Burke?”

Burke thought for a moment. “Special seasoning?”

“Indeed,” Torres said.

“But it was a catering truck,” Burke said. “What else would it be hauling but food products?”

“You’re quite right. But what’s the connection between what you encountered on that Oropesa driveway, the Ebro Delta accident and the caterers you followed into that laneway in Girona?”

Burke knew the answer. “Food products, especially specialty food.”

“Seῇor Burke, do you know how much money is involved in the trading of spices?”

“A few hundred million euros?” said Burke, going high.

“Try 15 billion euros.”

“For spices?”

“And seasonings and other products,” Torres added. “It’s a massive market and there are opportunities for those who seek to take illegal advantage of the market through distortion and fraud.”

“Fraud? You mean labeling food wrong on purpose?”

“We’re talking widespread marketing of food that might not be what it’s supposed to be.”

“And that’s what’s behind all this?” Burke said. “Behind Bothwick’s death and the attack on me?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Torres replied. “But I can tell you the investigation has expanded beyond spices and seasoning.”

Burke could hardly believe they were discussing how criminal elements were involved with spices and seasoning, when Martἱn jumped in. “Just so you know, Seῇor Burke, this is information that is not to be made public. If you tell anyone about this topic, there will be consequences – and you won’t like them.”

“So why are you telling me all this?” said Burke, annoyed by Martἱn’s warning and wondering if he could really get in trouble if he ignored her message.

“Because we believe you’ve somehow stumbled onto an international criminal ring specializing in food fraud and food smuggling,” Torres said.

Burke’s skepticism must have shown on his face because Torres leaned toward him and said, “Every year, food fraud costs tens of billions of euros around the world. It’s almost twice as big as drug smuggling and six times bigger than arms smuggling. And that’s why people have been attacked and killed.”

Burke could see Torres was confident about her information and he was shocked at the numbers she’d offered. At the same time, he could see how the flics had come to such conclusions. He just hadn’t produced the same conclusions despite having some of the same information. So much for his powers of deduction.

“And food fraud is why Colin was murdered?” he said.

“When you consider the money that can be at stake, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“OK, I’m no longer surprised. I’m impressed by the statistics you’ve given me, but, again, why are you telling me all this? I’m just a part-time cycling broadcaster who wants to go home to France and the sooner I’m back in my little village, the happier I’ll be.”

Torres smiled but there was no humour in her eyes. “You see, Seῇor Burke, we’d like you to do a little job for us.”