Page 13 of Nothing Left

Had one of these young men been the killer?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Juliette headed out, feeling thankful to be away from the pathologist’s office, with its harsh lights and its pungent, unpleasant smells. But the task ahead might be even tougher. Dead bodies told a clear story. Living people, with secrets to hide and everything to lose, would lie to save themselves.

If Heather’s boyfriend, or the other friend who was there that night, had committed this crime, then she would need all her skills to try to expose the truth.

Wyatt was checking up on the case file as Juliette got into the car, greeting Sierra, who was still buried in her research.

"The police say here, in the file, that the two witnesses were cleared. But they were working on the assumption that all the evidence pointed to Heather," he said.

"Of course, they were going to lie if either of them had done it," Juliette said. "And from the amount of power used in the stabbing, my feeling is that it was a man. So, seeing these men were on the scene and we know the boyfriend might have had a reason to get into a fight, I think we must put the pressure on."

Sierra chimed in from the backseat. "And if they were cleared before, they might not be expecting us to come back for more questions. They might let something slip."

Wyatt nodded in agreement. "Let's start with the boyfriend, Diego. He was the one who called the police and reported the incident. And he lives the closest. I see here he's just two miles away. He stays in the university area, in student accommodation across the road from the campus itself."

The three of them, now in charge of the car themselves, headed to the university. Juliette took the wheel, and Wyatt navigated. She hoped that by now, Diego would have finished up his classes for the day and be ready to talk.

The university was just ten minutes drive from Heather's student apartment, and if Juliette hadn't been so focused on the questioning with Diego, she knew she would have appreciated every moment of the drive. It was a scenic and pleasant route through winding streets, with quaint houses lining the narrow roadways, balconies overlooking the town and the sea, and of course the shops and restaurants that were dotted along the way. No mainstream stores in this part of town. Each one was unique and unusual.

And the university building itself, constructed in the late 1800s, was a creation of wonder. Despite the pressure, Juliette had to stop for a moment as she got out of the car. She stood and admired its eclectic stone facade, with the tall, arched windows and the architectural flair that seemed to combine all the most appealing qualities of medieval, Gothic, Romanesque, and Islamic.

She tore her gaze away reluctantly. They were not here to admire one of the finest buildings in Barcelona. They had a killer to catch.

Across the road from the campus, they found Diego's address after a short search. The buildings were so closely spaced that it wasn't easy to tell which was which. Eventually, locating the correct one, they headed inside and walked up the stairs to the second floor.

Tiny rooms, divided and subdivided into living spaces that contained all the basics and no room for anything else, characterized these apartments. Diego had a room within a shared space, number twelve, and reaching the door, Juliette knocked on it. She was sure someone would be home, as this space was presumably shared by a few people. But would Diego be here?

After a few moments, the door was opened by a man with a thick head of bleached hair, wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, and an inquiring expression. He had a tattoo on his forearm and two earrings in his left ear. Juliette instantly pegged him as an art student.

“Hi there,” he said in good English.

"Good afternoon," she said, realizing it was already closer to evening. "I'm looking for Diego. Is he here?"

"Ah. You are police, again?" the young man said with a sympathetic note to his voice.

"FBI." Juliette showed her ID, which resulted in a surprised raise of his eyebrows.

He turned away from the door and, in Spanish, called out, "Diego! The FBI is here to see you!"

The space beyond consisted of a short passage, with at least five doors that Juliette could see. From one of them, she heard the grumpy response, also in Spanish.

"I have nothing to say to them. Why must I talk to more police?"

The blond man turned back, looking apologetic.

"Um, he is busy right now," he said in English.

Juliette sighed. Loudly and in Spanish, she said, "Police business is important. And people can get into trouble if they refuse to talk to the police. Would you mind?"

The blond man looked appalled that she’d caught him and Diego out in that short conversation. He blushed crimson. “Um, I’m really sorry,” he said. “Please come in.”

Stepping into the apartment, she walked forward.

"Which is his room?" she asked.

"The second one," the blond man said, still sounding awkward and embarrassed, as Wyatt and Sierra crowded in behind her, filling the hallway.

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