Page 7 of Nothing Left

"Suzy was saying this morning, when the story broke, how shocking it was," Wyatt said, his face softening into doting lines as he spoke about his wife. "She was saying that maybe she'd been set up, that someone had broken in for some other reason and stabbed the housemate to try to cover their tracks."

"That's a real possibility," Juliette agreed.

As her relationship with Wyatt had progressed, Juliette had been relieved that there was no possibility of a romantic complication between the two of them and that they were now firm friends with a sibling-like closeness. It was obvious to everyone that Wyatt's wife was the love of his life and that he had no eyes for anyone except her.

Juliette regarded this as something to aspire to. She'd hoped that she could get a similar loving closeness with Lucien, but it hadn't worked out. Seeing Wyatt's adoration for Suzy always gave her hope.

Sierra nodded, still focused on the ramifications of this case. "In my apartment, my flatmates were also watching the news and saying it sounds like everyone got so drunk that they'll never know the truth. Apparently, there was some snippet of texting from a local neighborhood group, who said the music was carried on until two in the morning and that smashing glass was heard, and that the number of bottles and cans that were taken out when the place was searched, was totally excessive."

Juliette thought it was interesting to hear her teammates' takes on this, and she was glad that while she'd been embroiled in the past, they had been keeping well up to date on current events.

"I think we need to try to tap into those message boards," she advised Sierra. "We might possibly get some information from them that could help us."

At this early stage, she didn't know how far the police had gotten with their research. Neighbors that added tidbits of information to message boards might know some facts that wouldn't immediately be spoken about. Local knowledge was an avenue they needed to explore.

"You're right," Sierra said. "I'll look into that and get hooked up with as many of them as I can."

And then, it was time to stand up and board the flight that would take them to the crime scene - and the prison - and the epicenter of the controversy.

***

When they headed into the airport's arrivals hall, Juliette immediately spotted two black-uniformed police waiting for them. The taller of the two, a man with a short, dark beard, stepped forward as soon as he saw their FBI jackets.

"I am Officer Vasquez," he introduced himself in accented but fluent English.

"Good to meet you, Vasquez," Wyatt said, extending his hand. Juliette offered a greeting in Spanish as a courtesy. It wasn't her strongest language, and she was sure they could tell that from her accent, but even so, both the police gave appreciative nods.

"She's our language buff," Wyatt explained apologetically. “She knows several. Others in our team are still trying to learn the basics of just one other.”

As they set off for the car, Juliette remembered Wyatt's initial struggles to adapt to the French culture. His all-American roots had made him inherently distrustful of anything foreign. Food, in particular, had been a challenge. With a brief flash of amusement, which she kept strictly to herself as they climbed into the car, Juliette wondered what Wyatt would say when introduced to the famous Spanish dish of paella. Seafood was a stumbling block for him. What would he make of an entire dish of rice, with saffron and beans and - usually - various types of seafood added to the mix? She personally thought it was mouthwatering.

But this wasn't the time to imagine Wyatt's horrified reaction to this delicious traditional dish. It was more important, now, to gain as much information as possible on the case, and the first stop was the suspect herself.

"We have been briefed to take you straight to the prison where the suspect is being held?" the officer asked.

"Yes, please do that," Juliette said. Getting the first-person account of what had played out would be critically important. Also, from a public relations point of view, as the American representatives on-site, they would need to report back on Heather’s condition, how she was being treated, and of course, her first-hand account of the evening.

"And when we're done there, can we go to the scene where it happened?" Wyatt asked.

"Yes. We will show you the prison, then go to the crime scene, and then we will hand this vehicle over to you," the policeman said. "We were not involved in the initial crime scene investigation. Those officers are still busy at the scene and at the police station."

Juliette nodded. It made sense for different officers to deal with the incoming team. She was sure that examining the forensics at the crime scene was a complex and bloody task.

For now, though, their first task was to interview the prisoner. As the car sped along the highway, Juliette stared out of the windows, trying to align her memories of Barcelona from the past with the city where she was now. Her father, a huge admirer of architecture, had always loved Barcelona because of the many buildings and other works by the famous architect Antoni Gaudi, whose detailed and unique style had gone far beyond the Gothic inspiration of the day.

On either side of them were historic sites and tourist attractions aplenty, many of which she'd visited in the past. She was able to point out to Wyatt and Sierra the old Olympic stadium, as well as the famous Gothic Quarter, where the Barcelona cathedral was located, although the building itself was not visible from the road as they sped by. For the last part of their drive, the sea was visible on their right-hand side. And then, they turned away from it, heading inland toward the prison buildings.

It had been a fine day in Paris, but the afternoon was clouding over in Barcelona. and by the time they reached the prison where she was being held, which was about a half-hour drive away, a light rain was falling.

The police showed their ID, and the FBI team showed theirs, and after a conversation in rapid Spanish, they were allowed through the security boom and drove up to the prison itself, where the suspect was being held in a maximum security wing.

Juliette felt a thrill of nerves as she climbed out. There was a lot riding on this, and she was sure, given the circumstances, that they were dealing with a highly unreliable witness.

She couldn't assume Heather was innocent until she knew more. She might be a clever liar and a ruthless killer.

CHAPTER FIVE

Inside the cool, clanging, noisy prison environment, Juliette and her team were hustled down a narrow corridor with whitewashed walls. They went through a security checkpoint that had a thickly barred gate and into another, smaller room that was divided by a barred grille and a security window. On either side of the grille was a steel chair. The lighting was uncompromisingly harsh.

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