“Let’s stick closer to the Quarter, walking distance,” Rebecca said.
Her dissent seemed to surprise Xili. “You have an idea?”
“I don’t know the place but I bet you do. Big enough to dance but smaller than these places. Maybe a more underground feel. No restaurants, no fancy website. Not so many cameras. Meant to intimidate outsiders a little. The place the locals go, and go late, so short lines at midnight.”
“You think he’s from Barcelona, this man?”
“No, but he knows the city. And I promise, if it doesn’t work, we’ll do it your way.”
Xili drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Finally, he nodded.
“Maybe I know a place. In Born-Ribera.” The neighborhood between Poblenou and the Gothic Quarter. It had the same narrow medieval streets as the Quarter, but fewer bars, more fancy boutiques. “I don’t think it’s open now, but let’s see if anyone’s there.”
Minutes later Xili turned into an alley behind a brick warehouse.
“This one opened last year but they keep it quiet. Changed the name already. I think they even put up bad reviews on TripAdvisor to scare away the tourists.”
“What’s it called?”
“Helado.”
* * *
He led them around the building. The front door was locked. Xili rapped on it, hard and peremptory.
“Get lost,” someone inside shouted in Spanish.
“Policia!”
A minute later the door opened, revealing a tall woman, her pupils dilated in a way that suggested opiates.
“Your name?”
“Flor. Yours?”
Xili flashed his badge. “I’m looking for a young woman who may have visited last night.”
Rebecca held up a copy of the poster, and even before the woman said anything Rebecca saw the recognition in her drug-wounded eyes.
“We get a lot of people.”
Xili glanced at Rebecca. She saw he’d picked up the flash too. He stepped closer to Flor, an old but effective cop trick, I’m gonna violate your space, put you on the defensive. “Is anyone else here?”
She shook her head.
Xili pointed at the camera watching the door. “You don’t mind if we look at the video then?” He pushed by, wordlessly forcing Flor to decide, Do I stop you or move along?
She moved along.
* * *
The space inside held a sunken dance floor and a long bar. The room was nearly dark, a cathedral between services.
“Any other cameras?” Xili said.
“Just behind the bar.”
“Show us.”
Rebecca silently admired the way he’d taken control. Flor led them to an unmarked door beside the bar. The office was small and battered, nothing corporate, no energy drinks here. A baggie of grayish-white powder and a razor blade on the desk.
“Put it away,” Xili said. “I don’t care.”
Flor stuffed the bag in her pocket.
“Show me the video.”
The images were grainier than the ones at the other clubs, but they were good enough.
Twelve eighteen a.m. And Kira walked through the front door.
Wilkerson caught Rebecca’s eye, nodded, You were right. And yet she felt neither surprise nor triumph. Found you. Found you found you. Only she hadn’t. Not yet. In fact, seeing Kira this way was almost maddening. Jacques wore the big-billed baseball cap with the PARIS SAINT-GERMAIN logo she’d seen before to hide his eyes. The woman with them was clowning, hugging his back, in a way that obscured her face. Rebecca wanted to scream a warning at the screen, into the past, Don’t you get it, K?
Xili stopped the playback, pointed to the screen. “Her. Do you remember her?”
“Not really.”
If Flor cared, she was doing a good job hiding her feelings.
“We need to watch the video from inside too, talk to the bouncers. But first let’s see when she left.” Xili clicked Play on the video again.
“Better go faster,” Flor said. “We didn’t close until six a.m.”
Trial and error showed that 8x fast-forward was the highest possible speed where they could be sure they wouldn’t miss anyone walking out. Even at that setting, watching the feed took almost forty-five minutes.
But Kira never appeared again. Neither did the others. Not for a single frame. However they’d left this club, it wasn’t through the front door.
“You have a fire exit?” Rebecca said.
“In back.”
“It has an alarm?”
“Yes.”
“Camera?”
“I told you, the only cameras are the front door and the bar.”
“Let’s see,” Xili said.
* * *
The fire door had an alarm bar, as Flor had promised. But a wire hung from the cracked plastic housing that held the base of the bar. Xili pressed it. No alarm. He pushed open the door, revealing the alley and his sedan.
“It was working,” Flor said.
Rebecca stepped into the warm evening air. Nine p.m., but the sky was still more blue than black. The