The Little Spanish Girl by Matko Ales

Author:Matko, Ales [Matko, Ales]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-25T16:00:00+00:00

18

The investigators were taken to the imposing lobby with its stone walls, massive oil paintings, and elegant chandelier. Off to the side, one of the guards was sitting on a sofa, his pale, withered face suggesting he might be ready to pass out, while the men around him seemed to be on red alert.

''Where did you put it?''

The guard began frisking Klauder until he found the set of insulin shots in his vest.

''What do you think you're doing?'' Klauder demanded.

''Shut up!''

The man went to his companion on the sofa and opened the case. ''Lift up his sleeve!'' he ordered. ''I need a vein!''

''Are you mad?'' Klauder rushed over and grabbed the guard by the hand, which was already holding a syringe. ''What in god's name is going on here?''

''This man is diabetic!'' one of them shouted. ''And he's misplaced his insulin.''

''Well, for heaven's sake, why didn’t you say so? Give me the syringe! The injection is administered into the abdominal fat, not the vein. You want to kill the poor fellow?''

The guard handed the needle to Klauder and everyone held their breath as he flicked it two or thee times and told them to lift up the man's sweater. After he had given the injection, Klauder stood back up.

''Can I now please have my case back?''

They obliged him and he immediately opened the set and began inspecting the vials for damage.

''How long ago should he have taken it?'' he asked, looking at the man on the couch.

''Half an hour ago,'' one of the guards replied. ''Fabrice had something to eat with the rest of us and then couldn't find his insulin anywhere. We tried going to the doctor’s office, but he wasn't in. And you, the only other man here with diabetes, were also nowhere to be found.''

''The detective and I were busy with our investigation,'' Beatra piped up for the first time. ''We were over at the cook’s apartment for quite a while.''

''Well, thank god you finally came.''

''There really was no need to make such a fuss, though,'' Klauder said. ''I've often been late with a shot, but so far nothing dreadful has happened. As long as I don’t miss the next one, I'm fine. Maybe a slight headache or something.''

But just as the words were leaving his mouth, the guard on the sofa suddenly fell forward onto the floor and stopped breathing. Beatra pushed his way through the cadre of guards and put his finger on the stricken man's artery.

''He’s dead,'' he said blankly, looking over at Klauder.

It took only a moment for the detective to cop on.

''Jesus Christ!'' he exclaimed, grabbing his insulin kit and throwing it with all his might at the stone wall in front of him.

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