Hugo Marston 05: The Reluctant Matador by Mark Pryor

Author:Mark Pryor [Pryor, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery Suspense
ISBN: 9781633880030
Publisher: Prometheus Books
Published: 2015-06-02T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

As gently as he could, Hugo loosely placed the plastic over the dead woman’s head. He stood slowly, more aware now of the smell of her body that had been lying open to the elements, to the flies that had started to collect in the unit, buzzing over her.

“Señor,” the videographer spoke, his English slow and painful. “El jefe, my boss, he said you have to see that.” He was pointing to the wall, but with the light pouring in, with his eyes still blurred from tears, all Hugo could see were shadows.

“That, there.” The man was pointing again. “I have pictures, but he wants you to see it.”

Hugo squinted, and slowly the drawing on the wall came into focus. It was a picture in blood, the same mean streaks they’d seen at Castañeda’s apartment, but this time the picture was complete, fully formed. The top two lines were curved this time, not straight, twin crescents that descended into what he’d previously thought was a heart. Except it wasn’t, he’d been wrong, because beneath those curved lines was the face of an animal.

“A bull’s head,” Hugo whispered to himself. “Those were horns.” He looked back at the body, the banderilla projecting from it, and wondered if that’s what the line was. Or maybe . . . ? He turned to the videographer. “That line through the head. Does it look like anything to you?”

The man just shrugged, the flickering of his eyes telling Hugo he probably didn’t even understand the question. Hugo took out his phone and took several pictures of the mural, then backed out of the unit, stealing one more glance at the still form of the dead girl.

Outside, he found Garcia. “It’s not Amy, but that picture in there . . .”

“A bull.” Garcia shrugged. “I don’t know what it means, do you?”

“No, but look at this.” Hugo pulled out his phone and both men looked at the photos he’d taken. “The line through its head.”

“A protest against bullfighting?”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. We need to see if either Castañeda or this woman, when we figure out who she is, have anything to do with bullfighting. Whether they’re supporters, fans, or protesters, whatever. Where and how often do they have it here?”

“Here?” Garcia blinked in surprise. “Oh, you didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Bullfighting is popular in Spain, Mexico, and Colombia . . . other places, too.” He shook his head. “But not here. It has been banned in Catalonia since the beginning of two thousand twelve.”

“Really?”

“It’s very popular in the south, and of course Pamplona has the bull running,” Garcia said. “I think most foreigners have no idea it’s banned here unless they try to go to a fight. Then they get a surprise.”

“Interesting,” said Hugo. “But I’m glad to hear that, it always seemed barbaric to me.”

“And to me. Speaking of barbaric, what do you suggest we do next?”

“I think you need to have a team working specifically on the issue of organ trafficking. I

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