Barcelona Betrayal

About the Author

Steve Kenning has worked for many years as a senior leader in education. He has spent many happy times in Barcelona, owning an apartment there in the edgy Born district for many years. This experience inspired his novels, drawing from the rich history of the city as well as from the many good friends that he met in the great city.

Steve is married with two grown-up children and lives in Guildford. He now spends any spare time traveling to Houston where his son lives with his family.

Copyright Information ©

Stephen Kenning 2024

The right of Stephen Kenning to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035874828 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035874835 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.co.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Chapter 1

Enjoyment just wasn’t the best word to describe her emotional state at that moment. Her mind was devoid of any sense of pleasure. The hall reverberated with ecstasy. It was so sultry; everyone was dripping with sweat and it was loud. She felt as if she was standing inside the cavernous jowls of a huge, crazed killer whale hooked on listening to heavy rock. She stood alone at the back of the hall, halfway up the seated terraces, right in front of the band. Her face was sullen. Her body was motionless. She looked like hell.

An overweight, young, hairy guy to her left kept looking at her, smiling. Each encouraging stare was carefully placed in between his yelps of delight and freeform dance movements that were at odds with the beat of the music. His sweat leapt from his body in all directions. He was having a great time, although he seemed to be thinking: How can fourteen thousand other people be enjoying themselves so much and you look so down?

He tried once again to get her involved. This time, she again shrugged him off and then forced her way impolitely along the row of spectators, momentarily interrupting their dancing and enjoyment.

She just wasn’t in the mood. It wasn’t the location or the band. She just wanted something else. All that concerned her now was finding Jaume. He had disappeared to the toilet as soon as the Chilli Peppers had come on stage. That was over thirty minutes ago. This was meant to be fun. The last thing she wanted to do was to stand amongst a sweating crowd of music fans by herself, listening to a band she barely knew of. It was Jaume who had bought the tickets and it was Jaume who had been so keen to see the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

He said he had seen them three times before and that he had all their albums. That’s what he had said. Then he rushed off the moment they came on stage. Her idea of a good night was sitting in a bar drinking cava and then getting the balls together to sing karaoke songs. Something like Rod Stewart or Rihanna, certainly none of this crap.

She was fairly tall for a woman, five foot six, but not particularly fit, and the steps out of the auditorium were steep and many. She was hot, agitated and tired. The noise from the band pummelled her eardrums. She raced up the steps to get to the sanctuary. At last, she hit the level walkway that skirted around the top floor entrance area to the Palau Sant Jordi. Here at least there were concrete walls that acted as a defence against the decibels. There was no one around.

Everyone, even the security guards, was either inside the auditorium or as close to inside as possible. They were all keen to get as much as they could of the show. Maybe this band really were that good. Maybe she was missing something. She shrugged to herself. I can’t miss what I don’t know I’m missing. This thought confused her but made her smile wryly to herself.

The exterior fire doors were open probably to let some cool evening air into the sweltering arena. A blast of freshly cooled air hit her in the chest and took her by surprise. The flow enticed her to its source. Before long, she was on the wide concrete-rimmed balcony that overlooked the rest of the Olympic Parc and onward towards the El Prat Airport. It was just dark. Lights splayed out across the cityscape. She leant on the concrete balcony.

Immediately below her, some two hundred metres away, there were some teenagers playing what looked like baseball on a floodlit grass area. She couldn’t be sure of what she was seeing in this light, although she had her lenses in which gave her eyesight a fighting chance. She skimmed the action below her. To the left, she saw something glisten in the darkness. She moved towards it to get a better look. She found a vantage point right above what she presumed must be the delivery or service area to the Palau Sant Jordi.

There were a few dim safety lights on the building and some reflected illumination from the floodlit ballpark, but very little other light. In the available light, it was difficult to see anything clearly. She strained her eyes trying to see through the semi-darkness.

There. There it was again. Something glistened. She stared intently, fascinated. She could make out a shape, a body. The body was crouching behind a rubbish skip. The glistening was coming from something small. The shape held something in its hand. She stared and stared. It was a knife. On the third glisten, she saw it clearly. The knife was no more than a small kitchen blade but it was held with intent. The figure moved very slightly, hardly at all. Listening. Listening for movements.

She glanced away from the crouching figure and focussed on a whistle. Coming out of the darkness alongside the building was another figure, a dark figure. Even in the summer heat at this late hour, the approaching figure was wearing black and was covered all over. The whistling figure appeared not to have a care in the world. It was a man or was it, she couldn’t be sure; tall though, five foot eight or so, in height. The figure strode purposefully towards the rubbish skips. She watched.

Instinctively she knew what was coming next. She tried to scream, to call out, but nothing came out of her wide-open, gaping mouth. Fixated, she couldn’t move. She watched.

Chapter 2

It was all over in seconds. The whistling figure lay in a crumpled heap on the invisible tarmac. It was hard to see the body, enveloped as it was in the dark shadows. The once crouching figure was now standing astride the dark shape that lay on the ground. There was a knife jutting upwards at a forty-five-degree angle from the right hand of the assailant. She saw a dark liquid gradually run into a patch of floodlit tarmac. The body on the ground was motionless.

In one quick movement, the assailant hoisted up the limp carcass and tipped it into the rubbish skip. He closed the cover furtively and stepped into the light. As he brushed over his clothes, he appeared to be looking for any traces of blood. His manner suggested he was happy with his condition and he quickly moved towards the Palau Sant Jordi entrance. The light from the ballpark caught the figure fully for a second. She was still staring intently at the incident. She stared at the face of the assailant as he passed through the light beam.

The shock sent her reeling backwards. She shuddered to a standstill and reached out for the parapet wall to steady herself but it wasn’t within her reach.

‘Oh no!’ She cried out as she fell heavily to the floor.

‘Esta bien? Esta bien?’ A guard shouted racing over to help her as she lay prostrate and motionless on the ground. She scrambled to her feet with the help of the guard. She had no idea what he was saying to her or what was going on around her. All she could think about was what she had just seen. Her mind was replaying over and over again that last image. Exactly what had she seen? How could it be? Maybe she was mistaken?

After several minutes of soul searching, she was convinced she had actually seen her worst fears realised. She was sure it was Jaume. After a minute or so, the guard was still with her, looking confused as he was getting no response to his questions and she seemed all over the place mentally. She slowly gathered herself together and, now that she was convinced of what she had seen, pulled the bemused guard to the edge of the parapet.

‘Look! Look!’ She pointed towards the area of the attack. The guard could see nothing as she pointed over towards the rubbish skips. He could not speak English and she could speak little Spanish. There was a stand-off period whilst they looked at each other, each asking the question: What is going on here?

As she looked into the eyes of the guard, it was obvious that there was little more to do or say here. It was clear that there was nothing to be seen at this distance and she couldn’t find a way to ask how to get down to the skips. The guard looked at her with a very puzzled expression. She was obviously not hurt but she was in turmoil. What should he do? She could see the dilemma in his eyes. She took the initiative.

After a few minutes, she thanked the guard for his help and explained, with the help of gestures, that she had felt light-headed but was now better. With that, she headed back into the concert hall.

She was slowly stumbling down the steps to the auditorium when her right arm was grabbed above the elbow from behind. She was gently pulled around to face her lover, Jaume.

‘Jaume!’ She said in astonishment. She didn’t know what else to say. He looked really good in the semi-darkness of the concert hall stairwell.

‘I am so sorry. You must have been very worried. I needed to spend some time on the toilet and I could not find one with any toilet paper in it. I have been all round this stadium. It must have been those chillies we ate last night.’

As he spoke, he held his stomach.

‘So you haven’t been outside…down by the skips?’

‘The skips? No. Why?’ He replied incredulously.

‘I just thought I saw you there,’ she stuttered, confused in her thoughts. He certainly didn’t look like he had just killed someone.

‘I may have been forced out there if I had not found a toilet, but no, I have been very occupied.’ He laughed.

‘You look tired. Have you had enough of the band? It is late. Shall we go?’

‘If you don’t mind, Jaume, I am shattered.’

With that, Jaume held onto her arm and led her up and out of the arena. As they slowly walked across the wide-open courtyard at the front of the Palau Sant Jordi, the music pulsated. The concert was nearing its climax and everyone was having a good time. She was not having a good time though. She was confused. Had she really seen what she thought she had seen? Was her lover a murderer? Her mind was distracted.

She knew she must be wrong. Jaume was a loving and gentle man. He couldn’t do such a thing. She was convinced that he wouldn’t lie to her.

Chapter 3

They crossed the road looking for a taxi. Nothing was around, just a few parents, sitting motionless in their cars, waiting for their kids.

‘Let’s head down to the Plaça de España. There will be many taxis down there,’ suggested Jaume.

She was in no state to disagree. She let him lead her across the road and into the park above MNAC, the wonderful art gallery that was housed in the palace that looked over the Fira exhibition park. The palace was high on a hill and you had to scale hundreds of steps or ride several escalators before you hit the Plaça de España.

‘I love you so much, Sandie,’ said Jaume into the ear of the woman and smooched her. He held her by the arm as they moved steadily down the parkland of the palace. The escalator going down ahead of them was not working so they quickly stepped down the steps two at a time. They were in a hurry. The concert was nearly over and there would be a rush for the taxis down at the Plaça de España. Jaume held her by the arm, carefully and lovingly. She knew he loved her. She knew her vision of the stabbing was wrong.

She had seen something and someone, but it definitely was not Jaume. She would wait until she was stronger, maybe in the morning, and then tell him, and maybe the police if he agreed, about what she had seen. Now was not the time. She was exhausted. Jaume was her strength. She rested her head on his shoulder as they skipped down the escalator.

There were few people around. Darkness enveloped the whole area, although the walkways and escalators were well-floodlit. Either side, the darkness of the trees suffocated the infiltrating light. This was not a place to be alone. Within minutes, though, there would be thousands flooding down from the concert. She felt safe with Jaume. He was strong and positive, and he knew how the world worked. They could see the Fira Plaza in front of them, another flight of stairs or an escalator and they were on the level heading to the taxi rank.

The waterfall in front of the palace thundered as they passed by. She was still in a daze. Her mind was wandering, without Jaume there what would she do? She felt light-headed. She felt weak. Jaume was strong and he had her by the arm, leading her to a place she wanted to be. Somewhere away from the crowds, alone with Jaume, sharing a bottle of wine between them. He was guiding her to the taxis, to safety.

She looked at Jaume. He was light-haired, but not grey. He was in his late thirties but looked younger; he had some wrinkles but not many. He was her god. Her dream man; he was heaven-sent. What had she done to deserve him? Even in her present half-awake, unreal state, she knew he was a dream. He loved her and she loved him. The vision she had earlier was disappearing fast as they glided together, in unison, down the steps.

It happened so quickly that she didn’t even realise. One moment she was heading down the escalator and across the pavement with Jaume and the next moment she was on the floor. She had no idea what happened. She lay on the cold, marble paving slabs in front of the Fira Exhibition Halls that stood at the base of the imposing MNAC Palace. Her head hurt at the back.

She had a strange sensation there that made her think that blood might be trickling down the back of her head, although she felt disinclined to check it out. Where was Jaume? She could see a light high above her head. It was blurred and it yellowed as it merged into the dark background. The light started to rotate. She had no idea what she was looking at. Nothing was real. How long had she been lying there? It seemed like hours, although it was probably minutes.

Suddenly, she was in the middle of a battlefield. Hordes of people flooded by her, running, shouting. Most ignored her but a few stopped and stood over her. She