A Death in Valencia by Jason Webster Page A

something on his shoulders: a warm, paw-like hand. Turning, he looked into a fleshy, perplexed face.
    â€˜I knew you’d get here soon enough.’ It was Vicent, the owner of the bar on the corner. ‘Here, you’ll need this.’
    A brandy glass was thrust into Cámara’s hand and Vicent began to pour from a bottle of Carlos III.
    â€˜Do you want to sit down?’
    Cámara didn’t answer. Vicent finished pouring, then linked his hand into Cámara’s arm and led him through to a stool inside the bar.
    â€˜Sit there. I’ll get you a wet towel to wipe your face.’
    The brandy slid through him like lava.
    â€˜Happened just after lunch, about half four.’
    Vicent pulled up a stool next to him and left the damp cloth on the counter beside his glass. Other people were sprawled on chairs by the window, heads in their hands or with pale, empty expressions of shock in their eyes. Behind the bar, a girl was busying herself frantically with washing up plates, as though trying to block out the tragedy that had forced its way into her world. Through the open windows, Cámara recognised people he saw around here almost every day, neighbours he had greeted and chatted with hundreds, perhaps thousands of times, like an informal extended family.
    â€˜They’ve evacuated the buildings on either side,’ Vicent said. ‘The kids from the school across the road have been told to go home, so they’re putting some up there. Camp beds and stuff. We’ll be making some sandwiches and bits and pieces with what we’ve got here. There’s not much, but at least we can do something.’
    Cámara sipped on his brandy. The drink seemed to be injecting some kind of life into him, but he was uncertain if he preferred the dulled, half-death state of shock which had so quickly overcome him.
    â€˜It was just one almighty crash,’ Vicent went on. ‘We were cleaning up, just a few people still here. And then…’ He tailed off. ‘Never heard anything like it. Thought the world was crashing in on us. We all ran out into the street, sharpish. Didn’t know what was happening. Could have been our building coming down on top of us. But all there was was dust. Then silence.’
    He reached out and poured himself a brandy from the bottle at Cámara’s side.
    â€˜Then the screaming started.’
    Cámara’s eyes darted towards the metro works just a few feet away.
    â€˜Yeah,’ Vicent frowned. ‘That lot didn’t stick around for long. Reckon they’ve been expecting something like this to happen ever since they started. What with all these old buildings everywhere. This is Ruzafa, working-class area. They didn’t build them as well as the ones on the other side of the avenue. Bound to happen. Remember that time in Barcelona with the metro line there? Same thing. Start digging underneath one of these places and sooner or later it’ll come toppling down.’
    â€˜What about the others?’ Cámara asked. It had been the only question on his mind since he’d arrived, but until now he’d been unable to speak.
    â€˜Well, I knew you’d be all right, ’cause you’re hardly ever here,’ Vicent said.
    â€˜What about the others?’
    â€˜ La Señora Esperanza is fine–she was out shopping when it happened. Bit shocked, obviously. Her heart and all that. Then Antonio and Carmela were out at work…’
    Vicent went through a list of Cámara’s neighbours, ticking them off as having escaped the collapse of the building. But there was only one name he wanted to hear, one that Vicent refused to mention.
    â€˜What about little Tomás?’ With a sudden jerk he grabbed Vicent by the shirt. ‘Where are Tomás and Susana?’
    Vicent looked him in the eye, but his expression had taken on the same emptiness as the others’.
    â€˜They’re looking for them