Rogue Angel 52: Death Mask by Alex Archer

about my phone call?” the old man asked.
    “Phone call? What do you think this is? You have no rights here. You are not the victim, no matter what you want me to believe, so you will get a phone call if and when I say you do. That won’t be for a long time yet.”
    “How about an attorney?”
    “You will be given court-approved representation when the time comes.”
    “I’d rather use my own, if it’s all the same. I find you get what you pay for, and as we’ve already established, I’m not averse to paying for the very best.”
    The policeman opened a manila folder and spilled out a collection of photographs across the table between them. Some were the dead men’s faces, others were of their hands.
    “What can you tell me about this?” the interrogator asked, jabbing a finger at a picture of the tattoo on the back of what he assumed was Mateo’s hand. Roux picked up the photograph to take a closer look.
    “Very little. I’ve never seen it before today. And now it’s on the back of two men’s hands.”
    “And you don’t think it’s strange that two dead men have the same tattoo?”
    “Oh, very much so, but thinking it is peculiar sadly doesn’t mean I know anything about its origins. I assume it is some kind of gang mark?” It was a reasonable conclusion. He had nothing else to offer. It meant nothing to him.
    “What do you know about the Fraternidad de
la Quema?”
    “Ferdinand what?”
    “The Brotherhood of the Burning.” The interrogator spoke slowly, enunciating each word very precisely.
    Roux made a moue. Shook his head. “Sorry. Nothing. Alas, I am not up on the gang culture of Spain.”
    The policeman said nothing for a moment, weighing his next words. He obviously knew something about the tattoo’s origins but wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal it. Finally, he said, “They have been behind a series of hate crimes both here and in other cities across the country.”
    “Hate crimes?” That was unexpected. Roux leaned forward in his chair, interested now.
    “They’ve been targeting Muslims. It started with little more than graffiti and threats, but has escalated recently to a number of severe beatings. Now, it would appear, they have managed to get their hands on weapons and escalated to attempted murder. Am I correct in thinking that you are not a Muslim?” Roux nodded. “Then that would be a flaw in my understanding. I do not like making mistakes or working on misunderstandings.”
    Roux could hazard a few reasonable guesses that might connect the men with his visit to the museum, but he wasn’t about to share them. It wasn’t his job to solve the policeman’s puzzle. Right now, he needed to get out of here before the detective started asking better questions.
    “And your understanding would be what? That this Brotherhood is drawing some kind of inspiration from the Inquisition?”
    “I didn’t say that, but it’s interesting that you did. Why would that be your first conclusion?”
    “Pure luck. Now how about my phone call?”
    “There is something I don’t like about you, something that doesn’t ring true. I will find out how you are involved in this, because I don’t for a minute believe you are as innocent as you’d have me think.” The interrogator slipped the photos back into the folder, then took a cell phone from his pocket and handed it across to Roux.
    It looked as if he was going to get his call, though he knew the detective had given him his own phone so that the number would be stored in its memory.
    “It’s an international call,” he said. “Sorry. I don’t suppose I could have a little privacy?”
    The interrogator shook his head. “I don’t think so. But that’s fine, isn’t it? It’s not like you have anything to hide.”
    “Nothing at all,” Roux said, punching in the number.
    The call was answered on the second ring.
    There was no need to exchange names. Roux was the only one who called this number, and the man on the other end the only