The Butcher Beyond (7 page)

‘What is?'

‘My leg. There are times when it feels almost as strong as it did when I was a young man of twenty, but there are also times when I think I'm about to lose the use of it for ever.'

‘How did you know I was thinkin' about your leg, when you were walkin' in front of me?' Woodend wondered.

‘Only a fool pretends that his infirmity is not noticed by others. It is gout, you understand.'

‘Is that right?' Woodend asked flatly.

Paco Ruiz smiled. ‘You do not believe me, of course.'

Woodend returned the smile. ‘From the way you walk, I'd be prepared to bet you're sufferin' from an old injury, rather than a creepin' disease. Of course, I could be wrong.'

‘But you don't think you are?'

‘No, I don't.'

‘Then why have you not asked me
how
I acquired my limp?'

‘Because it's none of my business.'

Ruiz's smile broadened. ‘You would still like to know, though, wouldn't you?'

‘I'm itchin' to know,' Woodend agreed. ‘But I imagine that if you ever get to the point where you want to talk about it, you'll need absolutely no promptin' from me.'

The waiter arrived.

‘Beer, Mr Woodend?' Paco Ruiz asked. ‘Or is it still too early in the morning for you?'

‘I'm on holiday,' Woodend said. ‘An' when I'm on holiday, there's no such thing as
too
early.'

Their discussion so far had not really been about Paco Ruiz's leg at all, Woodend thought. It had been more in the nature of verbal sparring – a testing process. Each of them had been trying to establish whether he could trust the other man – and whether the other man could trust him. And Woodend had decided that he
could
trust Ruiz. Not only that, but he found himself rapidly developing a tremendous liking for the man.

The beers arrived. They both took a sip.

‘I have discovered something which you may find intriguing from a professional viewpoint,' Ruiz said.

‘Professional viewpoint?' Woodend repeated –
sounding
intrigued.

‘Yet I am not sure I should involve you,' Ruiz confessed.

‘Why not?'

‘What do you know of Spain? You perhaps read an article in your newspapers about a demonstration which has been broken up by the police, and you imagine it to be like one handled by the British authorities. I can assure you that it is not. People might sometimes get injured in a British demonstration, but here heads are broken on a regular basis.'

‘Maybe you're right, but even so—'

‘What do you
see
of Spain – even looking at it with the trained eye of a detective? You see the people in the shops and bars, who are happy to have your custom and who treat you with traditional Spanish courtesy and hospitality. True, you also see policemen with guns, but you tell yourself that this is only the Continental way of doing things, and that it is nothing to worry about. But as I hinted previously, there is a darker side to my country.'

‘I met a piece of the darker side after we parted last night,' Woodend said. ‘His name was Captain López.'

Paco Ruiz shook his head. ‘You have just made a mistake which is commonly made by people who do not know this country.'

‘López isn't part of the darker side?'

‘He's a pawn. Nothing! He is the man who handles the bloody meat. But to understand Spain fully, you must see further than the assistant at the front of the shop. You must seek out the butcher beyond.'

‘Aren't you bein' a little melodramatic?' Woodend wondered. ‘I know some terrible things were done in the Civil War, but—'

‘You think you know about those times, but, in truth, you have no idea,' Paco Ruiz interrupted.

‘Don't I?'

‘No idea at all. What
kinds
of terrible things do you think were done?'

‘Well,' Woodend began, already starting to feel that he was on shaky ground, ‘I know that a lot of civilians were killed during the war.'

‘
Only
during the war?'

‘I would assume so.'

‘Then you would assume wrongly. The killing did not stop when the Nationalists won. In the summer after the war ended, tens of thousands were executed for no other crime than being on the losing side. In Madrid alone, up to two hundred and fifty people
a day
were led before the firing squad. After a while even Franco's strongest supporters grew sickened by all the bloodletting, and asked him to show a little mercy.'

‘An' did he?'

‘He made what he probably considered a concession. He said only eighty percent of those brought before the military tribunals
must
be found guilty.
That
was his definition of even-handed justice. And this man, with so much blood on his hands, still controls this country.'

‘But it can't be anything like as bad as it was, can it?' Woodend asked.

‘He no longer spills as much blood, but his grip is tighter than ever,' Ruiz said. ‘No one knows how many people are in prison. You will not read any figures in the press – as you might do in your own country – because the press is not free.' He paused to light up a black cigarette. ‘Why do you think all foreign films are dubbed into Spanish, instead of merely having subtitles?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Because some of the audience may understand English.'

‘So what?'

‘The censor does not want their minds polluted by foreign ideas. If a woman is a man's mistress in an American film, she will become his niece in the Spanish version. Any scenes in which they make physical contact will simply be cut, in order to maintain that fiction. It will make a nonsense of the movie, of course, but at least it will keep our people pure.'

‘You're jokin'!' Woodend said.

‘I wish I were,' Ruiz told him. ‘Even language is suppressed. The Basques and Catalans have their own languages, but they are not allowed to use them. Or to christen their children with Basque or Catalan names – the names they give them
must
be Spanish.'

‘That's incredible!'

‘It affects football, too. Real Madrid is the regime's favourite team. Barcelona is, for many, a symbol of Catalan nationalism. Once, when they were playing each other, the Guardia Civil visited the Barcelona team's dressing room, and told the goalkeeper that if he played well, his brother, who was in prison for his political activities, would be made to suffer.'

‘Why are you tellin' me all this?' Woodend asked.

‘Because a man should never enter a darkened room without at least having some idea of what to expect in there. If you and I are to conduct an investigation – even an unofficial one – I would rather you started out with a true picture of the Spain in which we live.'

‘
Are
we goin' to conduct an investigation?' Woodend asked.

‘That is entirely up to you, Señor Woodend.
I
shall certainly try to find out more, if I can.'

‘About
what
, exactly?'

‘The American who we saw contact Holloway is called Mitchell – or, at least, that is what it says on his passport. Holloway was not the only man he saw last night, either. Later – though before Holloway was killed – he had a meeting in a quiet bar with a whole group of men.'

‘I don't see that's particularly significant.'

‘Then consider this. All the men were roughly the same age as Holloway and Mitchell.'

‘A feller's mates
do
tend to be the same age as he is.'

‘And though the barman is convinced that they were all foreigners, they were talking to each other in
Spanish
.'

‘Now that
is
interestin',' Woodend agreed. ‘Was our friend Holloway at this meetin'?'

‘What makes you ask?'

‘Because it strikes me that the piece of paper Mitchell gave him could have had directions on it.'

‘That is true. And perhaps he
was
there. One of the men at the table may have been bald, but he was wearing a hat, and so the barman is not sure.'

‘So do you think that one – or all – of these men was involved in Holloway's death?'

‘Not necessarily. But I certainly think Holloway's death is connected with the reason they are all here.'

Woodend nodded, then offered Ruiz a Capstan Full Strength. The Spaniard shook his head and reached for his own packet of black cigarettes.

‘Before we go any further with this, I'd like to know what your interest in the case is,' Woodend said.

Ruiz took a long, reflective drag on his Celtas. ‘It is a long time since I have investigated a real crime. I miss it. Besides …'

‘Besides what?'

‘Tourism has become very important to the Spanish economy. Four years ago, we had four million visitors. This year, we are expecting
fourteen
million. The death of a holidaymaker – even if he were only
pretending
to be on holiday – could damage the tourist trade.'

‘And that bothers you, does it?'

‘Not especially. There are times when I think we have too many tourists – that they are destroying the Spain which I love. But it
does
bother the authorities – and in order to minimize the damage, they will insist that an arrest is made soon.'

‘But it doesn't really matter whether the feller who's arrested is actually guilty?' Woodend said, beginning to understand the way that Ruiz's mind was working.

‘It does not matter at all,' Ruiz agreed. ‘We do not have trial by jury in this country, and most of the judges will do what they are told without a moment's hesitation. So some poor man will be arrested. He will probably have a criminal record – but he will not be a serious criminal.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because serious criminals often have powerful allies – some of them in government – and the man who is to take the blame for Holloway's death must have no way in which he can defend himself. So he will be tried, found guilty, and executed. And everybody will be happy – except for his friends and family.'

‘An' you,' Woodend said.

‘And me,' Ruiz agreed. ‘I have seen enough injustice in my lifetime. If I can prevent more, I will.'

‘Can I tell you somethin' that's been puzzlin' me?' Woodend asked.

‘Please feel free.'

‘When I was arrested last night, there were very few people around. In fact, the only person I actually saw, before López arrived, was the hotel receptionist. Yet by the time I talked to López in the Guardia Civil barracks, he had already been contacted by the British Consul. Now the question is, who contacted the Consul?'

‘I suppose it's always possible that it could have been the receptionist,' Ruiz suggested.

‘It could have been,' Woodend agreed. ‘But he didn't look to me like a man with enough initiative to have done that. On the other hand, he might well have called somebody who
did
have the initiative.'

‘Me,' Ruiz said.

‘You,' Woodend replied.

Paco Ruiz shrugged. ‘All right, I admit it. I heard you were in trouble, and I did all I could to get you out of it.'

‘Because it was yet another example of the injustice of the Spanish authorities?'

‘Of course.'

‘It had nothing to do with the fact that it was in your own interest – or perhaps in the interests of the case you saw developin' – to get me released from police custody as soon as possible?'

‘That could have played a part in it.'

Woodend grinned. ‘About all those warnings you've just given about the kind of country this is?'

‘Yes?'

‘I don't think they were ever really meant to scare me off.'

‘No?'

‘No. In fact, I'm almost certain they were intended to have exactly the opposite effect. You think you've got the measure of me, don't you?'

A small, knowing smile came involuntarily to Paco Ruiz's lips. ‘Perhaps I do,' he admitted.

‘You've decided that the best way to get me interested in the case is to present it as a real challenge. As you see it, the more obstacles there are in my way, the more I'll feel the urge to try an' get round them. It's nothin' more or less than a classic con, Paco.'

Ruiz's smile became a grin. ‘I apologize,' he said.

‘For tryin' to con me? Or for bein' found out?'

‘Possibly a little of both.' Paco's face grew more serious. ‘I should never have tried it. I really
do
hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.'

‘It'd be hard not to, when I know that if I'd been in your shoes, I'd have played it in exactly the same way,' Woodend admitted.

He looked up, and saw Joan walking across the square towards him. She was moving a lot slower than she used to, he thought. She'd said she was in no more than minor discomfort, but could he really believe her?

‘Some creatures walk into a trap even though they know it's a trap,' Paco Ruiz said. ‘They just can't resist it.'

‘Meanin' that you've still got hopes I might agree to work on the case?'

‘Exactly.'

‘I'm goin' to have to disappoint you,' Woodend said, with genuine regret in his voice.

‘Because I overplayed my hand, and succeeded in scaring you off after all?'

‘Because my wife's here for a rest, an' my main concern has to be to see that she gets one.'

‘That is your wife?' Paco Ruiz asked, following Woodend's gaze across the square.

‘Yes, that's her.'

‘She looks a very nice woman.'

‘She
is
a very nice woman.'

‘If my wife and I were to invite you and your wife out for dinner this evening, do you think she would enjoy it?'