The Poisoned Pawn (32 page)

“So I understand.”

“Father Callendes has already booked his flight to Rome. He leaves this evening at seven-thirty. I have assurances from the highest levels that he will be dealt with appropriately.”

“They’ve said that before. But they’ve never done it.”

“I think they will this time, Inspector,” Castro said. “The Church is under enormous pressure. You must understand that my views of the Church are not those of my brother. He’s always been bitter about being excommunicated for his political beliefs. But Cuba is changing rapidly. The Church can be a moral compass as we seek a new national identity. I met recently with the Vatican’s secretary of state. He shares our view that the American embargo is ethically unacceptable. He assured me that the Church wants to help mediate a resolution. In fact, the Vatican is considering a large donation to the Golden Age orphanage, to be announced in Havana very soon.”

An orphanage, thought Ramirez. How very generous of them.

“And what about the fact that the Canadians were told Rey Callendes would face charges here?” Ramirez said. “How will they react when they hear of his release?”

“We’ll tell them the truth, that the Vatican will deal with it. I’m told the Church will excommunicate him as a warning to others. This is a punishment far more severe than anything
the Canadians, or we, for that matter, might impose. Canada is important to us. We have more trade with them than we do with even the Chinese. Just behind the Netherlands, in fact. But we haven’t executed a priest in Cuba since 1870. I could not allow Rey Callendes to be the first, not in the midst of such delicate financial negotiations. And not with the debts that we owe him.”

Ramirez raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t look at me that way, Inspector. Hypocrisy was President Kennedy ordering a thousand of our cigars the day before he signed the trade embargo in 1962. One must be pragmatic. It is not the Church that committed genocide against this country, but the United States through the economic war it unleashed over forty years ago. The Church can assist us with financing we cannot easily obtain elsewhere. And if it happens to be in its own interest to move money around the world, better the money comes here than languishes in a Swiss bank account. Besides, I have never really trusted the Swiss, not since they let the Americans set up that Special Interests Section in their embassy.”

Ramirez inclined his head. “I appreciate your candour. And what about Father Rubido?”

“Proceed with your indictment. He will plead guilty, and the Vatican will ask for his extradition. I assume you prefer this approach to our turning the file over to Luis Perez?” Castro smiled slightly.

Ramirez nodded. It was what Apiro had predicted would happen.

“Good. Was there something else you wanted to discuss, Inspector?”

“I have a favour to ask.”

Castro raised one eyebrow. “I expected you might.”

“There is a disabled child in the Viñales orphanage. A little girl. She has a severely damaged heart. There is a Canadian lawyer,
Celia Jones, who has been a great help to us. She is a friend to Cuba. Her husband is a cardiologist. They want to bring the child to Canada for medical treatment. And if she survives the surgery, they want to adopt her.”

Castro frowned. “We don’t like foreign adoptions, Inspector. Is there no extended family to take the girl?”

“The child’s grandmother died on International Human Rights Day, following the protest by the Ladies in White. Someone in Security Services got carried away. The father is a political dissident. Charges will be laid. The foreign media are likely to pick up the story, given the Canadian interest in this child. A request is being prepared for a medical transfer. If she is adopted in Canada, under that country’s laws all ties to her original family will be severed. She’ll have a new name, that of her adoptive parents, even a new birth certificate. There will be no way to trace her back to Havana. This may be a situation where it could be expedient to let the child go. A quick adoption may make political sense.”

The acting president thought for a moment before he smiled. “Very well. Good advice, Ramirez. I’ll sign the papers when they’re ready.”

“I happen to have them here,” said Ramirez, producing a set from his jacket pocket. He was becoming quite proficient at forging Celia Jones’s signature. “The child will need a medical escort to Canada. And authorization for the escort, of course. The Canadians are willing to pay all expenses. I was wondering if Hector Apiro could take her.”

The old man nodded. “Very well. I hear he has a new woman. That will ensure he comes back. We don’t like to lose doctors, Ramirez. Although we don’t mind lending them out. Anything else, Inspector?”

The acting president got to his feet.

“Just one thing. A suggestion as much as a question. You’ve heard of the Russian author Nabokov? His favourite character, Luzhin, committed suicide. I wondered how you would feel if Rey Callendes did the same.”

SIXTY

Inspector Ramirez closed the door to his office and sat behind his desk for a few moments. He steeled himself to make the calls, to finish what Rodriguez Sanchez had started.

Ramirez had promised the acting president he would not take further steps to investigate the Catholic Church’s activities in Cuba. He intended to keep his word. But that didn’t prevent others from doing so.

Besides, an international media scandal was in Cuba’s interest. Even the Minister of the Interior had figured that out. Catholic money would flow quickly once the Church began to panic.

The first call he made was to an ecstatic Celia Jones.

The second was to the number on the small white business card he pulled from his jacket pocket.

“This is Jennifer White speaking. How can I help you?”

“There is a package in your name at the Chateau Laurier reception desk awaiting pickup. A large brown envelope. It is full of documents you may find interesting.”

Yes, Rodriguez Sanchez had abused a small street child, Arturo Montenegro. But unlike the others, Sanchez recognized that what he did was wrong. He took his own life because of his shame.

The password on Sanchez’s laptop was “la China roja.” Sanchez wasn’t sharing child pornography as Ramirez first believed. He was collecting information to build a case against some of the most powerful men in the world. Whatever else he was, whatever his crimes, Sanchez was always a good detective.

I’m sorry, my friend, thought Ramirez. I wish you had trusted me enough to tell me what you’d found.

But then Sanchez would have been forced to confess his own crimes to Ramirez, his superior and his friend. Sanchez had been trapped between conscience and guilt, jealousy and shame.

It wasn’t Ellis who wore Canio’s mask, Ramirez realized. It was Rodriguez Sanchez. He had hidden his rage at Rey Callendes, the man who had abused and betrayed him, while he developed the means to destroy him. Not with a gun, but with a mouse.

And a small black tape recorder.

Ramirez found himself whistling an aria from
Pagliacci
as he hung up the phone.

SIXTY - ONE

The paramedics had arranged with Hector Apiro to bring Beatriz Aranas to the airport directly from the hospital. The small doctor had Ramirez’s carry-on bag stuffed with the warm clothes Maria insisted he bring with him. He carried his black medical bag. In his pocket was a hideous red wool hat that Ramirez said he would need to protect his ears from the cold.

In a third bag there were items from the exhibit room that Ramirez asked him to deliver to the Rideau Regional Police Force for use in the charges filed against Walter and June Kelly. They included the opened package of birth control pills.

Apiro sat on a bench in the airport terminal, waiting patiently. He watched the entrance to see who would arrive first, the paramedics or the priest.

“
Prohibido
,” a young
policía
said, pointing to the bottled water.

“I know,” Apiro nodded. “Don’t worry, officer. I won’t be taking it on the plane.”

The priest stepped out of a taxi, carrying a small brown suitcase. Apiro took a deep breath, knowing Ramirez would never approve of what he planned to do. He picked up his medical bag and approached the elderly man as he entered the terminal building.

“Padre Callendes,” he called out. “My name is Hector Apiro. You may remember me, at least by name. We never met, but I was the physician who treated a small boy for his injuries at the Viñales boarding school in 1992, back when you worked there. Father James O’Brien was the principal at the time. A terrible incident, actually. The worst beating I had ever seen.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Not to mention the sexual assault.”

“Ah, yes. I do remember that,” the priest frowned, “but only vaguely, after all these years. As I recall, the assailant was a minor. Too young to be charged.”

“Yes, that’s the case exactly. The little boy was hurt so badly, he almost died. He was in my clinic for months while he recovered.”

“A very sad case, indeed,” the priest nodded.

“May I walk with you, Father? I have an ethical issue. I would welcome your guidance in resolving it.”

“Yes, of course,” said the priest, looking around for the security checkpoint. “But I have only a few minutes before my flight leaves. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Hector Apiro. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. It was so long ago. The older boy who committed this terrible crime was sent to another school to be re-educated. But I’m sure you remember him. Rodriguez Sanchez? He went on to become a detective in the Havana Major Crimes Unit. I knew him well; we worked together often. I should explain. I am the pathologist to the unit. I work part-time, on call.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say whether I knew him or not,” said the priest. “You know the rules about confidentiality, Dr. Apiro. But I’m surprised you remember this so clearly. It must be at least twenty years ago.”

“True,” said Apiro. “But I have personal reasons to keep it fresh in my own mind. You see, I am in love with a woman who was very close to the little boy who was Sanchez’s victim. Rubén
Montenegro. Several years after that assault, Rubén went missing. He tried to run away. He died in the mountains, or so you told his parents. But I am surprised you don’t remember Rodriguez Sanchez. He died recently, too, after disclosing his own abuse by a priest at the same school. In fact, the more I hear about that boarding school in Viñales, the more horrified I am. There is a cycle of violence that begins with such terrible acts, don’t you think, Padre? One that almost inevitably leads to further acts of violence.”

“I’m no expert on the human condition, Doctor,” said the priest, running his finger around his white collar, “but like all good Catholics, I abhor violence.”

“Really?” said Apiro. “I’m sure the Tainos would be surprised to hear that.”

“Pardon me? My, it is hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Please, take this,” said Apiro, handing him the bottle of water. “The taxi ride must have been uncomfortable. And it is illegal, now, to bring bottled water on flights. Even though the tap water in Havana is not always safe to drink.”

“Why, thank you,” the priest said. He twisted the cap off the bottle and took a deep draught. “I’m sorry. An old man loses his memory.”

“About my ethical issue, Father. Is it true that suicide is considered a crime in the Catholic Church?”

“I hope you’re not considering suicide, Doctor.”

“Oh, not me. No, not at all.”

“There are suicides in the Bible. Samson and Judas, for example. But God can redeem any sinner, so I think the question you have to ask is whether the suicide pleases God. Samson allowed himself to be compromised. His suicide was a chance at redemption, an act of contrition. One can willingly give one’s life to save others, for example, and commit no sin.”

The priest took another drink from the bottle. He stopped for a moment to put his bag on the ground, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

“Yes,” said Apiro, smiling. “Your temperature tends to elevate as your blood pressure goes up. And it is very hot, isn’t it? It’s supposed to be even hotter where you’re going, if you believe such things. By the way, Father, the pictures of those children were shocking. Even for me, and I see terrible crimes all the time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dr. Apiro. Pictures?”

“I think you do, Father. And the fact that there are photographs of Maria’s little brother in the hands of pedophiles around the world wounds her deeply. Whatever hurts her, hurts me, too.”

“Maria?” The priest looked puzzled. He took another swig of water. His forehead was beaded with sweat.

“Maria Vasquez. I’m sorry, I forgot to mention I was once a plastic surgeon. Maria is the woman who plans to live with me. I suppose the Church would consider that living in sin, but, regrettably, we can’t marry. She’s Catholic, and Church doctrine insists that marriage must be between a man and a woman. Lucky for me, I’m not religious. Do you understand who she is yet, Padre? I would spell it out for you, but as you mentioned, there are laws in this country concerning confidentiality. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He cackled. “But trust me, Rubén Montenegro didn’t die in the mountains, despite your best efforts.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about,” Callendes said. A note of fear had crept into his voice. “Rubén Montenegro is dead. He disappeared. I do remember him now, come to think of it.”

“Amazing how your memory is returning. But he’s very much alive. In fact, he is out looking for a bed for us at this very moment. Mine is too small. I live in a small world, by definition.
Not only did I treat Rubén Montenegro after Rodriguez Sanchez attacked him so many years ago, but I also did the autopsy on the little boy who died on Christmas Eve as a result of a childabuse ring that Detective Sanchez was also involved in. Another coincidence: that boy was Arturo Montenegro. Rubén’s little brother.”

The priest stiffened. “They were related?”

“You see! You
do
know them. Perhaps you can think about that on your flight. Thanks to the Minister of the Interior, the Vatican is quite worried about this kind of thing. Word is that Rome has plans to excommunicate you the moment you step on European soil. I never thought of it, but that’s a form of banishment, isn’t it? It would deny you the sacraments, regardless of your prayers. Perhaps you’ll have time to consider praying to Santa Barbara. But I wouldn’t take too long, if I were you. I deal with death every day. We never have as much time as we think.”