The Silent and the Damned (51 page)

'I think this is too much for you today, Sebastián,' she said. 'You're driving your mind too hard.'

'Please let me get this out,' he said. 'Just this one thing.'

'What did you extract from these stories?' said Alicia Aguado. 'Just tell me that.'

'Yes, yes, that was the beginning of it,' he said. 'What I saw in these stories that was relevant to me was that… the abused become abusers themselves. When I first read that I didn't think it could be possible… that I could end up with the same sly little look that Uncle Ignacio had when he sat on my bed at night. But when you're lonely, doubt creates more doubt, and I really began to think that it could be something that might happen to me. That I wouldn't be able to control it. Already, I found that kids liked me and I liked them. I loved to share in their innocence. I loved to be with them in their unconscious world. No past horrors, no future worries, just the glorious unravelling present. And the thought grew that eventually I might do something unspeakable, and I lived in constant fear of it. And then one day I couldn't bear it any longer and I thought that I would just do it. When the moment came, though… I couldn't, but it didn't matter any more because the fear inside me was already so great.

I let him go, Manolo, and while I waited for the police to come I found myself praying for them to put me in a cell and throw away the key.'

'But you couldn't do it, Sebastián,' she said. 'You didn't do it.'

'My fear was not telling me that. My fear was telling me that eventually it would happen.'

'But what did you feel when you faced the reality of your intention?'

'I felt nothing but revulsion. I felt that this would be a very wrong, unnatural and cruel thing to do.'

Falcón dropped Alicia back in Calle Vidrio and continued home. He went to his study with a bottle, and a glass full of ice. The whisky tasted good after the day he'd had. He sat in his study with his feet up on the desk, thinking about the man he'd been only twelve hours ago. He wasn't depressed, which surprised him. He felt oddly solid, connected and determined, and he realized that anger was holding him together. He wanted to get Consuelo back and he wanted to bury Ignacio Ortega.

Virgilio Guzmán arrived punctually at 10 p.m. Falcón poured him a whisky and they sat in the study. After the morning's outburst, he'd expected Guzmán to come in hard about the cover-up he'd smelt in the Jefatura, but he seemed more interested in talking about his holiday in Mallorca, which was coming up in a week's time.

'What's happened to the crusading journalist who stormed out of my office this morning?' asked Falcón.

'Drugs,' said Guzmán. 'The whole reason I left Madrid was to come down here and lead a more relaxed lifestyle. I get a whiff of that story and I go mad. My blood pressure went through the roof. Now I'm on tranquillizers and, you know, life's really quite nice when it comes to you filtered.'

'Does that mean you're dropping the story?'

'Doctor's orders.'

They sat in silence while Falcón tested that for veracity.

'Did someone talk to you, Virgilio?'

'It's a very close-knit community down here,' said Guzmán. 'The paper's not going to run with it unless somebody else cracks it open first. And you know something, Javier? I don't give a shit. That's drugs for you.'

'How about giving me some advice, as an impartial observer?'

'Don't make me drink too much whisky,' he said. 'It doesn't mix with the drugs.'

Falcón told him everything about the cover-up: the Montes finca, the dead bodies up in the sierra, the arsonists, the tape – both the original and the copy upstairs. Guzmán listened and nodded throughout as if this was stuff that came to his ears every day.

'What do you want from all this?' said Guzmán. 'What's your minimum requirement?'

'To put Ignacio Ortega away for a very long time.'

'That's understandable. He sounds like a very nasty piece of work.'

'Do you think I'm being too narrow-minded?' said Falcón. 'Should I be gunning for our hallowed institutions?'

'That's the whisky talking,' said Guzmán. 'You haven't got a chance. Concentrate on Ortega.'

'He seems to be well protected by his connections.'

'So, how do you weaken that protection to get at him?'

'I don't know.'

'Well, that's your training. You're trained to think within the limits of the law,' said Guzmán, putting down his empty whisky glass. 'I'm going now before it's too late.'

'And you're not going to tell me?'

'It wouldn't be right for me to tell you. I don't want that responsibility,' said Guzmán. 'The answer's in front of you, but I don't want to be the one to infect your mind.'

'Bad night?' asked Ramírez, looking out over the Jefatura car park.

'Bad dreams. Bad night,' said Falcón. 'I lay awake fantasizing about nailing the Russians.'

'Tell me.'

'I thought I'd go to Ignacio Ortega and ask to be put on the Russian payroll. Tell him I liked the look of the hundred and eighty thousand euros Sra Montes was caught with.'

'Was it that much?'

'That's what Lobo told me,' said Falcón. 'I could spin Ortega some line – that I could be the guy running the Grupo de Menores while they find a suitable replacement for Montes…'

'That would never happen for a start,' said Ramírez.

'Then I'd persuade him to set up a meeting with the Russians.'

'And he'd believe you?'

'Well no, but he'd do it anyway and then I'd find out where the meeting was to take place and secretly let you know.'

'I'm not even sure that this fantasy is B-movie quality.'

'The meeting would take place in a garage in the middle of nowhere. I'd be with Ortega. We'd be sitting around an oil drum waiting for the Russians. We'd hear a car coming from some way off. Then Ivanov and Zelenov would arrive. They'd give me a very ugly interview in which it was clear they didn't believe a word I was saying. And just when they'd got to the point of laughing at me, the garage door would crack open and you'd come in and blow them all away.'

'My kids could think of something better than that.'

'Maybe instead of you coming in blasting away we could think of something more subtle. The garage door would still crack open. It always does that. But you'd only cover them with your gun. I'd disarm them. Then the shutter to the main entrance of the garage would roll up and there would be police cars, with flashing lights – that's another thing that always happens. One of the police cars would reverse in. The Russians would be cuffed and, as they were being put into the car, they would turn to see us slapping Ortega on the back, shaking his hand, and they'd think that they'd been served up. By the time they reached the Jefatura the defence lawyer would already be there. The same one from the tape in Montes's finca. They'd be out in four hours. Then cut to Ortega's house. Ignacio sitting at his desk, listening to Julio Iglesias on his perfect sound system, eyes closed until an alien sound opens them and… the horror. Two silenced shots. Blood flowers on his white shirt and his face is ruined.'

'The audience would be drinking beers before the credits rolled,' said Ramírez.

Ferrera put her head round the door to say good morning.

'Let's have a talk,' said Falcón.

Ferrera backed into the outer office. Ramírez went to close the door.

'You too, Policía Ferrera,' said Falcón, and Ramírez narrowed his eyes at him. 'Close the door behind you.'

They sat around the desk.

'We're the voices of experience here,' said Falcón. 'And you, Policía Ferrera, are the voice of morality.'

'Is that in my role as ex-nun?'

'You're in,' said Ramírez. 'That's all that matters. So shut up and listen.'

'I think you've realized by now that there's a cover- up going on,' said Falcón. 'The crimes committed at the Montes finca are being covered up from both ends. Because of Montes's involvement, the Jefatura is vulnerable to attack from the politicians. There is fear amongst our masters that a major scandal, involving a number of figures from public life, may cause a collapse of faith, and they are determined to maintain the dignity and integrity of their institutions. The three of us know that what went on in the Montes finca was wrong and that the perpetrators should face justice and public shaming. Comisario Lobo has told me that everything that has happened at the finca will be documented. He has been unable to guarantee that any of it will be heard. He has only been able to assuage my sense of outrage by assuring me that no one involved in what went on in that finca will get away scot free. They will suffer loss of position, status and wealth.'

'I'm crying for them already,' said Ramírez. 'What about the media?'

'Virgilio Guzmán said they wouldn't touch it unless somebody else broke the story first,' said Falcón. 'He's ill and has had to go on medication.'

'What did I tell you about that guy?' said Ramírez.

'The Russians are untouchable. They've pulled their money out of the Vega projects. They've threatened Vázquez's family. Our only access to them is through Ignacio Ortega, and he isn't about to pass on our card. We have no physical evidence, even of their money- laundering operations, which is presentable in court. We couldn't justify arresting them even if we
could
get to them.'

'What chance have we got of taking Ortega down?' asked Ramírez.

'He is protected. That's how he survives. As we've seen from his secret filming in the finca, he has the dirt on everybody. That's why we've been cut off from all forensic information and everything has to be directed through Comisario Elvira. All we have now is the tape.'

'What tape?' asked Ferrera.

'The arsonists stole a television and video from the finca before they torched it. The video recorder was loaded with a tape which shows four men having sex with minors,' said Falcón. 'The original is with Elvira. We have retained a copy.'

'What about the Madrid newspapers?' asked Ramírez.

'That's a possibility, but we would have to give them the whole story and it would all have to be backed up with information we don't have access to. There would be no question of anonymity. We would be seen as having broken ranks with the Jefatura and we'd be out on our own, probably facing the end of our careers. There's also a lot that's unpredictable in using the media, even our own here. You put people with their backs to the wall and they will fight dirty. We could all end up getting hurt – your families too – and we still might not get the result we're looking for.'

'Let's send a copy each to their wives and get on with our lives,' said Ramírez.

'But we still wouldn't take Ortega down,' said Falcón.

Silence for some time, broken only by the metronome of Ramírez's huge finger thumping up and down on the edge of the desk.

'Something that would give me a lot of pleasure,' said Ramírez, looking up at the ceiling as if for divine inspiration, 'would be to give my old friend from the barrio a private showing of his part of the tape. That would mean I'd get to see his face, and then I would tell him that there was nothing I could do about it, but that he could have words with Ignacio Ortega.'

'Words?' asked Falcón.

'He'd kill him,' said Ramírez. 'I know that guy. He would not let anybody live with that kind of hold over him.'

Silence again. Cristina Ferrera looked up to find both men's eyes fixed on her.

'You're not serious, are you?' she said.

'And then I could arrest him for murder,' said Ramírez.

'I can't believe you're even asking me to contemplate thinking about such a thing,' said Ferrera. 'If you
are
serious, you don't need a moral guide, you need a full transplant.'

Falcón laughed. Ramírez joined in with a loud guffaw. Relief spread across Ferrera's face from the small nose outwards.

'Well, nobody can say we didn't consider every possibility,' said Falcón.

'I'm going back to the computer,' she said and left, closing the door behind her.

'Were you being serious?' asked Ramírez, leaning over the desk.

Falcón didn't move a muscle in his face.

'Joder,'
said Ramírez. 'That would have been something.'

The phone rang very loudly, startling both men. Falcón snatched it to his ear. He listened carefully while Ramírez rolled an unlit cigarette in his fingers.

'You've made a very courageous decision, Sr Lopez,' said Falcón, and put the phone down.

'Some good news at last?' said Ramírez, putting the cigarette into his mouth.

'That was the father of the boy who was supposedly abused by Sebastián Ortega. The boy, Manolo, is on his way back to Seville now. He's going to come straight to the Jefatura and give a revised and completely true account of what happened.'

'That's not going to be much of a wedding present for Juez Calderón.'

'But you know what that means, don't you, José Luis?'

The unlit cigarette dropped into Ramírez's lap.

The phone rang again. This time it was Juez Calderón, confirming that he now had a signed search warrant for Vega's safe-deposit box, held in the name of Emilio Cruz at the Banco Banesto. Falcón picked up the box key and the two men left for the Edificio de los Juzgados. On the way out he told Ferrera that Manolo Lopez was going to arrive with his mother to make a revised video statement and that he wanted her to read the Ortega file, prepare the questions, and interview him.

They drove to the Edificio de los Juzgados. Calderón's secretary gave Ramírez the search warrant. They continued to the Banco Banesto and asked to see the manager. They showed their IDs and the warrant and were taken down into the vault. Falcón signed himself in and the manager accompanied them to the boxes. She inserted her key, turned it once and left them to it. Falcón used his key and they pulled out the stainless steel-covered box, which they put on a table in the middle of the room.