The Foreign Girls

by Sergio Olguin

“What do you need?”

  “It’s about your arrest.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that. It was a police error.”

  “This lady was a friend of the murdered girls,” Ramona said.

  “I don’t think I can help her.”

  Pae Daniel was nothing if not intransigent. He had decided not to talk and seemed determined to stick to his guns.

  “Somebody wanted to make you look guilty of the double homicide. They not only attacked you but also insulted your beliefs. And that person is connected with the deaths of my friends.”

  “I can’t think how I can help you.”

  “That person planted false evidence to incriminate you. It’s clear that person knows something about Umbanda, and perhaps even practises it. And if they practise Umbanda, you must know them.”

  The pae considered this for a few minutes. Finally, he invited them in.

  The room was full of candles, but only a few were lit. Verónica was surprised to see an enormous image of Jesus Christ. There were other smaller images too, both of Christian saints and of Afro-Brazilian gods. The room smelled pungently of a sweet perfume.

  “If they had asked me,” Ramona said, “I would have told them you didn’t do it. You would never use a white cockerel.”

  “Perhaps the person deliberately did the ritual wrong to avoid annoying Ogum.”

  “The district attorney didn’t ask who, other than you, could have assembled the elements that linked the deaths with Umbanda?” Verónica asked.

  “No. He was too busy asking about the orgies we organize. All I did was try to prove my innocence.”

  The pae walked over to a sideboard and took out a photo album.

  “There are twelve children of Ile who visit me every week. You might think it could have been any of them, but no. I know each one of them. I know their spiritual quality and I know it’s impossible it was an initiate. But just over a year ago a woman used to come who wasn’t interested in Umbanda but in the kimbanda rituals that would allow her to harm someone. And that negative attitude was transmitted to the group. She contaminated it. I had to throw her out. Since we always take photographs of our ceremonies, I have some of her.”

  Pae Daniel showed them a picture of a woman dressed in red, surrounded by men in red and black who seemed to be dancing. There were other photos of her. She was a woman of about fifty, thin and with hair dyed light brown.

  “And you believe it’s her?”

  “I believe in Zambí. It’s very possible that this is her work.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Adriana Vázquez. She lives on the way out of Los Cercos, on the road with the roses. It must be the second or third house.”

  VI

  When they returned to the hotel, Federico said he would look into Vázquez. Verónica, meanwhile, returned to the material she had gathered at Robson’s house. Once more she was drawn to the case of Aráoz senior. The only article linking him to the military quoted the Tucumán Association of Human Rights as a source. She looked up their telephone number, rang it and was put through to the secretary of the association. He had been active in the group since the late 1980s and was well aware of Aráoz, who was at that time one of the defendants in the “mega case” trial for violation of human rights during the dictatorship, but he didn’t remember the case of the girl who was raped and murdered. He asked if he could take Verónica’s number and get back to her after he had looked at Aráoz’s file. Twenty minutes later he called to say he hadn’t found any information to link Aráoz to a crime like that. He clarified that it was very probable the information had not been kept if it hadn’t been a crime committed as part of state repression in that era.

  Verónica had to make an effort not to say something rude. The man was undoubtedly working for a noble cause. Fighting certain battles meant leaving aside other, equally valid ones. A feminist association would surely have taken the girl’s death into account but not that of an adolescent male, victim of a police death squad. Verónica didn’t question just causes, but the indifference that certain activists or social warriors showed towards crusades other than their own was no less annoying. And she was certainly in no position to throw the first stone. After all, she had passed over hundreds of other crimes that did not fit the profile of her own investigation. She hadn’t paused to consider cases of people missing through trafficking, or of young casualties of the drugs war, or victims of police abuse.

  Yes, she was in a very bad mood. She called Federico to ask him to see what he could find both on the woman Vázquez and the current circumstances of Aráoz senior. Federico called her back within the hour.

  “Guillermo Aráoz, retired captain of the Argentine army. Civilian life hasn’t treated him badly. He has land – not only here, but in Salta and Córdoba. He’s a member of the Rural Society of Tucumán. At one point he was treasurer, but now he’s retired from all administrative roles. He also dabbled in politics in the nineties and got as far as provincial congressman for the Fuerza Republicana party.”

  “A man of conviction.”

  “You bet. These days he spends his time on outings with the grandchildren and taking his wife to Miami to refresh her wardrobe.”

  “How can I find him?”

  “I’ve got phone numbers, addresses and an up-to-date photo. I’ll send you everything right now. But I warn you that the guy doesn’t give interviews, he doesn’t speak to anyone from outside his circle. That’s on the advice of his lawyers from the Rivelli practice, which specializes in defending military men who’ve been prosecuted for crimes against humanity. That’s the crime Aráoz is being tried for. And here’s the icing on the cake —”

  “Don’t talk to me about cake.”

  “Everything’s connected. Captain Aráoz is a member of the sailing club your young man frequents. Plus, every Saturday he has lunch there with the same group of people. All old farts like him. Tomorrow is Saturday. Get lover boy to invite you to his exclusive club and we’ll be laughing.”

  “You’d be perfect if you weren’t such an idiot.”

  “That’s what my mother says when she hears me talking to you.”

  Before ending the call, Verónica asked if he had found out anything about Adriana Vázquez. Federico said he was still looking into it, but that it would probably be a few hours before he came up with anything.

  She called Ramiro, who sounded quite defensive on the line. She suggested meeting up and he invited her to dinner that night. Verónica proposed lunch the next day at Club Náutico. Ramiro thought that was a good idea, because he had been thinking of taking the boat out. They agreed that he would pick her up at the hotel shortly before lunch the following day.

  VII

  The old-school investigator was a thing of the past: these days the same work could be done by hackers. It was no longer necessary to hire an ex-police officer to get the information you needed; you just handed over the coordinates and the hacker did the rest. Federico was grateful for the services of La Sombra: not only could he break into a computer network system, but he also knew the right places to look for information. He used his initiative, analysing scenarios, evaluating the scant material given him and working miracles with it.

  Once more, Federico called La Sombra. He asked him to find out everything he could on Adriana Vázquez. All he had to go on was the woman’s name and the place she lived. It wasn’t long before La Sombra called back with what he needed: a complete report that culminated in a revelation:

  “Vázquez has two sons: Sebastián and Álvaro. They’re labourers. They’re currently working in the area, on land belonging to Menéndez Berti.”

  Federico didn’t need to ask for the brothers’ work address. If Adriana Vázquez’s sons had something to do with the death of the two girls, then Nicolás Menéndez Berti could be involved. He really didn’t like the way the pieces of this story were coming together. He called Aarón Rosenthal and told him the latest.

  “What did Menéndez B
erti tell you?”

  “He seemed innocent enough, although he was nervous. Which is understandable given that the two women had been at his party.”

  “Perhaps he was nervous because he knew more than he was letting on. Go and see him, tell him about this Vázquez woman and see if this time he tells you what he knows.”

  He went to Nicolás’s house without calling first. Better not to give him time to prepare his answers. Nicolás showed him into the same room as before. Federico told him what he had learned about Vázquez and her sons.

  “If they’re responsible for these deaths, your situation looks more complicated.”

  “There’s no reason why it should, because I’m absolutely innocent. I don’t have, nor did I have, anything to do with those girls. They came to my party along with dozens of other people, many of whom I don’t even know. As for my employees, I’m obviously not putting my neck on the line for them. I know those lads. They don’t seem like bad sorts, but I wouldn’t be all that surprised if they were the ones who’d done it.”

  “Are they still working for you? Are they here?”

  “They stopped coming. The foreman told me. I thought they had quit. That’s quite common.”

  “And when did they stop coming?”

  “I think it was the day after the party. Yes, of course, the day after the party some of the labourers had the day off, and those two never came back.”

  “Were they the only ones?”

  “No, there was another one who didn’t return. Javier Reyes.”

  It was evening by the time he left, and he called Judge Amalfi. The judge was surprised to hear about all they had found out while the district attorney was still empty-handed. He told Federico that Decaux wasn’t a man you could trust. The judge was thinking of sending Chief Superintendent Suárez to Vázquez’s house with a summons and informing the DA of the fact. Decaux would be annoyed, but he didn’t care about that.

  “Call me tomorrow and I’ll let you know what’s happening,” said the judge, sounding friendly.

  When Federico spoke to Amalfi again, he had already made some decisions.

  “We’re going to search the homes of Vázquez and Reyes. The three men haven’t been back home since the women were killed. Reyes is married and his wife is pregnant, which makes his absence even more suspicious. I want to compare DNA samples from these three with the semen traces found on the victims.”

  “What about Adriana Vázquez?”

  “I’m going to take a statement from her and, if she’s responsible for the black magic nonsense, I’ll put her in prison. I’ve already given instructions to the Chief Superintendent and the DA. I hope we may be close to solving this case.”

  VIII

  Five started from a reassuring premise: if he was ever arrested before killing someone, the only thing he could be charged with was attempted murder. There were no warrants out against him, and he was not the suspect in any crime. All his jobs had been carried out with the discretion, rigour and speed required by a profession that allowed no margin for error. The price of a mistake was prison or death. Prison wasn’t forever, but it took its toll. You were no longer so effective. The big jobs went to other people, the money went down.

  Five and Three stopped the car a hundred yards from the back entrance to the Posada de Don Humberto and waited. The arrival of the cook signalled the start of the day’s activity. The cook left the gate unlocked, so that suppliers could come in and out freely. One of the advantages of living in a small town.

  They got out of the car and strode towards the property. There was no need to talk. They knew exactly what they had to do. Three quietly opened the gate and they entered the internal courtyard. There was no one to be seen, no movement anywhere. The dawn chorus was under way and a cockerel crowed in the distance. They walked towards the door leading to the rooms on the first floor.

  The corridor lights came on automatically. Room twenty-four was the second one along. They would need to break the lock with a single shot, then shoot the target. No more than ten seconds could pass between the first and second shots. Five took out his gun and shot at the door. Even with the silencer, the blast echoed down the hall. Three also had his Glock in his hand. He went in first, with Five behind him.

  There was nobody in the bed. It wasn’t even unmade, nor were there any suitcases, or any sign that the room was occupied. They opened the bathroom door knowing they weren’t going to find anyone there.

  “They fucked us over,” said Three.

  “Let’s abort, go back to the car and wait for instructions,” said Five.

  “No.”

  Three took the lead and Five followed him. He had been given no instructions on what to do if Three reacted in this way. Five had hesitated and Three had seized the initiative. By the time Five realized what was happening, they were on their way to the reception area, weapons in hand.

  The receptionist saw them arrive but froze on the spot, unable to react. Three grabbed him by the neck and pointed the gun at his forehead.

  “Where is Verónica Rosenthal?”

  Stammering and almost crying, the employee said:

  “I don’t know, I only work at night. The owners are the ones who will know.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They live in the house at the back of the hotel.”

  In normal circumstances, they would have had to kill him. Never leave a witness alive. But Five saw things weren’t going well and thought that killing the man might make it worse. So he grabbed hold of the receptionist and told him to lead them to the house.

  Together, the men walked the length of the hotel. Five and Three had both concealed their guns in case they ran into anyone. At that moment a fruit and vegetable delivery van drove in through the back gate, but its occupants paid no heed to the three men. The receptionist pointed out a door to them. Five directed Three to open it. Three shot at it and the lock gave way.

  They entered the living room and, as they walked towards a bedroom, a man appeared with another behind him.

  “Where’s Verónica Rosenthal?” Three asked again.

  The man who had appeared first said he didn’t know what they were talking about. Three walked over to him and smacked him in the face with the butt of the pistol. The man gave a howl of pain and fell onto the floor.

  “She’s in room number eight, on the ground floor,” the other man said.

  “Where is that?” asked Five, not realizing someone had come into the house and was pointing a gun at Three.

  “Put down the Glock or I’ll spray your brains all over the floor.”

  There was a good chance Five would be quick enough to shoot the man before he killed him. The man would probably hit Three but not manage to fire a second shot. Suddenly everything was out of control. He had been wrong to follow Three in his mania. Things could get much worse if they resisted. Five laid his weapon on the ground and shouted at Three.

  “Put the gun down, don’t be stupid.”

  Three put his pistol on the table. The man must be a cop. He made them lie on the floor with their hands behind their heads. They did as he said.

  They waited there for five minutes without anyone moving, until they heard the sound of police sirens. They were going to prison. Three already had several charges against him, but he himself could only be charged with aggravated assault. They hadn’t even tried to kill anyone. That wasn’t entirely reassuring, though. When Doctor Zero found out, he was going to be furious.

  12 Family Matters

  I

  Everyone was angry. Luca was annoyed with Mariano because he refused to go to hospital, despite the cut to his lip. Mariano was indignant because Luca let everyone else apart from him be right. Federico was livid with both Luca and Mariano because they hadn’t told him about their newly implemented security system. Verónica was furious with Luca, with Mariano and with Federico because nobody had told her about anything and they treated her like someone with a weak heart, someone who couldn�
��t be exposed to any kind of upset lest she keel over and die.

  The police had taken Three and Five to the police station in Yacanto del Valle. Chief Superintendent Suárez was furious because he had the feeling these people (who had even hired one of his men) did whatever they felt like without him knowing what was happening in his own town. He had asked the witnesses to come to the station and make a statement.

  “I’m not eight years old, you can’t treat me like a little girl who needs protecting. I have a right to know what people are saying behind my back. I know you mean well, but share what you know with me. I’m not going to go out with a sign that says ‘shoot me’.”

  “Verónica,” said Federico, “we do what we can and however we can. Obviously I needed to be in the loop,” he added, looking at Mariano, while Luca nodded and applied ice to his partner’s lip.

  “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to seem paranoid or alarmist.”

  “You should see a doctor. To be sure there are no internal injuries.”

  “All the same, I want to tell you all that I’m very grateful to you for looking after me,” Verónica said. “If not for you, I’d be dead.”

  “This is where we all hug one another and exchange high fives,” said Mariano. “But I suggest we go to the hotel dining room and have breakfast instead. It’s a bit early, but I don’t think anyone feels like going back to sleep.”

  After breakfast, Verónica went out alone for a walk in the town. It was a hot day, but she had heard somewhere that rain was on its way. She hadn’t seen rain since first arriving in Tucumán. Around mid-morning, Mechi rang.

  “I spoke to Bibi’s friends and got hold of Roxana’s number. She’s living in San Miguel. I phoned her and she told me you should call her. I asked the other friends if they knew anything about El Gringo and they clammed up. They don’t want to talk.”

  “And Roxana?”

  “I don’t think she wants to either. Call her, go and see her.”