The Foreign Girls

by Sergio Olguin

  “Get down here. Verónica’s in danger,” was all he said. It might be an exaggeration, but he would rather be alarmist than regret not having taken action, later.

  He went outside and saw Verónica walking towards her car. Mariano ran to the kitchen and luckily found Luca there. He said to him:

  “Verónica’s going somewhere. Something bad’s happening.”

  Luca picked up two large knives and without needing to say anything else, they walked round to the front entrance in time to see Verónica driving towards the main road. At that moment Federico arrived with his gun case and Mariano told him Verónica had left. They all got into Luca’s car and caught up with her at the junction with the main road.

  “Keep back. I don’t want her to think we’re following her,” said Mariano.

  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Federico had opened the case. He turned round to see what he was doing and found the young lawyer assembling a rifle.

  “Do you know how to use that?”

  “I certainly do,” said Federico.

  Mariano called the police station and asked to speak to Chief Superintendent Suárez. He explained that Verónica was investigating the double crime, that she had gone running out to meet someone, that they were at that moment following her and heading towards Los Cercos. The chief superintendent said that he had officers available but couldn’t send them off into the unknown. At best they could wait at Los Cercos. He gave Mariano his mobile phone number so he could call him directly.

  Arriving in the town, they saw Verónica take the first turn right. They followed at a distance, driving around a block. It was a small town with not much chance of getting lost. Soon they were back behind her car. They saw her get out, still speaking on the phone. Then they saw the motorbike waiting for her. She climbed on and the bike drove off. Mariano called Suárez again.

  “She arrived in Los Cercos, got out of the car and onto a motorbike. We’ll follow her, but I’m worried we’ll be spotted.”

  Luca was trying to keep his distance, but it was such a winding road that the motorcyclist seemed bound to spot them at some point. When they had been driving for about fifteen minutes, Luca suddenly braked.

  “What’s up?” asked Mariano.

  “I know where they’re going now. Get Suárez for me.”

  Mariano dialled the number and listened in astonishment as Luca gave him directions. He ended the call and started the car, advancing slowly, trying not to get too close to the motorbike. Luca must have felt Mariano’s gaze heavy upon him, because without lifting his eyes from the road ahead, he said, “Nahuel.”

  “That jerk,” said Mariano furiously.

  “There’s no other property for miles.”

  Two years ago, Luca had had an affair with Nahuel. Luca had told Mariano himself and, even though they had never talked about fidelity and initially had a very free relationship, in the last few years there had been nobody else, for either of them. When Mariano found out, he tried to put it out of his mind, but that didn’t last long. Unable to contain himself, there had been reproaches, accusations and deeply hurtful insults. It had been harder for them to recover from the things they had said to one another than from the affair itself. Mariano knew Nahuel used to take Luca to a ranch house he owned on land belonging to a relation of the Elizaldes. And that episode, which had been buried under other bad memories, now resurfaced with absolute clarity. It took him a few minutes to realize that if they were going to Nahuel’s bolthole, then the younger Elizalde was probably linked to the deaths of the tourists.

  Luca parked the car about two hundred yards before the entrance to the house. He guided them to a path that led to the back of the property. The area was covered by vegetation and the distance between it and the house was shorter; besides, it was less likely anyone would be monitoring that part of the property. They crept towards the window of a back room. The sound of crying came from inside: a girl was shut in there. Mariano let him see her at the window, indicating with a gesture that she should keep quiet, but the girl started screaming instead. She stopped when Federico pointed his rifle at her. There was no need to break the glass, because the window was unlocked. Once more they told the girl to keep quiet. From the other side of the door they heard men’s voices, laughter, someone crying. Federico tried to open the door, but it had been locked with a key the other side. Without saying a word, he shot off the lock. He opened the door and found the men and the girls kneeling on the floor.

  II

  Chief Superintendent Suárez had insisted that, as a minor, Mechi must be taken to the police station, where she could wait for a responsible adult to collect her. Federico explained that she lived with her grandmother and that it would be more traumatic for the elderly woman to have to go all the way there to get her. Much better if Verónica and the others took her home. The chief superintendent was so pleased by the arrest of the three convicts that he decided to overlook protocol: he let Mechi go with them and made no mention in his report of Federico’s rifle or Luca’s knife. That was partly to keep them out of trouble, but surely also to keep more glory for himself once the success of the operation became known.

  Suárez approached Verónica to ask if she was all right. With a few little pats on the shoulder, he told her she had been very brave. The tone he used to speak to her was quite different from the one he had used in the past. For once, there was no aggression or suspicion.

  Mechi was better, but still worried about her friend Rosalía. The police had taken her away with the three criminals. Verónica asked Suárez about this, explaining that the girl had nothing to do with the crimes.

  “I have to take her all the same. Unless one of the three implicates her, the district attorney’s sure to let her go.”

  “And does DA Decaux already know what happened?”

  “He’s going to give a press conference within the hour at the police station. I’m sure he’ll call the girl’s parents and let her go then.”

  As soon as the chief superintendent allowed it, they left. Stopping off in Los Cercos, Luca went to La Pulpería and bought water for them all. They needed this break, especially Mechi, whose face was still swollen from crying. Mariano and Luca chatted to keep her distracted.

  “Are you studying anything?”

  “I’m going to go back to night school over there.” She pointed to the other side of the square, where a flagpole was flying the Argentine flag.

  “So you work.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a cleaner for the Arreguis.”

  “And are you happy with that work?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to look for something else.”

  “Do you know how to cook?”

  “My grandmother’s a really good cook. And I help her.”

  “Grandmothers are always good cooks,” said Luca.

  “Not mine,” Mariano objected.

  There were a few seconds’ silence, then Luca made Mechi an offer:

  “We have a hotel in Yacanto, the Posada de Don Humberto. You’ve probably seen it. I need a kitchen assistant. If you’re interested in learning to cook…”

  They parted ways in Los Cercos. Luca and Mariano continued by car to Yacanto; the others got into Verónica’s car, which she had left parked there, and drove to Mechi’s house. Verónica travelled in the back with her and held her hand. Mechi squeezed it tightly. They travelled the rest of the way like that, the contact more intense than a hug or stroking. They only let go when they reached Mechi’s house, by which time Verónica’s arm had pins and needles.

  “Mechi, I don’t want to bombard you with questions just now, but the person who spoke to me on the phone wasn’t one of the three arrested.”

  “No. There was another one, who left.”

  “Did you see him? What was he like?”

  “Tall, muscly, a pretty boy. They called him Nahuel. He was speaking on the phone with a handkerchief over his mouth. When I told them I kn
ew you, he said he was going to save his brother something.”

  “Did he say anything else about his brother?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  III

  Verónica let the hot water run over her. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of anything, to empty her mind, to detach herself from the physical sensations that still persisted, to let the water wash everything away once and for all. For half an hour she stood under the shower. She didn’t want to cry or feel afraid, nor to remember anything that had happened; she just wanted to think of it as an accident: she had suffered no broken bones, no injuries, just shock and a feeling that she was going to die, that they were going to rape and kill her. Like Frida and Petra had died. It was only when she thought of the girls that her body began to shake. And no, she couldn’t allow that. Those men didn’t deserve her fear. It was an accident, she was alive, there were no visible injuries.

  A few minutes earlier, in the car, after dropping off Mechi, Verónica had said to Federico:

  “Nahuel, Ramiro’s brother. He’s the one behind all this. And surely Ramiro too. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe —”

  “Nobody’s going to put Nahuel or Ramiro in jail. Three arrests have been made now. Tomorrow everyone will consider the case closed.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “No. I know how the judges, politicians and prominent families operate in this province. Only a few days ago we had an Umbanda priest looking at twenty years in the clink despite having nothing to do with the crime. At least we know that these three delinquents are guilty.”

  “But they’re not the only ones.”

  “They’re never the only ones.”

  For a few minutes neither of them spoke.

  “Vero, we have to go back to Buenos Aires.”

  “You know what I feel? That ever since you arrived in Tucumán your main objective has been to get me to go back home.”

  “You’re being unfair.”

  “There’s another man, or two others, who are also guilty of this crime, who are free and who may kill someone else.”

  “These aren’t serial killers.”

  “How do you know? It’s easy for you to say they won’t do it again. Say that to Mechi, who was almost raped and murdered. Say it to me.”

  “I am saying it to you.”

  “Besides, I promised Roxana they were all going to jail. So she could give her evidence and see justice done for Bibi. And six years ago Ramiro was abusing Roxana. What do you know about what this guy and his brother are capable of?”

  “Do whatever you like. But I’ll tell you what happens at the end. The judge doesn’t want to try anyone else. He’s a friend of the Elizaldes. The Minister of Justice is going to resign and the person who replaces him is going to be grateful for this crime because it landed him a job as minister. However much this new minister says otherwise, he’s not going to get to the bottom of anything.”

  “Were you always so cynical? Were you always so like my father?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  They had arrived at the hotel. As soon as the car stopped, Verónica jumped out and went to their room. She stood under the shower for as long as it took to feel that she was recovering her own body.

  When she came out, Federico was not in the room. Nor did he appear in the following hour. He must be in the bar or sleeping in another room. It was now after midnight and Verónica decided to go to bed. She didn’t sleep well, waking up several times. She had cramps and cold sweats. She dreamed of the squashed rodent she had seen at the house in San Javier. Only now it was alive and crawling all over her, her stomach, breasts and neck, leaving a trail of sticky blood wherever it went.

  Finally, as dawn was breaking, she fell into a deep sleep, undisturbed for two or three hours.

  When she opened her eyes, Federico was sitting in the armchair, watching her.

  “Have you been there long?” she asked.

  “A while. I couldn’t sleep all night. I couldn’t settle into the room Mariano and Luca kindly gave me. I asked them for the bill for our stay and they sent me packing.”

  “I’m going to stay a few more days.”

  “We need to have a conversation about that.”

  “Don’t start that again.”

  “I’m going to have a shower, then let’s have breakfast and talk afterwards.”

  IV

  It had been a long and uncomfortable night. Federico hadn’t even gone to bed. Seeing that he and Verónica had argued, Mariano had found him alternative accommodation. In the new room, he turned on his computer, looked at his emails, answered a few and then copied the three files from the memory stick. He didn’t watch them again; he remembered each of them perfectly.

  Federico had to make a decision that couldn’t be put off any longer. Whatever he decided would have enormous consequences for his life. Aarón would never forgive him if he handed the videos to Verónica. He was quite sure that, if any other lawyer at the firm did something similar, they would never practise law again. Aarón wouldn’t be so hard on him, but there would still be consequences.

  Verónica was right. The system of legal protections that the Elizaldes and even the Menéndez Bertis enjoyed would not allow them to go to prison. However much they hated one another, they knew not to rock the boat. Nicolás would do nothing to push for the brothers’ conviction. He would settle for clearing his name. An article in the local paper, something in the national press and a slap on the back from the governor would be gestures enough.

  It wasn’t the first time Rosenthal and Associates had covered up a crime. Federico couldn’t remember their having concealed a murder, though, at least not in the time he had been there. They had saved money launderers, the odd corrupt businessman, they had eliminated all trace of an inconvenient lover for a politician (without doing anything to her, of course, just buying her silence) and lobbied particular judges. Nothing Federico needed to lose sleep over.

  And after so many years with Aarón, he had managed to grow a thicker skin that allowed him to set aside a few just causes. Cynicism is very catching. And perhaps he would have done the same in this case, if Verónica had not been caught up in it. Perhaps he had less of a vocation for justice than a desire to feel useful to her. Then again, perhaps he really was guided by conviction, by the same beliefs that had motivated him to study law in the first place.

  Once more Federico ran the case of the murdered tourists through his head. A power struggle within the judiciary and the Tucumán and Salta police forces, involving the Menéndez Berti and Elizalde families, had played out in a small Tucumanian town. The Elizalde brothers had wanted to divert attention from what was happening in San Miguel de Tucumán by getting other men to assault and kill the girls. To rape and then kill them: a small matter for the brothers and a clear message to the Menéndez Bertis, who also had no interest in the truth being revealed.

  The third video on the memory stick he deleted. Dawn was breaking. He went to Verónica’s room and found her fast asleep. She was so beautiful he could have spent hours watching her breathing. And that is what he did, staying beside her until she woke up. He invited her to breakfast. In the dining room, Federico passed her the memory stick with all the discretion of someone handing over drugs. Verónica asked him what it was.

  “There were cameras in the Menéndez Berti house. There are two recordings here that compromise Nahuel Elizalde.”

  “How did you get hold of them?”

  “Nicolás gave them to me.”

  “And he gave them to you personally?”

  “He gave them to Rosenthal and Associates to put pressure on the Elizalde brothers and to get the authorities off his back.”

  “But my father —”

  “Vero – let’s concentrate on doing what we can with what we have. If I give these videos to Judge Amalfi, he’ll throw them in the trash. It won’t be the first time a judge has dismissed incriminating evidence. DA Decaux has fallen ou
t with the judge, and that plays in our favour. He wouldn’t dare go against the judge in every case, but if there’s media pressure, the guy is going to jump on the bandwagon. And we should give a copy to Superintendent Suarez, too, just in case.”

  “If María says it on television, you can guarantee there will be reverberations everywhere. Although you run the risk of it seeming anecdotal. What we need is a piece explaining all the details, the links between the murder of the girls and the narco police.”

  “You can do that.”

  “No, I’m not going to write about it. And is there any evidence connected to Ramiro?”

  “Nothing in these videos. But Nicolás has no doubt he’s the main culprit. Nahuel wouldn’t have been bold enough to do anything without the approval of his older brother. Besides, there’s what Mechi heard.”

  “That he could save his brother something? What things can you save someone? Time or money. So if it wasn’t time, it must have been money. Did Ramiro hire someone to kill me?”

  “It’s possible. For that reason, once you’ve given your colleagues all the information, we’re going back to Buenos Aires. You’re going to be safer there than if you stay here.”

  “So there’s no way to prove Ramiro’s involvement?”

  “I suppose we’ll have to resign ourselves to seeing only one of the Elizaldes locked up.”

  Verónica headed to her room to talk to Patricia Beltrán and to read over her article about the murder committed by Captain Aráoz. Meanwhile, Federico went out for a walk. He had taken a giant step, one that would be confirmed once he arrived back in Buenos Aires and handed in his resignation to Aarón Rosenthal. An important chapter in his life was coming to an end.