A Murder of No Consequence

by James Garcia Woods

  ‘I thought you didn’t know I’d been here before,’ Paco said.

  ‘I . . . I remember now,’ Luis answered unconvincingly.

  ‘And Paulina was in her working clothes. She didn’t know I wanted to talk to her. Even I didn’t know until after I’d talked to Doña Mercedes. So let’s cut the crap. Where is she?’

  ‘It’s like I told you, it’s her day off,’ Luis said, starting to pull himself together again.

  ‘We’ve already established that she was working this—’

  ‘None of the servants ever have the whole day free. She was on duty until noon.’

  Who was the valet covering up for? Paco wondered. Paulina? No, he wouldn’t stick his neck out so far for a mere maid. So it was back to the family – which meant that his first instinct had been right, and the girl’s murder was somehow political.

  ‘You’re lying to me, aren’t you?’ Paco said accusingly.

  The valet had recovered enough to allow a thin smile to come to his lips. ‘Am I?’ he asked.

  Like his mistress, he was so bloody sure of himself, Paco thought – so convinced that as long as he was under the protection of Eduardo Herrera, no harm could come to him.

  ‘Why won’t Doña Mercedes let me talk to Paulina?’ Paco said. ‘What’s she afraid the girl’s going to tell me?’

  The smile on Luis’s face had become a full-blown smirk. ‘The mistress is afraid of nothing Paulina or anyone else might tell you,’ he said, ‘because she is a great lady of Spain, and you are a mere inspector of police.’

  ‘What about you?’ Paco asked.

  ‘Me?’ the valet said.

  ‘Do you know what happened to the dress? Can you tell me the identity of the dead girl in the park?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Luis replied, and Paco was almost – but not quite – certain that he was lying. The valet took a step backwards. ‘You had your chance to talk to Paulina this morning,’ he said. ‘Now, as far as this household is concerned, the matter is closed.’

  ‘The matter’s far from closed,’ Paco said hotly. ‘A young woman has died, and somebody is going to have to pay for it.’

  ‘Perhaps somebody will,’ Luis agreed. ‘But it will not be anyone from this family.’ He took a further step backwards into the apartment. ‘Goodbye, Inspector. If your career matters to you, it would be wisest for you not to come here again.’

  For several seconds after Luis had gone, Paco stood staring at the thick oak door which separated him from the truth. He would be back, he promised it. Oh yes, he would be back.

  Chapter Ten

  The message had said that Captain Hidalgo wanted to see him urgently, but now that Paco was actually in his chief’s office, Hidalgo seemed in no hurry to talk – seemed, in fact, absorbed by the pile of reports he was shuffling in his big hands.

  ‘The bloody thing must be somewhere amongst this lot,’ he said agitatedly, without bothering to explain exactly which bloody thing he was looking for.

  Paco, standing to attention, shifted his weight slightly, and wondered what could have reduced his boss to this nervous state. He remembered Hidalgo advancing under fire, as cool as if he was taking an afternoon paseo to work off his lunch. He recalled the captain facing down a general who wanted to put his unit at unnecessary risk. This man raking his fingers through his grey hair was a completely different person. What the hell had happened to him?

  Hidalgo extracted one of the reports from the wad. ‘This is it,’ he said, scanning it quickly. ‘There’s been a shooting incident near the socialist headquarters in the casa del pueblo. Two of their militiamen were gunned down from a passing car.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with me, sir?’ Paco asked.

  ‘We have to stop these political killings,’ Hidalgo said woodenly, as if he were a very bad actor reading a hastily written script. ‘And the only way we can do that is by bringing some of these young thugs to justice.’

  ‘We both know that’s almost impossible,’ Paco reminded him. ‘The killers don’t even know their victims, so, unless we catch them in the act, there’s nothing to connect them with the murders.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Hidalgo agreed. ‘That’s why, if I’m ever to get an arrest, I’m going to have to put my best investigator on it.’ He smiled, but without much conviction. ‘And my best investigator is you.’

  ‘I’m already working on a case,’ Paco said.

  ‘From what you told me yesterday, that seems to be a pretty straightforward domestic investigation that anyone could handle,’ Hidalgo said. ‘No point in wasting my best man on that.’

  ‘Yesterday, I thought it was straightforward,’ Paco told him. ‘Today, I think I could be dealing with a whole can of worms.’

  ‘Even if the case isn’t as simple as it looks, it’s far less important than the new one I’m assigning you to,’ Hidalgo argued.

  Paco’s head was starting to pound. ‘Suppose I refuse to be reassigned,’ he said.

  He was expecting his chief to explode, but instead Hidalgo only sighed. ‘The police force isn’t some kind of democratic debating society,’ he said. ‘You have your orders, Inspector. Your only option is to carry them out.’

  Paco took a deep breath. It made him feel a little calmer. ‘I’ve lost count of how many tribesmen I killed in Morocco,’ he said, ‘but I do remember one of them in particular. He had you in his sights at the time. At that range, he couldn’t have missed.’

  Hidalgo looked down at his desk. ‘I remember that, too,’ he said. ‘And I’ll always be in your debt for it.’

  ‘I never asked for a favour in return. I never expected any special treatment.’

  ‘No,’ Hidalgo admitted. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I’m asking a favour now, jefe,’ Paco said. ‘Please let me stay on this case.’

  Hidalgo spread his big, beefy hands helplessly in front of him. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You’re the captain . . .’

  ‘Which gives me a little power, but not much.’

  ‘It’s because I went back to the Herreras’ apartment, isn’t it?’ Paco demanded.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Hidalgo said. ‘The order to put someone else on the case came directly from the Minister’s private secretary. People like him don’t bother to explain things to people like me. Besides, even without a direct order from the top, I’d probably have removed you from the investigation.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of the whispers I’ve been hearing.’

  ‘What kind of whispers?’

  Hidalgo shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you that. Just take it from an old comrade that though it might not look like it, this is for your own good.’

  ‘I shall lodge a formal protest,’ Paco said.

  It had taken a long time for the signs of anger to reach to Hidalgo’s eyes, but they had finally come, and the eyes blazed. And yet even now, it was not so much anger at Paco as at the situation. ‘You’d be a fool to make a protest,’ he growled. ‘No one would listen to you, and it would count against you in the future.’

  He was right, Paco thought. It would count heavily against him. ‘May I go now?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, you may,’ Hidalgo said. ‘And where you may go is to the casa del pueblo, where you will investigate the murders of the two socialist militiamen. Is that clearly understood, Inspector?’

  ‘At your orders, sir,’ Paco said.

  *

  By the time Paco and Felipe reached the Calle de San Mateo, the bodies of the two murdered militiamen had already been removed, and – apart from the group of young boiler-suited men talking excitedly by the main door of the casa del pueblo – there was nothing abnormal about the street.

  Paco pulled out his warrant card. ‘Did anyone see anything?’ he asked.

  Several of the youths started talking at once, then they all fell quiet and a thin boy with steel spectacles stepped forward.

  ‘I saw it,’ he said. ‘I was walking just behind them when it happened.’ He shuddere
d. ‘I couldn’t have been more than three or four metres away from them.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘I heard this car behind me. It was going slowly at first, then suddenly it accelerated. Then it was past me, and I heard this cracking sound – like fireworks it was – and Julio and Martin, they . . . they just sort of started jerking, first this way and then that, and there was blood everywhere, and I . . . I . . .’

  ‘Did you see what make of car it was?’ Paco asked.

  ‘It was a big black Fiat.’

  Of which there were thousands in Madrid. ‘Did you get the number?’ Paco said.

  ‘No, it was covered with a piece of sacking.’

  Not that the registration number would have been much use anyway. Chances were the car had been stolen just before the murders, and dumped immediately afterwards. ‘What about the people who did the shooting?’

  ‘I think there were three of them in the car,’ the boy said.

  ‘Yes, three,’ another boy agreed. ‘The driver and the two with guns. They were Falangists.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because they were all wearing those blue shirts.’

  ‘Did you get a look at their faces?’

  Both boys shook their heads. ‘They were wearing masks,’ the one with the steel spectacles said.

  Paco looked around the group. ‘Has anyone got anything to add to what these two have just said?’ he asked. ‘Any little detail they might have left out?’

  Some of the young men shook their heads, others looked down at the ground as if they were ashamed they couldn’t be of more help. ‘Collect the names of everyone who was a witness,’ Paco told the boy with the steel spectacles. ‘My constable will be round in the morning to talk to you all.’

  *

  ‘What did you mean when you said I’d be questioning them in the morning?’ Felipe asked, when they were comfortably seated in the nearest bar.

  ‘I meant just what I said,’ Paco told him. ‘You will be questioning them.’

  ‘And what will you be doing?’

  ‘Look, I’ll tell what I think about this case,’ Paco said. ‘We’ll never be able to link the car to the killers, and we have no description of them. Even if, by some incredible stroke of luck, we did happen to get some clue which led us to them, you can bet your last duro that they’ll all have alibis.’

  Felipe took a sip of his wine. ‘So?’

  ‘It’s a waste of time investigating this case, and there’s no point in wasting two people’s time.’

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ Felipe pointed out.

  ‘And what question was that?’

  ‘What will you be doing?’

  Paco lit a cigarette. ‘The captain’s assigned Inspector Matute and Constable Zabala to the Retiro murder. Zabala’s all right, but Matute’s the one in charge, and he doesn’t know his arse from a hole in the ground.’

  ‘I still don’t see . . .’ Felipe began. And then, suddenly, he did. ‘You’re not dropping the Retiro case, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Paco agreed. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Even after the captain warned you.’

  ‘Because the captain warned me. He said I was his best investigator, and that wasn’t just flattery. If anybody can solve the case, it’s me.’

  ‘You don’t know who you’re tangling with,’ Felipe said.

  ‘Do you?’

  The fat constable shook his head. ‘No, but I’ve got sense enough not to try and find out,’ he said.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Tell me what you know about Eduardo Herrera Moreno,’ Paco said to Ramón as they sat drinking wine at their customary table in the Cabo de Trafalgar.

  Ramón ran a finger through his neat, bureaucratic moustache. ‘Herrera?’ he said. ‘Why would I know anything about him?’

  ‘He’s a politician, and you work in a ministry. Besides, you’re an incurable collector of information – any information.’

  Ramón smiled, as if he took that as a compliment. Then the smile was replaced by a look of suspicion. ‘Why this sudden interest in Don Eduardo?’ he asked.

  Because someone must have had a hell of a lot of influence to make the captain take me off the case, Paco thought – and Herrera’s the only name I can come up with.

  ‘Well?’ Ramón said. ‘What is your interest?’

  ‘I was reading about him in the paper this morning, and I just wondered what kind of man he is.’

  ‘He’s a great political visionary,’ Ramón said enthusiastically, ‘a man in whose hands Spain would be—’

  ‘I’m not interested in his politics,’ Paco interrupted. ‘I’m not interested in anybody’s politics, as you well know. What’s he like as a person?’

  ‘He’s extremely wealthy,’ Ramón said.

  ‘Where does he get his money from? Did he inherit it?’

  ‘Oh no. His father owned a small barrel-making company in Jerez. It was almost bankrupt when Don Eduardo took it over, but by hard work and diligence he built it up into an empire. Now he’s part-owner of a shipyard in Bilbao, he deals on the Madrid Stock Exchange, he has banks, distribution companies – you name it, and he’s probably got his finger in the pie.’

  ‘What about his wife?’

  ‘Her family’s one of the oldest and most respected in Jerez.’

  ‘And are they rich, too?’

  ‘They used to be,’ Ramón said. ‘They were in sherry, but they lost most of their money in the Twenties.’

  ‘So both Doña Mercedes and her brother are dependent on Herrera,’ Paco said thoughtfully.

  Ramón shot him another suspicious look. ‘How did you know about her brother?’

  ‘It must have been in the same article,’ Paco said hastily. ‘What’s Herrera like as a person? And please keep away from all the political crap, if you possibly can.’

  ‘He’s a very confident man,’ Ramón said. ‘Makes decisions on the hoof and sticks to them – which is good, because those decisions are usually the right ones. He used to be an excellent horseman . . .’

  ‘Used to be?’

  ‘As far as I know, he doesn’t ride any more. Probably can’t find the time. Where was I? Ah yes, he’s also good at languages – speaks English, French and German. He seems to have the energy of ten men and—’

  ‘You disappoint me,’ Paco interrupted.

  ‘Disappoint you? In what way?’

  ‘I ask you to tell me about a real, flesh-and-blood man, and all you do is give me a long, boring list of virtues. You aren’t making him live for me. Tell me something to humanize him. Does he have dandruff? Bad breath? Is he involved in any scandals?’

  Ramón looked shocked. ‘Scandals? Certainly not!’

  ‘He must have some faults, mustn’t he?’ Paco coaxed. ‘Don’t you know what they are? I’m beginning to suspect you don’t know half as much about people as you pretend to.’

  Ramón seemed stung by the remark. ‘Well, he does have one weakness,’ he conceded, ‘but it is a weakness that’s shared by many other rich men.’

  ‘And what is it, exactly?’

  ‘He can be irrationally mean on occasions.’

  ‘For example?’

  Ramón leant forward, as if he were about to divulge a state secret. ‘He’s fanatical about waste. I’ve heard that he has his servants take all the old candle stubs and make a new candle out of them. And he re-uses envelopes. I know that for a fact, because I’ve handled some of them. Imagine it: a man as rich as he is sending out important documents in second-hand envelopes.’

  Yes, it did seem incredible, but it didn’t get Paco any closer to discovering why Herrera had used his influence to block the investigation.

  ‘What else can you tell me about him?’ he asked Ramón. ‘Does he gamble? Does he drink to excess? Is he faithful to his wife?’

  There was a loud crash behind them, as the street door was flung open and Bernardo stormed into the bar. The big porter’s face was
almost black with anger. He saw Ramón sitting there, and stopped in his tracks. ‘Have you heard the news?’ he demanded across the room. ‘Those fascist bastard friends of yours have killed two more of our boys today.’

  ‘What if they have?’ Ramón called back. ‘It’s nothing more than revenge for what those pigs in the Socialist Militia have done to the Falange.’

  Bernardo strode over to the table. ‘We didn’t start it,’ he said, wagging an angry finger at Ramón, ‘but, by God, we’re going to finish it!’

  ‘Sit down, Bernardo,’ Paco said firmly. ‘Sit down and shut up. You shut up as well, Ramón. I’ve been listening to you two arguing for months. Now it’s my turn to have my say.’

  Bernardo hesitated for a second, then lowered himself grumpily into one of the free chairs.

  Paco signalled Nacho for more wine. ‘The three of us have been friends for years,’ he said, ‘and if even we let outside events tear that friendship apart, what the hell chance do you think the country’s got of holding together?’

  Ramón and Bernardo both looked a little shamefaced.

  ‘Shake hands,’ Paco ordered his friends.

  Not entirely without reluctance, the two men reached across the table and shook.

  ‘I’m sorry I lost my temper,’ Bernardo said. ‘I know it’s not your fault the boys were killed, Ramón. But when I think of those innocent lives wasted . . .’

  ‘How do you know they were innocent?’ Ramón demanded. ‘If they were militia, maybe they had blood on their own hands.’

  Paco sighed. Loudly. It was going to be another one of those nights.

  *

  Paco climbed the wooden stairs up to his apartment, thinking, as he went, that he was a day closer to his age and the number of stairs reaching an equivalence. When he got to the second-floor landing, the door of the apartment on the left opened, and he saw Cindy Walker standing there.

  She was wearing a white skirt with a hem that reached just below her knees, and a check blouse which, instead of being tucked into her waistband, hung loose. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, and she was barefoot. Paco thought she looked about as unSpanish as anyone could.

  ‘Is it always this hot at night?’ she asked.