The Dead: Vengeance of Memory

by Mark Oldfield

  ‘I think that’s him coming up the road now,’ Utrera said, pointing.

  Gutiérrez stared as Guzmán came towards the building. He was limping, there was a cut down one cheek and the skin was raw on the knuckles of one of his hands.

  ‘Where’s my car?’ Gutiérrez asked as Guzmán came up the steps.

  ‘Still burning, I expect.’ Guzmán met his eye. ‘Have you got any brandy?’

  Before Gutiérrez could answer, Guzmán pushed past him into the office and flopped into a chair, watching as Gutiérrez reluctantly took a bottle from his filing cabinet. ‘Make it a large one.’

  ‘This was for medicinal purposes only, Comandante.’

  Guzmán took the brandy and emptied the glass in one greedy swallow before gesturing for Gutiérrez to sit down.

  ‘We’re going to need a small squad, all complete unknowns,’ Guzmán said. ‘They have to be volunteers: no hired gunmen and no one from the military above the rank of teniente. We act fast. We go in, get the files and get straight out. And we need to make sure the Centinelas know nothing about what we’re doing until it’s too late for them to stop us.’

  Gutiérrez frowned. ‘What does all that mean, exactly?’

  ‘It means I’m in,’ Guzmán said. ‘So you’d better fill me in on the rest of your plan before I change my mind.’

  ‘You won’t regret this, Comandante,’ Gutiérrez said, suddenly cheered. He picked up the bottle of Carlos Primero and filled Guzmán’s glass to the brim.

  ‘I’m already regretting it,’ Guzmán said.

  CHAPTER 4

  MADRID 2010, HOSPITAL GREGORIO MARAÑÓN

  ‘Come on, you’ve got to stop crying. It’s over now.’

  Galíndez wriggled, trying to make herself comfortable though it wasn’t easy with Isabel sprawled across her hospital bed. ‘I mean it, Izzy,’ Galíndez said. ‘Let me up, you’re crushing my legs.’

  ‘I thought you were dead,’ Isabel sniffed, wiping her eyes with a tissue. ‘I heard it on the car radio.’

  ‘But it wasn’t me, was it?’ Galíndez took a packet of tissues from the nightstand. ‘Here, use these or you’ll get mascara on the sheets.’ She glanced round the small room. ‘Where are my clothes?’

  ‘In that wardrobe,’ Isabel said. ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t stay here a bit longer?’

  ‘No, I’m just a bit shaken, that’s all.’

  The door opened and a young man in a white coat came in. ‘All your tests were fine, Ana María. You can leave whenever you like.’

  ‘Thanks, Dr Flores.’ Galíndez swung her legs out from under the sheets. As she got to her feet, she winced.

  ‘You’ll be sore for a while,’ Flores said. ‘I can prescribe some painkillers if you like?’

  Isabel started to speak but Galíndez cut across her. ‘That would be great, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll leave your prescription at the desk,’ Flores said as he went out the door.

  ‘Should you be taking painkillers, Ana?’ Isabel frowned. ‘I found a tube of them in the office other day. You must have dropped them.’

  Galíndez was rummaging through the clothes Isabel had brought from her flat. ‘Have you still got them?’

  ‘They’re in my bag. But you won’t need them if the doctor’s going to give you a prescription, will you?’

  ‘Just give me them, will you?’ Galíndez snapped.

  Isabel reached into her bag and gave her the yellow plastic tube. ‘I still think—’

  ‘Tell you what, just get me out of here. We can do the thinking later.’ Galíndez opened the plastic tube, shook two tablets into the palm of her hand and swallowed them.

  Traffic was heavy and Galíndez leaned back in her seat, trying – unsuccessfully – to be patient. ‘I’m glad you’re driving,’ she said as the traffic ground to a standstill again.

  ‘While we’re not moving, maybe you could tell me what happened?’ Isabel said. ‘If you feel up to it, that is?’

  Galíndez shrugged. ‘All I remember is that I was in my flat watching an old film I found in Corporal Ochoa’s apartment.’

  Isabel frowned. ‘You didn’t tell me about that.’

  ‘It was on a reel of eight-millimetre film,’ Galíndez went on. ‘I didn’t have anything to play it on so I bought a projector from Amazon. When I got home on Friday night, it had just been delivered. I took a shower and then set up the projector and watched the film.’

  ‘And what was it, a home movie?

  ‘Not at all. It was filmed from inside a car and showed my father coming out of our house with me.’ Agitated, she twisted a strand of hair in her fingers. ‘It was the day he was killed. They filmed him getting into the car and then, as he drove off, the bomb exploded. What was so horrible was that they kept the camera on my face as I watched his car burning.’

  ‘ETA always were callous bastards,’ Isabel said. ‘They must have wanted to use the film for propaganda.’

  ‘But if it was ETA, why did Corporal Ochoa have the film hidden under his kitchen floor?’ Galíndez said. ‘Now he’s dead, I suppose we’ll never know.’

  ‘So what happened after you watched the film?’ Isabel asked as the traffic started to move again.

  ‘I had one of my seizures and passed out. When I came round, I was in a cellar, tied to a board.’

  ‘My God.’ Isabel gave her a horrified look. ‘Who did that?’

  ‘Sancho.’ Galíndez tried to keep her voice natural. ‘Worse still, Guzmán was there.’

  Isabel stamped on the brake, narrowly avoiding shunting into the car in front. ‘Jesus Christ, he’s alive?’

  ‘He certainly is.’ Galíndez’s eyes grew darker. ‘He and Sancho tortured me. Luckily, I managed to escape.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Shit, I’m supposed to see the director general at twelve thirty. We’re never going to make it in this traffic. Tell you what, I’ll get out and walk. I really need to talk to him about my suspension.’

  Isabel smiled. ‘I don’t think you need worry about that. Inés Fuentes admitted she took the photo of you without you knowing.’

  ‘She decided to tell the truth, then?’

  ‘Not really. I recorded her admitting it and then played it back to her mother.’

  Galíndez leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You’re a star, Izzy.’ She opened the door and got out. ‘I’ll call you later.’

  MADRID 2010, GUARDIA CIVIL HEADQUARTERS, OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR GENERAL

  ‘Dr Galíndez, mí General.’ As the adjutant showed her in, Ramiro leaped up from his desk and wrapped his arms around her. The adjutant hurried away, unsettled by such an overt display of emotion.

  ‘Take it easy, Uncle Ram, you’re crushing me,’ Galíndez said, squirming out from Ramiro’s bear hug. ‘I’m already battered and bruised.’

  ‘We’ll soon remedy that.’ Ramiro waved her towards an opulent leather chair. ‘Drink? A drop of medicinal brandy perhaps?’

  ‘Just water, please.’ Galíndez smiled. ‘Brandy doesn’t mix with—’ She stopped and corrected herself. ‘I’m still delicate, I mean.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ramiro fetched her a bottle of mineral water. He sat down and looked at her intently. ‘So how are you?’

  ‘Everything hurts right now, but the doctor said it should wear off in a few days.’

  ‘I was so worried about you.’ Ramiro’s voice was thick with emotion.

  ‘Don’t, Uncle Ram, I’m safe now.’ She leaned forward and patted his hand.

  He took a deep breath and composed himself. ‘Teresa and I suffered a terrible loss years ago – I won’t go into detail – but it made me realise that if anything happened to you...’ His voice faltered.

  Unused to such a display of emotion from her uncle, Galíndez went quiet, struggling to deal with it. ‘I’m OK,’ she said, finally. ‘I’ve written a report for you on what happened so let’s talk about something more pleasant, shall we?’ She opened the bottle of water and drank half of it in one swallow.

  �
�Christ, you look like you haven’t had a drink in weeks, girl.’

  ‘I’m a bit dehydrated, according to the medics. It could have been worse.’

  ‘It certainly could. You were lucky to survive, Ana.’

  ‘Don’t start, Uncle Ram. I’m fine.’ She gulped down the last of the water. ‘So, do I have to guess why you sent for me?’

  ‘There’s a couple of things I want to speak to you about,’ Ramiro said. ‘First is the matter of the photograph of you on the Fuentes girl’s phone. Naturally, the charges have been dropped now she’s admitted she took it without your knowledge.’

  ‘I’ve got Isabel to thank for that. She got Inés to admit she was lying and taped her confession.’

  ‘Journalists, eh?’ Ramiro said. ‘They’re a cunning bunch, though I’m sure Señorita Morente is perfectly charming.’

  ‘She’s very nice,’ Galíndez agreed, ‘and a good worker too. Why are you smiling?’

  ‘She often appears in the magazines your Aunt Teresa reads,’ Ramiro said. ‘I was wondering...’

  Galíndez’s face lit up. ‘Do you want her autograph, Uncle?’

  ‘If it’s no trouble. It’s for Tia Teresa, of course, not me.’

  ‘You’re not the first to ask,’ Galíndez laughed. ‘Izzy keeps a pile of photos in her desk at the research centre. I’ll ask her to sign one for you.’

  ‘Your aunt will treasure it.’ The smile suddenly left his face. ‘Let’s talk about you for a moment, shall we? You know it’s going to be difficult to go back to Forensics after what’s happened.’

  ‘I know. Though since I didn’t do anything wrong, it seems unfair.’

  ‘Life often is,’ Ramiro sighed. ‘That’s why I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse. How would you like a transfer to Profiling?’

  Galíndez looked at him, her mouth open. ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?’ He reached across his desk and picked up a file. Galíndez saw her name on the cover as he started reading. ‘“I’m passionate about developing profiling systems that will contribute to greater effectiveness in law enforcement across a wide range of criminal activities.”’

  ‘That’s my application to join the Profiling Unit,’ Galíndez said, remembering. ‘I wrote it two years ago and I still haven’t heard from them. There’s a waiting list a mile long.’

  ‘What if I was to move you to the head of the queue?’

  ‘You can’t do that, Uncle Ram. It wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘At least take a look at the set-up there. I’ll have Coronel Mascarell show you round.’

  She thought about it for a moment. ‘OK, it can’t hurt, can it?’

  ‘Of course it can’t. And I’d be much happier if you were working in a safe environment.’

  Galíndez was still trying to work out what he meant by that when Ramiro got to his feet, signalling their meeting was over. She gave him a peck on the cheek and hurried off down the corridor to the lift before he started making his usual remarks about her appearance to his adjutant.

  MADRID 2010, GUARDIA CIVIL HEADQUARTERS, DEPARTMENT OF FORENSIC INVESTIGATION

  The lift stopped at the fourth floor and Galíndez got out, suddenly apprehensive. This had been her base for almost three years and it hurt to think about the reason she was leaving. She paused in front of the door to the Forensics department, angry as she recalled how she’d been accused of something she hadn’t done. Angry because her colleagues had thought she was guilty.

  She knew what she’d see as she opened the door: Capitán Fuentes in his small glass-walled office, surrounded by piles of paper, the admin staff, Belén and Elena, at their desks, fingers rattling over their keyboards, their work only interrupted when they reached for another biscuit or slice of cake. And in the centre of it all would be Sargento Mendez, calmly doing three jobs at once, pausing from time to time to write a message on a post-it note which she’d add to the cluster on Galíndez’s computer screen. Most were brief updates on cases, others would be bits of advice or jokes. Not so long ago, Galíndez used to look forward to reading them. Not any more.

  She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  ‘Surprise.’ The sudden chorus of voices stopped her in her tracks.

  Galíndez stared at the profusion of coloured balloons and ribbons hanging from the ceiling. A big banner hung over the door to Capitán Fuentes’ office, a child’s writing in coloured paint: We’re Sorry, Ana María!!! And emerging from their father’s office, the two Fuentes girls, little Clari, stumbling as usual, and Inés, looking younger than her thirteen years, hesitant as she came out of the office, followed by her mother, Mercedes.

  ‘There you are.’ Mendez came towards her, intent on giving her a welcoming hug.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ Galíndez said, backing away. ‘What’s all this?’

  Señora Fuentes gave her a nervous smile. ‘Ana, we realise how badly we behaved towards you and we want to apologise. Especially Inés, don’t you, darling?’

  Inés nodded shyly. ‘I want us to be friends like we were before.’

  ‘Really?’ Galíndez narrowed her eyes. ‘And I want world peace. That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.’

  ‘Girls?’ Mercedes said. ‘I think Ana’s probably feeling a little angry. Perhaps we should give her a moment to herself?’ She gave Galíndez a pleading look.

  ‘You know why I’m angry,’ Galíndez said. ‘Your daughter told a lie that could have sent me to prison and you backed her. You think I’m going to forget that in return for a slice of cake and a paper cup of fizzy orange? Forget it.’

  Capitán Fuentes raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘We know how you’re feeling, Ana. That’s understandable, but—’

  ‘You understand how I’m feeling?’ Galíndez shouted. ‘You understand nothing. How can you? I saved your children’s lives and you never even said thank you.’ She turned and went to her desk. ‘Fucking unbelievable.’

  ‘Language,’ Mendez said in a low voice. ‘The children.’

  ‘The children need to know that everything has a consequence.’ Galíndez picked up a large cardboard box, tugged open the drawers on her desk and began shoving the contents into the box. When she’d emptied the drawer, she turned her attention to the small clump of yellow post-it notes on the top of her monitor. The latest bore a brief message from Mendez. Glad to have you back. Mx. With an angry sweep of her hand, Galíndez tore the notes from the monitor and tossed them into the waste bin.

  After a moment she looked up, aware of the silence around her.

  Clari was sitting on the floor, staring at her wide-eyed, Inés was dabbing her eyes with a crumpled tissue and Capitán Fuentes and his wife were standing grim-faced, at a loss as to how to handle things.

  ‘Ana?’ Mercedes said. ‘Please let Inés apologise. We’ve always taught her to say sorry when she’s done wrong.’

  ‘It’s a pity you didn’t teach her not to do wrong in the first place,’ Galíndez snapped, intent on opening the last drawer of her desk. Making no progress by conventional means, she yanked the drawer from its rollers and tipped the contents into the box. ‘That’s me done.’ She picked up the box and headed for the door. ‘By the way,’ she said to Capitán Fuentes, ‘you’ll be getting a letter from my lawyer. My union rep is handling it but it’s only fair to warn you that your daughter’s actions are going to cost you a great deal of money.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be your union rep, Ana,’ Mendez said.

  ‘Not any more; I want someone who’s on my side.’ Galíndez stormed out into the corridor. As the door closed behind her, she heard someone crying.

  MADRID 2010, GUARDIA CIVIL, SECCIÓN DE ANÁLISIS DE COMPORTAMIENTO DELICTIVO

  Galíndez swore as she saw the time: she was ten minutes late already. Even worse, as she crossed reception, she saw the director of the Profiling Unit waiting for her by the desk, looking pointedly at the big clock on the wall.

  Coronel Mascarell was
a tall woman in her early forties. She gave Galíndez a powerful handshake before escorting her down a long corridor into the depths of the building. The place had an antiseptic atmosphere, as if it was scrubbed regularly throughout the day. For some reason, she found that depressing.

  ‘You come well recommended,’ Coronel Mascarell said. ‘General Ortiz was most insistent that you’re just what we’re looking for.’

  ‘The general gets a bit carried away sometimes.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let him hear you saying that,’ Mascarell said, icily. ‘Doesn’t make the best of impressions, criticising the man at the top.’

  Galíndez bit her lip. It was like being back at school.

  ‘The thing is,’ said Mascarell, ‘General Ortiz isn’t very knowledgeable about profiling.’ She looked at Galíndez hard. ‘And to be frank, neither are you.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Galíndez protested. ‘I did my PhD in—’

  ‘I know. I’ve got your CV here.’ The coronel’s tone suggested she was about to throw it out of the window. ‘We also have a copy of your PhD thesis that you sent with your application. A run-of-the-mill work on profiling property crime, I thought.’

  ‘I was awarded my doctorate cum laude,’ Galíndez said. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Since you ask, yes. I’m not impressed by your service record either.’

  Galíndez blinked, taken aback. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Where to start? Since you joined the guardia, you seem to have indulged yourself by chasing some long-dead Francoist gunman, working with a minimum of supervision. I get the impression that you’re a disaster waiting to happen. You need to change your ways, that’s my opinion.’ She gave Galíndez a thin smile. ‘You know what the Japanese say? “The stake that stands out gets hammered down.”’

  ‘My superiors were satisfied with the way I handled things.’

  ‘Since your uncle’s the most powerful man in the guardia, that’s hardly surprising.’

  Galíndez felt her face burn with anger. ‘I’ve never asked for preferential treatment from General Ortiz and he’s never offered any.’

  ‘If you say so. But we’re an elite unit, I have to know my staff are able to take orders.’