Or the Bull Kills You

by Jason Webster

  Returning to the window, with every intention of smashing it open, he heard a sound from outside: footsteps in the dirt. They were soft at first, but gradually intensified as they drew closer. There was a jangle of keys. Cámara threw himself against the wall just as the door was unlocked and a shadow appeared in the doorway.

  A sharp, piercing howl split the air as Cámara pulled and twisted on the man’s arm, locking the elbow and forcing it back on itself. As his captor screamed in pain, momentarily immobilised by the shock, Cámara planted a foot into where he guessed his stomach would be. The scream turned into a deep groan and the man fell to the floor, retching.

  Still grappling his wrist, Cámara reached for the man’s gun in his holster, threw it to the ground, then dragged him outside on to a dirt track that led to the shed. In the occasional flashes from fireworks, and the reflection of the distant city lights, he could make out more orange trees all around them – they were deep in the middle of the huerta, as he had guessed. A car was parked a few yards away.

  The man was vomiting, but was already trying to wriggle free of Cámara’s grip. Cámara wrenched on his arm again to make him keep still, then leaned over, grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. In the pale flickering lights he saw a face that had become engrained on his consciousness and a deep, swelling, animal loathing came over him.

  ‘You,’ he spat. And almost before he knew what he was doing his fist had landed square on the man’s chest, sending him heavily and painfully to the ground.

  Cámara took a step forward. He had been brought here so as to be far away from prying eyes: no one would see what they would do to him here. What was the plan? Just keep him locked up? Or something more sinister? He could turn what had been their advantage to his own, though. No one would see or even hear what every sinew in him now wanted to do to the man who had been the agent of torment over the past days. He felt the cold rush through his veins, a giddy sickness in his stomach as the excitement of impending violence took its hold over him.

  ‘No. Por favor.’

  The Municipal was looking up at him with raw fear, trying to edge away from the beating he knew he was about to receive. Cámara lifted a foot and brought it down on his groin to keep him still.

  ‘Please?’ he said as the man doubled up in pain once more. ‘Please? Why didn’t you think of that when you attacked me in the street? Or when you followed me to take smutty photographs? Or when you smashed the window of my car?’

  The Municipal had rolled on to his side and was curling up into a ball, giving off a faint, high-pitched whine. The neck brace of a few days ago had gone.

  ‘You’ve had so many opportunities to say please in the past,’ Cámara continued. ‘Why should I listen to you now?’

  The man was crying in fear and pain, shivering as though he were lying on frozen ground. Looking down, Cámara felt disgust. Couldn’t he at least make a stand, rather than capitulate so easily? Was it even worth the effort with him? But he’d seen types like this before: collapsing into a useless wreck one minute only to get up the next when they thought they were out of danger to carry on where they had left off. No, this man needed to understand where he had gone wrong.

  ‘It wasn’t my idea!’ the Municipal shouted as Cámara went to haul him up. ‘None of it was my idea.’

  Cámara let him drop back down to the ground.

  ‘You think I’m stupid, or something?’ he said. ‘I know perfectly well you work for Flores.’

  ‘Flores,’ the Municipal breathed. ‘It was all Flores.’

  ‘I’m glad you don’t work for me,’ Cámara mumbled to himself, ‘if that’s your idea of loyalty.’

  ‘Flores said I should attack you,’ the other man went on, clinging to the idea that a full confession would somehow save him.

  ‘Who were the other two?’ Cámara asked.

  ‘They’re not police,’ he said. ‘Just a couple of guys I know.’

  ‘You use them regularly for this kind of thing, then?’ Cámara said. The Municipal was silent. Cámara leaned forwards and grabbed his wrist, wrenching it behind his back again.

  ‘No, no,’ the Municipal said. ‘I mean yes, sometimes. They’re ex-prisoners. Just a couple of thieves. I use them sometimes when Flores wants—’

  ‘When Flores wants some dirty work doing,’ Cámara finished the sentence for him. He softened the pressure on the man’s arm, but held on to it.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ the Municipal said. His head was bowed, his face staring at the floor.

  ‘And the other stuff?’

  ‘That was all me,’ the man said.

  ‘You with the camera?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And I smashed the window of your car to leave the photos there. Flores even had me deliver them by hand to your girlfriend’s office. He didn’t like it when you hauled him in. You shouldn’t have done that.’

  Cámara’s eyes rolled. He should flatten the man’s nose against his face, but the comment about Almudena threw him for a second. So she had seen the photos. It was to be expected, but until that moment there had been a faint hope within him that they hadn’t reached her. Not that it mattered, though. She’d seen him with Alicia in the street.

  His concentration lapsed and in that moment the Municipal pulled his wrist free and moved to run away. He scrambled to his feet and darted in the direction of the shed, and his gun lying on the floor. Cámara launched himself after him, stumbling on the loose dirt underfoot as he tried to catch him. The two men passed through the doorway almost simultaneously, but the Municipal was just able to reach down and pick up his gun. As he did so, Cámara hurled himself on top of him, throwing him to the ground. There was a loud CRACK as the revolver went off, but already one of Cámara’s hands was reaching down to hold the gun away while the other was pressed against the man’s throat. At once the Municipal went limp and the gun fell with a clatter to the cement floor.

  ‘Still hurt, does it?’ Cámara said as he pressed hard on his trachea. A cold thrill passed through his hands, his jaw, his eyes, as he felt life beating in desperation against his fingers. ‘Still a bit sore from last time?’

  The man was choking, his chest rising off the ground as he struggled for air, paralysed by the pain. Sitting over his abdomen to gain more control, Cámara could hear his legs thrashing against the floor as he fought to stay alive, his eyes like swelling bulges in his head. His grip tightened around his neck, and the Municipal’s body grew tauter. It’s coming now, he thought to himself: the point where I could kill him. Like flicking a light switch. Or slaughtering a bull.

  He released the pressure and got to his feet. On the floor the man was panting for breath, his body immobile except for the rising and sinking of his ribs. Reaching for the revolver on the floor, Cámara slipped it into the back of his trousers. Then he grabbed the man by the shoulders and dragged him back outside. As they were passing through the doorway he saw a coil of rope hanging from a nail in the wall. He grabbed it and started tying the Municipal’s hands behind his back, bringing the remainder down and tying his feet together as well. Then he sat him with his back against the wall.

  The other man was silent, passive, his hands like ice.

  ‘There’s one more thing before we finish here,’ Cámara said.

  ‘If you kill me,’ the Municipal said, struggling to talk, ‘they’ll know it was you.’

  Cámara crouched down to come face to face with him.

  ‘If I was going to kill you you’d be dead already,’ he said, and placed his hand firmly but gently against the man’s throat again.

  ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘Por la boca muere el pez – A fish dies through its mouth. What I need from you is more information.’

  Tears glistened at the corners of the man’s eyes.

  ‘What did Flores want?’ Cámara said. ‘Why did he get you to attack me?’

  The Municipal remained silent. Cámara took his hand off his throat and pulled his head up straight to look hi
m in the face.

  ‘Why?’

  A sneer began to form on the man’s lip.

  ‘You’re useful,’ he said at last. ‘This investigation is useful.’

  Cámara pulled harder on the man’s hair and he winced.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he said. ‘Useful?’

  ‘It distracts people,’ the Municipal said.

  ‘Distracts them?’ Cámara said. ‘Flores wanted the thing clearing up as quickly as possible. He made that very clear. Said that Blanco’s death had made bullfighting more popular. It was bad for him, bad for the election campaign.’

  The sneer on the man’s face was turning into a grin.

  ‘What the fuck are you smiling at?’ Cámara said. Still holding a bunch of his hair, he smacked the man’s head against the wall behind him. The grin disappeared.

  ‘It was a smokescreen,’ the Municipal said at last. ‘Flores needed it to go on as long as possible. Until after the elections were over.’

  Cámara dropped his hand from the man’s head.

  ‘Everyone was watching the case,’ the Municipal continued. ‘It just got better and better. Releasing your only suspect, Ruiz Pastor’s murder. It was in danger of dying down but then Carmen Luna came to the rescue.’

  Cámara slapped him around the face.

  ‘Flores was behind that!’ he shouted.

  ‘Flores didn’t know the woman was going to top herself. He just wanted her to break the story about Blanco being gay. The suicide was a bonus.’

  Cámara’s hand was at the man’s throat again and he saw the pain swell up in his eyes.

  ‘What in God’s name are you talking about?’ he said.

  Unable to speak, the Municipal glanced down at Cámara’s hand wrapped around his neck. Cámara pulled it away slightly, just enough to let him talk.

  ‘The Town Hall campaign is all about banning bullfighting.’

  ‘I know all that,’ Cámara said.

  ‘But constitutionally the Town Hall doesn’t have the power to do that.’

  Cámara dropped his hand from around the man’s neck.

  ‘They all know this,’ the Municipal said. ‘They’ve known it from the start. But they’re betting on the fact that no one else does. Or if they do no one’s listening to them.’

  ‘The whole thing’s a lie,’ Cámara said.

  ‘They’re campaigning against bullfighting because the only way Emilia’s going to get re-elected this time is if young people vote. So they went for banning bullfighting. They even had journalists from abroad calling up.’

  ‘All part of the new international image,’ Cámara said.

  ‘Fitted with having Formula 1 here, the America’s Cup. Big, money-making events. But one of the opposition parties had discovered the flaw, saying the Town Hall couldn’t ban bullfighting in the city even if it wanted to. Some of the others were picking up on it.’

  The Municipal started coughing, bringing up a ball of phlegm from the pit of his stomach, which he spat out on to the ground.

  ‘But then Blanco was murdered and suddenly no one was talking about anything else.’

  ‘The smokescreen,’ Cámara said. He stood up. He desperately needed a cigarette, but his pockets were empty.

  ‘Why not just let it run its course, though,’ he said. ‘Why attack me?’

  ‘You were in charge of the case,’ the Municipal said. ‘Flores wanted to make sure it dragged on. So he sent me round.’

  Cámara spun round to stare the man in the face.

  ‘What? To soften me up?’

  ‘To slow you down a bit,’ the man said. ‘Give you something else to think about. Perhaps even lead you down a few false trails. Flores had some dirt on you, some scandal.’

  ‘Yes, I know about that,’ Cámara said.

  ‘Thought he could use it against you as well.’

  ‘Was that it, then?’ Cámara said. ‘He just wanted to feel he could control me?’

  ‘Part of it.’

  Cámara knelt down again in front of the man.

  ‘But why today?’ he said. ‘You’ve been following me ever since I left my flat. Didn’t Flores know I was off the case? Didn’t he know I’d been sacked?’

  The Municipal’s eyes widened.

  ‘Someone’s managed to be discreet for a change,’ Cámara said.

  Over towards the city, the fireworks were intensifying, the sound of their explosions reverberating in the night air. In front of him Cámara could see the Municipal was quivering again, perhaps through cold or fear. He looked him in the face, though, and was disturbed to see him laughing.

  ‘What’s so fucking funny?’

  The Municipal stared at him with a manic grin.

  ‘Flores always said this case would be your last,’ he said. ‘And he was right. I’ve spent all day following an ex-policeman, getting the shit kicked out of me. What for? It’s fucking stupid.’

  He started laughing again as the fireworks spluttered blues and reds.

  ‘That’s your career, then,’ he said. ‘All gone up in smoke.’ He opened his eyes wide. ‘Bang!’

  His head fell back as he laughed again.

  ‘Bang!’

  Cámara fell back on to his feet then stood up. Something had shifted inside him.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said that’s it. You’re finished. Why did I even waste a whole day following you…Hey, what are you doing?’

  Cámara had leaned forward and after flipping the man on to his front was pulling on his arm again, tied up behind his back. Fearing he was about to wrench it out of its socket once more, the Municipal screamed. Cámara stared hard at the hands of the watch on his wrist in the gloom, then put him back upright.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I just needed to know what the time was.’

  He reached inside the Municipal’s pockets and found some keys.

  ‘I’ll be needing these as well,’ he said.

  He looked up at the sky as the machinery continued to click in his head. And the nagging doubt that had been with him since earlier that afternoon, the piece that had refused to fit, clunked into place.

  ‘What’s happening tonight?’ He pulled the Municipal up to his face. ‘After the bullfight. They were talking about it. What’s going to happen?’

  ‘The party,’ the Municipal whimpered. ‘They’re holding a victory party at the bullring for when the first results come in. Symbolic. Kind of putting the boot into the bullfight people.’

  But Cámara had stopped listening. He dropped him on the ground and started running to the car.

  A veces caza quien no amenaza – Sometimes the one least threatening is doing the hunting.

  ‘Wait! You can’t leave me here!’

  Cámara ignored the pleas of the Municipal as he put his car – a Renault Mégane – into reverse and sped up the dirt track to a place where he could turn around. Following the lights in the sky he should be able to make it back to the city.

  There was no time to lose.

  Twenty-Three

  A dead bull is a cow

  Traditional

  It had gone ten thirty by the time Cámara made it to the outskirts of the city centre. He drove the car in as far as he could, then parked it in the middle of a road where the barricades for Fallas made it impossible to continue. He was still another five minutes away from the bullring if he ran from there.

  The streets were crammed with people, hundreds of thousands all pouring out for this, the final night of the fiesta. Cámara pushed through as best he could against the tide of bodies, crushing toes and barging shoulders as he struggled through, barely registering the voices of complaint and indignation. He had to get to the bullring. If he could just make it in the next few minutes there might still be time. A hand reached out to try and pull him back.

  ‘Police!’ he shouted, and reluctantly the grip was loosened and he was allowed to continue.

  Minutes later, panting and sweating, he reached the square
in front of the bullring. He double-checked: a handful of Policías Nacionales in dark blue uniforms and black jackboots were standing around, chatting and watching the people flowing past; groups of party activists were stepping through the bullring entrance; a party banner had been draped over one of the balconies. But there was no panic, no crime scene. Not yet.

  With his badge in his hand, he walked up to the group of policemen and identified himself.

  ‘I need to use your mobile phone,’ he said, addressing the sergeant.

  It was an unusual request, but you didn’t argue with a chief inspector from Homicidios.

  ‘Here, sir,’ the sergeant said.

  Thankfully Torres’s number was one of the few Cámara had memorised. He couldn’t even recall Almudena’s once he’d set it to the phone’s memory. He dialled 616 459830 and heard the familiar tone at the other end.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Torres’s voice came on.

  ‘It’s me,’ Cámara said.

  ‘Paco’s still silent on us,’ Torres said. ‘No sign of any confession. I told you, I can’t do it alone—’

  ‘I know,’ Cámara interrupted him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Listen,’ Cámara said. ‘Officially I’m off this case. You need to find Roberto Ramírez.’

  ‘Roberto?’

  ‘It’s important,’ Cámara said. ‘He needs to be located quickly.’

  ‘You want to arrest him?’ Torres said.

  ‘That can come later. For one thing, he needs to explain what phials of dope from one of his companies were doing inside one of the Ramírez trucks at the bullring. But for the moment he needs shadowing.’

  ‘Right,’ Torres said. ‘Any idea where he might be?’

  ‘They’ve planned a victory rally at the bullring for tonight,’ Cámara said. ‘As one of the party’s top fundraisers I suspect he’ll be coming along.’

  ‘Got it. No arrest, just shadow. I’ll reach you on this number if I need to. Anything else?’

  ‘You need good men on this, Torres,’ Cámara said. ‘Discreet but sharp. I’ve got a feeling Roberto is in danger.’