The General's Dog

by James Garcia Woods

  And we’ve no reason to think that particular situation has changed, have we? the second officer had said, giggling.

  Paco prayed it hadn’t – prayed, too, that there was still a chance of finding the one piece of vital evidence he needed.

  He raised his torch cautiously. He appeared to be in a sort of lumber-room which contained the colonel’s trunk, his saddle, a broken chair and a brace of hunting shotguns.

  Paco opened the trunk. What he was looking for had to be there, he told himself – because if it wasn’t, he had no idea where else it might be. Of course, it was possible the colonel had already returned it to its owner but, given the circumstances, he didn’t see how Valera would have had the opportunity.

  There were thick wool blankets at the top of the trunk, vital in winter but totally superfluous in the summer heat which even invaded the high sierra. He lifted them out and threw them on the floor. Next he found several spare shirts which stank of mothballs. He discarded them, too.

  ‘It has to be somewhere in here!’ he told himself desperately. ‘It simply has to be.’

  Had to be, because without it his case crumbled to dust – and even though he knew he was right about what happened on the night the dog died, he would have absolutely no way of proving it.

  A military topcoat was on the next layer. Like the shirts, it smelled strongly of mothballs. Stripping that away, Paco uncovered two pairs of the colonel’s riding jodhpurs.

  He had almost reached the bottom of the trunk – and the end of his tether when he came across an article wrapped in thin tissue paper. He took it out almost reverently, carefully opened the tissue paper, and spread the article out on the floor. It was a petticoat, but not such a petticoat as his wife – or even his liberated Cindy – would have worn. It was designed to be seen. It was designed to excite. And it must have cost more than many women spent on their entire wardrobe.

  A room overlooking the square wasn’t the place to examine his prize properly – there was far too much danger of his torch beam being spotted by an officer returning to his quarters. Paco retreated to the landing, and closed the lumber-room door quietly behind him.

  Back in comparative safety, he ran the petticoat through his fingers, and felt the richness of the pure, shot silk. He examined the intricate embroidery – the swirls and the flowers which subtly – but inevitably – focused the eyes of the observer on one central area. He had not necessarily been expecting it to be a petticoat that he found – though he was not surprised that that was what it had turned out to be. Yet even the garment itself wouldn’t provide him with the proof he needed unless it had the exact modifications he was looking for.

  He held the petticoat up, and shone his torch on it. It was perfect! Bloody perfect!

  ‘Oh shit!’ he groaned.

  Could he have been so wrong? he wondered. Could he have so disastrously misread all the clues that instead of moving closer to the solution of the case, he’d merely been running up a blind alley? Was it possible this petticoat had nothing to do with the investigation at all?

  He ran the torch over the petticoat once more – and gasped with relief. The old man in the bar had told him that Carmen Sanchez had been a good seamstress, and now he saw that it was true. She had been better than good – she’d been one of the best. But despite her skill with invisible mending, the two zigzag tears were just visible under the strong light of the torch.

  Paco folded the petticoat back in its tissue paper, put it under his arm and made his way downstairs. Pérez and Jiménez, their own hands empty, were waiting expectantly for him in the hallway.

  ‘You’ve got it, haven’t you!’ Pérez said, looking at the parcel.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got it,’ Paco replied.

  The rat-faced private grinned. ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘Now, Jiménez goes and tells the man who can get us out of here that I want to see him.’

  ‘Just you?’ Pérez asked. ‘Not the two of us?’

  ‘Just me,’ Paco confirmed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The sound of the drinkers and revellers on the brightly lit Calle Mayor drifted down the dark, narrow Calle Belén like some rumour of another life. Standing alone in the darkness, Paco shivered. It had been on this street that the general’s dog had lost his life. Here, too, was the spot where he had almost been killed himself – not for what he knew, but for what his would-be assassin had been afraid he might find out. The killer had emerged from this street and slit Lieutenant Anton’s throat. Carmen Sanchez, the seamstress, had probably gone home for the very last time along this route. And now the final phase of Paco’s investigation into the death of the dog would be acted out here, too.

  A black shape appeared at the bottom of the street, and began to walk briskly towards him. Paco felt himself tense. Cindy’s future and his own would be determined by what happened in the next few minutes. He had to get it right.

  The black shape stopped about four metres away from him. ‘Isn’t this all rather melodramatic, Inspector Ruiz?’ asked a voice which Paco recognized as belonging to Major Gómez.

  ‘Is it?’ Paco asked.

  The major moved a few steps closer, so that Paco could almost – but not quite – distinguish his features. ‘That’s certainly what I’d call it,’ he said. ‘Why have our meeting on a deserted street in the middle of the night, when we could just as easily have held it in the comfort of my quarters?’

  ‘Because in the comfort of your quarters, I’d have been caught like a rat in a trap,’ Paco told him. ‘And I wouldn’t have been just at your mercy. I’d also have been at the mercy of your “brother officers”, who would have supported you in whatever action you chose to take against me, because that’s what brother officers do.’

  ‘Am I to understand from the tone of what you’ve just said that this isn’t going to be a friendly discussion?’ the major asked.

  ‘That’s entirely up to you,’ Paco replied. ‘Would you like to come a little closer?’

  ‘I can hear perfectly well from here,’ Gómez told him. ‘Say what it is that you have to say.’

  ‘Do you know who killed the general’s dog?’ Paco asked.

  ‘I have my suspicions.’

  ‘And they’re probably exactly the same as mine. But the more interesting question is, do you really care who killed the dog?’

  ‘As I think I’ve explained to you before, if the culprit is uncovered, the general will be grateful to me – and that will certainly not do my chances of promotion any harm.’

  ‘But your chances of promotion would be even greater if I made another, much more significant discovery, wouldn’t they?’ Paco asked. ‘If, for example, I uncovered a certain secret – even though that secret was already known to most of the officers in this village?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Gómez said, lying just as Private Pérez had done earlier in the church.

  ‘When you warned me off investigating the officers – as you did on several occasions – did you really think that I’d take your advice?’

  Gómez laughed softly in the darkness. ‘No, quite the reverse. I told you I was a good judge of men, and from the very first moment we spoke to one another I’ve had you marked down as a man who will do exactly the opposite of anything someone in authority tells him to do.’

  Yes, you’re right, Paco thought. That’s always been my problem. ‘I should have known what game you were playing from the moment we exhumed the dog,’ he told the major.

  ‘You’re still not making sense,’ Gómez said, lying again.

  ‘I expect you were waiting for me to suggest that we dug it up,’ Paco continued, ‘but I didn’t. You see, I was only pretending to be interested in the case at that point, and I wasn’t really thinking like a policeman. Anyway, it soon became plain to you that I was going to do what you’d expected, so you were forced to make the suggestion yourself.’

  ‘And what was my motive for that, pray tell?’

&nb
sp; ‘If your suspicions about the killer were correct, you knew we’d find a pistol bullet in the animal. That would point the finger of suspicion squarely at one of the officers. And once I started investigating them, there was more than a fair chance I’d stumble across Colonel Valera’s secret.’

  ‘His secret?’ Gómez repeated.

  ‘His mistress!’ Paco said exasperatedly. ‘You wanted me to find out about his bloody mistress!’

  ‘Why should I have wanted you to do that?’

  ‘Because she’s not exactly like the ordinary run-of-the-mill mistresses officers tend to keep, is she? If I’d told the general what I’d discovered about her, Colonel Valera would certainly have been ruined, and you, as the next in line, would have got his place.’

  Even in the dark, Paco caught the movement of Major Gómez’s hand as it moved slightly closer to his holster. ‘Assuming this knowledge would, in fact, ruin the colonel, why didn’t I just take the information to the general myself?’ the major asked.

  It was Paco’s turn to laugh. ‘Oh, you’d have liked to do that,’ he said. ‘You were aching to do it. But that would have ruined you, too, because you’d have broken the officers’ code of loyalty by ratting on a brother officer. You might have got this one promotion from the general, but you’d have gone no higher than that. You’d have been a pariah, despised by the whole officer corps.’

  ‘Very interesting theory,’ Gómez said, noncommittally.

  ‘You probably thought of denouncing Valera in an anonymous letter,’ Paco continued, ‘but even that avenue was closed to you, because, as the main beneficiary of his fall, you would have automatically come under suspicion. But if an outsider – a man not even supposed to be involved in this particular issue – gave the information to the general in an attempt to save his own life, as I thought about doing this morning, you’d have been completely in the clear.’

  The major’s hand moved a few centimetres closer to his weapon. ‘You’re not telling me this without a reason,’ he said, and Paco was struck once again by how little difference there was between this high-ranking officer and a petty criminal like Private Perez. ‘You’re going to offer me some kind of deal, aren’t you?’

  ‘Obviously,’ Paco agreed.

  ‘Give me the details.’

  ‘I’ll destroy Colonel Valera for you—’ Paco began.

  ‘And for yourself,’ Major Gómez interrupted. ‘Or at least for the Republicans.’

  ‘True,’ Paco conceded. ‘Without Valera, the general’s army won’t be half as effective as it’s been so far. But that’s not the point, is it? However Valera’s removal affects the running of the war, you’ll get what you want.’

  ‘And what do you want in return?’

  This was going to be the difficult part to sell. Paco took a deep breath. ‘I want you to help me and three other people to escape from the village.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘Consider the alternative to helping me escape,’ Paco said. ‘I could let it be known to the other officers in the village that you’ve been pointing me in the direction of the colonel all the time. I might even exaggerate what you’ve said a little. You’d be ruined.’

  ‘Do you seriously think my brother officers would ever take your word against mine?’ Gómez asked.

  ‘Maybe not at first,’ Paco conceded. ‘But once they’ve tasted the poison, it will gradually seep through their entire systems. By the end of the week, there won’t be a man amongst them who doesn’t have some serious doubts about you. By this time next month, it will be taken as established fact that you did all you could to sabotage the career – and jeopardize the life – of a comrade-in-arms.’

  For another second or two, Gómez’s hand hovered over his pistol, then he lifted it up slowly, and scratched his ear in an almost leisurely manner. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Gómez agreed. ‘In which case, I don’t have much choice but to help you to escape, do I?’

  It had all been too easy, Paco thought. Far too easy. Instead of agreeing to assist in an escape which could only reflect badly on himself as head of security, he should have been putting forward other alternatives. He could have argued that it would be better to postpone the escape until the ideal opportunity presented itself. He could have said he was sure that, given time, he could persuade the general to grant them safe passage back to Madrid. There were a hundred things a clever man like him could have suggested – and instead he’d folded like a house of cards. But of course, he didn’t yet know how Paco planned to get out of the village. It would certainly take more arm-twisting to get him to agree to that.

  Paco took a deep breath. ‘The village is surrounded by sentries,’ he said. ‘We’ll never get past them unless we’ve created a diversion first. And as far as I can see, the only diversion which will work is—’

  ‘If I’m to have any part of this, then I’ll do the planning,’ Gómez interrupted. ‘You’re quite right about the need to divert the sentries, and I know just how to accomplish it.’

  ‘You do? How?

  ‘I’m told that in San Fernando, the fiestas usually take place in September. This year, we’re going to have to advance them a little.’

  Paco gasped. That was his own plan – the one he’d intended to use every threat he could muster to pressure Gómez into agreeing to. It would never have occurred to him, even in his wildest dreams, that the general’s head of security would suggest it himself. ‘You . . . you do realize that you’ll get the blame for it, don’t you?’ he said.

  Gómez shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But I’ll soon talk my way out of it. I’ll say all the damage was caused by a crack unit of Republican militiamen who somehow managed to infiltrate the village. No one, not even the general, could hold me responsible in such circumstances.’

  Not hold him responsible? Of course he would be held responsible, Paco thought – and whatever he says, he must know that as well as I do.

  He felt sweat forming on his brow. What game was Gómez playing this time? What cunning twist did he intend to add to what, on the face of it, was a straightforward plan? And at which stage of the plan would the major’s double-cross come?

  Gómez took a couple of steps forward and held out his hand, ‘Do we have a deal?’ he asked.

  ‘We have a deal,’ Paco agreed, shaking the hand and feeling a cold chill run through his entire body as he did so.

  ‘You took a risk meeting me here,’ Gómez said. ‘I could have shot you, you know. For a while, I was considering doing just that.’

  ‘Take your pistol out of its holster and point it at me,’ Paco said.

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘Just humour me.’

  Gómez shrugged. ‘All right. If that’s what you want.’

  He unclipped the flap and took out the pistol. He had not even raised it to chest height when he felt an arm wrapping around his chest – and a knife pressing against his throat.

  ‘You can let him go now, Pérez,’ Paco said.

  The rat-face private released the major and took a couple of steps backwards.

  ‘What was that little demonstration meant to prove?’ Gómez demanded, brushing off the sleeves of his jacket as if contact with the private soldier had contaminated him.

  ‘It was meant to show you that I had Pérez watching my back,’ Paco said. ‘And I will always have Pérez watching my back. You’d do well to remember that.’

  ‘You’re very smart, Ruiz,’ the major said. ‘But then, so am I. Only time will tell which of us is the smarter.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The house outside which the two sentries were posted was slightly bigger than its immediate neighbours, but was otherwise unremarkable. Standing in the shadows, watching the sentries smoking their cigarettes and occasionally hearing a snatch of their conversation carried to him on the breeze, Paco was beginning to feel deeply troubled.

  ‘Why are there only two of them?’ he asked
Major Gómez, in a suspicious whisper.

  ‘Two of what?’ the major answered.

  ‘Two sentries on guard. Considering what you’ve got stored in there, I should have thought you’d have posted at least half a dozen.’

  ‘We’re at least ten kilometres behind the front line in a village which is surrounded by a chain of roadblocks and mobile patrols,’ Gómez said. ‘It doesn’t need more guards – because only a madman would think of attacking it.’

  What was his game, Paco asked himself for the hundredth time since they’d shaken hands on the Calle Belén. How could the major possibly turn what was about to happen to his advantage? And when the double-cross finally came, what form would it take?

  ‘Who lives in the houses on each side of it?’ he asked, wondering if Gómez’s counter-strike would come from there.

  ‘Nobody,’ the major replied. ‘We’re using them as offices. Look, there’s your man now.’

  Paco stuck his head out the shadows for a second. Private Pérez had appeared at the other end of the street. He was lurching, and was clearly holding a bottle in his hand.

  ‘He plays the drunk well,’ Gómez said.

  ‘In his line of work, he’s had the chance to study a great many of them,’ Paco replied.

  Pérez drew level with the two guards, waved his bottle defiantly at them, and then keeled over. ‘They’ll wait for half a minute,’ Gómez whispered. ‘A minute at the most.’

  But it was not even that long before one of the guards stepped forward, prodded Pérez with his foot, then bent down and picked up the bottle.

  ‘When they come round, they’ll both swear they were overrun by a huge force and that they fought like demons,’ Gómez said dryly. ‘And I, of course, will pretend to believe them.’

  The sentry who had stolen the bottle from Pérez took a generous swig, then handed it over to his companion.

  ‘How long will it take?’ Paco asked.

  ‘Not long at all. I was very liberal with the dosage.’

  The first guard to take a drink was already starting to wobble. The second looked at him questioningly before starting to sway himself. Then they were both sprawling on the ground, just as Pérez was climbing to his feet.