He raised his glass, leaned over the table and clinked it against Alicia’s.
‘That’s worth a toast, I should say.’
Alicia nodded, lifting her glass from the table and gesturing towards him. ‘Deal,’ she said. ‘I’m going to hold you to that.’
Quico grinned. ‘You recording this?’ he said.
‘Something tells me I should be.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be true to my word.’
They both drank, Alicia watching Quico closely; Quico cast his eyes up at the restaurant ceiling as he tipped his head back.
‘Besides,’ he said, putting his glass back down. ‘I’m going to have to justify the expense of this lunch. And the bean-counters won’t buy it if I put it down as simply catching up with a former employee. Someone who, I seem to remember, I actually fired.’
‘I think the term is laid off,’ said Alicia.
‘Same difference. Still, I’d have you back in the blink of an eye if I could.’
She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Quico shrugged.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘The finances are still in a complete mess. But get me this story and …’
He raised his hands in a noncommittal gesture. Alicia nodded.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I get it.’
The waiter came and took away their empty plates. Neither of them wanted anything else to eat, so they ordered coffees. Quico wiped his mouth with the linen napkin and put on a more serious expression.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘if this is true, what you’ve told me, all this Cabrera thing, the military, the history of the island, these bizarre connections with the Reconquista and the Moors, you should be watching your back. I hope you’ve been taking precautions.’
A chill passed down Alicia’s spine. She thought of Marisol: had Alicia’s name already been passed on? With a sense of dread she realised she had been betrayed by her own sense of invulnerability. Far from making her sensibly cautious, past experiences had left her foolish and open. Quico seemed to read the expression in her eyes.
‘You have been careful, haven’t you?’
She pulled a face. Quico understood and nodded.
‘You’ve been out of the game for a while,’ he said. ‘It’s understandable. It may not be too late, but you need to start now. This kind of thing is basic these days. One of the first things they teach kids when they study journalism.’
Her eyes widened.
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘You and I are from a different generation, but it’s no excuse. And remember’ – he pointed down at the mobile phone on the table beside her – ‘that thing can be your worst enemy.’
She picked up the phone and placed it guiltily in her bag.
‘Whatever you do,’ he said in a lowered voice, ‘don’t use it for anything associated with this. In fact the best thing might be to ditch it.’
He fell silent as the waiter brought their coffees and placed them on the table. Quico picked his up.
‘From now on,’ he said, watching the waiter walk off again, ‘you need to take it as read that they’re on to you.’
He drank the coffee in one gulp and placed the cup back down with a clatter in its saucer.
‘And be very, very careful.’
FORTY
Carlos’s phone had barely begun to buzz when he pressed the button and brought it to his ear.
‘Yes?’
‘Ready to report, sir,’ came a voice.
‘Proceed,’ said Carlos.
‘The subject has finished lunch and is heading out on foot from the restaurant.’
Carlos quickly switched the phone to his other ear and pulled out a pen and piece of paper from the top drawer of his desk.
‘Who did she have lunch with?’ he said.
‘We’ve just identified him, sir,’ said the voice. ‘It’s Quico Romero, the editor of—’
‘Yes, I know who Quico Romero is!’ Carlos blurted out. ‘Where is Romero now?’
His breath caught in his throat, chest hard like concrete. With something of a start he realised that he was losing his cool and slowly and deliberately forced his breathing further down into his abdomen, trying to loosen the tension. The pen pressed deep into the paper, leaving a dent in the wooden desktop beneath.
‘Romero just left,’ said the voice. ‘Took a taxi.’
‘Where to?’
‘Presumably back to the newspaper offices, sir.’
‘Presumably?’ coughed Carlos. ‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘Our orders were to shadow the Beneyto woman, sir. We don’t have enough manpower to follow—’
‘All right!’ barked Carlos. ‘Never mind. Beneyto is the key subject. She must on no account be lost. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What is she doing now?’
‘She’s …’ The voice hesitated.
‘Well?’
‘She’s just gone into a phone box.’
‘What?’
‘She’s dialling a number, sir. Reading it off her mobile phone and punching the digits in on the public phone.’
Carlos closed his eyes, temporarily unable, once again, to breathe. He pressed two fingers against his temple.
‘What do you want us to do, sir?’ said the voice.
‘Carry on as before,’ said Carlos after a pause. ‘But from now on with extra vigilance.’
‘Sir?’
Carlos silently swore the most irreverent oath that he knew, cursing the imbecilic operative at the other end.
‘She’s on to us,’ explained Carlos. ‘She knows she’s being tracked.’
FORTY-ONE
The phone box smelt stale and dusty. Alicia held the phone to her ear and heard it ring at the other end. There was a prickling feeling at the back of her head where she had an urgent desire for a second pair of eyes. After four rings, she heard a click.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello. Is that Marine Biology?’
‘Just put you through.’
The line pipped for a few seconds as her call was transferred. Eventually a female voice answered.
‘Marine Biology Department.’
‘Hello,’ said Alicia. ‘I’m trying to get in touch with a friend who works there.’
‘Sure. What’s the name?’
‘Ignacio Alberola.’
‘You mean Nacho?’ said the woman.
‘That’s right. Can I speak with him?’
The woman at the other end paused.
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Alicia.
‘Nacho isn’t here,’ the woman said.
‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’
‘Well … I don’t know.’
‘Could I leave a message?’
‘Maybe,’ said the woman. ‘It’s just that … We haven’t seen him for a while. He’s been in the Balearics. I can’t say when I’d be able to give it to him.’
‘Didn’t he show up yesterday?’ asked Alicia.
‘Well he was meant to. But no one here saw him come in. And several of us were here till late.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, positive.’
Alicia shook her head.
‘I saw him yesterday,’ she said. ‘In Valencia. He told me he was going straight there, to the department.’
‘Well, he didn’t show up.’
Alicia paused.
‘And today?’ she said. ‘Any sign of him today?’
‘We haven’t seen him,’ said the woman. ‘I think someone tried his mobile, but there was no reply. Which is strange in Nacho – usually he’s easily contactable. Perhaps you should try, yourself. You might have more luck.’
‘Perhaps I’ll do that,’ said Alicia.
‘What did you say your name was?’ asked the woman. ‘I can tell him you rang when he turns up.’
Alicia placed the phone firmly back in its place, pulling down heavily to make sure that the line was cut. She closed her eyes, blotting out thoughts of Na
cho, where he was and what might have happened to him.
For a moment she stood motionless, willing an alertness to come to her, a steady, sharp state of mind which, she now coldly realised, she was going to need. She was on a trajectory, and would need all her wits about her if it was going to have a different ending to the one intended for her.
There was no one she could turn to; she was alone.
She opened her eyes and stood up straight. On the wall of the phone box was a small map of the city centre with indications of the various public transport options. She allowed herself ten seconds to study it, refreshing her knowledge as quickly and thoroughly as she could. Then, without casting a second glance around her, she stepped out of the phone box.
At the second street on her left, she turned and walked purposefully, unhurriedly, towards the centre.
FORTY-TWO
The Guardia Civil office was on the outskirts of the village opposite a petrol station. Cámara sauntered over, watching for signs of life. The place appeared to be closed, but as he approached, he saw a squad car pull up outside, park in its designated spot, and an officer step out, jangling a bunch of keys. Cámara stepped through the door seconds after he’d opened it and entered.
A portrait of the King hung on the wall above a desk. Grey filing cabinets stood obediently in single file beneath a tall, barred window. Above his head, next to a bare light bulb, was a rotating fan covered in thick layers of dust.
‘Buenas tardes,’ the officer said stiffly on seeing Cámara. He looked to be in his fifties, with cropped grey hair and a grey moustache. The three red bars on his shoulder indicated his rank.
‘Corporal Rodríguez?’ Cámara asked.
The man looked at him with suspicion. Cámara took out his ID and passed it across. ‘The José Luis Mendoza case,’ Cámara said. ‘I’ve been looking into it.’
Rodríguez cocked his head and handed the ID back with a salute and a knowing look. There was no need to say anything, but he said it anyway.
‘So they’ve sent a chief inspector.’ His upper lip barely moved as he spoke, as though the weight of the moustache kept it immobile. ‘Must be important.’
Cámara had had good relations with individual Guardia Civil officers in the past. Indeed, he had only been able to solve a number of investigations thanks to their help. Yet the professional rivalry between the two police forces was always an issue, something to be overcome on the occasions when their cases overlapped.
Rodríguez had no choice but to cooperate with the high-ranking police detective who had suddenly appeared in his office. Yet cooperation could take different forms. Cámara was alone in the sierra, operating in Guardia Civil territory. His investigation could only progress if he managed to get Rodríguez on his side.
‘We all have to perform our duty, Corporal,’ he said. ‘Even when we don’t want to. But that’s what makes us who we are.’
Rodríguez stared.
‘Unos sacan las castañas del fuego,’ Cámara continued with a resigned grin, ‘y otros se las comen.’ Some do all the hard work while others reap the reward.
Rodríguez nodded, and signalled to a chair on the other side of the desk. Yes, he would welcome this police officer for the time being. They all knew what it meant to be shat on by their superiors: he just hadn’t expected something like this happening to men of Cámara’s rank.
He sat down himself.
‘So José Luis died at La Fé,’ he said.
‘Two days ago,’ Cámara answered. ‘I came up yesterday morning.’
Rodríguez gave him a look.
‘Last night,’ Cámara continued, ‘someone tried to kill me.’
Rodríguez sat up straighter in his chair.
‘I was shot at several times,’ Cámara said. ‘Near the Molino.’
He deliberately left out any mention of Jimmy.
‘My suspicion,’ he went on, as Rodríguez listened in silence, ‘is that it was Bogdan and Dorin, the Romanian, er …’ He paused. ‘Plumbers.’
Rodríguez placed his hands together, as though in prayer, his moustache seeming to bristle under his nose.
‘I know,’ Cámara said, ‘that they’re both involved in the drug trade, and that they’ve been supplying Sunset for some time.’
Rodríguez shot him a glance.
‘I have a theory,’ said Cámara, ‘but I’m still not certain why they would want me dead.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’ Rodríguez said.
Cámara nodded.
‘Did you happen to come up here yesterday on a motorbike? I mean, an unmarked, private motorbike?’
‘That’s correct.’
Rodríguez sighed, nodding to himself.
‘Well,’ he said after a pause. ‘Your information corroborates our own. Dorin and Bogdan are known drug dealers here, and the main source of their custom is – or certainly has been over the past few years – Sunset.’
‘What kind of stuff are they dealing in?’
‘Pretty much what you’d expect: cocaine, MDMA, ketamine.’
‘Anything new?’
‘The drug culture has been changing recently,’ said Rodríguez, ‘as I’m sure you know. The new stuff has been around for a while, but it’s coming in greater quantities.’
‘You’re talking about methamphetamine,’ said Cámara.
‘And the others: GHB, mephedrone. I’m sure you don’t need me to explain what they’re being used for.’
Cámara shrugged.
‘It’s not for me to judge, and it’s not my job to judge,’ said Rodríguez. ‘But these …’ He paused. ‘These sex orgies they have up there. Last for days on end. All fuelled by drugs. Ruining young men’s lives.’
‘Just men?’
‘It’s mostly a gay scene at Sunset,’ Rodríguez said. ‘But not exclusively. Women there as well. I mean, straight women. Prolonged bouts of casual sex with multiple partners, lowering their inhibitions, keeping themselves going with these new drug cocktails. And the risk of infection is growing. Not just from the sex, but they’re injecting themselves with this stuff. It’s like the eighties and nineties again. HIV rates haven’t been this high for years.’
‘Have you ever heard of pheromones used as part of these cocktails?’
Cámara detected a nervousness in Rodríguez’s voice. He felt certain he was hiding something. The wedding band on the corporal’s finger glimmered as he spun it around with his thumb.
‘Haven’t heard anything,’ said Rodríguez. ‘It’s meant to make you sexually attractive, right? Perhaps they’re using that as well.’
‘Can you tell me more about the Romanians?’ asked Cámara.
‘The plumbing business is just a front,’ Rodríguez said. ‘Place is never open.’
‘How are they laundering their money?’
‘Through the grocery shop.’
‘The one next to Los Arcos bar.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I was in there earlier,’ said Cámara.
‘There used to be three in the village,’ said Rodríguez. ‘But the others couldn’t compete. It’s run by the wives, but they used the drug money to buy supplies then sell the goods at reduced prices. The other two shops quickly closed down. Now they’re the only grocer’s left and they’ve recently started putting the prices up – created themselves a monopoly.’
Rodríguez shook his head.
‘Was José Luis involved in the drug business himself?’ Cámara asked.
‘José Luis was very clever,’ said Rodríguez. ‘He kept himself completely apart from that side of things.’
Cámara remembered the collection of drugs that he’d found inside José Luis’s apartments: not so separate, he thought, that he did not partake himself on occasion.
‘The drugs are one of the attractions of the place, one of the main reasons why people go. They’re not so readily available elsewhere. Although some of the other clubs are starting to follow the trend, and it’s probably just a matter of
time before they’re as ubiquitous as cocaine and everything else.’
As the local Guardia Civil officer, it was clearly Rodríguez’s job to know as much as he could about what went on in the village and the surrounding area, but Cámara was still surprised at how much detail the corporal appeared to have on what went on at Sunset.
‘José Luis needed the drugs there in order to attract the clientele. And he needed to keep them concentrated at Sunset – not spreading to the other clubs – for as long as he could. That way he could make more money. But he didn’t want any of this to be traceable directly to himself.’
‘So he used cut-outs?’
‘Exactly,’ said Rodríguez.
‘And one of them, I’m assuming, is Paco Jaén, the manager.’
‘Paco is the hub,’ said Rodríguez. ‘The central man. Without him, it all falls apart.’
‘And he deals directly with Dorin and Bogdan?’
‘Probably,’ said Rodríguez. ‘Although I’m still not clear on that.’
Cámara thought about Paco, about how he had lied directly to his face about not knowing Bogdan and Dorin, the men in the BMW.
‘I met Paco yesterday,’ said Cámara. ‘But there was no one else at Sunset apart from Abi and the old couple. I expected there to be more.’
‘They’ll have fled. As soon as they heard about José Luis. I’m surprised you even found Paco there, to be honest. Everyone will be keeping their heads down till they know what happens next.’
‘Do you have any ideas in that respect? I met the mayor earlier today. He seemed quite concerned that Sunset might close down.’
Rodríguez shook his head.
‘I heard talk once about José Luis having a nephew in Madrid. But I’ve no idea what’s happening to Sunset now. It was all about José Luis. He was one of those larger-than-life characters, made the place in his own image. Hard to imagine how it could carry on without him.’
‘Just to get back to the Romanians,’ said Cámara. ‘Do they drive a BMW with tinted-glass windows?’
Fatal Sunset Page 21
