‘That’s their latest car,’ said Rodríguez. ‘They change fairly regularly, think it will put us off their scent.’
He grinned like a sly cat.
‘But it never takes us very long to work out what they’re driving. It’s not as if they go for inconspicuous vehicles.’
‘You see,’ said Cámara, ‘I think they may have tried to kill me more than once. You asked a minute ago about my motorbike.’
Rodríguez’s moustache twitched.
‘Relations haven’t been good recently with Paco,’ he said.
Again, Cámara was impressed by how much the corporal knew. He could only assume that he hadn’t put Dorin and Bogdan away for lack of evidence to convict them.
‘The Romanians are essentially middlemen,’ Rodríguez continued. ‘They’re supplying stuff sold to them by a gang operating down on the coast. It’s a common modus operandi.’
‘So what happened?’
‘The guys on the coast find someone locally to supply their drugs. They watch how things go for a while, perhaps a few months or even a few years. They’re clever. Then, if they see a market begin to take off, they move in themselves, undercutting their own middleman and eventually running him out of business.’
‘And this was starting to happen here?’
Rodríguez nodded.
‘About a week ago. Made Dorin and Bogdan very twitchy. That BMW they’ve got is the second new car in ten days. It was clear something was up. And then there were rumours of new people appearing in the village, strangers …’
He looked Cámara in the eye.
‘One of them was reported to have come up on a motorbike, a man about fifty years old, the kind who could look after himself.’
He shrugged.
‘Never saw him myself, but …’
Cámara smiled.
‘I’ve been mistaken for several things in my life,’ he said. ‘But never a drug dealer before.’
FORTY-THREE
‘Listen,’ said Cámara. ‘Dorin and Bogdan still don’t know who I am. I want you to arrange a meeting with them.’
Corporal Rodríguez leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin with a sudden urgency.
‘With all due respect,’ he said at length. ‘I think that would be a bad idea.’
‘I’d like you to do it nonetheless,’ insisted Cámara. ‘Is it possible?’
Rodríguez pushed out his chest. ‘Well of course it’s possible,’ he said.
‘Good,’ said Cámara. ‘Then I’d like you to get a message to them. I don’t care how. Tell them to meet me at their plumber’s office tonight. Tell them …’ he paused. ‘Tell them the suppliers are prepared to talk.’
Rodríguez tapped his finger nervously on the desk.
‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ added Cámara.
‘It’s not that,’ said the corporal. ‘It’s just … I’m wondering about the protocol here. Is this still a Policía Nacional case? Or is the Guardia Civil now officially collaborating in the investigation, taking its share of the responsibility?’
Cámara understood: there would be forms to fill in, reports to be done, costings and justifications for each step that the corporal made. Such matters were time-consuming enough when operating alone or simply within the confines of the Guardia Civil. Coming in like this on a Policía Nacional case meant the amount of paperwork would be tripled at least. Which only made sense if, in the event of a happy conclusion, Rodríguez could put it down as a Guardia Civil success. The pay-off had to justify the expense of energy and resources. Cámara had made a connection with Rodríguez on the basis that they were both foot soldiers of a kind – in spite of his rank. He could not break that common bond now.
‘I’m happy to go along with whatever makes this feasible from your point of view,’ he said.
Rodríguez nodded: it was the answer he’d been hoping for.
‘Just one thing,’ he said. ‘I’m assuming no one saw you coming here? Otherwise your cover story might already be blown.’
Cámara frowned.
‘I was careful,’ he said. ‘No one followed me, as far as I know. Except maybe the man at the petrol station.’
‘We don’t have to worry about him,’ said Rodríguez. ‘He works for me.’
‘One thing,’ said Cámara. ‘How come you’ve never put any of these people away – Bogdan, Dorin …?’
Rodríguez gave a mirthless laugh.
‘We know almost everything,’ he said, ‘but still need hard evidence to convict. We don’t know where or how they drop the drugs, despite putting them under surveillance. Must be somewhere in or around the village, but Paco and the Romanians never meet.’
He shrugged.
‘A mystery.’
Rodríguez got up to leave. It was almost six o’clock. Behind him, Cámara noticed a steel cabinet with a heavy lock on it.
‘Armoury?’ he asked.
Rodríguez glanced back.
‘The usual. Nothing special. Why?’
‘I’ll explain later,’ said Cámara.
Rodríguez slipped his cap on and headed towards the door.
‘I’ll lock this behind me,’ he said. ‘As far as the outside world is concerned, there’s no one inside and I’m off on my evening patrol.’
Cámara nodded: there was an interesting change in the man now that he knew this was a Guardia Civil case: not quite so deferential to the high-ranking Policía Nacional officer, more of an equal.
‘I shan’t move,’ Cámara said.
Rodríguez clicked off the light and closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock twice to secure the bolt.
A few minutes passed in silence, the light inside the office gradually dimming. Cámara felt a buzzing in his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone.
The number on the screen was unrecognised. He pressed the green button and pulled the phone to his ear.
‘Chief Inspector,’ said a voice that Cámara failed to recognise at first. ‘It’s Azcárraga.’
‘Hombre,’ said Cámara, surprised.
‘Can you talk?’ said Azcárraga.
‘Yes, now’s good.’
‘OK, it’s just that there are some rumours going around. Wasn’t sure if you were still on this case.’
‘Until you hear otherwise directly from me,’ said Cámara, ‘assume that I’m still in charge of the investigation.’
‘Right, right.’
‘So what have you got?’
‘I went to the judge you mentioned,’ said Azcárraga. ‘Judge Jurado. He totally cooperated, as you said.’
‘Good. So you got the warrant?’
‘Yes.’
‘And have you been able to run a trace on the call?’
‘Yes.’
‘So,’ said Cámara. ‘What did you find?’
‘I’ve got a name,’ said Azcárraga. ‘But that’s it. I’m really sorry. I haven’t been able to do anything else yet. Things are pretty hectic here today.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Cámara. ‘That’s great. Who was it, then?’
‘The line is in the name of someone called José Montesinos.’
‘He made the call?’
‘Well, it was made from a line in his name. That’s it, all I’ve got.’
‘It’s a start,’ said Cámara.
‘Does it mean anything?’ asked Azcárraga.
‘Not at the moment.’
‘I’ve … I’ve really got to go,’ said Azcárraga. ‘I’m on a cigarette break. And they’re actually timing them these days. Can you believe that?’
‘Yes,’ said Cámara. ‘Unfortunately I can.’
Azcárraga rang off. Cámara put the phone down on the desk in front of him. Almost as soon as he did so, the bolt on the door clicked and Corporal Rodríguez came back in. He closed the door behind him before walking over to the desk and speaking to Cámara in a low voice.
‘The message has been relayed,’ he said. ‘I can’t guarantee they’ll show, however.’
<
br /> ‘What do you think?’ asked Cámara.
‘I don’t …’ began Rodríguez.
‘What does your instinct tell you?’
Rodríguez looked surprised. Cámara guessed that no superior had ever talked to him like this before.
‘I think they’ll show up,’ he said. ‘And I think you’re putting yourself in danger.’
‘I shall go alone,’ said Cámara. ‘I have yet to report back to the Jefatura. As far as the Policía Nacional know, none of this is happening. Should anything go wrong – and it won’t – but should things go badly, then there’s nothing to stop you saying you had no part in it and that some maverick Policía Nacional officer got his fingers burnt up here while working on his own. That he got what he deserved. You get me?’
Rodríguez nodded reluctantly. This was not the Guardia Civil way of doing things, but the man had seen enough service, Cámara guessed, to know that sometimes breaking standard procedure was the only way to get things done.
‘I said midnight,’ Rodríguez said. ‘Things will be quiet by then. The village mostly closes down by about eleven o’clock.’
‘Good,’ said Cámara. ‘I’ll wait here.’
‘There’s a camp bed,’ said Rodríguez. ‘And some bottles of water. I’ll be back later.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Cámara.
He seemed to know that the call was coming in seconds before his phone buzzed again. He picked it up quickly and answered.
‘Hello, chief,’ said Torres at the other end. ‘Did you get my messages?’
‘Not until this morning.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll explain later.’
‘Dodgy signal in the sierra?’
‘Something like that. Are you near a computer?’
‘Funny you should mention that.’
‘Good. Can you look some things up for me?’
‘I’ll do it right now,’ said Torres. ‘There’s no one around. They’ve all gone off to a drinks party. Arranged some time ago. I wasn’t invited.’
‘Nice.’
‘Better this way. So what is it you want me to look up?’
Cámara gave him the names of the Romanians, mentioning their connection with the drug gang operating on the coast.
‘Well, I can tell you quite a bit about the coastal gang without checking the computer,’ said Torres. ‘One of the biggest groups in the region.’
‘OK,’ Cámara. ‘What’s their makeup?’
‘Colombians at the top, dealing with the suppliers on the other side of the Atlantic. Most of the others are locals, but they’re sometimes known as the Colombians because of where the stuff’s coming from.’
‘Are they still shipping everything over from Colombia?’
‘Well, the cocaine, obviously via Venezuala. But they’re expanding, producing their own stuff here, on site. These new chemical drugs. Got various labs dotted about.’
‘I’m aware of them.’
‘It’s a big operation,’ said Torres. ‘Got lots of different offshoots, like an octopus, as you can imagine. And they’re a bit cleverer than the usual types. Dress well, but not too flash. They work a lot on image, know how to appear invisible. Respectable, middle class. No cars worth more than a certain amount – absolutely no Mercedes or SUVs. You’re more likely to see them in a Skoda or a Renault.’
‘Or on a motorbike?’
‘That’s the kind of thing. Not a biker in leathers, but a guy wearing a jacket, perhaps the kind who commutes to work on a bike. You know the kind of thing. A bit like you.’
‘Thanks.’
There was a pause: Torres seemed to have guessed what this might be about.
‘A couple of things might be useful,’ he said. ‘These guys always refer to their drugs as material – that’s their jargon.’
‘OK,’ said Cámara. ‘And specific names for each narcotic?’
Torres listed off the code words for each drug they sold.
‘OK, that’s probably enough,’ said Cámara.
‘So these Romanians you mentioned,’ said Torres.
He tapped on the keyboard while Cámara waited. Then he clicked his tongue.
‘Not the kind of guys you’d want to meet in a dark alley,’ he said. ‘Suspected of drug dealing – nothing proved yet, but they’ve been under surveillance in the past, according to this. Guardia Civil keep a file on them.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Moved to Spain eight years ago with their wives. No children as far as I can see.’
‘What did they do back in Romania?’
‘There’s something here about a boxing gym …’ he paused. ‘Wait, there’s something more here, in the Guardia Civil notes. Looks like Dorin and Bogdan pump themselves up with drugs before carrying out acts of violence. There was a case of assault two years back against a man called Enrique Fuster Polo.’
‘Not Enrique?’ said Cámara. ‘Got a place up here?’
‘You know him?’
‘We met. What happened?’
‘No charges. But they made quite a mess of him. Left a scar down one side of his face. Old guy.’
‘That’s it. Anything else? A motive?’
‘Nothing. Sorry. Just that the two were suspected of carrying out the assault when they were high on some drug or other.’
Cámara let out a sigh.
‘You sure you know what you’re doing, chief?’ said Torres.
FORTY-FOUR
She’s on Carretas, heading towards Sol.
This is Carlos speaking. Do you hear me?
Yes, sir.
Who am I speaking to?
Number 1, sir.
Are you the team commander?
Yes, sir. But there are only two of us, sir.
You will both be taking direct orders from me. The subject is extremely valuable. She must on no account be lost. Do you understand?
Affirmative.
I’ll be listening the entire time. I want regular updates. This is top priority.
I understand.
Who else is with you?
Number 2.
Does he have an earpiece?
Yes, sir.
Number 2, do you copy?
Hearing you clearly, sir.
A female, I hear.
Yes, sir.
Good. You are both fully briefed and aware of the situation. Now carry on.
Yes, sir.
Yes, sir.
Where is she now?
Just entering Sol.
Fewer shops in the centre of Madrid closed at lunchtime now, staying open through the hotter hours of the day, but shoppers themselves – at least of the local kind – still obeyed the old rhythms and as Alicia came out into the open space of the Plaza Puerta del Sol she noticed with a certain relief that the afternoon rush was in full flow. The area was more pedestrianised these days – in the past the streaming cars had been even more of a threat than the pickpockets and hustlers who made it their theatre of operations – and she was able to cross over towards the statue of Carlos III with relative ease, skipping behind a passing taxi and throwing her handbag over her shoulder. It felt warm and the top of her brow prickled with beading sweat. The air conditioning of the restaurant was already a distant memory, the safety of lunch with Quico like a quickly disappearing island dropping behind the horizon astern. She was in far choppier waters now, with an unknown and unseen foe almost certainly in pursuit. Surviving, and reaching her final destination, would require her to employ full awareness and clean instinct.
The shop window of a chain store on the far side of the square caught her eye. Barely changing her course, she made for it, wending her way through the thickening crowds.
Has crossed the square. Handbag thrown over her shoulder.
I have eyes on her.
Heading towards north side.
How is she walking?
Come again, sir?
Describe her way of walking. Is it fast? Slow? Give me more information.
I’d say it’s …
Meandering, sir. Normal. Neither fast nor slow. Typical shopper.
OK. Where is she heading?
Towards the Cortefiel store.
Is she going inside?
She’s … She’s standing outside, looking in the window.
Alicia stared patiently at the window. The mannequins on the other side were only partially visible with the sunlight reflecting on the glass, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t really interested. At least not today. Behind her, in the mirror image, she could clearly see the tobacconist’s kiosk that she had just walked past. And she wondered about popping back to buy a pack of cigarettes: an urge to smoke was growing in her. In fact, a younger woman was purchasing some now. A woman with short light brown hair and a black leather jacket with a double front – like a motorcyclist’s. It was surprising that tobacconists could survive these days, with the number of people giving up. How much longer, she wondered, before they all closed for good?
She glanced up and a sign caught her eye. Not thinking twice, she stepped in through the shop door and headed for the first floor.
She’s in.
I’m on it.
Wait!
What?
She’s heading upstairs. You can’t go there.
Oh, shit.
What is it? What’s going on?
Number 2’s right, sir.
What?
It’s the lingerie section. I’ll stick out, she’ll notice me.
Number 2! Get in there!
Yes, sir. Going in now.
I’ll be outside.
Alicia was greeted at the top of the escalator by a faceless, tall and unnaturally thin mannequin dressed in purple knickers and bra with white lace edging, one knee bent inward slightly to emphasise the curve of her hip. Alicia stepped past a pair of teenage girls standing at the edge of the bikini rail and headed down the aisle to the far end, where packets of tights in numerous shades and sizes hung from metal pegs attached to the wall. Less eye-catching merchandise, perhaps, but possibly one of the bestsellers. It was odd that they should place that particular section in a far corner, but it suited her. An elderly woman – a widow, judging by her black dress – walked away dragging a shopping trolley as Alicia approached, padding carefully to the counter near the top of the escalator to pay. Alicia watched as the escalator brought up two new shoppers: a dark-skinned woman wearing a necklace with large, brightly coloured beads and a man in a beige jacket holding her hand and with a look of tension around his jaw.
Fatal Sunset Page 22
