Fatal Sunset

by Jason Webster

  ‘What did he say?’

  Montesinos paused.

  ‘It’s why I made the call,’ he said at last. ‘He was talking about how everyone here was against him, how the whole village, the whole valley hated him, wanted him dead.’

  ‘Who?’ said Cámara.

  ‘At the time I didn’t take it seriously,’ said Montesinos. ‘I just thought, Oh no, here we go again. The same pattern being played out. That feeling of being under siege, that everyone had it in for him. He started talking about what happened in the Air Force again, about why they chucked him out, like some old, festering wound. But then when I heard he’d died …’

  ‘Who did he mention?’ said Cámara. ‘Who wanted him dead?’

  Montesinos shook his head.

  ‘It was like, everyone,’ he said. ‘Some business about the local hunters and I don’t know what. Then there was this crazy old neighbour, a recluse – something about a land dispute. But then there were others, unspecified. I couldn’t make it out. People at Sunset, people in the village. Even the priest was mentioned at one point.’

  Montesinos stopped.

  ‘That was him, wasn’t it? The man who was taken away.’

  Cámara nodded slowly.

  ‘Try to remember,’ he said. ‘What exactly did he say?’

  ‘It’s a bit of a blur,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I was just so upset for him. I could tell, the same pattern, all over again. He talked about so many things. He wanted to put his affairs in order, about getting in touch with some nephew or other, his only blood relative. That’s when the warning bells really began to ring. I said to Paco—’

  ‘Paco was there as well?’

  ‘Yes, three of them. José Luis must have gone to the toilet or something. I said: You’ve got to watch out for him. I’ve seen him like this before. Always the same routine, the paranoia, taking himself to the edge.’

  Cámara released his hands from behind his back and brought them together in front of his face in a gesture of prayer.

  ‘This dinner,’ he said. ‘Was it celebrating anything?’

  ‘It was my birthday,’ said Montesinos. ‘We always remarked that our birthdays were quite close, except I’m Gemini and he’s Cancer. He brought me a bottle of cologne. Always did. Bit of an obsession of his. Always smelt good, did José Luis. Always presentable, well dressed, ready to perform. Even when he was on the point of doing something stupid.’

  Cámara’s hands dropped to his sides, his eyes staring out, unfocused, over Montesinos’s head.

  Torres took a step forward out of the shadows.

  ‘Chief?’ he said. ‘Chief, what is it?’

  FIFTY-ONE

  Cámara sprinted towards the door.

  ‘Stay here,’ Torres told Montesinos hurriedly. ‘Don’t move. Just stay here.’

  He chased after Cámara. Out in the street he just caught sight of Cámara turning right past the church facade and heading into the village square. Torres puffed up the hill behind.

  ‘Chief!’ he called.

  At the corner, a confused-looking Azcárraga and a Guardia Civil officer stopped him.

  ‘This is Corporal Rodríguez,’ said Azcárraga. ‘What’s going on?’

  The three of them watched as Cámara darted between two parked cars and dived into the shadows of the arcade at the side of the square.

  ‘What the hell’s he doing?’ said Rodríguez.

  Torres didn’t wait, making chase once more. The two others quickly joined him. Torres reached the door of Los Arcos bar just as it was closing behind Cámara. Within an instant there were four law-enforcement officers in the tiny, grubby space. Three customers – two elderly men drinking mid-morning coffee and a younger man in overalls – stared in astonishment at the sudden invasion. Behind the bar, Ramón, the greasy-haired owner, tried to remain calm, smiling nervously through stained teeth.

  ‘Buenos días,’ he said.

  Cámara walked up to the bar and leaned over, pressing his face close to Ramón’s.

  ‘That phone in the entrance,’ he said loudly. ‘It’s the only public phone in the village, right?’

  His aggression and tone shook Ramón.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his high-pitched voice rising an octave. ‘But I’ve got all the paperwork for it. It’s legal.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Rodríguez, looking concerned. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘Who uses it?’ said Cámara, ignoring the Guardia Civil man and boring his eyes into Ramón.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ramón with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘Anyone. Most people have mobile phones these days. So it’s not used as—’

  ‘Three days ago,’ said Cámara urgently. ‘I need to know if anyone used that phone three days ago. In the morning, around twelve o’clock.’

  Ramón looked at him desperately.

  ‘Steady on, Chief Inspector,’ said Rodríguez. Cámara turned and shot him a look of seniority of rank, and the Guardia Civil man immediately backed down.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ said Ramón. ‘I can’t really see the phone from behind the bar. And people are coming and going all the time. I mean, I remember some things, but not everything. It’s impossible.’

  Cámara leaned across the bar, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him close.

  ‘I’m beginning to tire of your memory problems,’ he said. ‘I want you to think very carefully and tell me if anyone used that phone.’

  Ramón went pale. From the side, Rodríguez took a hesitant step forwards, but Torres pushed out an arm and held him back.

  ‘I really …’ said Ramón. ‘I really can’t remember. Honestly. I swear.’

  ‘I can remember.’

  A small, deep voice spoke from the other end of the bar. Everyone turned to look. Cámara dropped Ramón back down behind the bar.

  The man wearing worker’s overalls stood up from his seat and took a step towards them.

  ‘I was here that day,’ he said. ‘Usually come in around this time.’

  ‘That’s right, that’s right,’ said Ramón excitedly. ‘Jorge was here. That’s true. I remember.’

  Cámara shot him a glance; the bar owner fell silent.

  ‘Did you see someone using the phone?’ Cámara asked Jorge.

  The man nodded.

  ‘Who was it?’

  They waited as Jorge’s mind churned.

  ‘I didn’t get a good look at him,’ he said.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Cámara impatiently.

  ‘Just saw his silhouette in the doorway, but I thought I recognised him.’

  ‘Who was it?’ asked Cámara.

  ‘Came in, made a quick call, then left. I don’t know his name,’ said Jorge. ‘That man from Sunset.’

  ‘Which one?’ said Cámara.

  Jorge paused.

  ‘Well, people get so sensitive these days.’

  ‘Which one?’ insisted Cámara.

  ‘Well, you know, the one who’s …’

  ‘Who’s what?’

  ‘Mariquita,’ said Jorge.

  Cámara took a step closer, almost bearing down on the man.

  ‘You saw him come in, make a call and then leave. Is that it?’

  Jorge nodded.

  ‘Around twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Just a bit before. ’Cause I’m usually out just before twelve myself.’

  Cámara stepped back, his mind racing. Then he turned to the rest of the room.

  ‘Azcárraga,’ he said.

  ‘Yes sir.’ The young policeman stepped forwards.

  ‘Call Judge Jurado again,’ said Cámara. ‘We need the call records for that phone.’

  He pointed to the public phone on the wall near the entrance.

  ‘Everything for the past week,’ he said. ‘But specifically—’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ said Azcárraga. ‘Three days ago just before twelve.’

  Cámara nodded.

  ‘I’m on it,’ said Azcárraga, taking his phone o
ut of his pocket and heading towards the door.

  ‘Go to the Guardia Civil station,’ called out Rodríguez. ‘My colleague’s there. He can help.’

  Azcárraga nodded and disappeared.

  Cámara turned to Torres and Rodríguez.

  ‘You two,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

  The doors of the grocer’s shop were closed.

  ‘After what happened last night,’ said Rodríguez, ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Did you speak to the wives?’ asked Cámara. ‘Have any contact with them?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Rodríguez. ‘But we will be doing. They’re almost certainly accessories, if not fully implicated in the drug dealing themselves.’

  ‘They live here, right?’ said Cámara. ‘Behind the shop.’

  ‘Both couples,’ said Rodríguez. ‘Although they also have a place outside the village. Built it themselves: pool, garden.’

  ‘The wives,’ said Cámara. ‘What are their names?’

  ‘The blonde one’s Ileana,’ said Rodríguez. ‘The dark-haired one’s Cosmina.’

  ‘Do you know where they are now?’

  Rodríguez drew in a breath, then glanced at the cars parked nearby at the edge of the square on the other side of the arches.

  ‘That’s their car,’ he said, nodding at the BMW with tinted-glass windows. ‘Chances are they’re holed up inside the shop.’

  ‘I need to speak with them,’ said Cámara. ‘Urgently.’

  Rodríguez shrugged, taking a step towards the door.

  ‘I suppose at some point you’re going to tell me what this is all about,’ he mumbled. ‘There’s still lots of processing to do with Dorin and Bogdan. And then there’s Father Ricardo of all people sitting in my cell.’

  ‘I’m asking you personally,’ said Cámara. ‘As a favour.’

  Rodríguez sighed and gave a reluctant nod.

  He pulled on the door. It wouldn’t open.

  ‘Locked,’ he said unnecessarily.

  Torres took a step forward and hammered on the door.

  ‘Open up!’ he shouted.

  Rodríguez put out a hand for him to stop. Then he knocked on the door himself, not quite so loudly.

  ‘Guardia Civil,’ he said, putting his mouth close to the door. ‘We need to talk to you.’

  He waited: there was no sound from inside.

  ‘It’s about Bogdan and Dorin,’ Rodríguez continued. He glanced up at Cámara and shrugged.

  Still no sound.

  ‘Open the door!’

  Cámara was losing his patience. Behind Rodríguez’s back he tapped Torres on the shoulder and put his hand out, palm upwards. Torres hesitated, then understood, pulling his pistol out and handing it over. Cámara took a step towards the door and pushed Rodríguez out of the way, pointing the barrel of the gun at the lock in the door.

  ‘Wait!’ shouted Rodríguez.

  They heard a sound from inside: footsteps shuffling across the floor. A key clunked in the lock. Cámara stuffed the pistol into the back of his trousers just as the door opened and a head framed with bottle-blonde hair appeared.

  ‘We need to come in,’ said Rodríguez.

  The door opened and the three of them stepped through into the shop.

  Ileana had not put on her make-up that morning; her face was pale, dark bags under her eyes, her lips thin and dry. Cámara thought he could see murder in her black, open pupils. Behind the counter, standing in the doorway through to the living quarters, stood Cosmina, hair loose and ruffled, cheeks stained with red marks from tears.

  ‘Have you come to arrest us?’ she said.

  Ileana backed away from the three men as they entered, pressing herself against the counter and trying to slip away to the side, thoughts of escape clearly flashing through her mind.

  Cámara held the gun out and pointed it at her.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Or I’ll shoot.’

  Ileana froze. Cámara gestured with the gun at Cosmina.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘Close that door and come out here in front of the counter.’

  Cosmina did as she was told: the door clicked shut and she shuffled out into the shop. Both women, Cámara noticed, were barefoot. Cámara turned to Torres and nodded towards the door through which she had just passed. Wordlessly, Torres walked up the length of the shop and stood next to it, blocking the women’s path.

  ‘I need some information from you,’ said Cámara.

  Neither woman moved; they simply stared at him without blinking.

  ‘Corporal Rodríguez here will be talking to you in due course about your husbands, about what happened last night.’

  Cosmina’s left eye twitched.

  ‘But right now I need you to forget about that, to think about something else.’

  He dropped his arm and tucked the pistol back into his belt. Then, moving slowly and deliberately, he went to the side of the aisle where he was standing and reached out to grab something from the shelf: a black canister with a plastic lid. He brought it down, pulled the lid off, and pressed the button at the top: a spray of cologne shot across the room in front of his face. Instantly he recognised that unmistakable smell, sweet and earthy.

  ‘That’s the third time I’ve smelt that since coming here,’ he said.

  He turned to Ileana and Cosmina.

  ‘Your husbands wear it, don’t they?’ he said.

  No reply.

  ‘I smelt it last night, in their office. Just as they were telling me everything about their real business. The one that pays for all this.’

  He gestured around the shop.

  ‘So why do they wear it?’ asked Cámara. ‘I mean, if it smells so foul.’

  Neither woman responded.

  ‘You see, I’d forgotten,’ said Cámara. ‘But then a while ago I remembered when this stuff came out. Years ago. People were talking about it, saying it was special, saying it could attract people, like magic. Basically, if you sprayed this on yourself you were guaranteed a partner that night.’

  His expression lightened.

  ‘That was it, wasn’t it? And do you know what’s in it that gives it this magical effect?’

  He shook his head as the women remained totally still, scared stiff by this armed policeman suddenly talking in their shop like some demented schoolteacher.

  ‘No?’ Cámara said. ‘Well, I’ll tell you. It’s a chemical they contain called pheromones.’

  Something in Cosmina seemed to break: she nodded her head gently.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Cámara. ‘And that’s why your husbands wear it. To make themselves more sexually desirable.’

  Cosmina’s head bobbed up and down, as though hypnotised.

  ‘But they’re not the only people who wear it, are they?’ continued Cámara. ‘Teenage boys tend to buy it, don’t they? I saw some of them in here picking a can up just yesterday. You remember me coming in yesterday, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cosmina softly.

  ‘Those boys left without buying any,’ said Cámara. ‘I watched them closely. But someone else did buy a can of this in the past few days, didn’t they? In the last week.’

  Ileana had almost disappeared from Cámara’s mind. Cosmina was buckling, and he could sense the information he needed on the tip of her tongue.

  ‘And you’re going to tell me who that was.’

  Cosmina nodded silently.

  ‘Not some teenager,’ said Cámara.

  She shook her head.

  ‘But someone else.’

  Cosmina nodded.

  ‘A man.’

  She nodded.

  ‘A man from the nightclub.’

  More nodding.

  ‘Yes,’ she said almost inaudibly. Cámara took a step closer.

  ‘Who?’

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. Cámara leaned in to hear.

  There was a loud scream of a car engine outside in the square, the hurried honking of a horn.

  ‘RODRÍGUEZ!’ shouted a ma
n’s voice. ‘RODRÍGUEZ!’

  Cámara turned and headed towards the door, with the Guardia Civil corporal following quickly behind. Outside Enrique was scampering around the square.

  ‘What is it?’ Rodríguez said, catching Enrique by the arm. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I thought you should know,’ said Enrique, a look of apology in his voice. ‘I didn’t think anything of it at first, but then I thought I should tell you.’

  ‘What?’ said Cámara.

  ‘Earlier on, about an hour ago’ said Enrique, ‘I was out walking near the hives.’

  He looked Cámara awkwardly in the eye.

  ‘I heard strange noises coming from the direction of Sunset.’

  His eyes shifted from side to side.

  ‘It was gunfire.’

  FIFTY-TWO

  Carlos read through the typed letter once more, his pen poised over the bottom to finish it with his small, angular signature. It was not the finest piece of prose that he’d written, there were a couple of turns of phrase that felt slightly awkward, but such things did not really matter at moments like this.

  He did not go into the details of why he was resigning. The letter was no place for such things. There would be files and documentation in the system to explain why he had decided to go. Fernando would know everything anyway, and would understand. Carlos had failed in his duty; the disaster of the previous evening’s operation, its sheer amateurism, made him wince with embarrassment. And even though they had discovered the leak from the Ministry of Defence and dealt with her, the Beneyto woman had vanished. And she was precisely the person he had been tasked with finding and stopping. After so many years’ good service, of working selflessly for the benefit of the State, he had cocked up spectacularly. And there was only one honourable course of action for him to take.

  He could sense an emotional response to the situation growing within him, yet he held it back, applying a force like a clenched fist on his more primitive self. Self-control, calm at all times, not giving in to lesser passions – these were his rules, and he would stick to them now more than ever before.

  He read through the letter once more, checked the spelling and punctuation, and then lowered his pen to write.

  There was an urgent knock at his office door. Carlos paused, lifted his pen from the sheet of paper, and barked an answer.