Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit

by Charles Brett

  "No, other than perhaps in Eastern European countries as Soviet rule broke down."

  "That analogy occurred to me too. It's not precisely the same because most ex-Soviet states lacked a credible, independent rule of law. I don't think that's our position."

  "But it might be closer than you wish?"

  "Exactly. My dilemma – actually it's not a dilemma – is whether what I'm doing is making everything worse than ignoring it. But we both saw what happened on that previous occasion when the powers-that-be closed our investigation. It just left the perpetrators free to carry on perpetrating more injustices. Do I want to upset the apple cart? No, not if it can be avoided. But can I see another way to do this without forgetting the whole caboodle? There's no partial way forwards. It's all or nothing. Or such is my personal reasoning. What about you? Do you have doubts?"

  "To be honest with you, Rafa, yes." Pedro held up both hand in mock surrender to Rafa. "Not about the principle. In that I am wholly behind you."

  Juez Garibey was relieved. Losing Pedro's support would have been a blow.

  "It's the downstream consequences that worry me. What do Javier or Javiera in the street think? Or, more importantly, what will they do when they understand how comprehensively they've been misled as well as systematically ripped off? I don't want Ceaușescu-type puppet trials. That would be awful beyond words."

  "We think alike. But what's the alternative? We feel the impending weight of history, correct? We could stop now. Should we?"

  They looked at each other, both understanding the implications. The list that Ana and Davide had drawn up only featured some twenty people or organisations. But the names included household ones, with several already being suspected of possessing dubious moral compasses. It was almost inevitable that, if more proofs emerged from Márquez's revelations, explanations and verifications, others would join the list.

  The real question was no longer how high but how wide. After all, indicting a previous head of the Catholic Church in Spain, albeit a dead one, was pretty much as high as you could go. The next stop but one was God.

  They sat together in silent contemplation of a week or more that was going to be explosive, particularly for one Juez de Instrucción.

  "You will be famous, Rafa."

  "Infamous, you mean. In any case it's too late."

  "Too late?"

  "The formal papers went out yesterday for Tuesday and Wednesday. The fat is out of the pan if not quite yet touching the fire. The only real uncertainty is when the media get wind of what's occurring. That was, by the way, another reason for choosing the Church first and business second. They are more likely to keep quiet until the last moment, in the hope that silence – they would probably call it common sense – will prevail. By Thursday I expect the clamour to be near crazy."

  "Should we hold back on the politicians?"

  "I wondered about that too. But how, Pedro, can we differentiate? There are biggish names and many minnows. It would be unfair to go after the latter and not the former, or vice versa. There's no good answer."

  "It seems that you've considered all. It's going to be a long weekend and the week will be worse for you, Rafa."

  "I agree. What about Ana, Davide and the Australians? Is it fair or even safe to keep them within Spain?"

  "Another good question. I think you might want to consider the options. But they will almost certainly have to be here at some point for any trials that follow, assuming any do."

  Pedro rose to leave.

  As he headed for the door he turned to ask: "You realise there's one other possibility?"

  "Un golpe de estado, a coup?"

  "Precisely. It could happen all too easily if too many of those who think power belongs to them by right feel threatened enough to take action."

  Sunday: Chamberi

  Inma sat comfortably in a favourite restaurante. She liked Paolo's because it was spacious, a converted printing works or something like that. It had high ceilings, plentiful space between tables, good food and courteous service. What more could you want?

  Inma exchanged greetings with Ana, commenting on how radiant she looked.

  "Has something special happened?"

  Ana said, "Speak for yourself! You amaze me yet again. Every time I see you these days you're dressed to kill. I love that blouse. Where did you find it?"

  "Barcelona."

  "Well it suits you magnificently. One day would you please explain how you keep in such good shape? I'm envious. I find it harder and harder not to put on weight, especially now that I really am stopping smoking."

  "Good for you! Staying like this takes a lot of hard work. I have my own special routines. They took me a decade or so to evolve. They demand a minimum of an hour a day – preferably much more – and involve a combination of tough stretching as well as aerobic exercise with some weights."

  They fell into more talk about different fashions in Yoga, Pilates and the various sources that Inma had tried, rejected or combined. Inma shared her opinion that everybody needs their own specific approach tailored to their specific bodies. Most people were not patient enough to find out what was best for them. She commented that for someone as naturally tall and slender as Ana many of her own exercises would almost certainly be either useless or inappropriate.

  "I think the only body-proportion you and I have in common, inherited from our common grandmother, is our chests. Although yours isn't as generous as mine, I do think some of my exercises would help keep you shapely."

  This topic continued long after they had ordered. Ana was ever more impressed by the depth of Inma's research and experimentation. More than that she enjoyed the way Inma opened up. She was a pleasure to be with.

  After a while, when the exercise topic palled, Ana tentatively asked Inma if she liked Emilia.

  "Are you hunting for something, Ana?"

  "Yes, but not about Emilia. That comes later."

  "Fair enough. To me, Emilia is beyond words. Have you ever come across someone leaking so much lust into her surroundings? I haven't. But that might be my ignorance from all those years cloistered in Opus Dei."

  "In men, yes, unfortunately – from those that seem to think that they are God's gift to women. But you're right; in a woman, no. It's amazing, isn't it?"

  "I agree. It also seems so helplessly, or hopelessly, indiscriminate. Men or women. Probably both simultaneously for all I know."

  "Has she tried anything on with you? Are you attracted?"

  "That, Ana, would be telling too much." Inma tried to frown but it lacked ferocity. "In some ways I am, but I'm far too old for Emilia's roving eye. From what she's told me she likes her 'temporary' partners younger than herself. She was refreshingly honest about that. That said, I did catch her with an expression that made me wonder if she was tempted to make a pass at me."

  "You aren't the sheltered Opus Dei convert you were."

  "No, I'm not. Miriam sorted that out for me, inadvertently encouraged by Davide. How is he by the way? Did I hear on the family grapevine that he's staying with you?"

  Inma raised her eyebrows in not very innocent enquiry and snorted in an unladylike fashion at Ana's expression.

  "What about Caterina, or shouldn't I ask?"

  "I want to talk to you about Davide, but not in that way."

  "Why not? Don't you fancy him? I could."

  "You're being naughty and deliberately provocative."

  Inma's face showed total agreement at this.

  "No, I want to ask you something else."

  "Confessions about what to do with your love life? You want to ask me? Come on, Ana. Be realistic. I'm not the person for that after all my time sequestered in Opus. You can't imagine I'm equipped to be an agony aunt. My sisters would be far better confidantes for your tangled emotions."

  "Stop it, Inma! I'm trying to be serious."

  "All right, all right, I'll stop playing with you. But I'll have more questions later. Out with it."

  Ana was all hesit
ation now. Inma waited. This was obviously something that mattered. She resolved not to rush her cousin.

  "Your business is growing, as you mentioned before. Why don't you hire Davide? His current work at ORS will come to a close soon. I know he's beginning to think what to do next," blurted Ana.

  Inma stared, taken wholly aback. Then she began to laugh, so much so that she began to choke.

  Paolo, the proprietor, rushed over with a glass of water, saying, "Are you okay, Condesa?"

  "Yes, Paolo, I'm fine." Having drunk some water, Inma apologised, "That was rude of me. But it is funny, especially as you haven't a clue why."

  "What's funny? That I should suggest Davide as an asset for you?"

  "Yes. But you still don't know why it's so funny. I'll let you in on a secret. He called me and said in no uncertain terms that I'd be an utter fool – and I am quoting him exactly – if I did not hire you. He also said you had the best brain he'd encountered in Spain and would be – wait for it – 'a priceless asset for me'."

  Ana was dumbfounded. She gawped at Inma, who giggled afresh at Ana's expression.

  "He really said all that?"

  "He did. After questioning him at some length I'm in agreement with him. Would you like to work for me, potentially becoming a business partner after learning the ropes?"

  This wasn't going as Ana expected.

  "What else did Davide say?"

  "That would be telling. I won't tell you all, but one aspect convinced me: your age."

  "He told you? That miserable, worthless piece of –"

  "– Ana, we're family. Maybe not close family but I remember you as a baby. I know you've been masquerading even if I haven't a clue why. But you have. Don't try denying it."

  Ana could only accept the truth of this. She'd forgotten that Inma would know. It was still difficult to consider Inma as being related to anybody. To all intents and purposes she had been a nobody when spending all those years in Opus.

  "So what about approaching Davide?"

  "The thought that had occurred to you had already occurred to me. I'm still wondering about how to raise the possibility. Perhaps you can advise me?"

  Monday: Puri

  Whatever Puri tried to do failed. Alfredo had arrived in El Rollo from Madrid on Saturday, abject, run-down and completely without spirit. She had never seen him like this. She didn't like it or the implications.

  She tried to extract what had happened from him. He had only uttered the barest details, something about how a Juez de Instrucción had skewered him and now he himself was imputado. Clearly something unexpected had developed.

  The obvious person to talk with was Marta. She had three numbers, the infamous smartphone, her office phone number and one at home. The first seemed permanently switched off. She just received the standard network messages about it being out of range or unavailable. The second produced a recorded message stating that Marta Márquez was unavailable until further notice with no given time frame. This was puzzling but plausible, given she was in Madrid.

  With some diffidence Puri tried the house number and obtained 'the husband'. He sounded everything that Marta had described. In any case he was a useless source of information. He thought his wife was in Madrid attending some sort of court hearing about some clients and unpaid monies but knew nothing more. He wasn't sure where she was staying. In summary, he was pathetic in his ignorance and damnable for his patent lack of interest. No wonder Marta was drawn to Salvador.

  With much trepidation, and with bad feelings about doing so, Puri contacted Salvador. It seemed like a century ago since they had all exchanged mobile numbers when in San Lorenzo de El Escorial. She received no reply but he'd called back on Sunday evening. Her fears amplified. He was aggressive, uncaring about Marta except for anything that might affect him. He was also puzzled that Marta did not call him when he had stayed in Madrid to support her. Transparently his sole focus was on himself. He was reacting as Puri and Alfredo had feared.

  She tried sharing this with Alfredo who was now enfeebled. This was not the positive, incisive and confident partner with whom she was used to living. Rather he was a blancmange, virtually incapable of doing anything for himself.

  She'd moved into his house in order to look after him for he was not capable of doing this for himself. Now she was at her wit's end. Today Alfredo was sitting in his study mumbling something about a computer and how he should never have done something. No matter how often she tried to persuade him to explain he refused.

  The need for a medical assessment was becoming apparent. She phoned her doctor, requesting a visit. He could not arrive until late afternoon.

  In frustration she turned on the radio, receiving a new shock. All the discussion was about a Juez de Instrucción who was believed to be about to hand down a variety of demands for significant people to appear before him, starting this week. Garibey de Williams? Was that not the name of the Juez de Instrucción that Marta had been facing? This was the problem. With Alfredo barely compos mentis everything was shrouded in uncertainty. The only information she had was rumour on the radio, thus leaving her at sea. Well, there was nothing more to do for the moment. She should focus on Alfredo.

  Puri decided that she'd try to persuade him to go for a walk with her. Her hopes were not high. She turned at a noise behind her. It was Alfredo, still looking awful but at least moving.

  "I'm sorry, Puri, cariño. I've been drowning in my own self-pity. That's unfair to you and no use to me. Could I beg some coffee?"

  "Of course. It's so good to see you roused out of your torpor. I was worried. I can't get hold of Marta, while Salvador brushed me off like an annoying fly. Would you like something to eat?"

  "Yes, please. Just some pan tostado con aceite would do for the moment, perhaps with some of your delicious tomatoes. Afterwards I'll bring you up to date. I warn you, what I'll say will not be pretty. The implications for us being together are bad, depending on what happens next."

  "Have you heard the radio?"

  "No. Why?"

  "There appears to be rumours about a Juez called Garibey de Williams citing many people to appear in front of him. Wasn't he the one that Marta was appearing before?"

  "Indeed. He's shrewder than I expected. It may be that I'll be lost in the noise, though that's probably being over optimistic. It's also not the way most Jueces de Instrucción operate. However, let me eat and have that coffee before we talk. If you can wait?"

  "After all last weekend? Of course I can. And for you, always."

  Tuesday: Sala de lo Penal, Madrid

  Juez Garibey de Williams prepared himself. The next days were going to be even more intense than last week's. He had heard the radio reports yesterday morning and had been perturbed about leaks. But Monday had worn on and the rumours had not crystallised into anything solid. It seemed confidentiality remained in place.

  Monday night he slept surprisingly well. He had expected to be a bundle of nerves. Instead he felt rested and prepared on wakening. It was almost as if a part of him knew that he was going to be vindicated for those previous injustices he had been unable to right.

  He entered the Sala to find a large bombastic-looking individual dressed in a Cardinal's full informal regalia – black cassock with scarlet piping and buttons accompanied by a similarly-coloured sash along with a pectoral cross on a chain. On his head was the traditional scarlet solideo or skull cap.

  This was His Eminence, the Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, Primate – the head of the Roman Catholic Church in Spain and successor to St James the Great, the country's patron saint. His expression communicated clearly that he expected everybody to recite all this, pay obeisance and be duly impressed.

  Juez Garibey had puzzled beforehand about how to address him. His personal preference was as Señor, for he had little time for the Church. On the other hand, given the questions he was about to put to the Cardinal Archbishop, his instincts urged at least the pretence of appearing to respect his rank. This way, if he made
no progress, he would not look petty, yet if he did make progress the 'respect' would act more like an acid.

  As before there were the various rituals to be processed before embarking on the meat of the day. Once complete, the lawyer accompanying the Cardinal Archbishop tried to bring issues to a swift close by arguing that it was inappropriate for a prince of the Church to appear in a secular court of law as either a testigo or imputado. He wasn't very convincing though Juez Garibey agreed to keep the matter under review in case any part of the subject matter under consideration should be beyond his own competence and fall under Canon Law.

  He addressed the Cardinal Archbishop: "Your Eminence, I wish to ask you about payments apparently made to your predecessor."

  The Cardinal Archbishop listened impassively as Juez Garibey laid out the transaction trail, which started with the payment by ServiArquitectos to the business of El Cerámico, and from there to Márquez, to 'Cardarzob', and finally into an envelope.

  He continued by describing how there were a myriad of successor payments made in succeeding years, all with the same characteristics once Cardarzob provided the common connection point and using the acronym 'CAbp'. He ended by adding up the amounts involved, over a million euros. Finally he asked what His Eminence knew about this.

  As expected, the Cardinal Archbishop declined to comment on the affairs of his predecessor, about which he knew nothing. He argued that even if what the Señoría said was true it still did not matter because any amounts were simply contributions to the Church made by the faithful.

  His lawyer tried not to look upset. Juez Garibey had the distinct impression that the first part of his reply had been sanctioned by the Cardinal Archbishop's legal team but that the second was His Eminence expressing his own opinion.

  It was as Juez Garibey hoped. The Cardinal Archbishop had the reputation of a clever man much wedded to his own self-importance, unlike his predecessor who had been noted for his modesty. To this Cardinal Archbishop only the Holy Father himself could know better what was good for Spain. His inherent arrogance was leaking out.