It took him no more than ten minutes to get there. Parking the bike on the pavement outside, he paid the nominal amount to get in and passed through the gate.
It felt like entering a different world: the sounds and strains of the city were muffled by the abundance of greenery, trees arching high over his head, brightly coloured flowers peppering the view wherever he looked.
I’ll come here more often, he thought. I’ve missed it. It’s a good place to be.
A central path led him to a square near the greenhouses. There was nobody there. He sat down on the wall of a small fountain, clearly visible and in clear sunlight, and waited.
After less than five minutes he heard the sound of gravel crunching underfoot. A few seconds later the noise stopped and the footsteps tapped more lightly over the terracotta surface of the square. When they were quite close, he turned.
He had seen Sonia briefly at the hospital, waiting outside the intensive care wing for news about Oliva. And although she wore her hair differently today, letting it fall loose rather than tying it behind her head, he recognised her immediately. She was a small woman. Cámara felt he might be able to pick her up with just one hand, as though her bones were those of a bird. In front of her chest she held a dark blue file, squeezing it tightly with both arms.
He stood up.
‘I’m Max Cámara.’
She looked at him but said nothing.
‘Sonia?’
Her lips were tight and pale. She was trying to hide her trembling. He looked around.
‘We could find a more private spot,’ he said. ‘Would you like to come with me? We can sit under those trees over there.’
He urged her to accompany him.
‘Everything’s fine. Trust me.’
When she looked into his eyes he felt the fear and grief in her strike him like an arrow. And for a moment he also felt his own mourning stirring inside, woken by the proximity of a kindred spirit. Walking away from the square to the shelter of a palm grove, he did his best to quell the incipient storm: he was here as a policeman; his own feelings and emotions had to be kept in check.
They found a bench in the shade. Cámara sat down and beckoned Sonia to join him.
‘I’m very sorry about Diego,’ he said, swallowing hard as the words almost caught in his throat.
Sonia looked at him, her eyes reddening.
‘Alicia told me you lost someone recently, too,’ she said.
Their tears almost mirrored one another. Cámara nodded.
‘That’s why I came,’ she said. ‘That’s why I’m here with you. I didn’t know where to go. And then . . .’ She coughed, trying to loosen her throat so that she could carry on speaking. ‘And then I saw Alicia’s article and decided to get in touch, she said I should come to you. That you’d understand. That you were the only person there was for me.’
Their hands found each other across the bench and their fingers overlapped. Cámara would have embraced her: something about her frailty made him want to reach out and protect her, to place an arm over her delicate shoulders and shield her.
He straightened his back, wiping his face dry with his free hand.
‘I’ll help you in any way I can,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’
She cast her eyes to the ground, her face partially hidden from view as her hair fell across her face.
‘Can you tell me something, please?’ she said. ‘I want to know. Will you be honest with me? Was Diego murdered?’
Tears were falling from the end of her nose and making dark stains on the pavement below.
‘Yes,’ Cámara said. ‘I believe he was.’
Her nails dug into his skin where she held his hand.
‘I knew it wasn’t a suicide. Diego would never have done that.’
After a moment, the trembling seemed to subside in her. He had the sense that by holding her hand he was earthing something in her.
‘You were still friends?’ he said.
‘Yes. The divorce was . . . probably a mistake. We could have worked things out.’
She sat up, pushing her hair from her face.
‘Diego never stopped trying to woo me back. He was a one-woman man, he said.’
Her mouth twitched, as though trying to break into a smile.
‘Recently I’d come to think that he was right, that we would be better off together again. I’d told him as much. He was going through such a horrible time, not finding a job, struggling with the mortgage. But somehow it made us closer again. I was trying to help him find work. I was even about to tell him to move in with me – that he could lose his flat, it was OK, that he could come and live with me. That we could start over again.’
She closed her eyes.
‘And then this happened.’
The blue file was still clutched tightly to her chest with her other hand. Now she loosened her grip and laid it down on her lap.
‘There was a whole load of stuff we didn’t sort out after the divorce, loads of bureaucratic things. We had a joint safe at one of these private companies where you can rent one. Each one of us had a key. I’d forgotten all about it. Then yesterday Diego’s lawyer sent me a letter. He said that Diego had instructed him to get in touch with me if anything happened to him.’
‘If anything happened to him?’
She opened her eyes.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Cámara. ‘But that kind of language – it’s as if he knew he was in danger.’
She nodded.
‘What did the lawyer say?’
‘He said I should go to the safe,’ Sonia said. ‘That Diego had told him to tell me that.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Did he know what was in the safe?’
‘I don’t think so. The letter seemed to be passing on the message, that’s all.’
Cámara looked at the file resting on Sonia’s knee.
‘So you went,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘And found that.’
‘Yes.’
She pulled her hand free from Cámara’s and placed it on top of the file.
‘This is what I think you need to see.’
With one smooth and decisive movement she passed it over to him.
‘It’s all there. All the documentation, the proof, everything. I’ve checked.’
Cámara picked the file up and held it without opening it.
‘I’m assuming this has something to do with Diego’s time at Caja Levante,’ he said.
Sonia pushed a hand into a pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
‘Can you smoke in here?’
‘It’s only dried leaves,’ he said. ‘No one will mind.’
He pulled the file open. Sonia lit her cigarette and inhaled.
‘Diego wrote a kind of summary of what it’s all about,’ she said. ‘It’s at the front. There’s a letter. You can read it.’
Cámara pulled out the first sheet and read.
My darling Sonia,
If you’re reading this it’s either because I’m showing it to you and everything is fine, or it means that something has happened and my lawyer has done what I instructed him and told you to open the safe.
If it’s the second scenario, I need to explain. This file contains copies and originals of documents I gathered while I was working in the development and investment department under Felicidad Galván at the Caja Levante. You remember Feli – I think you met her once. And I told you some of the things that I used to do with her, but not everything. The truth about what really goes on in that department and what Feli is responsible for is contained in the papers in this file. You’re going to have to decide on your own what to do with them. If something unpleasant has happened to me and that’s the reason why you’re reading this, then you are probably very frightened right now and just want to burn or throw the documents away. PLEASE DON’T. Whatever you do, do not destroy what’s c
ontained here. Everyone needs to know. If you can’t cope with doing something with the papers right now, then put them back in the safe and walk away. There may come another time when you feel strong enough to deal with this. It’s a heavy burden, and I don’t want to do this to you, but I don’t see any other way.
The documents here prove beyond all doubt what the rumours have been saying about Feli and the Caja Levante for years. The development and investment department runs a slush fund for political purposes. I was involved in its running and I am very ashamed of what I did. I only hope that now I can redeem myself by helping to expose what was – and probably still is – going on.
The money was at the disposal of local politicians – specifically members of the Town Hall. Feli controlled everything at the bank. There are lots of things I don’t know about the goings-on of the fund. I don’t know who Feli was taking her orders from. I don’t know exactly where the money went, although I know some of it was channelled to other political parties – not just members of the ruling party. What I do know – and this is the secret that must be made known – is where the money was coming from for the slush fund.
During the years that I worked there, Feli took control of a source of funding that Madrid had won from Brussels when Spain joined the EU. That money was then distributed to regions and cities. It was meant to be spent specifically on healthcare – building new hospitals, developing new medicines, paying staff. Any health costs could be covered using that money. Caja Levante took over the running of it a year before I joined, and was supposed to act as a clearing facility for local government decisions on where to apportion the money. Slowly, however, Feli and Caja Levante started diverting money away from the healthcare it was intended for and into their own slush fund. They got away with it, and when the economy was good, no one realised or even minded – there was so much money around at the time anyway. Only recently, with the crash, have things got worse. I thought that they would start spending the EU money on what it was intended for in the first place. But they got greedy – every year more and more of it was being diverted to the slush fund. It was like a drug. Then when the money was really needed in hospitals and for medicines, they couldn’t give it back. They were hooked. It was shortly after that I lost my job.
I copied as many documents as I could and took them with me. One day, I thought, I might need them. I am thinking about taking them to the press but am unsure. I don’t know if I can trust local journalists – they’re too connected with people in power and I can’t be certain they won’t give my identity away. Perhaps one of these new blogger journalists might be a way forward. Someone foreign, even.
I’m marked and dangerous for them – they know that I know the truth. But they don’t know that I can prove it. I’ve placed the documents in the safest place I know. It’s possible that if not yet, then at some point they will be keeping tabs on me. I don’t like the way the telephone line clicks sometimes when I’m talking.
Perhaps I’m paranoid. I don’t know. Otherwise what am I doing writing this letter? I’m sure everything will be fine.
I love you very much. I made some mistakes. I hope you can forgive me. Now I leave this with you, my darling.
The truth must come out. Mothers, fathers, children – all kinds of innocent people are dying in hospitals now because the money that was meant for them, that could save them, is being stolen. Please – your reading this letter means I have failed. Now it is up to you.
With love, for ever,
Diego
Cámara looked up at the sky. The sun shone relentlessly, but it had become dark and lightless for him.
‘I’m frightened,’ Sonia said. ‘I don’t know who to trust. These are powerful people. And they’ve probably already killed Diego.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Cámara.
His vision was black and icy, his path clear, his next moves clearly laid out before him. They had looked him in the eye and made a terrible mistake, the worst they could possibly have committed.
‘Everything’s going to be all right.’
He escorted her to the gate of the garden.
‘Take that back immediately to the safe and leave it there,’ he said, nodding at the file. ‘Tell no one about it. Then leave the city for a few days if you can. Stay with friends, family, whatever. Valencia may not be safe for a while.’
She pressed his hands in hers.
‘Go,’ he said. ‘Every moment is precious.’
He watched as she walked down the street, hailed a taxi, and disappeared in the direction of the old river bed.
He picked up his phone and dialled Alicia’s number.
There was no answer.
THIRTY-ONE
LAURA, TORRES AND the others in Homicidios needed to know. This was now a double murder case – they would have to coordinate the investigation. If they played it right they might have the first arrests before the end of the day.
The botanical gardens were a short distance from the Jefatura. In little over a minute he was parking the bike and stepping inside the door. Once he had got things off the ground he would try ringing Alicia again.
Azcárraga was at reception.
‘No more night shifts, then?’ Cámara called out as he rushed past.
The policeman did not reply.
The first face that Cámara saw as he walked into the murder squad offices was Maldonado. He was dressed in his full police uniform, with thick gold braiding on his cap and a row of medals across his chest.
‘Chief Inspector,’ Maldonado said. He was smiling.
‘You look like you’ve been expecting me,’ said Cámara.
‘Hah! Of course. Always the game with you, always pretending to be one step ahead. I notice you’ve deliberately ignored my directive about the wearing of uniforms. Respect for national institutions is important to some of us, but obviously you regard yourself above such things.’
‘Look, Maldo—’
‘It’s Chief Inspector Maldonado. I am the head of this unit and you will respect that.’
Cámara glanced around the office. Albelda, Lozano and Castro were there, dressed in their uniforms. As was Torres, standing behind Maldonado with a troubled look on his face.
‘OK,’ Cámara said. ‘Something’s going on here and I don’t think it’s anything to do with the clothes I’m wearing right now.’
‘Chief,’ Torres began, trying to take a step forward. But Maldonado put a hand out and stopped him. From somewhere in the corridor two policemen appeared and stood behind Cámara.
‘What’s up?’
‘It’s about your lady friend,’ Maldonado said. ‘Alicia Beneyto. You are intimate, aren’t you?’
‘Cut the shit, Maldo. What the fuck is going on?’
A cold trembling was moving up his legs and into his guts, as if his body already knew.
‘The incident room received a call a few minutes ago,’ Maldonado said. The smile had dropped from his face and he had a look of seriousness and concern. ‘Alicia’s been abducted.’
A wave of nausea, soupy and grey, enveloped him. The threat had been real.
‘It was witnessed by some journalist colleagues,’ Maldonado explained. ‘They’d been talking to her and she was heading off when a car appeared and a group of men bundled her in and drove away.’
The words registered somewhere, but they were drifting in and out, as though caught on a fierce wind.
‘It’s your fault,’ Maldonado said. ‘You’ve been doing your usual, not following protocol, getting non-professionals involved.’
‘How do you know?’ The question was unheard, a whisper as his mind raced.
‘You asked Alicia to snoop around for you and then she got a death threat.’
Sitting in her usual place, Castro kept her eyes fixed on the computer.
‘Which you tried to keep quiet,’ Maldonado continued. ‘And now you’re reaping the reward.’
Cámara stared at the ground, thinking, calculating. His s
uperior’s unexpected presence ceased to matter.
‘This is for your own good as much as for the benefit of the police.’ Maldonado’s words had a harsh, metallic quality, as though barked through a loudspeaker, but Cámara’s mind was focused on what to do next, where to go, who to find. And fast. If the LOP thugs had their hands on Alicia – and who else would it be? – there was very little time. They were capable of committing horrific acts. He had to move. Now.
He spun on his heels to leave, not bothering to hear the rest of Maldonado’s speech, but the two policemen – members of the riot squad? He did not recognise them – stood in his way.
‘What?’
‘We have to think of our reputation.’ Maldonado was still speaking. ‘You have done so much to discredit us, and right now—’
‘Get out of my way!’ shouted Cámara. They did not move. Then at a signal from Maldonado, they stepped forward. One held Cámara by the shoulders while the other pulled his arms behind his back and clapped a pair of handcuffs on him.
He was too stunned to react.
‘Take his phone off him,’ Maldonado ordered. ‘And take him to the cells.’
Cámara tried to struggle free, but the policemen were too strong for him.
‘You can use force if necessary,’ Maldonado said from behind, his voice betraying an excitement behind the faux calm.
‘Maldonado!’ Cámara began to scream.
‘We can’t have you charging around the city like a vigilante,’ Maldonado said. ‘The matter is in hand. You would only make things worse. Now please,’ he addressed the two policemen, ‘take him away. The chief inspector is charged with insubordination and corrupt practice.’
‘Torres,’ Cámara called out as the policemen began to lead him away. ‘Torres, do something.’
‘Inspector Torres is leading the investigation into Señora Beneyto’s disappearance,’ Maldonado added. ‘In the professional manner. And he’s doing everything he can.’
Cámara glanced back as he was pushed and dragged out of the office. Torres, his police cap planted firmly on his head, had averted his eyes.
THIRTY-TWO
IT HAD ALWAYS been the stench of the cells that he hated the most. They were underground, at the far end of the corridor from the murder squad offices. And he avoided them as best he could: just pausing at the top of the stairs, picking up the scent of stale anger and fear, made him want to be sick. Now he was being forced down, not as a jailer but as the jailed. A firm hand was pressed against the back of his head, pushing him into the grimy, subterranean world.
Blood Med Page 21
