“Two women locked themselves up in there,” she grumbled.
I fired the gun again. It wasn’t hard to find the old nanny and a young girl, this one even more beautiful than the other.
“Please don’t hurt us!” she begged, less arrogant than her sister. The old lady got down on her knees, crossed herself and began to pray. Carmela seemed unfamiliar with these rituals. She did a pirouette and wrapped herself around the old lady’s neck. The girl fainted and Carmela bit her on the thigh.
There was no one left. I went back to the Chevrolet. But in that instant, two dogs who must have hidden when they heard the first shot appeared. Loli climbed into the car as if she were being chased by the devil himself. Beti and Carmela turned to face them. The dogs growled menacingly and the ladies hissed, their heads raised and their tongues out. I was afraid this would end badly. I told them it would be best if they got in the car. My attempt to use this house as a hiding place had failed; with so many shots fired, more than one neighbour would have called the police. I shot one of the dogs. The other one ran off. I reached into the Mercedes to open the iron gate with the remote control. We took off for the city to make sure Deputy Commissioner Handal didn’t catch us in the upper part of the volcano.
“Relax, it’s over now,” I said to Loli. I could see she was still frightened.
“I hate those animals,” she said.
I lit a cigarette.
“They’re not that bad,” said Beti.
“We could’ve finished them off,” mumbled Carmela, and looked at me reproachfully, as though I’d forced them to get back in the car.
“I’m not so sure,” I said. “I could tell you were hesitating.”
The Chevrolet attracted even more attention now that it had no windshield. I stopped at a phone booth. I called the police and asked for Deputy Commissioner Handal. It wasn’t long before he was on the line.
“Deputy Commissioner Handal?”
“Who’s speaking?” His voice was hoarse and intimidating.
“The snakes just attacked Doctor Abraham Ferracuti’s house,” I said nervously. “On the street that goes up the volcano.”
“What!”
“I’m a neighbour,” I continued. “I saw the old yellow car they described in the newspaper go to the doctor’s house. Then there were shots. Then the car left and headed up the street.”
“Give me your name and address.”
“Arquímides Batres,” I said. “225 Volcán Street.”
“We’re on our way.”
I got back in the Chevrolet. I drove aimlessly, my mind a complete blank. Some drivers looked at me with curiosity, others with hostility, and still others with obvious terror, as if they recognized us. I took a long drink of rum to try to clear my mind. I kept to little side streets to see if anyone was following us. Then I had a brilliant idea. We should go to a scrapyard, the only place where we could safely spend the night without anyone noticing the yellow Chevrolet. We looked for one, and by coincidence, we found it in the same area as the Bustillo family home. It was enormous, with a single entrance and a little booth with a security guard who let me pass without asking a thing.
“The office is over there,” he said, pointing.
We went in the direction he indicated, but didn’t stop. I continued all the way to the far side of the lot, where I parked the yellow Chevrolet in the middle of a pile of old wrecks that camouflaged it perfectly. I waited a while to see if any employees came around, but the atmosphere was relaxed and gave the impression that they only paid attention to the cars that were leaving.
“It’s time to do something about Valentina,” I said.
This saddened them. In the excitement of the last few hours, they’d forgotten about their friend. I took out my pocketknife and slit her from the mouth to the tip of her tail. I skinned her as delicately as I could. She was still smooth. Then I cut her up. I gave the ladies some pieces of her meat to wolf down and put the rest of her flesh in the cans Don Jacinto had collected so that I could roast it later on.
TWO
Quit pulling my leg, I’m not in the mood,” Deputy Commissioner Lito Handal grumbled, as he leaned back in his swivel chair, his feet up on the desk, cleaning his ear with his little finger. It was Friday afternoon. He was starving and ready to go home. But the officer on the other end of the line insisted he wasn’t joking; that was the report he’d received: four deaths from snakebites at the Plaza Morena mall. “Some clown is having a laugh.” He hung up.
But as soon as he’d put the phone down, it rang again. It was the Commissioner. He sat up. He couldn’t believe it: his boss was telling him to go down to the mall immediately and investigate. “The report is pretty bizarre, sir,” he said. “This snake business is hard to believe.” But the Commissioner didn’t want his opinion; he was ordering him to take charge of the investigation. One of the victims was Doña Estela Ferracuti Linz, Dr. Abraham Ferracuti’s younger sister. Wasn’t that serious enough for him? Handal called in his two assistants, detectives Flores and Villalta. “Have you heard this crap?” he asked them, as he put on his jacket. He was a dumpy guy of medium height who was always perfectly clean-shaven but hated wearing a tie.
“There must be a lot of witnesses, boss,” said Flores, a thin guy with pale skin and light-coloured eyes.
Villalta handed the Deputy Commissioner a folder, rubbed his large jaw and wheezed in his high-pitched voice, “We’ve got a description of the suspect and his car.”
What about the snakes, Handal thought.
They hurried down the staircase of the police headquarters, known as the Black Palace, went to the parking lot and got into the Deputy Commissioner’s Nissan. Villalta drove; Flores sat in the back seat. It was too hot, the rush hour traffic was at its worst and the air conditioning in the Deputy Commissioner’s car wasn’t working. Villalta put the siren on.
The report Handal read was straightforward: a man in his fifties who looked like a beggar had come to the mall in a beat-up old American car. When security guards asked him to leave, he let his snakes out to attack them. Then he went down the supermarket aisles, sending shoppers and employees into a panic. “It doesn’t say how many snakes there were,” he said, spitting out the window onto the pavement. He had heartburn and he was hoping that all of this was nothing more than a misunderstanding so he could go home and have a good meal.
When they got to the mall, the bodies were still lying there. The judge had been delayed, explained an officer; they expected him any minute now so he could start examining the crime scene.
“I want to talk to all the witnesses,” ordered Handal, digging into his ear with his little finger.
“There are dozens of them, sir,” said the sergeant who’d been in charge.
“It doesn’t matter. I want all of them in my office this afternoon. And make sure those security guards come, too. Right away.”
Handal examined the body in the parking lot. Then he went into the mall, where Mrs. Ferracuti was lying, covered with a sheet. Some of the members of her family had already arrived.
“Are you in charge here?” a distinguished-looking older man asked. It was Dr. Abraham Ferracuti.
“Yes, sir,” said Handal.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can’t leave my sister lying here,” he said indignantly.
“We have to wait for the judge to come and examine the scene,” the Deputy Commissioner explained, as he lifted the sheet. Despite the effects of the venom, she still looked elegant and beautiful. “I’m sorry, I’m not authorized to let them take the body away.” Handal respectfully excused himself and made his way to the supermarket.
“I want you to look up every pet store and veterinarian and find out who keeps snakes as pets,” he told detective Flores.
The security guard’s body was lying near the entrance of the supermarket and the youth who’d been strangled was next to the meat counter.
“Get Forensics to talk
to everyone here so they can make a composite sketch of the suspect and get me more details about his car right away,” he told Villalta.
The swollen and disfigured bodies had taken away his appetite for the moment, but not his heartburn. He had a feeling this would be a complicated case that would force him to work more than he could bear.
Half an hour later they returned to police headquarters, followed by a couple of patrol cars carrying witnesses. Villalta drove the Nissan. He hadn’t been able to get any more details about the suspect’s car, except that it was old and yellow and its windows were covered with pieces of cardboard. Flores had gone with another group of officers to look up pet stores and vets.
The Deputy Commissioner went inside and asked someone to order him a hamburger, fries and a coke. He told himself he’d get a proper dinner that night. He started questioning the witnesses right away: the security guard who’d managed to escape from the parking lot, another who’d hidden in the supermarket and a third who’d taken a shot at the suspect. He also questioned the saleswoman from the boutique Mrs. Ferracuti had been coming out of, as well as a couple of bystanders – customers from the supermarket who wanted to help out. Nothing was clear, not even the number of reptiles involved. Some said there were six, others said ten. No one could give any specific details. The only new information he got was from the first security guard, who said the suspect reeked of alcohol.
Detective Flores came in looking discouraged.
“No one in the city breeds snakes, boss.”
The Deputy Commissioner leaned back in his swivel chair and put his feet up on the desk.
“A beat-up old car, a drunken bum and a half dozen snakes just to take out the sister of one of the most powerful men in the country . . . it just doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t sound right,” he mumbled.
The phone rang. It was Villalta. They’d finished the composite sketch of the suspect, but he had some news. Two murders had just been reported in San Mateo, a nearby suburb, and one of the victims had been practically chewed up by snakes.
The Deputy Commissioner jumped out of his chair.
“Let’s go!” he shouted, and took out his radio handset.
The Commissioner had already called a second time to check on the progress of the case, which meant the pressure from above would only get worse.
“Does the name Bustillo sound familiar to you, boss?” asked Villalta. He didn’t put the siren on, but he drove at full speed anyway, running red lights and zooming past any car that tried to cross his path.
“Not at all,” Handal answered. “Are there any survivors?”
“Not exactly. They killed a Mrs. Bustillo and a maid. Her daughter found the bodies when she came back from school,” explained Villalta. “It doesn’t look like anything was stolen.”
Two patrol cars were already parked in front of the house and a group of onlookers were crowded around the front door.
Handal stopped in front of Mrs. Bustillo’s body. An amateur job, he thought. He walked over to the maid. He had a feeling that the key to the entire case lay here, or at least the only clue to solving it. Apart from the bodies, the house was in perfect order, as if nothing had been touched.
“Where’s the girl?” he asked. “I want to talk to her.”
An officer told him she was at a neighbour’s. She was in total shock; he’d have to wait a few hours before he could question her, at least until the sedatives had taken effect.
“I’ll try if you want, boss,” said Flores, who was known as the station’s smooth-talker – extremely useful for getting information from both witnesses and suspects. He was one of the brand-new detectives trained after the war; he looked like a nice guy and had good gringo manners.
The Deputy Commissioner stuck his little finger in his ear.
“All right,” he said. “And you, go and see what you can get out of the neighbours, especially whether they saw an old, yellow American car hanging around,” he told Villalta. He went over to the Nissan, picked up the radio and asked to speak to the chief of forensics. He told him he wanted the results of the tests to see if the snakes involved in the incident at the shopping mall were the same as those who’d attacked this unfortunate maid, and he wanted them now. Then he walked to the neighbour’s house to see what Flores had found out.
The girl wasn’t hysterical anymore. Her name was Sofía, just like her late mother. She’d just turned sixteen. That afternoon, she’d come home from school just as she did every other day, and had walked into a gruesome crime scene.
“Did you notice anything unusual near the house?” asked Flores. “Were there any cars parked out front?”
No, she couldn’t think of anyone who would want to hurt her mother; they didn’t have any enemies, she said, sniffling. Yes, of course, they lived alone with the maid. Her father? He left them about three years ago. Her mother acted as if he were dead, as if he’d never existed, but the girl still hoped she’d see him again. No, she didn’t know where he was. He used to be an accountant at a company. How were they supporting themselves? They owned a chain of pharmacies called La Surtidora that they’d inherited from her grandfather.
“Where is it?” asked the Deputy Commissioner.
The biggest location was downtown, she explained, and there was another pharmacy at the Plaza Morena mall. Flores turned to look at his boss.
“Do you know anyone who has anything to do with snakes?” he asked.
No, she couldn’t think of anyone, she said. Villalta hurried into the room. He looked at the girl – at sixteen she was already a good-looking young woman – and then at the Deputy Commissioner.
“A neighbour says he saw a yellow car parked in front of the house,” he said in his high-pitched voice. “He can’t remember the make, but it was a beat-up old American model.” Handal snapped his fingers. “We’ve got him,” he said. “Let’s get back to headquarters.”
But the girl had her mouth open in shock.
“No, it can’t be,” she whispered.
“What can’t be?” Handal asked, grabbing her arm.
“No, it’s impossible!” she screamed and started to cry uncontrollably. Her father had a yellow Chevrolet, she managed to stammer. It was an old model, just like the one he’d had when he was young. It was the only thing he took with him when he left.
They raced out.
“I want everything we have on file about this Jacinto Bustillo,” Handal ordered Flores, before turning to Villalta. “Call headquarters and get them to look in the records for all the information we’ve got on the yellow Chevrolet.”
Villalta ran to the Nissan and grabbed the radio. Flores stayed at the Bustillo home to look for clues. They were about to get to the bottom of things, thought Handal, and luckily, it looked like Mrs. Ferracuti’s death was accidental. He got in the car. He asked to be patched through to the Commissioner. It was urgent. He told him the evidence was pointing to a nut called Jacinto Bustillo. It was a crime of passion and unfortunately, Dr. Ferracuti’s sister was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was all.
He’d just hung up when he was called on the radio again. There was an emergency on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Darío Street, in the heart of the crowded downtown area. A massive snake attack had caused multiple injuries and deaths. Villalta put on the siren.
“We’ve got to catch this son-of-a-bitch before he drives the whole city insane,” Handal mumbled. He put two and two together and called the Black Palace to find out where the Bustillo family pharmacy was located. He was right: it was on Darío Street, right near Fifth Avenue, the operator said. Stabbing his wife didn’t seem to have satisfied Bustillo.
Getting to the crime scene was going to be a feat in itself. Traffic was a nightmare. Sirens were blaring in all directions. Police cars, ambulances, and fire fighters were trying unsuccessfully to get to the victims. People were running, terrified.
“Snake attack!”
Drivers were getting out of their cars to ask what was going o
n. Then they’d rush back inside, roll up the windows and try to escape by driving on the sidewalks.
“Leave the car here,” Handal ordered. “Let’s walk. We’ll never get there like this.” Villalta looked at him distrustfully. What if the snakes were still there? They walked slowly, moving against the flow of people under the blazing sun, sweating like pigs, pistols drawn, expecting to run into snakes at every turn. But when they got to Fifth Avenue, it was clear that the snakes had gone. The only thing left behind was a devastating scene of death and chaos. Dozens of bodies lay twisted on the ground, some still convulsing, and others with swollen tongues sticking out.
The Deputy Commissioner went over to one of the two patrol cars that had managed to get to the scene. He took out the radio and ordered a red alert search for an early model yellow Chevrolet, and asked for a helicopter to search the area. Ambulances, firefighters and more police arrived on the scene. There weren’t enough stretchers for all the injured people. Handal walked over to the La Surtidora pharmacy. When the violence broke out, most of the storeowners had closed the iron shutters that covered the windows. Only a few of the street vendors’ stands were still upright. Pretty soon the trail of merchandise left in the street would attract bands of petty thieves. The area was cordoned off. Handal banged on the pharmacy’s iron shutters.
“Police!” he called. “You can open the door. You’re out of danger.”
A small door opened and several frightened employees in white coats came out. They opened the iron shutters.
“Did any of you see a yellow car parked out in front here?” Handal asked.
No one had seen anything, just the stampede of people screaming in terror. They’d closed the pharmacy right away. They knew something had happened to Doña Sofía, the owner, but they didn’t know any details. The manager would be back soon to tell them.
Dance With Snakes Page 4
