A Death in Valencia (18 page)

The Pope was deemed to be shaken, but unharmed, and it was agreed that his schedule should continue unchanged. After celebrating Mass and visiting the scene of the collapsed block of flats, he had a late lunch and a lie-down at the archbishop's palace next to the cathedral before being driven through the city streets once again in the Popemobile to the old river bed, where a vast stage had been erected for him to preach to a crowd numbering hundreds of thousands, all sizzling in the intense afternoon sun.

The bridges and avenues leading up to the venue were closed to traffic and lined with police vans back to back, while the helicopters were in the air again. All taxi and bus services in the city centre had been stopped, as had the metro line where it coincided with the papal route, in case of underground bombs. As he strolled in the shade of the pine trees, Cámara could sense, rather than see, the marksmen crouching on the rooftops. His old friend Beltrán, the best shooter in the force and the man who had saved his life only a year before, had mentioned being roped in for security duty. Back in the Jefatura, staff levels were below the supposed minimum, while the other police stations around the city were standing practically empty. After the incident with Ballester, no chances were being taken, and only Maldonado and his immediate team were spared from ‘Pope duty'.

Already the voices of dissent were making themselves heard: 15 million euros had been spent on security and they still hadn't prevented that morning's attack. Far better to use the money on hospitals or schools than on some old man who couldn't be trusted to look after himself. Around the city, people protesting at the Pope's visit were leaning out of their windows and banging pots and pans as loudly as they could.

Others more commercially minded, meanwhile, were happily using his trip to make some extra money: flats with balconies near where the Pope was going to speak were being rented out for the day, and wealthier members of the faithful were paying up to 18,000 euros to watch, a safe distance from their sweaty, less affluent fellow believers below.

Coming out from the shade of the trees, Cámara walked past a kilometre-long line of grey plastic portable toilets before crossing a bridge and descending into the old river bed itself, once the home of the unpredictable waters of the Turia and now an arch of parkland around the city centre. Wending his way through the multitude, almost all wearing yellow-and-white caps and sipping bottles of water handed out for free by Town Hall and Church volunteers, he used his police badge to cross the various checkpoints designed not only to protect the Pope, but to separate the audience into categories of ‘ordinary', ‘special' and ‘very special'. Cámara was looking for the ‘very special' section.

He was pointed in the direction of an area cordoned off close to the main platform, which had been constructed on top of a bridge crossing the old river bed. Next to it, a temporary white cross, thirty-five metres high, towered above them. The Pope himself had yet to arrive, but all seats were taken and proceedings were about to begin. Cámara climbed up an incline to arrive at a gateway manned by two
Policías Nacionales
. Cámara didn't have an invitation, and the timing was strange. But he outranked them.

José Manuel Cuevas was sitting at the end of the third row, wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a black-and-ochre striped tie. A silver pin in his jacket lapel seemed to denote membership of some fraternity–religious, probably–but Cámara couldn't make out the detail. His short greying hair was slightly out of place owing to a moderate breeze that was mercifully blowing in from the sea. Unlike most of the others present, with their fixed smiles of anticipation, he had a more pinched expression, his lips tight, his eyes reflecting something more like anxiety than joy.

Sitting next to him, in a grey suit, his skin tanned to a deep bronze and his hair dyed black, was Javier Gallego, the editor of
El Diario de Valencia
.

Cuevas looked suspiciously at Cámara's badge as he introduced himself.

‘You want to talk to me
now
?' he said.

On his other side, Gallego took a while to notice that something was going on, but then turned his attention on Cámara, looking at him as though trying to remember who he was.

‘This is important,' Cámara said. ‘I'm conducting a murder investigation.'

Cuevas sat immobile; Gallego indicated the still-empty papal platform in front.

‘
Pero, hombre
,' he said. ‘This can wait. We're here to see the Pope.'

‘I'm investigating the murder of Pep Roures,' Cámara insisted. ‘He used to own the La Mar restaurant.'

Cuevas looked ahead, ignoring him.

‘In El Cabanyal.'

‘If this is something to do with the El Cabanyal project,' he said with a sigh, ‘then you'd better talk to my aides. We do these things through the usual channels, not by charging up to someone on a day like this. I'm afraid I can't help you.'

But Cámara didn't budge.

‘Valconsa is responsible for the bulldozing of the El Cabanyal area,' he said.

‘Very good, er, Chief Inspector. Didn't you hear me the first time?'

Gallego was still staring at Cámara as he dipped a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a mobile phone.

‘I'm calling your superiors,' he said. ‘What did you say your name was?'

‘Cámara. Chief Inspector Maximiliano Cámara, of the
Grupo de Homicidios
.'

Cuevas turned around, as though looking for someone he might call over to eject the intruder. But the policemen were smart enough to have their backs to what was going on. Disturbed glances from the others sitting in the VIP area were equally unsympathetic.

‘Valconsa,' Cámara continued, ‘was also responsible for building the block of flats that collapsed the other day in the Ruzafa area.'

‘What?' Cuevas spluttered. ‘You're talking to me about some place that was built, what? Fifty years ago?'

‘Fifty-seven years ago,' Cámara said. ‘By your company.'

‘What's going on?' Cuevas said. ‘Would you mind getting to the point. Look, the Pope's meant to be arriving any minute.'

Beyond him, Gallego was holding his phone but had yet to dial a number.

Cámara pulled out a clipping from the newspaper showing photos of a young woman and a little baby boy.

‘These people were killed when your building fell on top of them,' he said.

‘Yes,' Cuevas said. ‘It…yes, sad business. Very sad.'

‘They were my neighbours.'

Cuevas's eyebrows twitched, and he looked back towards the empty stage. Next to him, Gallego gave an awkward cough.

‘Look, what is this?' he said. ‘You said this was a police matter.'

‘It
is
a police matter,' Cámara said. ‘We're looking to see if there's scope for an investigation into criminal negligence. Señor Cuevas may be responsible for the deaths of these two people.'

‘Me?' Cuevas said. He stood up and tried to push Cámara away. ‘Me responsible? You'd better have a bloody good reason for coming down here right now and throwing allegations like that around, or I warn you—'

‘Valconsa was also the company contracted to carry out sewerage work on this building shortly after it was built,' Cámara said. ‘Work that it got paid for by the Town Hall, but never carried out.'

‘What the hell are you talking about?'

‘The fact that our building wasn't connected to the drains wasn't discovered until a few weeks ago, thanks to the work on the new metro line,' Cámara continued. ‘For all these years our drain water has been seeping into the ground underneath the building.'

‘So it's a problem with your drains now?' Cuevas said. ‘Call a fucking plumber.'

Around them, no one was saying a word. All eyes were fixed on the two men arguing while priests scrambled around the edge of the stage in preparation for the Pope's arrival. On the other side of Cuevas, Gallego was also standing up to join in. To the side, the two policemen were watching from the corners of their eyes but maintaining a distance.

‘Over fifty years of waste water sitting under the building,' Cámara went on. ‘Do you know what that does to the foundations, Señor Cuevas? I imagine you do, because you're in construction. It's not very good, believe me,' he said. ‘The building starts to rot. Damp in the walls. Cracks start appearing. And then, one day, all of a sudden, it falls down, collapses like a sandcastle being kicked by a dog.'

Cuevas's lips were turning white, but he said nothing.

‘And the biggest problem is that anyone inside at the time tends to end up like the building itself–crushed, finished, just another pile of rubble that needs to be got rid of, buried in a hole and forgotten. It's a miracle only Susana and Tomás were in there at the time. Otherwise there would be a lot more blood on you.'

Some of the people sitting nearby were starting to stand up and move away, uncomfortable both at the scene that was taking place, and of being associated too closely with Cuevas.

‘The Town Hall's happy to shut down the city so people can hear a sermon about the evils of abortion, but they don't make so much of a fuss when a mother and child die because of criminal malpractice by one of their associates.'

‘I know who you are.' Gallego stood up and leaned across Cuevas towards Cámara.

‘You're that policeman fantasy fuck that Alicia had a while back. Hah!'

He dug Cuevas in the ribs.

‘What's the matter, didn't work out in the end?' Gallego continued. ‘Yeah, she told me about you. Always was one of her things. Still, I suppose she got it out of her system. Took her a while, though. She had a few other fantasies to play out first. There were a few happy faces in the fire brigade for a while, I remember. The stupid little tart. Believe me, you're better off without her. I certainly am.'

And he gave another forced laugh.

‘Don't worry about this one,' he said in Cuevas's ear, loudly enough so that Cámara could hear. ‘I've come across him before. We've got enough on him.'

‘Look, what is this?' Cuevas said. ‘I'm responsible for every death in the city now, is that it?'

‘You had a motive.'

‘A motive for what?'

‘Señor Roures's restaurant was getting in the way of the El Cabanyal building project, which Valconsa is also involved in.'

Cuevas was trying to stifle a smile.

‘Look, Chief Inspector whatever-your-name-is.'

‘Cámara.'

‘Right. I'm not sure what you think you're doing coming down here like this. But if you think I'd murder someone just so I could finish off some development project, then I think the heat must have gone to your head.'

The background volume from the crowd increased as word spread that the Pope was just about to come out to give his sermon: a few people gave a cheer; others clapped.

‘Five years ago Valconsa made a statement saying it would begin the El Cabanyal development project by this year,' Cámara said, ‘and took out restructuring loans based on that assumption. There are less than six months to go before this year ends. I imagine both your creditors and your shareholders will be getting nervous. The construction industry isn't going through its most lucrative phase at the moment. I'd say there's a lot riding on the El Cabanyal scheme.'

From the corner of his eye, Cámara caught a glimpse of white cloth as the Pope finally emerged on to the platform and moved towards the centre, his arms raised to receive the cheers of the crowd.

‘I hear you built all this as well.' Cámara raised his voice, indicating the temporary structure put up for the papal visit. ‘Another Town Hall project. It must help having your brother-in-law as the head of urban development.'

‘Arrest me!' Cuevas shouted, his voice masked by the cheering. ‘Arrest me or get out of here! You haven't got anything, so just fuck off. Another policeman playing politics. I've got whole offices of lawyers to deal with crap like this.'

From an unhealthy shade of white, the flesh around his cheeks had turned a deep burgundy.

‘I suggest you start running now.'

Cámara looked around. Many of the other seats had been vacated as the faithful had stood up to watch the Pope, finding gaps between the chairs or along the adjacent passageways. Anywhere but next to Cuevas and Gallego.

Gallego was now starting to look uncomfortable; he'd put away his phone unused and was pointedly averting his gaze. Cuevas was still facing the insolent detective who had dared approach him in the VIP box. From the loudspeakers came the sound of the Pope's voice as he began to preach. Cámara turned to leave.

‘Thank you for your time, Señor Cuevas,' he said. ‘You've been very helpful.'

Going to Enrique's place had been a fall-back plan since the beginning. When finally he called it was as if they had been waiting all this time for him to show up.

‘Where've you been sleeping? Under a bridge somewhere?'

Cámara gave a laugh as Enrique embraced him in the doorway.

‘OK,' Enrique said. ‘I understand; no more questions.'

As well as having green and white tiles on the outside facade, organised in an elegant zigzag design, the building's inside walls were tiled with hundred-year-old
Modernista
vegetal patterns in blues and yellows. The bright, shiny surfaces were well suited to the hot weather, giving an impression of coolness. Most of the windows were open, while the main door on to the street was left ajar, and a slight breeze was blowing through from a small patio at the back of the house that faced in the direction of the sea.

Maite, Enrique's wife, was sitting outside on the pavement in a fold-up chair talking to her neighbours, her small baby, Carlos, nursing at her breast, while her two other boys, despite it being almost midnight, were kicking a ball in and out of the parked cars a few feet away.

‘Another boy!' The woman sitting at the next-door house grinned at Cámara as he passed.

‘
¿Qué le vamos a hacer?
' he replied. That's the way it goes. ‘I'm sure they're delighted, though, boy or girl.'

‘Of course we are,' Maite said. ‘A girl would have been nice. But if it's meant to be a boy, I wouldn't have it any other way.'

‘I'm glad you're here at last,' Enrique said as he and Cámara stepped inside, away from the street gossipers. They passed through to the kitchen, where Enrique pulled out a couple of bottles of Mahou beer from the fridge.

‘Everything arranged for tomorrow?' Cámara asked.

‘Yeah, virtually,' Enrique said with a belch. ‘Ceremony at the church around half twelve, then we've booked a table at La Pascuala.'

‘Excellent.'

Cámara leaned back against the ledge.

‘You gonna be around? In the morning, I mean.'

‘Don't know. Might have to head off, then come back later on.'

‘Sure. But don't be late. You're the godfather, remember.'

‘OK.'

‘And besides.'

‘What?'

‘Maite's sat you next to Marina.'

‘Marina?'

‘Yeah, come on. Marina. You met her last time you were over. Nice woman. Lives near here. Divorced.'

Cámara's mind was blank, but he feigned recognition.

‘Oh, that Marina,' he said.

‘Yeah. She likes you, you know.'

‘Come on, Enrique.'

‘Look, just sit down next to her and try to be nice, that's all. You might find you like her as well. Can't have you moping for ever over Almudena.'

‘What? Oh…yes.'

‘What did I say?'

‘Nothing.'

They went and sat down in the patio. Candles had been placed in among the plants; it was a calm, soothing place.

‘I thought the boys would be down playing near the beach,' Cámara said.

‘They usually do. They used to like to hang out in all those old boatyards near, you know, La Mar.'

‘What, they don't like it any more?'

‘Dunno. Seem a bit scared by the whole thing. Spooked them out a bit, as though Pep's ghost was hanging around there, or something. I don't push it. They prefer to stick around here. That's fine by me. Easier to keep an eye on them.'

Cámara's phone rang; he saw the time as he pulled it to his ear: 11:30.

‘What's the matter, Torres?' he said. ‘Having a late night?'

‘My wife prefers it this way.'

‘All right,' Cámara said. ‘I shouldn't have asked. If you need somewhere to sleep…'

‘What? You going to offer your place? Thanks, but I think I'll give it a miss.'

‘You know about Pardo's bathroom suite, right?'

‘I know about it. We all do. You reckon you're the only one who nips in there early in the morning to freshen up?'

‘OK. I'll shut up. What's up?'

‘Two things. Firstly, I found Ramón the fisherman, the one Mikel Roig mentioned had been arguing with Roures.'

‘What did he say?'

‘Well, according to Ramón, it was someone from Valconsa who pressurised him to start threatening Roures about his fishing lines.'

‘What?'

‘Yeah, he wasn't hard to crack open. Just started telling me straight away. He said that after he'd sold his house Valconsa came back to him saying that they'd given him a good deal for his property and that he owed it to them to start squeezing Roures.'

‘Who from Valconsa? Who was it?'

‘He didn't know. Some guy in a suit. But he'd seen him before, during the sale of the house, so he knew he was from Valconsa.'

‘A fisherman on their side would have been more of a threat to Roures, I suppose. Could have shut his night-fishing operation down.'

‘But we're only talking about an annoyance. Not something big enough to make him give up and sell.'

‘How did he seem, this guy?'

‘Frightened. I think he was expecting us. Everyone knew about him and Roures. Then Roures ends up murdered. Doesn't look great for him.'

‘You think he's telling it straight?'

‘He's had time to come up with the Valconsa story if he wanted to. But my gut feeling says he wasn't lying.'

‘OK. What's the other information you've got?'

‘I got hold of Roures's medical records.'

Cámara leaned forward in his seat.

‘Go on.'

‘Turns out he got a bad case of the mumps when he was sixteen.'

‘Mumps.'

‘Yeah.'

‘And your point is?'

‘If the infection spreads down to your
cojones
that's it, you're infertile for life.'

‘Yes, I've heard that. But did it?'

‘What?'

‘Did the disease spread to his balls?'

‘Says here that it did. The mumps developed into orchitis. Caused permanent damage.'

‘Sounds painful.'

‘It is. And I reckon that's why he and Lucía didn't have kids.'

‘Hold on,' Cámara said. ‘How old was he when this happened?'

‘I told you. He was sixteen.'

‘So he can't have been infertile then.'

‘Why?'

‘Because he got Lucía up the duff when he was eighteen and they had to race off to Paris for an abortion. Look, just because someone says they're infertile, or there's a chance they might be, doesn't always mean they are. Believe me, I know about these things.'

‘I didn't realise you were an expert on male fertility problems, chief.'

‘Look, cut the crap. Trust me, all right.'

‘So why didn't they have kids then?' Torres said.

‘Because of the restaurant. They were too busy keeping a restaurant going. I don't know, perhaps they decided they didn't want any after all.'

‘Did she tell you that?'

‘What?'

‘About the restaurant, about them not having kids because of that?'

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, she did.'

‘Well, I suppose you've got to believe her, then,' Torres said.

He rang off. Cámara leaned back in his chair and allowed his eyes to be captured by the flame of the candle on the ledge opposite, a trail of smoke rising as it shuddered in the breeze for a moment.

She'd lied about Sofía.

Saturday 11th July

Torres grabbed him and dragged him back out into the corridor as he stepped into the office.

‘Hey, about what you were saying last night—' Cámara said.

‘No time,' Torres interrupted him. ‘Urgent meeting. Now. Run!'

Cámara fell into step next to him. The incident room was packed; Maldonado was standing at the front, waiting to start the briefing. He glanced up at Cámara and took a breath, as though about to utter some sarcastic comment, but saved it: there were more important things to do. And with something approaching a grin on his face, he began.

‘As I speak, a rapid-response GEO team is being assembled to move in on an address in El Cabanyal.'

He looked down pointedly at his watch.

‘They'll be leaving in three and a half minutes. All of us here now will be going in behind them.
Zeta
squad cars are ready outside and I've given orders for their engines to be left running.'

He lifted his head and looked one or two of them in the eye, flaring his nostrils for dramatic effect.

‘This is it. We've got the tip-off we were hoping for. Sofía Bodí is being held in a house on the Calle San Pedro, number ninety-five, and we're going to get her.'

He clapped his hands.

‘Come on! Let's go!'

As people rose to their feet, he called over above the hubbub and pointed at Cámara and Torres.

‘You two are coming with me,' he said. Then in a lower, but still audible tone, he added to a colleague nearby, ‘It's the only way I can guarantee they'll show up.'

The squad car shot off from the Jefatura in the direction of El Cabanyal, Maldonado in the front next to an officer driving, Cámara and Torres in the back. The air conditioning was switched on, but although it cooled the front passengers well enough, it failed to reach the whole of the inside of the car. Cámara pushed a sweaty finger down on the button on the door, but his window stubbornly refused to open.

‘You'll be asking yourselves what this is all about,' Maldonado said, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. Cámara and Torres gave each other blank looks.

‘A certain Corporal Navarro of the
Guardia Civil
has confessed to being involved in the kidnapping of Sofía Bodí,' he continued.

‘We're holding him?' Torres asked.

‘No. He's only talking to his own people. For the time being.'

‘So how…?' Torres started. ‘Oh.'

Maldonado grinned.

‘Yes, I've got someone passing on information.'

He glanced down at his mobile phone, as though expecting another text message from his
Guardia Civil
insider, and slipped it back into the holster on his belt. Then he leaned across and turned up the volume of the police radio in the centre of the dashboard; messages were coming from the central command room, and other squad cars were giving their position as they moved in towards the Calle San Pedro, but there was still no word yet from the GEO team.

‘Should have arrived by now,' Maldonado mumbled to himself.

‘So what's this Navarro saying?' Torres asked.

‘The interrogation's ongoing,' Maldonado said. ‘The most important thing is he's admitted to being involved in the kidnapping, that he drugged her, and he's given the address where he took her.'

He rubbed his hands together.

‘I've tipped off the TV. If we get this right the first images will be being broadcast just as the Pope's jumping on his plane to leave. He's off in a couple of hours.'

‘Has he said who else was involved?' Cámara asked from behind Maldonado's seat.

‘We're getting there, Cámara,' Maldonado said. ‘Don't worry. There won't be any loose ends that need tying up after this case.'

‘Whose orders was he following?' Cámara insisted, ignoring the sarcasm.

‘There's no obvious link to Lázaro at the moment,' Maldonado said.

‘You don't know, do you? This is supposed to be some organised conspiracy by right-wingers, and all we've got is a
Guardia Civil
corporal acting on his own?'

‘He was not on his own!' Maldonado shouted. ‘That much is clear. This is unravelling as we speak, Cámara. Information is still coming through. In the meantime we've got a chance to find Sofía and prove that we're up to this. Or would you rather we let her sit there and rot until we put all the pieces together? For fuck's sake.'

The radio spluttered more street names and squad car numbers, but still the GEO were silent. They were on the outskirts of El Cabanyal now, moving away from the tall brick tower blocks of the more modern city development and into the narrow lanes of colourful two-storey houses. Graffiti were sprayed on many of the walls, most of them telling Emilia where she could stick her bulldozers.

‘What do we know about Navarro, then?' Torres asked.

‘Doesn't seem to be the brightest sort,' Maldonado said, sitting back in his seat and watching the road ahead. ‘Still a corporal aged thirty-five. Joined the
Guardia Civil
straight out of school. Clean record, nothing unusual, but known right-wing sympathies–carries a keyring with Franco's face on it. But as I said, no obvious links with Lázaro or anything–hasn't served directly under him as far as we can tell.'

‘So Lázaro's not involved?'

‘He's not in the clear yet. We'll see what everyone has to say for themselves once we get hold of Sofía.'

The car swung into the top of the Calle San Pedro, one of the more run-down parts of El Cabanyal. Many of the houses had already been pulled down and empty spaces stood where lives had once been lived. Flashing lights were visible up ahead, and the driver accelerated.

‘One interesting thing about Navarro, though,' Maldonado said as he undid his seat belt in preparation for jumping out of the car. ‘He did serve under a Lieutenant José Manuel Cuevas years back. Bloke's the head of Valconsa now–the company that's trying to pull all this down.'

He placed his hand on the dashboard to support himself as the car braked hard at the edge of a group of other police vehicles. The dark GEO vans were pulled up on the other side. Maldonado got out of the car, quickly followed by the others. More police cars were coming down from behind them, and from the other end of the street. Someone handed Maldonado a loudhailer.