Or the Bull Kills You (24 page)

‘I hope to God you never have to go through the same,' he said. ‘No man deserves this, no matter what he's done, what sins he's committed. Children are life, your sons are your own life. No one should be able to take them away from you.'

Cámara sucked hard on his cigarette. Opposite him, Ramírez had managed to locate a handkerchief from a pocket and was wiping his eyes.

‘You can't understand. It was different then. I couldn't have acknowledged him. His mother was…' He paused, eyes pulling away to the side as he seemed to recall something from the past. ‘What happened, happened,' he said at last. ‘We tried to fix it, in the only way we could. You have to remember what things were like back then. And in a rural environment…' He tailed off again.

‘And did you fix it so that the groom had his accident so soon after marrying your mistress?' Cámara asked.

Ramírez gave him a look of horror.

‘No. That was an accident. Really. He was one of my best farmhands. He knew, of course, about the situation, and agreed to marry her, but…No.' He closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘He got thrown by his horse. It was a stupid thing. Might have happened to him a dozen times or more, and, well, you just picked yourself up, got back on the horse and carried on. But the way he fell. He…he broke his neck. Dead on the spot. There was nothing we could do.'

He gave Cámara a look.

‘You and I deal with death more than the ordinary person, I suspect,' he said. ‘Sometimes the weakest seem to be the longest to hold on, while at others it's the strongest among us, the ones you think will carry on for ever, that seem to slip away. I've seen it all my life with bulls, and eventually you develop an eye for the ones that look to be
bravo
, but which you know will let you down. With people it's more complicated.'

‘Blanco went up to visit you at the farm just a couple of weeks before his death,' Cámara said. ‘What did you talk about?'

Ramírez raised his hands and started stroking his eyebrows, as though trying to ease out a knot developing in his brow.

‘I know that he was upset, afterwards,' Cámara added. ‘Angry, even. There was an argument, wasn't there? What did Blanco say, Señor Ramírez?'

Cámara waited for a second, then added: ‘Something about the farm?'

‘Something about the farm,' Ramírez repeated under his breath. For a moment it seemed as if he was elsewhere, his imagination returning to that day.

‘We…There were raised voices,' he said at last. His eyes darted from side to side. Cámara made an effort to make as little movement as possible, as though to reduce his presence in the room. Talk, make gestures, or advertise yourself in some way, and people were reminded of who they were talking to. Disappear, vanish or draw a veil over yourself, and they opened up more.

‘Jorge knew,' Ramírez said at last. ‘It may be that he always knew. Or that finally his mother had let it slip. I don't know.'

He closed his eyes in concentration.

‘The fact is,' he went on, ‘he wanted a share of the farm. He thought it was his right, as a Ramírez, as my son, that he should have a share. I don't expect to be leaving this world in the near future. But the question of inheritance is clearly one that is crossing other people's minds, given my age. It has always been the assumption that Paco was the one who would take over the farm. Roberto, my second son, as perhaps you know, is less interested in our world. But suddenly…well, there was Jorge saying that he should have a stake as well. That he
had
a stake in it all. He was a Ramírez, as a top bullfighter he had championed our name…

He sat back in his armchair, his hands resting on his lap.

‘I still don't know quite what he expected. That we would agree on the spot? Perhaps we should have. There was rarely any room for doubt in Jorge's mind. Once he'd decided on something…Did he get that from me?'

His eyes shone fiercely with repressed tears as a resigned smile formed on his mouth.

‘I have denied myself the pleasure of wondering aloud about such matters for all these years,' he said. ‘About which characteristics he may or may not have inherited from my side. And now it's too late.'

He stared Cámara hard in the face, then closed his eyes again. Cámara waited for a few moments to see if there was any more information forthcoming, but the old man remained silent.

He stood up from his chair and at the sound Ramírez opened his eyes again. After a pause, as though he needed time to understand what was happening, he got up himself and moved to show his visitor to the door. The sound of firecrackers welcomed them from outside.

‘You hear rumours,' Cámara said, ‘about malpractices among bull breeders. Doctoring the bulls and that kind of thing. Obviously I don't know that much about it, not being an aficionado.'

‘It must be a difficult case for you,' Ramírez said, the sharpness returning to him.

‘And you've never been tempted?' Cámara asked. ‘There are a lot of bullfighters out there much happier fighting safer bulls. And happier bullfighters means more corridas.'

Ramírez forced a smile.

‘You know of our reputation, I'm sure,' he said. ‘We couldn't betray that.'

‘I see,' Cámara said, raising his voice as another
traca
string of firecracker explosions was let off only yards away. ‘Only, it was quite useful having Blanco there as your champion, wasn't it? The defender of pure bullfighting. It gave you a perfect disguise.'

Ramírez remained silent, but moved to close the door on him.

‘Things are going to be a bit more difficult from now on, I'd say,' Cámara insisted.

The door shut.

Turning on his heel, he skipped down the steps and out the gate, back into the street. A couple of teenage girls in
fallera
costumes ran past him, giggling in the sunshine. From somewhere nearby he could hear the sound of a paso doble blaring out as another local street party got underway.

Valencia, tus mujeres todas tienen de las rosas el color…

Pacing the car-free avenue in the direction of the Jefatura, he started whistling along to the tune.

A call on his mobile broke him off: Torres.

‘We've got the data in from Carmen Luna's phone.' Torres had to shout to make himself heard against the background of
falla
noise. ‘Last calls made and received on the day leading up to her death.'

‘Good work,' Cámara shouted back. ‘What've you got? Who made the last call to her?'

There was a pause.

‘You're not going to believe this,' Torres said.

‘Try me.'

‘The last call to Carmen Luna,' Torres said, ‘came from a mobile phone. I've had the number checked. It's one of three that are billed to the Town Hall.'

‘Which department?' Cámara said.

‘Central office. That means—'

‘Yes, I know what that means,' Cámara said. ‘Find Flores. I want him hauling in.'

‘Chief, tomorrow's the election. Today's the Day of Reflection. There's no way Caballero's going to agree to that. If we go around arresting politicians—'

‘Just do it!'

‘On what grounds?'

‘I'll think of something.'

 

He knew the press would still be camped outside the front door of the Jefatura, so he took a different route in order to get to the back entrance.

Checking the time on his mobile, he decided to stop off and get an early bite to eat now before the
falla
crowds started occupying every available place. Around the next corner he spotted a small bar with aluminium windows and faded yellow-and-orange striped blinds. Doubtless they'd have some paella already prepared for lunchtime: he could have something to eat while he thought about how to play things with Flores.

There was already a considerable crowd inside when he walked in. From the bags under their eyes most of them looked to have fallen straight out of bed and into here, picking up from where they'd left off sometime around dawn. Without paying much attention, Cámara found an empty corner of the bar and sat down on a hard metal stool. He noticed they had Mahou on tap and ordered a
doble
. He took his mobile out and left it on the top of the bar: if Torres was going to ring it was the only way he was going to hear it against the din.

The beer was cool and sharp. In three gulps he finished it and brought the glass down with a tap, catching the barman's eye to order another one.

‘And give me a plate of paella to go with it as well,' he said.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Spinning round, he saw a familiar, if unexpected face.

‘Chief Inspector. I thought it was you.'

Alejandro Cano looked as though he'd recently stepped out of the shower; his chin was freshly shaved and he was wearing a neatly ironed white shirt.

‘I have friends who live in this area,' Cano said. He pulled up the stool next to Cámara's and sat down. ‘I always come during
Fallas
and spend a day with them, hand out prizes to the kids, that kind of thing. Helps get them mentioned in the papers.'

‘You're here so that the photographers come,' Cámara said.

‘That's the idea,' Cano smiled. ‘But that's all later. We're just having a few drinks right now.' He indicated a group of men on the other side of the bar. ‘You want to join us?'

‘I'm fine. Thanks.'

‘As you wish.'

He made no move to go. The barman placed a fresh glass of beer in front of Cámara.

‘You all right there?' the barman said to Cano.

‘Give me another glass of the
sangría
.'

The barman reached for a jug and filled a wine glass with pink sweet liquid, fishing out a few pieces of fruit to float on top, then handed it to the bullfighter.

‘Thanks,' Cano said. He raised his glass and turned to Cámara.

‘To the successful conclusion of your case,' he said. After a pause, Cámara lifted his beer and made a half-hearted toasting gesture.

‘I've read the papers,' Cano said. ‘There was no call for that article. Really.'

‘Thanks,' Cámara said.

‘Look.' Cano reached out and placed his hand on Cámara's shoulder. ‘It's the last bullfight of the fiesta tomorrow. I'd like to invite you to come along.'

Cámara's face remained impassive.

‘As my guest,' Cano said. ‘I'm not fighting tomorrow, but, well, I'm sure you can imagine, they give me good seats, that kind of thing.'

Cámara took another gulp of beer, then pulled out his Ducados.

‘It would be an honour for me,' Cano said. ‘I know a good man when I see one, Chief Inspector. And if there are any problems with this investigation at the moment, I know they are nothing to do with you, not your fault at all. It would be a gesture of solidarity. You'll see: come with me to the bullfight, as my guest, and those journos will come round. Don't underestimate the power of celebrity.'

He held out his hand. Cámara lit his cigarette, put his lighter back in his pocket, and then reached out and shook it. Cano smiled.

‘You working today?' he asked. Cámara nodded.

‘All the more reason to take tomorrow off, then. Or at least the afternoon.'

‘I'll see what I can do,' Cámara said.

‘You might not believe it, but we have our own problems, our own power battles and crises in the world of bullfighting as well.'

Cano took a sip of his
sangría
, then pushed a hand through his hair. For the second time that day, Cámara reflected, it looked as though someone was about to open up to him.

‘Is that what happened between you and Ruiz Pastor in the end?' Cámara asked.

Cano sighed. ‘Poor old Juanma. He was all right. We had our problems, yes, it's true, but, well, mustn't speak ill of the dead.'

Cámara waited.

‘I suppose you've looked into it?' Cano said at last. ‘At the time everyone assumed it was because of Jorge, the new bullfighting star, and that Juanma dropped me to become his
apoderado
.'

‘That's what I've heard,' Cámara said.

Cano reached over and picked up Cámara's packet of Ducados. ‘May I?'

Cámara held up his lighter and lit him one.

‘The truth is,' Cano said, ‘that things were going badly before all that. Juanma was only ever interested in money, getting as much money as he could. Don't get me wrong, I'm interested in making money as well. Or at least I was.'

He stroked a finger down one of his sideburns.

‘You reach a point where that's no longer the motivation. But for him it just never stopped; he needed more. Always more money.'

‘And that caused problems between you?' Cámara said.

‘After a while.' Cano pulled on his cigarette lovingly in the way of someone who doesn't smoke regularly, savouring the taste of the tobacco. ‘He was angling for a bigger percentage. Said he was doing more than just the ordinary work of an
apoderado
for me.' He smiled.

‘The scandals?' Cámara asked.

‘A lot of it's made up,' Cano said. ‘But, yes, there have been a few occasions…Women you thought you could trust at the time but then decided to tell their story. The kind of thing that fills the gossip programmes. They need material of that sort to keep going; it's an industry.'

He waved a hand dismissively.

‘Anyway, Juanma ended up having to deal with a lot of this kind of thing, paying off girls to keep them quiet. Listen, it doesn't matter if I tell you now; it was all years ago. And I never did anything wrong. But Juanma got it into his head that he was owed more money, a bigger cut. Said he was going to tell everything – and more – if I didn't cough up.'

‘What did you do?' Cámara said.