The Butcher Beyond (10 page)

‘What!' Woodend exploded.

‘Captain López will, of course, be in command of the Spanish side of things. And while I will admit that you would not be
my
first choice for the job, you are, apparently, the only high-ranking British officer within a thousand miles of Benicelda, and so are to represent British interests.'

‘You seriously expect me to work with that snake López?' Woodend asked, astounded.

‘That is correct.'

‘There are people I'd trust with the family silver, but he's not one of them,' Woodend said. ‘Bloody hell, now I come to consider the matter, I'd think twice before I handed my plastic picnic set over to his care.'

‘The matter is not open to debate,' Featherington Gore said coldly.

‘Is it not?'

‘No. It has been decided at the highest levels of both our governments that you will work with Captain López on the investigation – and work with Captain López you will.'

‘An' when's this ill-matched joint effort of ours supposed to kick off?' Woodend asked.

‘Given the serious nature of the inquiry, it will, of course, commence immediately.'

‘Right, I'd better get up to the Guardia Civil barracks as soon as possible,' Woodend said. ‘You couldn't lend me your push-bike, could you?'

‘This is no time for frivolity,' Featherington Gore said haughtily. He waited for Woodend's apology, and when it became apparent that none would be forthcoming he continued, ‘A Guardia Civil vehicle and driver have been placed at your disposal. They are waiting for you at the back door.'

‘The
back
door,' Woodend repeated thoughtfully. ‘Well, it's certainly nice to know just how important I've suddenly become.'

C
aptain López strode agitatedly up and down his office, occasionally stopping to take a generous – though necessary – swig from the excessively large glass of brandy which sat on his desk.

‘It's all gone wrong,' he told himself in a voice which was not quite a moan. ‘It's all turned to shit.'

It hadn't looked that way earlier in the day. After his discussion with the
Alcalde
– after the warning he had
been given
by the
Alcalde –
he had carefully mapped out a course of action which he thought would satisfy nearly everyone.

His first step would have been to order his men to question possible witnesses to the crime – though he would have made it plain that they should not find
too
many of these witnesses, nor question them for too long. Having thus established at least the appearance of a normal investigation, he would have written up his first report for Madrid, a report which he'd already decided would be as imaginative as
Don Quixote
– and probably almost as long. It would have been followed by a second report, then a third and fourth, each one a little thinner and a little less optimistic. His final report – submitted around the time Durán became Provincial Governor – would have been as slim as a slice of
jamón serrano
, and the implicit assumption it contained would have been that there was now very little possibility of making an arrest.

The Captain-General, he'd calculated, would have been displeased, but not overly so. The new Governor, on the other hand, would have been both delighted with the outcome, and no doubt very willing to reward the man who had caused it to come about.

It had taken a single dispatch from Madrid to bring this carefully constructed plan tumbling down.

‘
This is a delicate matter with international implications
,' the dispatch had said. ‘
In order to resolve the problem, you must give Chief Inspector Woodend your fullest co-operation. It is vital that the British Foreign Office be satisfied that we are doing all we can to bring the perpetrator of the crime to justice. His Excellency, the Minister of the Interior, will be gravely displeased with any other outcome.
'

López held out his hands in front of him, as if attempting to balance his choices. On the one hand, he still did not want to cross an
alcalde
who would soon be Governor. On the other, he did not want to bring the wrath of Madrid down on his head – and the dispatch made it clear that it
would
be wrath – because even Durán would not be prepared to protect him from a Captain-General who was eager to have his balls served up on a silver platter.

Perhaps he could appear to co-operate with the English policeman while, in fact, leading Woodend on a wild-goose chase. In that way, he could contrive to make it look as if the failure of the investigation was not his own fault, but that of the Englishman.

But what if that didn't work?

What if Woodend turned out to be as smart as he looked – and started to make real progress?

Madrid would be happy enough if the case were solved – but Antonio Durán would be furious, and a furious
alcalde
was the very last thing he wanted to have to deal with.

He needed a power base of his own, López told himself. He needed leverage which did not depend on the influence of other people. But where could he pluck that power – that leverage – from?

He reviewed his meeting with Durán. The
Alcalde
had said that he was worried about the effect of his investigation on the tourist trade, but even at the time – even before he had seen the photographs on the desk – that had seemed to López to be a very weak argument.

So why had he gone along with it?

Because that was the way things worked under the Dictatorship. Because individual progress was made not by showing initiative, but by learning to bend with the wind.

He thought back to the case which had made his name – which had allowed him to first put his foot on the ladder of success.

He had been home on leave in Leon when the local captain had called him into his office.

‘Your uncle has a printing press,' the captain had said.

‘Yes,' López admitted. ‘That's because he is a printer.'

‘We suspect he is using the press to produce radical pamphlets,' the captain told him, ‘but the old man is being very cunning about it, and when we raid his workshop there is nothing there.'

‘What has this got to do with me?' the young López wondered.

‘You are family,' the captain told him. ‘You have access to the workshop day and night. Perhaps you can find something we have missed.'

There
hadn't
been anything in the workshop – at least, not when López had searched it on his own. But by the time he led members of the local Guardia Civil into the place, there had been evidence aplenty.

And that was how things were done, López reminded himself. You found out what your superiors wanted, and you gave it to them. Thus, rather than questioning the
Alcalde
's aim, he had turned his mind to ways of
implementing
that aim. But now, trapped between the
Alcalde
's ‘devil' and Madrid's ‘deep blue sea', he began to wonder just what Durán's game
really
was.

‘Why should the
Alcalde
wish to see the murderer escape?' he asked the empty room. ‘What's in it for him?'

And then, in a blinding mental flash, he had what he could only have called an inspiration.

The Alcalde already
knew
who the killer was, and for devious reasons of his own, had decided to protect him.

He began to follow this new insight through to its logical conclusion.

If Durán knew who the murderer was, then Durán was implicated – at least on the fringes – in the murder itself.

And if he himself could find out the killer's name, then he would also come to understand the motives behind the
Alcalde
's involvement.

Then he would have Durán by the balls!

It wouldn't matter, under those circumstances, what Madrid did or did not choose to do. The Captain-General could hang him out to dry for all he cared, because the new Provincial Governor would look after him. The new Provincial Governor simply wouldn't have any choice.

What a difference his flash of insight had had on his total view of the situation, López thought. A few minutes earlier he hadn't known whether he wanted the crime solved or not. Now he
did
want it solved. But only by him – and for his private use alone. Which meant that while seeming to work with Woodend, he must ensure that the other man was kept well away from anything which might lead him to a solution.

It was going to be a delicate balancing act. But then, he reminded himself, his whole career had been nothing but a balancing act.

He looked out of the window and saw that the gates had been opened and an official car was entering the compound. The
hijo de puta
of an English Chief Inspector had arrived.

Woodend looked around López's office – at the expensive desk, at the deep leather armchairs, at the huge and imposing picture of Generalissimo Francisco Franco on the wall.

‘It doesn't have quite the same kind of feel about it as the last room we met in, does it?' he said.

‘Yes, I must apologize for that unfortunate occurrence last night,' López said. ‘You must understand that, at the time, I did not know we were going to be colleagues.'

‘We were both policemen then, an' we're both policemen now,' Woodend said dryly. ‘We've
always
been colleagues, at least in theory. The difference is that then you didn't know you were goin' to have to extend any professional courtesy to me, an' now you do. So why don't you stop pussyfootin' around an' say what you really mean?'

‘The truth?' López asked.

‘The truth,' Woodend agreed.

‘We are like two polecats that have been put in a sack together,' López said. ‘We do not like it – we do not like
each other
– but, given our situation, it would be pointless to fight.'

Woodend grinned. ‘That's better,' he said. ‘Now we've got things out in the open, we can start to establish some sort of workin' relationship. What have you got on the case so far?'

I have selected the man I was going to arrest for the murder, but now that Madrid has decided to take a closer interest in the case that option is no longer open to me, López thought.

‘I have questioned the hotel receptionist,' the Captain said aloud. ‘He did not see Holloway enter the hotel in the company of the man who was to be his murderer. But that tells us very little, since the receptionist admits that he left his post to visit the toilet, roughly ten minutes before the murder took place.'

‘Very convenient,' Woodend said dryly. ‘Have you carried out a house-to-house?'

‘A what?'

‘Have you had your men out on the streets, lookin' for witnesses who may have seen Holloway an' the other man together?'

‘Yes.'

‘An' have they come up with any leads?'

‘No.'

‘Can I see their reports?'

‘They are in Spanish.'

‘Can you get them translated for me?'

‘It will take some time.'

‘Are there
any
reports for me to see?'

‘We do not do things in Spain in exactly the same way as you do them in England.'

‘In other words, no,' Woodend said. ‘Have you questioned the American who spoke to Holloway a couple of hours before he died? Have you questioned any of the other men the American met – again, just before Holloway died?'

‘I know nothing of that.'

‘Do you know, I rather thought you wouldn't.'

‘Do you have the names of these people? Do you know where I can find them?'

‘I know the American's name, but before I tell you what it is, we'd probably better lay down a few ground rules,' Woodend said. ‘These men will have to be questioned – you can even call what happens an “interrogation”, if you feel more comfortable with that – but they're not to have any accidents.'

‘I don't understand,' López said.

‘Oh, I think you do,' Woodend countered. ‘It's strange how many prisoners all over the world – includin' some in England – seem to have this tendency to fall down stairs. Well, I don't want anythin' like that to happen durin' this investigation. If there's stairs for them to go down, I want somebody with them, holding their hands, when they do it. If there's doors to “accidentally” walk into, I want your officers to ensure that they don't. In other words, before I set you on the trail of these men, I want your promise that no physical harm is goin' to come to them.'

‘I would not come to your country and tell you how to do your job,' López growled.

‘An' I won't tell you how to do yours – as long as you do it properly,' Woodend said. ‘Do we have a deal? Or do I have to tell the Consul that I can't work with you?'

‘We have a deal,' López answered reluctantly.

Woodend stepped through the big wooden gates of the Guardia Civil barracks, and out on to the cobbled street.

Strange that a police force which was entrusted with protecting the public should feel the need of so much obvious protection itself, he thought.

Or maybe it wasn't. The Guardia Civil's main interest, after all, was to guard the state, rather the
people
who constituted that state – López had made that quite plain during their first meeting – so seen from that angle the Guardia wasn't really a police force, as he understood the term, anyway. What it actually was, he decided, was no more and no less than an army of occupation.

He had gone just far enough down the street to be out of sight of the barracks when the headlamps of a parked car flashed at him. He was not really surprised. Truth to tell, he had been half expecting it.

‘I'll drive you back to your hotel,' Paco Ruiz said, as he opened the passenger door.