The Sentinel: 1 (Vengeance of Memory) (56 page)

‘Do you work for us?’ Fuentes asked.

‘I work at the university,’ Tali said. ‘The Guzmán investigation.’

‘Of course.’ Fuentes nodded. ‘Well, we’re very keen to participate in these inter-agency projects. Sorry, is it
Profesora
Castillo or doctor?’

Tali shrugged. ‘Nothing quite so grand, I’m afraid, just plain old
señorita
.’

Fuentes gave her his most charming smile. ‘I say something similar when people think I should be a
coronel
at my age. But we’re all part of a team, that’s the main thing, no?’ He grinned. And you’re lucky having Ana María on your team. We’re very proud of her work so far. I know she gets fed up working on war graves but that’s going to change when she gets her transfer to the profiling section. I keep telling her, just be patient. As long as the pay cheque keeps coming in, that’s the main thing.’

‘That’s what Ana María always says.’ Tali gave Galindez a wicked smile. Galindez frowned and drew her index finger across her throat.

‘She would.’ Fuentes nodded, not noticing Galindez’s discomfort. ‘She’s from a
guardia
family. Her father was one of the best. He set the bar very high for the rest of us.’

Galindez squirmed, sensing the inevitable direction of the conversation. Annoyingly, she was correct.

‘You knew Ana’s father then?’ Tali asked, breaking another of Galindez’s many invisible rules – never to enter into discussion about other people’s relationship with
Papá.

It was always so predictable, Galindez thought:
Miguel Galindez? Salt of the earth,
guardia
through and through, tough as they come.
Clichéd variations on a theme, frequently with a hidden subtext:
A shame about the daughter – she can’t even remember him.
As if she could help it.

‘Back in the day,’ Fuentes said, ‘I worked with both Ana’s uncle and her father. Mind you, Natalia,’ he gave Tali his most charming smile, ‘back then, I was young and I had more hair.’

‘What was Ana’s dad like?’ Tali asked.

‘A bit older than me,’ Fuentes said, ‘and very tough. He knew the rules and he made sure the men kept to them.’

Fuentes was being so affable, Galindez couldn’t help joining in. ‘That sounds familiar.
Tia
Carmen said if I didn’t lace my shoes up correctly,
Papá
would make me undo them and start again.’

‘That was Miguel,’ Fuentes agreed. ‘The men liked him because he’d never ask them to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. If we made an arrest, no matter how big the guy was, your dad went in first.’

‘So all three of you worked in the same unit?’ Tali asked.

‘No. They’d both just been promoted when I joined. That would have been the late seventies. They were in the Tactical Unit – public order, counter-terrorism, that sort of thing. I was still learning the ropes while they were sorting out demonstrations.’

Galindez laughed. ‘I can’t imagine Uncle Ramiro running around with a baton, chasing demonstrators.’

‘We all did back then, Ana. But Ramiro was a very bright officer. He never stayed in any post for long. I suppose because his father was a general, Ramiro wanted to do as well as him. When you look at his career now, he’s done better.’

‘With the Afghanistan job, you mean?’ Galindez said.

Fuentes raised his eyebrows.
‘Joder,
the rumour’s true then?’

‘Uncle Ramiro mentioned it last week. I thought everyone knew.’

‘You see how it is, Natalia?’ Fuentes grinned. ‘I’m in charge of this department but the real power lies with Ana María – the girl with a general for an uncle. She knows what’s going on.’

Tali raised her eyebrows. ‘You might think so,
Capitán.’

Laughing, Fuentes walked to the doorway and paused. ‘Nice to meet you,
Señorita
Castillo. I’ll catch you later, Ana María. Oh, and here,’ he passed her the envelope, ‘Dr Del Rio sent this up for you. The results of a handwriting analysis you requested.’

Tali looked at Galindez questioningly.

‘The Guzmán diary.’

‘Ah, the dreaded Guzmán,’ Fuentes said. ‘I’ll leave him to you.’

Galindez peered at the computer screen. Her eyes were dry and the words on the screen were starting to blur. Through the windows, the shimmering lights of Madrid formed abstract patterns in the summer night, the precision and geometry of buildings vague in the iridescent darkness. Tali was sleeping, her face hidden in her folded arms. Galindez ran a hand softly across her hair. She didn’t stir.

The screen was blank. The database hadn’t provided a single match for any of the names listed in Guzmán’s diary. But, Galindez realised, those people probably never had any further record kept on them, once Guzmán’s unit had come for them. They disappeared into thin air. She chewed her lip. Not thin air. They disappeared into hidden graves or sites like the abandoned mine at Las Peñas. What she needed were the names of people who had existed officially, whose lives had generated documents and records.

She remembered that first afternoon at the university in Seminar Room B. The photograph of Guzmán. Sullen eyes under dark angry brows. And there was the other man with him, thin-faced
Teniente
Peralta. She entered Peralta’s name into the search engine. The numbers at the top of the screen spun and two hyperlinks suddenly appeared. Not one hit in hours and now this.

‘Tali.’ No response. ‘Natalia.
Querida.’

Tali looked up, eyes struggling to focus. ‘I fell asleep. Sorry.’

‘Look, I got two hits on
Teniente
Peralta.’ Galindez selected the first link:

‘So he was brave,’ Tali said. ‘Good for him.
Muy bueno.’

‘Trouble is, there’s no further information.’ Galindez frowned. ‘But Peralta got his medal around during the time Guzmán disappeared. Christ, maybe he got the medal for making Guzmán disappear. Perhaps we can follow that up?’

‘Let’s do it when I’m conscious. Can’t we go home? Please?’

‘Just let me look at this other entry for Peralta. Then we’ll go, I promise.’

‘And?’ Tali was exhausted and impatient.

‘Teniente
Peralta adopted a seven-year-old child. Called Martinez. Don’t you see? The boy could have been the son of the woman whose name was scratched on the wall at the
comisaría
– Alicia Martinez.’

‘Martinez is a common name.’ Tali didn’t sound convinced.

‘There has to be some link,’ Galindez muttered.

‘You mean some link to Guzmán?’

‘Of course.
Teniente
Peralta became
Capitán
Peralta. He was promoted. Something happened: he got a medal, promotion. Why?’

‘Lots of things happened in the fifties, Ana. Guzmán wasn’t behind all of them. He was just one man.
Nada más.’
Tali sighed.

‘He was a very powerful man,’ Galindez said. ‘What he was doing – like many others – was keeping a dictator in power. A dictator who had supported Hitler, for God’s sake. Yet if Luisa has her way, Guzmán will go down in history as some sort of victim. I can’t believe he’s as innocent as she makes out.’

‘This isn’t just about you proving Luisa wrong,’ Tali said angrily.
‘Hostia,
you found material that’s a lot more dangerous to us than Guzmán, Ana María. The
Centinelas’
files named hundreds of people who would have supported a military coup. Not to mention the people they were going to kill if the coup succeeded. Even though we’ve given the files to Judge Delgado, they may still come after us. We need to think about the present as well as the past. Don’t get so hung up on Guzmán. You’re getting obsessed,
mi amor.
Leave it.’

‘Obsesionada
? Maybe I am. But don’t forget the
Centinelas
said they were using Guzmán in the build-up to those attempted coups. He was working for them, helping with their plans to undermine democracy.’

‘Well, the
Centinelas
will be exposed anyway once the judge publicises all those names in the files,’ Tali said.

‘Don’t you see?’ Galindez continued. ‘The past and the present both involve Guzmán. I can use him to denounce the
Centinelas’
terror attacks in the seventies and eighties and to demolish Luisa’s arguments. She can’t argue he was just a victim of circumstance if I can show he was involved in murder and treason.’

Tali sighed. ‘Aren’t you pinning all your hopes on just one man? Luisa says he’s innocent, you say he’s guilty. Life isn’t always so clear cut. Maybe Guzmán isn’t the key to everything.’

Some of Galindez’s energy started to drain away. ‘That’s what worries me.’ 

‘You’re still worried about the line in the diary, aren’t you? The quote from Ortega y Gasset.’

‘Exactamente.
What if I’m wrong and Guzmán had a conscience after all?’

‘It’s possible. But surely if even the
Centinelas
thought he was difficult and unreliable, it isn’t all that likely he was the strong sensitive type, is it?’

‘I’m sure he was the opposite. I want people to know exactly what Guzmán did. What the
Centinelas
did. I want people to have closure.’

‘Are you sure this isn’t about you looking for closure, Ana María?’

‘I want to know what happened to Guzmán. And to Alicia Martinez – so she’s not forgotten, not just a name scratched on a cell wall.’

Tali groaned with exasperation. ‘Stop being so emotional. And stop worrying about proving Luisa wrong. Just do your investigation the way you think is best. You’re the one who believes in the value of solid evidence. You’ve got to come up with some,
querida.’

‘You’re right. I’ve still got the bodies from Las Peñas to examine.’

‘Fine. But,
por el amor de Dios,
Ana María, do it another day.’

The screen went blank as Galindez logged out. The manila folder waited unopened on her desk. Guzmán and
Teniente
Peralta could wait, she decided. But something else couldn’t.

‘Give me five minutes? I’ve got to pop downstairs to see someone.’

Tali shrugged. ‘Wake me when you’re done.’

The lift murmured quietly as it descended. The crime lab was in half light. Galindez walked through the familiar banks of equipment, passing shelves laden with bottles, jars, test tubes – the sterile paraphernalia of science. A light came from a table at the far end of the room where a woman in uniform was dusting items for fingerprints. She stood up as Galindez approached. A tall woman – almost 1.8 metres, high cheekbones, dark skin – the best of her Dominican mother and gypsy father. A sergeant’s badge on her sleeve.

‘Holá.’
A soft low voice. ‘How are you, Ana?’

‘Bien.’
Galindez thought she might as well lie. She was getting lots of practice lately.

‘No more trouble with hidden cameras in your girlfriend’s bathroom?’

‘No, you did a good job,’ Galindez said. ‘Listen, I’m in a bit of trouble. That’s why I need this favour.’

‘Can’t you tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help…’

‘No. This is something I have to do, Sarge. I can’t involve anyone else.’

The sergeant went to a locker and brought out something bulky, wrapped in a towel. She placed the bundle on the table. ‘You’re sure you want this?’ Galindez’s look told her she did. The sergeant lifted the corners of the towel, uncovering a dark object nestling dull and oily on the white cotton. ‘Glock Nineteen. Fifteen-round magazine. The gun’s clean. No serial number. Will that do you?’

Galindez lifted the pistol, feeling its weight. ‘It’s great,
gracias.’

The sergeant looked at her. ‘Be careful, Ana María. Whoever these people are, they’re not amateurs and, from what you told me on the phone, everywhere you’ve gone, they already knew in advance. There’s only two of you and they knew. See what I’m saying?’

‘I do.’ Galindez tucked the pistol into her waistband, covering it with her shirt.
‘Gracias,
Mendez. I owe you one.’

‘You know how it is, Ana María,’ Mendez said. ‘We look after own.’

Outside, there was a band of light on the horizon. Tali leaned against Galindez in the cab, dozing fitfully. Galindez wanted to tell her that if things hit the fan, she could handle it. But maybe it wouldn’t come to that, she thought. Maybe.

The cab stopped outside Tali’s building. She’d slept all the way. Galindez had spent the journey fretting about what Mendez said. Tali opened the door to her apartment and flicked the light on. The room was still scattered with some of the equipment Mendez left after searching the place for bugs.

‘I’m wrecked,’ Tali said, ‘do you want a drink or shall we go to bed?’

Galindez found it difficult to speak, knowing that once she’d said what she was about to, she couldn’t take it back. ‘Sit down, Tali.’ Her voice had an edge to it.

Tali sat on the edge of the sofa.
‘Pasa algo?
’

‘Sí.
I’m worried. Everywhere we’ve been since starting this investigation, someone – whoever someone is; Sancho, the
Centinelas
or whatever – always seems to know where we’ll be.’