by Pablo Poveda
I walked around and stopped at one of the canons by the battlements. I leaned on the stone and breathed the salty, humid Mediterranean summer that was about to arrive. Then I felt a presence.
”I’ll never get tired of coming up here,” said a voice accompanied by the sound of shoe soles. It was Hidalgo. He walked towards me and stopped by my side. He sounded tired. ”You’d better talk. We don’t have much time.”
”I heard about your candidacy,” I said. ”I’m sure you’ll win this time.”
”That’s why you brought me here?” he asked offended.
”You’ve been hiding information from me, Antonio,” I said. ”Why?”
”What did you expect? If I told you that I was going to run...” he replied. ”Anyways, you got me into big trouble, asshole.”
”I’m not talking about your candidacy,” I said and turned my face, ”I’m talking about your relationship with Monica Llopis.”
”Right, so it was that... Now I have to report it to my friends, too. Come on, Gabriel. You’re not my wife...”
“They found two different DNA types in the body,” I explained, “I have the impression one of them is yours.”
His face cringed. “Did the report say that?”
“No, I haven’t had access to the report yet, “I replied. “Detective Botella is the only one who can reveal the identity, but... What game are you playing? You were with her!”
Hidalgo styled his hair back with his hand. He was nervous.
“That information cannot get out there, Gabriel!” he exclaimed, pointing at me with his index finger. “Shit. My wife will choke me like a dog... This divorce is costing me my health...”
Hidalgo and his wife hadn’t lived together for a while by then.
“Calm down,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. Then I grabbed a cigarette from the smashed packet in my pocket and lit it. “I didn’t meet with you to make it more difficult. We’re friends, right?”
“I hope so...”
“Did you kill her, Hidalgo?” I asked, staring at his eyes.
Without removing his sunglasses, unnecessary in the sunset, he kept silent and thought his answer carefully.
“Gabriel, who do you think I am?” He said with a soft tone. I wasn’t expecting that. “I would never put my hands on anybody... I’m shocked you asked me that.”
“Monica didn’t die of a heart attack,” I explained. He was my friend. I had to believe him. “Someone poisoned her.”
“Yes, I read your article...” he replied. “Alright, you win. There was something between Monica and I... I wouldn’t call it a romance. We weren’t in love. She just happened to fill a space in my life, the one my marriage had left. The freshness of youth, the temporary affair... I guess she felt the same. She came from a very closed-minded family where women were on a secondary level. So much pressure ended up leaking somewhere... In her case, it was in bed. I promised I’d keep my mouth shut.”
“We’ll honor her will,” I answered. I took my phone to check if Botella had called me back, but the screen was off. No battery. “Damn it.”
“You should take a break, Gabriel,” he said in a fatherly tone. “How are things with Patricia? Better?”
“No,” I replied. “Honestly, they couldn’t get worse... I can’t leave this case.”
“You’re a journalist, not a cop.”
“I must tell the truth, Hidalgo.”
“Who do you suspect?”
“Everybody, to be honest,” I said, “but I have the feeling walls are made of paper and everything I touch turns to dust.”
“Seriously, leave it the way it is,” he insisted, “If you keep poking your nose into someone else’s business, sooner or later, the police will go after you... You’ve come too far, don’t take it so personal.”
“I need you to do me a favor, Hidalgo.”
“What is it?”
“You have to call my boss and promise him something.”
“Something like what?”
I WENT BACK TO THE office the following day, fearing Ortiz. I hadn’t managed to turn the phone on. Patricia had taken the charger with her and mine was still at the newspaper’s office. I prayed for Ortiz to be in a good mood and for Hidalgo to have done his job well.
When I walked in, I saw a young woman at my desk, tidying her notes. Without much interest, I asked one of the interns about Ortiz and headed for his office.
“May I?” I asked, opening the door.
“Good morning, Caballero,” I replied. “Sorry you had to find out from the competition.”
Ortiz left a printed copy of the Informacion Journal with a striking headline.
The Dean Case: Detective found dead at his house.
I read the rest of the article. Detective Botella had been found dead the night before at his place.
A carbon monoxide leak in the bathroom had gone in the policeman’s lungs making him fall asleep and paralyzing his muscles. A prolonged exposure to the toxic gas ended the man’s life.
Carbon monoxide is known to induce a sweet death, since it is odorless, colorless and flavorless. The detective would never have known he was being poisoned.
A victim’s friend and several bystanders called the paramedics hours after the incident, when Mr. Botella didn’t answer any calls.
“Oh my God...” I said with sadness. I’d gotten attached to the detective, not to mention the case was getting even darker. The investigation was going down the drain. “This wasn’t a coincidence, Ortiz.”
The boss put the paper away and invited me to have a seat.
“Your friend Hidalgo called me yesterday,” he said, leaning back on his seat. “Thank you. For once in months, I have been able to have a good night’s sleep.”
“The future of this newspaper is still darker than Llopis’ murder.”
“I know, Caballero,” he replied. “Look at us. We are the only ones paying taxes here and we still earn a misery.”
“Not to mention the interns.”
“They’re part of a wheel that won’t stop spinning,” he said and then sighed. He opened a desk drawer, moved the keyboard aside and took out two shot glasses and a bottle of brandy. Then he filled them up. “To the detective.”
“To Botella,” I said, “Cheers.”
The sip of brandy felt like holy water. Ortiz needed it as much as I did.
“Why did you come here, Caballero?” he asked, holding the glass. “I know you, so save your excuses.”
“I came to apologize for what I did, boss...” I said. The occasion demanded it. “And to pick up my stuff.”
Ortiz laughed. “You’re a very bad liar, Caballero. Apology accepted, but you leaving? Come on!”
“Alright, you win... I have to come back.”
“Done,” he replied with a smile. “You can start with the girl at your desk. She needs some help with computers.”
“I mean I want to publish,” I insisted, “I have to get to the bottom of this case.”
“I honestly don’t give a crap about all this anymore, Caballero,” he said pouring some more brandy. “The newspaper is in a comma, end-stage... I can only believe in that friend of yours.”
“Is that a yes?”
“But forget about asking me for favors again,” he replied, “No more lies, Gabriel. I can’t help you this time. The ship is sinking and we already have enough shit in it.”
“Trust me. We’ll rise from the depths.”
I stood up, satisfied but saddened by the news. It didn’t make sense to ask Ortiz to find out Detective Botella’s address. I wouldn’t find what I needed. I left the office and approached the girl at my desk. She was pretty and young, barely in her twenties. That girl with blonde streaks and green eyes wouldn’t take long to get her foot in the door of national TV. It was a pity that I had to focus on other matters during those days. I plugged the phone into the charger. The screen lit up. I received a text message with all my missed calls and one coming from Botella’s phone. On
e is never ready to read the posthumous words from a dead person.
Several minutes later, I went for it. I opened the message. The text was divided in two parts.
Maciá has the analy-
I waited for the second message, but nothing came in. I was unable to decipher the rest. Maciá? The analysis? Botella had found out something and that’s why he’d texted me; but what? If Antonio Maciá had something, it was time to share the secret.
The situation began to make me dizzy. My muscles hurt from all the walking. Journalism granted the satisfaction of knowing the truth of a story, despite its precariousness and what the highest echelons controlling the newspapers allowed to be published.
The girl kept tidying up his documents and stapling them to put them in a plastic folder. Next to the office supplies, I noticed a razor to cut cardboard. I grabbed it and slid it in my pocket.
I didn’t know if I would ever set foot in that office again. After all, anything could happen after my visit to Fharma, but there was only one way to find out.
15
I RUSHED UP LIKE A bullet to Fharma in my red SEAT Ibiza with Pink Floyd’s Money floating in the air. Twenty minutes later I was at the gate. The bar owner was surprised to see me skid in front of his shop. I parked, got out of the car and burst into the reception like a tornado.
“Hi, beautiful,” I said to Luna before she could spit out a single word. “I’ve come to talk to your boss.”
I went up the stairs without giving her a chance to react and she picked up the phone at her desk. That day the building was at his best. The glass rooms were packed with young, well-dressed people. I saw Maciá at the bottom of the room, in his office, talking to a lady with a remarkable figure. I managed to reach the room in a few strides.
“You? Who let you in?” he said, shocked by my presence. The young woman turned around.
“We need to talk, Maciá,” I replied, “by hook or by crook.”
The confidence in my words caught the businessman’s attention. With a soft gesture of his arm, he asked the lady to leave the room. Then, I closed the door.
“What are you doing here, Caballero?” he asked, annoyed by my presence. “Wasn’t I clear enough last time?”
“Last night Detective Botella was found dead at his house,” I answered. “What a coincidence, don’t you think? You cleaned that up, but forgot about me.” He seemed confused.
“What the hell are you talking about, idiot?” he grunted. “I haven’t killed anybody. You’re not listening.”
I pulled out the razor from my pocket and held it to his face.
“Botella texted me,” I explained. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t understand what he meant because it was incomplete... but you’ll give me the answer. What analysis do you have, Maciá?”
“Analysis?” he said. “Put that down. You don’t wanna do anything stupid.”
“Botella knew you had the analysis,” I bluffed. I had no idea what analysis I was talking about. “That connects you to Llopis. Speak up!”
“Hey, wait!” he exclaimed, showing his hands. “I didn’t kill Monica. We were just having fun, but you already knew that. I gave her what your journalist friend couldn’t, and she told me how the labs in the faculty worked.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I sponsored Monica’s campaign in exchange for, you know, cooperation with the Faculty of Biology at the university. That’s all. If Monica became the dean, I’d take over the labs and we would take charge of the distribution of the medicines.”
“And what happened?” I asked.
“What happened?” he exclaimed. “What a stupid question. Monica is dead!”
“She was poisoned with arsenic,” I replied, “something you use in your drugs.”
Maciá dodged ball after ball. “Listen,” he said with a frown, “I’m a married man, I have a wife. My relationship with Monica couldn’t get too far, but she wasn’t going to say anything. We got along and I knew she was hiding something about Hidalgo. I didn’t kill her, I swear.”
“Tell that to the judge,” I said, “What about that scene on the Street? You punched a guy who saw you arguing.”
“Shit, that...” he said ashamed, “Monica asked me not to hit him, but... What would you do if a jerk calls your girl a whore? Please, Caballero, I thought you were a man with ethics.”
“I am, when someone doesn’t try to run me over,” I replied. Maciá was deflating like pierced ball. He looked regretful, although that was not an argument to rule out the possibility of him being a murderer. “Tell me about the analysis.”
“Analysis, analysis...” he muttered. “God damit! You’re driving me crazy! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I’ll repeat it again. Detective Botella texted me before he died. He’d found out something about some analysis that you have.”
“I’m really lost,” he replied. “There are only a few analyses I know about, besides the one found with the body, but they have nothing to do with this.”
“Tell me about them,” I insisted, holding the razor closer.
“Put that down, come on,” he ordered, knowing I wouldn’t hurt him. “The lads had discovered a cure. It worked faster than ours. That would interfere in my interests as an investor. If the university gets the green light, nobody else will be able to get the patent. You know what that means? A huge loss of money... I asked Monica to take care of that, to do something, but she told me the tests had been negative, so there was no reason to be worried.”
Macià’s words echoed in my head like a New Year’s Eve hangover.
“It can’t be true,” I said.
“I’m telling you it is. That’s what she said,” he insisted.
The house of cards was falling apart, but until when?
“I gotta go,” I said, putting the razor away and leaving in deep thought.
“Gabriel! Hey!” he shouted.
I went down the corridor under the watch of the employees, who seemed frozen; astonished by the scene we’d given.
My patience was running low like sand in an hourglass.
16
FURIOUS DUE TO THE tsunami of problems I accumulated on my shoulders, I drove to the Faculty of Science, once again. It was time for finals so only the lazy unworried students were drinking beer and smoking pot.
I went through the main gate and asked the clerk, someone I had bumped into a few times before, about Mr. Casavieja. Since he wasn’t there, I decided to do something useful and get some information about the professor. Walking down the corridor, I saw an open door that led to one of the labs in the building. There, a group of three boys and a girl were cleaning test tubes.
“Are you looking for someone?” said a brunette girl with thick lips, in a white coat.
“I’m lost,” I replied with a smile,” although I don’t mind...”
One of the boys, the one with the plastic glasses, approached me. “You cannot be here,” he said. “You’ll get us in trouble.”
“Actually, I’m looking for Professor Casavieja,” I said with authority. “We’re friends. Are you his students?”
“No,” a girls answered. The boy felt betrayed. “We work here, at the lab.”
“Interns,” I said aloud. Then I went in the room and closed the door. “How did you end up here?”
Both glanced at each other. The other three kept cleaning the work material.
“What do you care?” the boy asked.
“Listen, kid,” I replied, putting him in his place, “we’re investigating a crime. You’d better cooperate if you don’t want to lose your internship.”
“We’re hand-picked,” said the girl, showing her interest in me with no shame. The boy looked at me with disdain once again. “It’s true. Don’t look at me like that...The GIPE uses us as they please. We rotate like rats.”
“GIPE?” I asked.
“The agency that finds us internships and employment,” the boy added.
“And
why are you still here?” I inquired.
That girl reminded me of Patricia, the woman who had flushed our love down the toilet. Our relationship was sinking like the Titanic.
“We’re told that afterwards they will pull some strings to get us a job...” the boy responded.
“The truth is,” the girl said, “this is a cover to justify the budget, give the worn out professors something to do and carry on shitty projects from frustrated doctors.”
“And your name is...?”
“Leonor,” she replied with a smile. I thought I wouldn’t have the guts to ask her.
“So tell me, Leonor, in what projects have you been working lately?”
“We can’t tell you that,” another boy interrupted. He didn’t seem to agree with the girl humoring me. “It’s confidential.”
“Nobody asked you, kiddo,” I said. “Go clean your stuff.”
The girl laughed. Our eyes met and that made her blush. The young scientist left angry and full of impotence, unable to punch me right there. That was a life lesson for him. I wouldn’t be the first one to do that in his life. If I’d been him, I’d punch me, but my jungle was the streets, not a lab. Some things can’t be explained with science.
“We’ve been working in a drug that delays the growth of cancer cells until they die,” a girl mentioned, staring at me. “For the first time, we’re excited by a project. The last tests have been positive and we’re about to get the green light from the government.”
“Who’s in charge of the project?” I asked, knowing the answer. “Let me guess... Professor Casavieja, right?”
“That’s right. He’s a good man. He kept us motivated.”
“One more thing, Leonor,” I said, getting a little closer. The girl didn’t seem to feel scared, totally the opposite. The sexual tension between us grew. My presence seemed to turn her on. “What do you know about arsenic?