‘What are we waiting for? Or do you just like keeping us in your police station?’
‘We’re waiting for Robinson’s son. He specifically asked to see you.’
‘He wants to see us?’
Pascuali does not deign to answer. He turns his back, condemning them to a further wait that Silverstein fills by stroking Alma’s violated face, and Carvalho by cursing the day he came to Buenos Aires and the fact that he feels close to these human and historical wrecks. He stares at the pietà Norman and Alma are forming, and repeats his complaints out loud, with a mixture of rancour and compassion.
‘You love yourselves too much. You feel too sorry for yourselves.’
‘What’s the masked Spaniard saying?’
The masked Spaniard does not have the chance to reply. It is obvious someone important has come in. A man of around forty, sportily dressed – sports fashion at its most elegant – passes by, followed by two men who could not be anything else but lawyers. He walks with the assurance of someone who has ten gold credit cards in his pocket, and speaks to the guard on the door as if he were a porter.
‘Inspector Pascuali is expecting me. I am Gálvez Aristarain. Tell him I’m here.’
The guard-cum-porter shows him the way to Pascuali’s office. The newcomer walks past Carvalho’s bedraggled troops, lost in introspection and too weary to react. The office door opens to reveal a frowning Pascuali who listens to the announcement by the guard-butler as he reads the business card he has just been handed.
‘Señor Gálvez Aristarain.’
Gálvez Jr. dispenses with the man’s services and holds his hand out to the inspector.
‘Señor Pascuali?’
Pascuali is drawn to his hand as if by a magnet.
‘I’m sorry to be so late, but my plane was not built to cope with real storms. It’s a miracle we got here at all. I went to the morgue. And yes, it is my father. Until a couple of years ago, we only communicated through our lawyers, and since he became Robinson Crusoe, we spoke occasionally on the phone.’
Pascuali invites him into the office, but pauses to point out the three people sitting outside.
‘Take a look at this bunch: a university professor, a Spanish private detective and a comedian. No, I’m not off my head. These are the three people we know who last saw your father alive. The beggars who lived with him have all vanished. Friday, his butler...’
‘Liberto. My father got him to call himself Liberto when he took him on. I can’t remember his real name.’
‘OK, well, Liberto has disappeared too, and I have to ask you a question that will go no further than just the two of us: did your father and Liberto have relations – I mean...’
‘When my father handed over the running of nearly all our businesses to me, he also revealed some family secrets. You don’t need to know most of them, but yes, my father told me he had always been bisexual and that from about fifty-five or fifty-six onwards, he had become openly homosexual.’
‘We know that Friday – I mean Liberto – is in the final stages of AIDS. We have seen his medical records, and he has only a few months to live. And our three friends out there are people your father met for reasons which I suppose...’
‘What reasons?’
‘In recent months, the old mansion in San Isidro became a kind of hospice for all the dregs of society. One of them was a “disappeared” person, a crazy guy who is related to or friendly with those three, and I wouldn’t be surprised if your father was the link between them. I kept them here to talk to you, to see if it throws up any clues.’
Gálvez Jr. studies the trio, then shakes his head.
‘I’m not interested.’
‘But you told me...’
‘I know what I told you, but now I’m telling you I’m not interested in talking to them.’
Pascuali shrugs his shoulders, and is still shrugging when he releases Carvalho, Alma and Silverstein.
‘You can go, but make sure you’re available.’
‘For you, anytime.’
‘Don’t rile me, Carvalho. I just might decide to shadow you everywhere, and make your job impossible.’
‘After nine-thirty you’ll find us in Chez Patron. Cuisine d’auteur.’
Pascuali cannot be bothered to get angry. Carvalho smiles smugly, but as soon as the three of them are in the street, Alma explodes with rage.
‘So my masked Spaniard is off to have dinner, you are off to your tangos, and after the day I’ve been through, what do I do? Go home? Wait for them to come and get me again? Wait for them to come and take me off and smear shit all over my face again?’
‘It’s a professional dinner. You were invited, and declined the offer. D’you want me to leave it to Don Vito and the dragon of a cousin or niece he’s bound to bring along?’
‘Do you really think I’m in the mood to go out for dinner?’
Silverstein puts a protective arm around her shoulders.
‘Come with me. You can lie down for a while in my dressing-room.’
‘Then I’ll come and fetch you. You can sleep at my place tonight.’
Alma allows the two men to do as they see fit with her life. As they are about to go their separate ways, one of Gálvez’s lawyers comes up and hands Carvalho a business card.
‘Señor Gálvez Aristarain would be delighted to talk to you about a professional matter.’
Gálvez Aristarain passes by. Carvalho goes up to him.
‘Is this your card?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can’t you hand them out yourself? Do you need a lawyer to do it for you?’
The gaggle of lawyers look uneasy, and one of them is on the point of coming over to confront Carvalho. Gálvez Jr. stops him. He takes the card from Carvalho’s hand, tears it up, takes another one from his wallet and offers it to the detective.
‘Is that better?’
‘You are a very polite young man.’
Alma is very proud of Carvalho.
Fiftyish and in full technicolor, Don Vito presents her as his favourite cousin, a well-spoken, even cultured lady, full of class and refinement. Carvalho is on his own, and struggling like a cornered animal with her jollity and Don Vito’s courteous blather, when he spots Don Leonardo entering the restaurant. Carvalho introduces everyone.
‘Madame Lissieux, ballet teacher and niece of my associate, whom you already know.’
‘She’s my cousin, not my niece; and she dances modern dance. Just for the record.’
Don Leonardo kisses her hand.
‘With someone as charming as yourself, it couldn’t be any other kind of dance.’
They all sit down. Don Leonardo is expecting an explanation. Carvalho tips his chin towards an empty table and tells him: ‘If my feminine intuition hasn’t deserted me, at that table you’ll soon see your no-good woman and her current lover, a television presenter who no longer presents very much at all, though she doesn’t know that.’
‘But I’m not ready for this. I don’t know if I’ll react properly’
‘Control yourself, and remember what Confucius said: “wait in the doorway of your house for your enemy’s body to go by”.’
Madame Lissieux corrects Carvalho in a low whisper.
‘But that’s an Arab proverb.’
‘I know, but it impresses clients more if I say it’s a proverb by Confucius. I attribute almost everything to him. Even the thoughts of Chairman Menem.’
They get through several courses of their dinner. The table Carvalho pointed out remains empty, and Don Leonardo turns philosophical.
‘Is this what they call nouvelle cuisine? It’s not my favourite food, though I can afford it. I like Italian canteens, or La Cabana, or somewhere out on the Costañera. And if you want to eat well while you’re doing business, there’s nowhere like the Camara de Sociedades An
ónimas restaurant on Florida, behind the Cabildo. Where’s the woman got to?’
‘It’s the kind of food you might call cuisine d’auteur?
Madame Lissieux backs him up: ‘Yes, like the food Gato Dumas used to cook. I think Robuchon and Girardet have retired. Cuisine d’auteur. Like Bergman’s cinema.’
Don Vito is proud of his companion’s intellectual level.
‘Claire, you’re indispensable at this kind of interesting meal with interesting people.’
Don Vito and Claire link hands, and Carvalho’s eyes go from her well-manicured nails to the restaurant door. In it stands the no-good woman with the presenter Pacho Escámez. She is quite tall, curvaceous, and with a skin so white it looks as though it could have been bathed in the milk that might gush from the abundant fountain her breasts offer beneath a revealing neckline. It is Beatriz, Beatriz Maluendas, but she passes by Carvalho without recognizing him. Beside her, Escámez is done up as a postmodern television hero, and looks so decrepit that Don Vito is tempted into a scatological comment: ‘How ancient poor Pacho is. He looks like a mummy from La Recoleta cemetery. But on the screen he still looks good.’
Everything about Escámez speaks of a smooth televisual seducer; everything about the woman suggests someone enjoying life, from the way she walks to their table, the expectancy with which she picks up the menu, and the way she strokes the old man’s veined, liver-spotted hand. Don Leonardo’s inquisitive eyes follow her every move. Carvalho studies him, and suggests: ‘Don’t overdo it. They’ll see you looking at them.’
‘And to think that bitch...’
Don Leonardo takes a deep breath to contain his emotions. Containment and emotions that are far too obvious, thinks Carvalho. For her part, the no-good woman puffs cigarette smoke into Escámez’s face. He tries half-heartedly to scold her. Don Leonardo congratulates everyone at his table.
‘Thank you for being so efficient. So there she is. The woman who caused my son’s downfall.’
Carvalho sighs and confronts Don Leonardo.
‘That’s nothing more than a metaphor, of course.’
‘Why?’
‘If I’m not mistaken, your son is thirty, and the lady in question, whose married name in Marta Fanchelli, or Beatriz Maluendas to be more exact, can’t be much more than thirty-five. So it’s hardly corruption of minors.’
Leonardo gives a sad smile.
‘My son may be brilliant in many respects, but when it comes to women he’s still wet behind the ears. We’re from another generation. We had less protection. I started out selling women’s underwear door to door on credit, and ended up sleeping with half of my clients – pardon my French, Madame Lissieux. Do you know where my son has ended up? They tell me he’s joined one of those North American sects that operate in Central America. It was on the cards. What can I do about it?’
Don Leonardo has been staring so hard at Marta Fanchelli that she realizes, and rewards him with a smile.
‘Did you see how she looked at me?’
Madame Lissieux has the perfect answer.
‘That’s because you’re so good-looking.’
Don Vito squeezes his cousin’s arm in a prearranged signal. She gets up and goes over to the other table. Don Leonardo looks at Carvalho in alarm, but without saying anything follows the movements of the modern dancer as she skirts round tables, waiters, and flambée trays with some style.
‘She dances like Burrito Ortega!’ Don Vito sighs in awe.
Claire is carrying a small notebook and a tiny gold pen. She overcomes Pacho’s reticence at her sudden approach.
‘Excuse me, but I recognized you as soon as you came in. You have always been and always will be my favourite TV presenter. And how well I remember the days when you were the male lead in all our films! Nobody has ever made anything more sublime than Nostlagia de organdí or La guita ensangrentada together with Mirta Legrand. Or was it with the Laplace woman?’
Escámez’s purple lips open in a broad smile. He happily picks up the pen and writes a lengthy dedication. Madame Lissieux turns to Marta.
‘We were saying at my table that you must be the TV channel’s next star. Channel 8, isn’t it? Is this your latest discovery, Don Pacho?’
‘It could be.’
The old rake kisses Madame Lissieux’s hand as she leaves their table. Meanwhile, Carvalho has leaned towards Don Leonardo, and the instructions he whispers seem to brook no argument.
‘Your name is Alvaro de Retana, you make antique reproductions and you have several leather goods shops in the best part of town – the Calles Santa Fe, Paraguay and so on. Take these – they’re your business cards.’
Dumbfounded, Don Leonardo stares down at the cards Carvalho has given him. He reads: ‘Alvaro de Retana. Los Macabeos Leather.’ An address that means nothing to him.
‘I took the liberty of renting a luxury apartment in your name next to the Alvear Palace. Now we’ll put you in contact with the no-good lady, and that will be the end of our part of the bargain. Go over to their table with Madame Lissieux – she’ll keep Escámez busy, and you take advantage to slip one of your cards to the lady. Anything that happens after that is your entire responsibility. Including payment of our fees.’
Leonardo is unsure of whether to protest or to do as he is told. Madame Lissieux does not give him the chance to make up his mind. She gets up and marches off, with Don Leonardo in her wake. Carvalho and Don Vito watch to see if things turn out as planned. Madame Lissieux and Don Leonardo greet the couple. Pacho listens intently to Madame Lissieux, and Don Leonardo strikes up a conversation with the woman. Something passes from his hand to hers.
Covering his lips with his hand, Don Vito whispers to Carvalho: ‘We could be the accomplices in a crime.’
‘Or of the start of a great friendship.’
‘With the woman who cost his son his life?’
‘Isn’t there a Greek tragedy with a plot like that?’
Don Vito cannot get over Madame Lissieux’s expertise.
‘How well Claire does it! I thought I might get her a present. When we get paid, that is. Not to bribe her, of course. Just as a thank you. Something nice.’
Carvalho is looking expectantly at the light aeroplanes being made ready for flight, as if he would love to go up in one. He turns when he realizes someone is standing behind him. It is Gálvez Jr. and his lawyers. They shake hands politely and the financier takes him to one side.
‘I’m sorry this is so rushed, but at the moment I’m so busy, I’m like a piece of paper being blown in the wind. I want you to carry out a parallel investigation to the police’s, and to keep me informed of what they have found out. I didn’t like the sound of that AIDS business at all. If Friday has got AIDS, it could infect us all, starting with my father’s reputation. Business nowadays depends on appearance, on having a good image. If you pour petrol on something, it becomes a huge blaze. As soon as the petrol is finished, the blaze dies down.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not very good with metaphors. I don’t understand.’
‘Whether or not you understand my metaphors, you have understood that I am employing you, haven’t you? I’ll leave one of my lawyers with you to sort out the details. Money is no problem.’
He walks towards a beautiful private jet, accompanied by two of his entourage; the remaining lawyer stays at Carvalho’s side.
‘Don’t you get to go up for a trip in the biplane?’
‘It’s not a biplane, and anyway, you and I have to talk money’
‘And I have to warn you that I want to loop the loop.’
The man stares at him uncomprehendingly.
‘Neither of us is very good at metaphors, are we? I want loads of money, dough, bread, bakshish!’
Carvalho holds out the cheque for Don Vito to inspect, seated in what is normally Carvalho’s chair.
‘Load
s of money! But lots of work too. First the case of the no-good woman. Now Robinson Crusoe.’
‘We’ll need an assistant.’
‘That would make us a multinational or a lawyers’ or architects’ practice. I don’t like multinationals.’
‘Well then, let’s distribute the tasks. We need to get organized.’
‘You’re a specialist in no-good women. I’ll start the search for Man Friday’
‘And for your cousin. Don’t forget your cousin.’
Annoyed that his suggestion was rejected out of hand, Don Vito makes the sign of the cuckold behind Carvalho’s retreating back. Carvalho chooses not to notice, but he cannot choose to ignore the sudden appearance of Pascuali, who looms up as soon as he hits the street. Carvalho decides to walk on and leave the next move to the inspector. Pascuali falls in alongside him, with his favourite team a couple of yards behind.
‘There’s no denying you’re a hard worker.’
‘And you seem like a cop who’s paid by results. You’re a fine example of public sector productivity. Has Menem given you your worker’s medal yet? Are you paid commission for each arrest?’
‘Are you learning to fly? You were seen at the airport yesterday with Richard Gálvez. Don’t get in my way again, will you?’
‘It’s a logical progression. The Robinson case leads on to Raúl. As soon as I can find Raúl and convince him to come back to Spain with me, it’s goodnight Buenos Aires. You’ll be free of me. What I don’t understand is why it’s me who gets up your nose so much, and not the Captain. He’s the one who is really getting in your way. Who’s in charge among you lot? You when you’re in front of the TV cameras, or him from the sewers?’
‘Don’t you start with ethical considerations at this stage of the proceedings. I’m here to offer you a deal that’s always been possible: Friday for Raúl. If you find Raúl, I’ll open the door wide for you to take him wherever on earth you choose, the further the better; but as far as the Gálvez-Robinson case goes, I want you to tell me immediately if you find anything out.’
The Buenos Aires Quintet Page 21