Guillermo stirred the coffee with a teaspoon as a blender with a nervousness unfit for him. He had been in the police station for an hour reviewing the coroner's reports on the dead girl, finding no conclusive evidence. After checking that the traces found in the body of the victim did not match those of the inmates Milla and Natasha. His stomach flushed, thinking that the real culprits of the crime were at liberty strolling the streets of his city at their leisure. Being aware that the police did not have conclusive evidence to incriminate them, they could make the purchase in the same supermarket where his wife was or even stroll through the same park where his five year old daughter walked. In a small town like Orense, it was possible that their gazes sometimes crossed the street, empty looks in which was written a crime burned in their eyes. If he looked directly at them, their pupils would betray them; It was impossible to carry a dark secret inside it, without segregating pus from outside; To conceal within one the memories of something as horrendous as in an empty mirror that did not reflect anything, neither fear, nor remorse, nor anguish, only coldness. The indifference of someone capable of cold-blooded murder without any doubts, like a hungry wolf caught by the horror and excited at the same time by the smell of fresh young blood of a young girl of fourteen years, whose vagina was torn with force with a razor of fine steel, cut with devastating rawness.
It was difficult to get the victim's horror gestures out of his mind, before he was slowly strangled, his impulsive attempts to catch air that did not reach his lungs, bloodshot eyes. A horrible, slow-moving death filled with anguish and suffering that no creature in this world deserved. He thought of his five-year-old daughter and all the girls walking defenceless around the city. For their safety they should catch the guilty, before a new innocent and angelic being would fall by carelessness into their hands. But Guillermo was sure that the perpetrators of that crime did not obey the usual patterns of behaviour of the classic teenage psychopaths. The crime was due more to the darker motives related to drug trafficking, motives that surely would not be far from the knowledge of the traffickers of the city and undoubtedly from his greatest protector Lucia Márquez.
—The idea of taking out Mr. Green is good, —said Guillermo Troutía, as he took a small sip of the coffee that had been served to him by a young eighteen-year-old waitress, with blue eyes and six feet with which he had dared to joke.
In spite of being a married man Guillermo still felt attracted, especially by the young and thin girls with the long hair, with model body and little chest, of look similar to his wife, the physicist.
—But from what you have told me, we have Mr. Green's favour. For the moment we should not insist or abuse his kindness. That might raise suspicion. Let's leave things as they are. As long as he thinks you want to see Lucia out of jail of all things, we're out of danger. I have a wife and children. I will not take absurd risks. If we want to catch him without raising suspicions we must completely forget about the death of Lorena Vázquez and focus on the case of María Guzmán. I have the feeling that if we solve it, we could open a waterway that would lead us directly to Mr. Green.
—But we don’t have anything, —Nicolás replied.
Guillermo knew that Nicholas was partly right. They knew little of the case; During the weeks after the murder of the girl the police had interrogated again and again, her mates. They even asked for an order to check their fingerprints in case any of them matched those of the murderers. But none seemed to have anything to do with crime.
They pressed them for days, but not even her best friend seemed to know anything about it. As much as they got the confession of some who admitted to having bought powder or weed in sporadic occasions, they were only girls, young adolescents; most of them with the face of never having broken a plate, at first, the analysis of footprints exonerated all of them from the crime.
Her boyfriend Abel Piñeiro was also interrogated again and again without making anything clear. He looked like a sincere and enamoured boy, fragile as a gazelle. He burst into tears several times during the interrogations. He questioned the neighbours. No one seemed to have seen anything that morning.
Not even her parents found an explanation to justify the true reason why their daughter had left her house at about five-thirty in the morning. Escaping through the window of her room, hanging from the vine like a chimpanzee before jumping into the garden and then walking for half an hour down the road to meet people who would end her life.
Who had murdered her? Why did they squeeze her throat and cut off her breath? The main theory that the agents had seized during the investigation that they had closed weeks later for lack of evidence was the following one: Maria Guzmán was to the outskirts of the town, way of the institute of Montederramo, with two of her habitual suppliers, Not signed by the police, to close a business related to the purchase of drugs. It is possible that Maria owed them money for some kind of merchandise previously served and discussed or threatened repeatedly. Maybe Maria would come to the appointment trying to calm them, promising them the immediate payment of the debt and begging them to continue to serve the merchandise to be able to pay. The traffickers, unconvinced by the girl's explanation, whom they could not afford to pay, had decided that she was no longer useful, and to prevent her from betraying them to the police, they decided to remove her out of the way. To Guillermo it seemed to him a theory of no resolution. In case it was true, it did not seem to him enough reason to commit such a violent murder. The debt contracted by the girl could not be of a very significant amount because the quantities with which she trafficked should be insignificant.
The institute of Montederramo was a centre of education come to less. Between the different courses they did not add up to the sum of two hundred students. The small faculty divided the classes, sometimes being forced to perform overtime. Of these two hundred students, it is possible that only a score of them consumed some kind of illegal substance on sporadic occasions, or even if they did so habitually, they could not be of great importance. From what Guillermo deduced that perhaps the true motive of the murder of Maria Guzmán went beyond a simple matter of little trapping. Guillermo had to confess to Nicholas that he was right, that the murder of Maria Guzman was still a terrible mystery. According to his opinion only one person could help them solve it.
—You should go back to jail and talk to Lucia and see what you can get out of her, tell her about your conversation with Mr. Green. Tell her you need a little favour from her. As your superiors are pressing you with the case of the dead girl and want to see results immediately.
—And what if she doesn’t know anything?
—If she's as powerful as we think she is she'll find out. She's desperate to get out of jail and come back to you, will do anything to help you. The networks of the Queen are very extensive: politicians, judges, narcos, traffickers of diverse nature are under her power. She knows how to seduce them to get any kind of information, and almost everyone owes her favours. They will do for her what is necessary, we won’t have to worry about the case of Maria Guzmán. Lucia Marquez will deliver us the killer on a tray.
—What if she refuses?
—She won’t. There is a lot at stake, she will talk to Mr. Green and she will do anything to keep you happy. She knows that having you as a friend has a price and she must pay. No doubt later on you will get the favour but everything in due time.
Before meeting with Lucía, Nicholas accompanied by Guillermo visited the central command of the Civil Guard in the city, was located in the street Melchor Velasco, in the neighbourhood of the Couto, the most populated of the capital. Guillermo introduced Lieutenant Alvaro Casado, head of the Facial Identification Area, with more than twenty years dedicated to the recognition of individuals starting from a robot portrait constructed with the help of the memories of the witnesses. Assassins, rapists, thieves, terrorists admit that camouflaging their features is complicated and too easy to discover. Before the arrival of computer science, the identifications were made throu
gh an overlay of pictures or photographs. Each one contained a feature of the face so there was a wide sample of different eyes, noses, ears or lips, which as if it were cards could spend hours combining until you find the face that memory you He suggested. After Guillermo made the pertinent presentations, Nicholas sat down next to him. Álvaro Casado and the father of Guillermo, captain of the Civil Guard currently retired, were old friends. Both had greatly influenced Guillermo's final decision to enter the Corps.
—How is your father? —Alvaro pointed out.
—Very well, Lieutenant. I'm sure that he wants you to come back to visit us as usual.
—One of these days, my son, I promise. I'll find a hole. Lately with so many foreigners we are on the verge of work. We did not get the criminals we have here, to endure this invasion of thugs who crosses our borders every day.
Nicholás spent the rest of the day, with the help of the lieutenant, trying to reflect on the computer screen, dot by dot, the picture of the faces that his mind suggested to him of Mr. Red and Mr. Blue. Late in the afternoon he finally managed to get a pretty similar reflection of the features of the men he had sat down with in a vulgar village bar only a couple of days ago. After completing his work the printer spat out two copies with the robot portraits of two faces that until now were completely unknown to them, faces without identity, members of the Russian mafia, gangsters at night protected by the fog and a cruel moon, pawned in hiding their crimes. They behaved like a herd of wolves howling in the dark, hidden behind the luxurious doors of brothels or rooms of five-star hotels, scheming in the darkness terrible crimes and sinister orgies; The wolves hunted at night and hid during the day in the urban herd. They were expert predators in quartering lost deer. Then use them as bait to capture more valuable pieces. Nicholas put the pictures in an envelope. He said goodbye to Lieutenant Alvaro Casado and rushed out into the street, it was too hot and sticky to meet at the end of September. It was after seven in the afternoon. Today he had at least three overtime hours, for which the bosses were not going to gratify him, but it did not matter. He didn’t deserve a bonus. The important thing was to get out of the mess he was in before his past with Lucia was filtered to the press; Before the wolves returned from their blood-thirsty burrows to hunt more defenceless victims. It was time to prepare the traps, to plant mines the forest to catch as it is to the indomitable beasts. The beasts had been watching their footsteps in the dark for days; Although he did not see them, he noticed their presence, knew that they were hidden there behind the undergrowth, howling along the Návea river; Spied every step of the way, camouflaged in various disguises, making mimicry with the medium an art, concealing their true faces, with different masks.
He was aware of being watched. At first he was terrified of their presence, then gradually he became accustomed to them even pretending to ignore them. He knew that the beasts were watching him every minute, raising barricades in his wake, informing their boss promptly of his movements. He had told in a low voice in falsetto to Sergeant Guillermo. He told him he knew it, too. They must act with secrecy. The beasts were hired servants who were undoubtedly guarded by the safety of Mr. Green, or "The North-Queen," or perhaps by both. They would be on them for the duration of the investigation. That's why they had to keep all the information they obtained in secret, releasing false leads from time to time, making them believe that they were only interested in the case of Maria Guzman. Not a word about Lorena Vazquez, nothing that the beasts could intuit as a threat to the safety of their lord. They were very close to something fat, never before had no line of police investigation been so close to the operative heads of the drug-trafficking mafia in Galicia. It was late. He was driving the ZX along the old Ponferrada road. In half an hour he would be back in the smithy with the robot portraits in his pocket.
As much as he tried to compare the faces of Mr. Blue and Mr. Red, spending countless hours reviewing the documentation of citizens, settled in Spain and coming from the former Soviet Union, along with thousands of emigrants from other European countries. East; He would never be able to discover their true identity. Sergeant Guillermo was able to count on the help of half command, but after checking again and again the photographs of the foreigners whose factions and economic level was closer to the projected image of Mr. Blue and Mr. Red in the pamphlets designed last night by Lieutenant Alvaro. The agents decided to give the search a finish. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, stirring the hay again and again, waiting to find an intimate garment forgotten by two lovers who might have passed by, by chance on a cold winter night, already far away in time. No trace of Mr. Green and Mr. Red.
Perhaps Nicholás had distorted in his mind their true features, having seen so many different faces, since the research had begun; It was certain that those men, one with a sharp face, a long chin and a straight nose with the stiffness of a Greek sculpture, the other with a rounded face, big eyes deep in their sockets, and a flat nose at their edges , Resembled hundreds of faces, however digitized memory Nicholas, there would always be a margin of error; As in a montage of a feature film, that after the death of the main actor, failure to finish the footage, his absence is supplanted with another actor with similar factions, or if it would not be possible to create a virtual image of the deceased by computer.
—What do you think of the case? —Asked Sergeant Nicholas.
They were drinking Coca Colas in the Alaska cafeteria, located next to the park of San Lazaro in the centre of the city.
—I don’t know, but I don’t want to become too obsessed with the case. Sometimes it is better to take a little breath before returning to the load. Maybe Mr. Red and Blue have operated on their faces, or changed their name or nationality and we don’t have a photo of their current image in the files. Many mobsters do it, it's a way to erase their trail and start a new life with a different identity. I doubt that these people have a criminal record, —Guillermo said.
—Let's look at it on the bright side. Until we know the true identity of our friends, our lives will not be in danger and the wolves will leave us alone. Anyway even if we knew we couldn’t lock them up. We have no evidence against them.
—That if we do not get the confession of Natasha and Milla, —replied Guillermo again.
—They will never speak. When we stop them for murder, they will feel cornered. They know that if they say a single word about the true identity of Mr. Green, they will have the same fate as Lorena Vazquez, —said Nicholas.
—Not if we offer them protection. You see, both Natasha and Mile are addicted to heroin, we'll stop their access to the drug. When the monkey appears they will speak, for a trip to cyberspace these two will not hesitate to talk like parrots.
—You surprise me once more, Guillermo. I see you have it all figured out. So why do not we stop them at once?
—Everything in time, my friend. For the moment we will release them, at least until we get the information we need from Mr. Green on the case of Maria Guzman, so we will kill two birds with one stone.
—You're a genius, mate. I knew that if anyone could get me out of this mess it would be you. If something I can do for you after we have resolved this case, do not hesitate to ask me?
—Yes. I would appreciate it if you never called me again, I love you with all my soul but I never imagined myself in such a mess.
—I'll make it up to you, friend, some day, do not hesitate! —Replied Nicholas.
—When I'm threatened with death by the CIA or if a group of terrorists wants to eliminate me, I'll call you. Meanwhile I'd rather have you away, mate.
2—Behind bars.
In summer time dinner was at eight. At nine o'clock back to the cell after the second count of the day, it was not that some prey was to escape through the pipes of the drainage. Every day the same thing, that reminded her of the first years of the childhood in the school of the Carmelites with the nuns acting like sergeants. She never liked to abide by the rules and rules of others, and even less if they were ap
plied with strict military discipline. She was exhausted from life in jail where every day was the same. She did not possess the imagination of her friend Mireia to be able to escape from that soporific reality. At least she had the books left in the library. Through the pages she could travel to other parallel universes full of life, action and adventure. She had especially liked "The Count of Monte Cristo", because she felt quite identified with the main character of the novel; she had faded with works like "The miserable" or "Crime and punishment" because the lives of the protagonists were even more sad and absurd than hers; Lives without hope, doomed to failure. Since her computers had been withdrawn and her visits from abroad had been controlled, she had begun to fall into a depressed state, which was accelerating daily with media pressure. Her enemies "the Amoebas" returned to work together for her misfortune. Although the articles appearing in "Interviú" were signed by only Susana Seoane, she knew in good faith that Ruth collaborated in the shadow with her. Her black hand was noticeable in the last two articles that spoke of bribes in the new trial against her. Judgment that increasingly doubted that it was held, as the incriminating evidence against him was increasingly clear, following the statement of Civil Guard agents who had collaborated with Alberto in the investigation that ended with his arrest.
The declarations had been made in the television program "Weekly Report" in front of six million spectators, led by the well-known journalist Susana Seoane who collaborated in the direction of the report entitled "The Queen's Networks". The photo of her police file was seen by half country and published for the first time in numerous newspapers and magazines. Despite how much Lucia had tried to conceal her image, every attempt had been unsuccessful because of the acumen of "Las Amoebas", that she couldn’t imagine how they had managed to get the negatives.
From now on her days as the Queen were numbered. On the one hand she was glad to leave her throne. She was still too young to start a new life. She may miss the good times of the past next to the Swedish band, Softie, Uncle Sam and their men. But surely the future gave her a more dignified life. Deep in her heart though she rejected the world of narcotics, she adored the life of luxuries and pleasures that surrounded her. The truth is that her situation had been complicated enough. She should have charged those damn reporters if she could before they ruined her life. But she was not a killer. Unlike Natasha and Mr. Green. She never approved the death of Lorena Vázquez. That is why perhaps she was failing in the world of drug trafficking. She didn’t have what it takes for this business: guts and cold determination to pull the trigger or wield a dagger when needed. That was better than others. She did not want to stain her hands with anyone's blood. But in the depths of her soul she felt that Lorena's death had been partly to blame on her as well as of many others, for she had always been silent. She had never moved a finger to avoid any of them. With her silence she had consented, each one of them. From the day she witnessed Softie killing Rudesindo, firing point-blank at the heart when she was only nine years old until Lorena's death.
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