And now, because of the scene in the office, Colonel Valera, whose job it was to insulate the general from the outside world, found himself forced to talk to the man he had studiously ignored during the interview – and he was hating every second of it.
‘The point I am making is that you should not discuss anything you have heard with anyone else,’ the colonel continued, ‘because if you do, steps will have to be taken.’
‘Steps?’ Paco repeated.
‘I have already told you that Major Gómez’s protection means very little, and perhaps by tomorrow it will mean nothing at all. So just remember this – the loosest tongue can be stopped by a bullet to the head.’
Chapter Seven
Paco paced the storeroom prison where his comrades had spent their last few hours on earth. Why did he have to be Paco Ruiz, the famous detective? he asked himself over and over again. Why couldn’t he have been a street-sweeper like Pepe, or a boot-boy like little Alfredo? True, if he had been, he would now be dead. But at least Cindy would still be safely in Madrid, instead of a prisoner several kilometres behind enemy lines!
No one could help falling in love, he argued to himself. It wasn’t his fault that he and Cindy had done just that, thus giving the cunning Major Gómez the weapon he needed. And yet, though he could absolve himself of all blame on a purely intellectual level, he still felt incredibly guilty. When all was said and done, he had got Cindy into this mess, and whatever else happened to him or anyone else, he was determined that he was going to get her out of it again.
He heard the sound of the bolt sliding open, and Major Gómez stepped into the storeroom. ‘The general’s lady appears to have taken a marked dislike to you, Inspector,’ he said. ‘But then that’s not really very surprising. I’ve heard her views on the Communists and the Socialists at dinner parties, and next to her, even her husband sounds like a dangerous left-winger.’
‘Does that mean I’m no longer on the case?’ Paco asked.
The major shook his head. ‘I get the impression that as long as she keeps him happy in the bedroom, the general will let his wife have her own way in most other areas. But this is different. The death of the dog has caused him to lose face with his men. If he is ever to regain it, the killer must be caught – and he still thinks you are the best man to do that. Don’t prove him wrong.’
‘But if the general’s wife is so against me . . .’ Paco said.
‘As long as you are discreet and don’t flaunt your presence in the village, the general should be able to keep her at bay.’ He ran his eyes up and down Paco’s blue mono. ‘For a start, that boiler-suit will simply have to go. It makes you far too conspicuous.’
‘I won’t wear a rebel uniform,’ Paco said firmly.
Gómez’s eyes flashed briefly with anger. ‘Most of my brother officers would shoot you on the spot if they heard you calling us rebels,’ he said.
‘It’s what you are, though,’ Paco told him. ‘And because it’s what you are, I won’t wear your uniform.’
Gómez nodded. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’ll find you a suit, like you used to wear when you were a real policeman back in Madrid.’
‘And I’ll need an office,’ Paco pointed out. ‘Somewhere I can interview people, and organize my notes.’
‘That shouldn’t be too difficult. Anything else?’
‘Money,’ Paco said.
‘Money?’ the major repeated. ‘What in God’s name would you possibly want money for?’
‘So I can drink at the bars, and listen to what the soldiers are saying. So I can stand a round of drinks when I think I might learn something from it. I have to feel the pulse of a place where I’m carrying out my investigation. It’s the way I’ve always worked.’
‘I suppose I can let you have a few pesetas out of the intelligence fund,’ Gómez said grudgingly, as Paco noticed, not for the first time, that the major’s boots could use a visit to the cobbler’s. ‘And once you’ve got all that, you’ll be willing to start your investigation?’
Paco looked around the bare storeroom. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll need somewhere better than this to sleep.’
‘Naturally.’
‘And I won’t be sleeping alone. I’ll be wanting Cindy Walker to keep me company.’
‘But you’re not married!’ Gómez exclaimed.
Paco grinned. ‘This village is full of prostitutes from Burgos, and you’re shocked that I should want to make love to the woman I hope will be my wife one day?’
‘I don’t think it will possible,’ Gómez said.
‘Make it possible,’ Paco told him firmly.
Gómez ground his teeth. ‘Do I have to remind you that you’re a prisoner here?’ he asked.
‘Maybe I am,’ Paco agreed. ‘But I’m no ordinary prisoner. I’m one that the general thinks might be so useful that he’s keeping me alive, despite his wife’s formidable objections. Besides, if I do manage to solve this case, who do you think is going to get the credit for it? A godless Red from Madrid? Or the head of the general’s security?’
The point hit its target. ‘I will see what I can do,’ Gómez promised, as he turned and headed for the door.
*
The black suit was a little tight under the armpits, but otherwise was a reasonable fit. The office Gómez had provided him with in the Calle Mayor was nothing more than the living-room of one of the humbler houses, but that would serve his purpose well enough, too. The only things missing, Paco thought as he sat at the table, were the police regulation pistol which had almost become an extension of his body over the years, and his partner, Constable Fernández.
Fernández – or Fat Felipe, as he was universally known – had worked with Paco for a long time. To some people, both inside and outside the Madrid police, Felipe seemed to be nothing more than a bumbling clown, but Paco valued his plodding, common sense and the habit he had of sticking a pin into the bubble of his boss’s more fanciful theories. Without Felipe at his side on a case, he felt oddly incomplete. But then, he forcibly reminded himself, this case was different from all the others he had ever handled. This case was one which, even if the evidence fell on to his lap, he had no intention of solving.
There was the sound of marching feet outside, and a middle-aged corporal opened the door.
‘The men who you asked to see have just got back from the front line,’ he said.
Only a few days earlier, he would have used the polite form address, calling Paco usted, as befitted a man of his rank. But so much had changed in such a short time, and now he used the more familiar tu, a reminder, if the ex-inspector needed one, that he, despite his suit and his privileges, was still no more than a common prisoner.
‘Do you want to see them all together, or shall I send them in one at a time?’ the corporal asked.
‘I’ll see them all together.’
‘You lot! In here! Now!’ the corporal shouted.
The six private soldiers marched clumsily into the room, and lined up in front of the table as if they’d been summoned to attend a punishment parade. Paco ran his eyes along the line. The men were dressed – as every private soldier in the history of warfare had been – in cheap, rough uniforms. From their passive round faces and blank eyes he guessed that they were all country boys. With one exception! The man standing at the end of the line – as if he had deliberately positioned himself as far on the edge of Paco’s line of vision as possible – had a thin rat-like face and quick, cunning eyes. Looking at him was like being on familiar territory for Paco – like moving among the pimps who worked in the area on the bank of the River Manzanares.
‘So you six were the first ones to discover the dead dog, were you?’ Paco asked.
The privates all nodded, but none of them spoke. The country boys would be keeping quiet because that was what they did when confronted by anyone who smelled of authority. It was different in the case of Rat-face on the end of the line. His kind were rarely intimidated, but would never volunteer anything unless th
ey could see there was something in it for themselves.
Paco leant back in his chair and wondered which of the privates to question first. For a moment, he was tempted to start with Rat-face, then he decided it might be more interesting to wait and see at which point the sly young man felt the need to intervene.
‘You!’ he said, pointing to a tall, thick-set boy who, if anything, looked even more confused and uncomfortable than his companions. ‘What’s your name?’
‘I’m Private Jiménez, señor,’ the boy answered in a strong Extremaduran accent.
Paco had to force himself not to grin. To the corporal on guard outside, he was one of the enemy, but to this simple boy he was a man wearing a suit, and therefore to be given his due respect. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened that night, Private Jiménez?’ he said.
Jiménez’s mouth opened and closed several times in the panic of being the one selected to speak. He looked, Paco thought, just like a fish which has been landed and is gasping for air.
‘I . . . Um . . . I . . . I mean all of us. . . .’ the young peasant stammered.
‘Take your time,’ Paco said encouragingly.
‘We . . . we were all having a drink outside this bar near the corner of Calle Mayor and the Calle Belén.’ Jiménez blushed as if he’d already been deliberately misleading. ‘It’s . . . it’s not really a bar at all. Before we arrived, it was a fruit and vegetable shop, but it got some barrels of wine and some glasses and. . . .’
‘I understand,’ Paco said. ‘Carry on.’
‘We heard shots. Well, only Pérez heard the first one, but we all heard the second.’
‘Who’s Pérez?’ Paco interrupted, and was not at all surprised when the rat-faced man said, ‘I am.’
‘We went to see what was happening, and that’s when we found the dog,’ Jiménez continued. ‘When we got there, he was still twitching. But that’s no more than most animals do after they’ve been killed. He was dead as a doornail – there’s no doubt about that.’
‘Did you see anyone else?’
‘No. Well, what I mean to say is, we did hear someone running away down the Calle Belén, but . . .’
‘But whoever it was had already turned the corner by the time you got there?’ Paco supplied.
‘That’s right.’
‘And none of you thought to follow, to find out who it was who was running away?’
Private Jiménez looked blank. ‘No, señor,’ he admitted. ‘We . . . we were all looking at the dog.’
Paco nodded understandingly. He had been on enough murder cases to know that a dead body – even a dog’s dead body – is infinitely more interesting to the average person than anything around it which is still living. ‘So you were looking down at the dog,’ he said. ‘Did you happen to notice whether or not it was still wearing its collar?’
‘There wasn’t any collar on the animal,’ said a firm voice from the end of the line.
‘How can you be so sure, Private Pérez?’ Paco asked, turning to the rat-faced soldier.
Pérez shrugged. ‘Half the dog’s head was blown away. That’s where we were all looking. At the wound. If there’d been a collar, we couldn’t have failed to have noticed it.’
‘So you’re saying that whoever shot the dog must also have taken the collar?’ Paco asked.
But Pérez was too wily a bird to give a direct answer to a question like that. ‘I couldn’t say,’ he replied. ‘All I know is, the collar wasn’t round the dog’s neck by the time we arrived.’
Paco turned his attention back to the big, slow Private Jiménez. ‘What happened next?’
‘A lot of other lads turned, up. There was quite a crowd of us by the time the officer arrived.’
‘And that officer was, in fact, none other than Colonel Valera, wasn’t he?’ Paco asked.
‘He . . . I . . . I’m not sure,’ Jiménez confessed. ‘They all have nice uniforms and . . .’
‘It was Valera,’ Pérez said.
‘You’re certain you recognized him?’
‘Oh yes. I know him when I see him. He’s the one who tries so hard to look like Clark Gable.’
Paco nodded. ‘So how much time was there between you lot finding the dog, and the other lads turning up?’ he asked Jiménez.
The private wrinkled his brow. ‘Not long.’
‘A minute? Less than that?’
‘I don’t know.’
Of course he didn’t. Country boys could tell you exactly how many furrows they could plough between sunrise and sunset, but on matters of pure time they were useless. ‘How long do you think it was, Pérez?’ Paco asked the rat-faced man.
‘Couldn’t have been more than fifteen or twenty seconds, I should say,’ Pérez replied.
‘But that would have been long enough for you to slip the collar off the dog, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose so,’ Pérez admitted. ‘But if we’d taken the collar, what did we do with it? We were all searched. The whole village was turned upside down. The camp as well. The collar wasn’t anywhere to be found.’
‘You could have hidden it outside the village,’ Paco said, even though he’d already practically dismissed from his mind the idea that the collar was anywhere but in San Fernando.
Pérez sneered. ‘We never left the village and we can prove it. After we’d given our names to one of Colonel Valera’s aides, we went straight back to the bar we’d been drinking in earlier – and we’ve got at least a dozen witnesses who’ll swear to that.’
‘All of you went back to the bar?’ Paco asked.
Pérez’s sneer widened. ‘Well, all of us apart from old Jiménez here.’
‘What did he do?’
‘The sight of a dog with half its head missing seemed to have knocked the stuffing out of him, and he went to the church. To pray!’
Paco turned to the big peasant boy. ‘Is that true, Jiménez?’ he asked. ‘Did you go to pray?’
‘Yes, señor,’ the boy admitted, ‘I used to go to church a lot at home. My mother’s very religious.’
‘And you’ve always been a mummy’s boy, haven’t you, Tomas?’ Pérez said nastily.
Jiménez turned towards the rat-faced private, the expression on his dull face probably the closest he ever got to anger. ‘My mother is a saint,’ he said.
‘Of course she is,’ Pérez readily agreed. ‘This country is full of saints – and most of them live in shitty little villages in the back of beyond.’
Jiménez bunched his ham-like fists. ‘You take that back,’ he growled menacingly.
‘That’s enough!’ Paco said. ‘If you’re going to fight, do it in your own time.’ He ran his eyes up and down the line once more. ‘Does any of you have anything to add to what’s already been said?’ The privates all shook their heads. ‘All right, you can go now – but I may want to talk to you again.’
‘That’d be a complete waste of energy,’ Pérez said. ‘We’ve already told you all we know.’
The privates trooped out of the door. Paco gave them a few seconds, then stepped over to the window. Four of the soldiers were heading for the nearest bar, but Pérez and Jiménez were still standing in the street. The big peasant’s stance was still aggressive, the rat-faced private’s much more conciliatory. Paco watched as Pérez gestured with his hands, obviously trying to explain some simple point to his companion. It was a full two minutes before the country boy started to relax, and another two before Pérez felt confident enough to put his arm on Jiménez’s shoulder as a sign of friendship. Then, their reconciliation complete, they, too, set off for one of the bars.
Paco lit a cigarette. What had all that been about? he wondered. Had Pérez been deliberately goading Jiménez a few minutes early, and if he had, for what purpose?
He remembered Pérez’s parting words: We’ve already told you all we know.
Like hell you have! Paco said softly to himself.
Chapter Eight
It was a little after eight o’clock in the evening wh
en the door of Paco’s new office opened, and Major Gómez stepped inside.
‘Don’t you ever knock?’ Paco demanded instinctively, without even looking up from the notes he was making.
Gómez chuckled. ‘Old habits are hard to break, aren’t they?’ he said. ‘But it’s time you realized that we are not in Madrid, and you are no longer an inspector of police, Prisoner Ruiz.’
Paco sighed and put his pencil down on the table. ‘What can I do for you, Major?’ he asked.
‘I’ve come to escort you to your quarters,’ Gómez said.
‘You mean, you’ve come to see I’m safely locked up for the night,’ Paco corrected him.
The major shrugged. ‘Perhaps that is what I mean, but there are those, including myself, who would consider being locked up with a beautiful woman not too much of a hardship to bear.’
Paco felt his heart suddenly start to beat a little faster. His threats had worked, and he was going to be allowed to spend time with his beloved Cindy. Even more important than that, he had proved to himself that even with all the cards stacked against him, he could still win one small victory. And that fact gave him at least a little hope for the future.
‘Shall we go?’ the major asked. ‘Or is seeing your woman of so little interest to you that you’d prefer to stay here and do some more work?’
‘We’ll go,’ Paco said, standing up and reaching for his jacket.
They stepped out on to the street. The two sentries on duty looked quizzically at the major. ‘Will you be needing an escort, sir?’ one of them asked.
Gómez shook his head. ‘Go and get yourselves a couple of drinks while the bars are still open.’
The Calle Mayor seemed to be one enormous bar. Every shop had been converted into a drinking establishment, as had the parlours of half the private houses. Even this was not enough to cope with the demand, and some of the villagers were running businesses which consisted of nothing more than trestle tables set out in the street.
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