The General's Dog

by James Garcia Woods

  Like the amateur that he was, Colonel Valera had turned the place into a circus the night before, and instead of sealing off the square the moment he’d been told about the discovery of the body, he’d allowed his officers to trample all over it. If any of the policemen who’d worked for him back in Madrid had handled the initial stages of a murder case in such a ham-fisted way as this, Paco thought, he’d have seen to it that the man was instantly dismissed from the Force.

  He ran Cindy’s theory through his mind again. Anton had only been killed to make him think he was looking for an officer, she’d suggested. As theories went, it was a tempting one, but it was also altogether too complicated for real life.

  As he saw it, there were three distinct circles in the village – three sets of inter-relationships. The villagers themselves were in the first: whether rich or poor, they had known each other for all their lives. Next there was the circle made up by enlisted men like Pérez – the cannon fodder who normally had no plans beyond their next drink. And finally there were the officers: Anton, Gómez, Valera, General Castro, and, by extension, the general’s dog – which had worn a collar worth more than most of the agricultural labourers would earn from ten years’ backbreaking work. And the point about these circles was whilst they might briefly touch, they were, in fact, completely independent of each other. If a peasant killed, it would be another peasant he murdered. If a common soldier took a life, it would be from one of his own. And if the general’s dog and a fresh-faced lieutenant were murdered, then the chances were that an officer was behind the crime.

  Paco looked at the house across the square. Now, when it was totally unnecessary, there was a sentry posted there. He lit up a Celtas. He didn’t like what he was going to have to force himself to do next, but there was no choice in the matter. If he was to make any progress in the case at all, he admitted to himself, it would first be necessary to talk to Colonel Valera again.

  *

  It was mid-morning, and already casualties from the front line were arriving back at the village and being dealt with – as well as the primitive conditions allowed – in what, until recently, had been the ayuntamiento, the centre of local government. Perhaps some of the six young soldiers who had found the dead dog in the Calle Belén would be killed that day, Paco thought. Perhaps, indeed, they would all be killed – and he would then be the only person in the whole world who knew the secret of the dog’s precious collar.

  He looked down at the man sitting behind the desk – the man who was gazing self-importantly at a stack of documents in front of him, and making the occasional leisurely notation on one of them with his pen. Colonel Valera had kept him standing at full attention for over ten minutes, but then that was what people like Valera always did.

  The colonel finally lifted his head from his work. ‘Well, Ruiz, have you made any progress with your investigation into the death of Lieutenant Anton?’ he demanded.

  ‘It’s only a few hours since the murder was committed, sir, and I’m working almost entirely alone,’ Paco said. ‘Even in Madrid, with the facilities of the entire police-department to back me up, I would not have expected, at this early point, to have—’

  ‘In other words, you’ve made absolutely no progress at all,’ the colonel interrupted him. ‘So what are you doing here now, wasting my time as well as your own?’

  Paco took a deep breath. ‘I shall need your permission to talk to your officers,’ he said.

  The colonel slammed his pen down on the desk, and gave Paco a look which could have burned holes in sheet metal. ‘What!’ he demanded. ‘Are you daring to suggest, even for a second, that one of my officers might be behind this ghastly crime?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Paco lied. ‘Not at all. But they are billeted around the square where the murder took place. It’s possible, even though they may not realize it themselves, that they saw or heard something of significance. If I could talk to them, I might be able to—’

  ‘I could never permit any of my officers to be questioned by one of the enemy,’ the colonel said disdainfully. ‘Especially by a common militiaman like yourself.’

  ‘Until just a few days ago, I was, in fact, an inspector of police,’ Paco pointed out.

  ‘An inspector with, no doubt, strongly republican sympathies,’ the colonel countered.

  ‘A professional policeman who has never let politics get in the way of his investigations,’ Paco said firmly. ‘And it’s because I am a professional that I can assure you that without questioning witnesses, there is almost no chance of bringing the lieutenant’s killer to justice.’

  Valera frowned, but was clearly beginning to waver. ‘Perhaps your dear friend Captain Gómez could talk to them,’ he said finally. ‘Since he is head of security, I could see no objection to that.’

  ‘And would it be possible for me to be present while he is conducting these interviews?’

  ‘Present?’ Valera repeated, as if he had no idea what Paco was talking about. ‘Do you mean, sitting next to him?’

  ‘That’s what I had in mind,’ the ex-policeman admitted.

  The colonel shook his head. ‘That simply wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. It would seem to the officers being questioned as if Major Gómez were no more than a puppet, and that you, a man who they have every right to hate, were the one actually pulling the strings.’

  ‘So what—?’

  ‘We will have the meeting in the church,’ the colonel said decisively. ‘Gómez can convene it as soon as the men return from the front line. You will stay by the door. That way, you can hear what’s being said without making any of the officers feel uncomfortable.’

  It wasn’t a very good deal at all, Paco thought, but it was probably the best that Colonel Valera was ever going to be prepared to offer him. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t want your thanks,’ the colonel said tartly. ‘What I want is this whole matter cleared up – one way or the other.’

  There was a knock on the door behind him, followed by the sound of the door swinging open. The colonel gazed with something which was very close to horror at whoever had entered the room. Paco, seeing Valera’s attention was focused elsewhere, risked a quick glance over his shoulder.

  The woman standing in the doorway was dressed from head to foot in black, like all the other peasant women in the village. She was, at first brief glance, somewhere around thirty years old, and though the beauty of her youth had long since faded away, she was still nothing less than a strikingly handsome woman.

  Was this the mistress whom Private Pérez had talked about outside the church the previous evening? Paco wondered. She certainly didn’t dress at all like a kept woman, but if Valera was deliberately being very discreet about his affair, as the private claimed he was, then wasn’t it the best possible disguise to wear the same clothes as everyone else?

  ‘What, in God’s name, are you doing here now?’ the colonel screamed at the new arrival.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry,’ the woman stuttered. ‘I . . . I didn’t know that you were busy.’

  ‘Get out!’ the colonel shouted. ‘Get out, and don’t come back again until I send for you!’

  Paco could hear the woman’s hasty retreat and the sound of the door closing behind her. Valera was still looking visibly shaken. Half a dozen questions ran through Paco’s quick mind. Who was this woman who had had such a dramatic effect on the colonel? Had it been her bare foot which he’d seen disappearing around the corner of the stairs the night before? Could she really be Valera’s mistress? And if she was, and lived with him, why had he been so shocked when she appeared? Could it be that she had become an embarrassment to him – that he was ashamed to admit that he was still enthralled by a woman who was already past her best?

  ‘These peasants!’ Valera said, with a disgust which Paco was almost sure he was faking. ‘They have absolutely no idea of time at all, do they? I asked her to come and do some work for me yesterday afternoon, but did she arrive when she was supposed t
o do? Of course she didn’t! Instead she turns up now, right in the middle of a busy working morning. Is it any wonder that we need the army to run the country, when we constantly have to deal with people like that?’

  Paco heard the faint, but distinct, click of the front door. The peasant woman – if that was what she really was – had left the house, and would be crossing the Plaza de Santa Teresa by now. He wondered what his chances would be of catching her up, and whether he’d dare take the risk of talking to her if he did. ‘Could I go now, sir?’ he asked.

  The words seemed to remind Valera whom he was talking to. The vestiges of shock drained from his face and were replaced by his normal expression of haughty disdain. ‘Do you fully understand my instructions of how to behave while Captain Gómez talks to the officers?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Paco said.

  ‘Then repeat them to me.’

  Paco, who was itching to be out on the street, chasing the woman, suppressed a sigh. ‘I’m to be allowed in the church, but I must stand at the back and not talk to any of the officers.’

  ‘And do you think you’ll be able to communicate those instructions to Major Gómez?’

  ‘Yes,’ Paco said, but he was thinking: This is deliberate. The son of a bitch is keeping me here until he’s sure the woman has got clean away.

  ‘What did your father do for a living?’ the colonel asked.

  ‘He had a small farm,’ Paco replied.

  ‘In other words, he was a peasant,’ the colonel said. ‘Then I’m not surprised that you get on so well with Gómez. His father’s a baker, you know.’ He flicked his hand dismissively. ‘You can get out now.’

  He really hates Gómez with a passion, Paco thought, but then at least the feeling is mutual. He clicked his heels in the approved military fashion, turned, and marched out of the room. Valera was already studying his papers again by the time he closed the door.

  Once he was out on the Plaza de Santa Teresa again, Paco quickly scanned the area. There were several black-clothed peasant women around, but there was absolutely no sign of the one who had disturbed Colonel Valera by walking in unannounced. Paco strode rapidly across the square. He couldn’t see the woman on the Calle Belén, but perhaps she’d already rounded the bend. Or perhaps she hadn’t gone up Belén at all, but had instead chosen the Calle Cristo Rey. He considered asking the sentry outside Valera’s house which way she had gone, then quickly dismissed the idea. The last thing he wanted was to alert anyone connected with Valera to the fact that he had an interest in the woman.

  He had to make a choice which way to go. He selected the Calle Belén, and once he was out of the sentry’s line of vision, his walk turned into a sprint.

  By the time he had reached the main street, he was forced to admit to himself that he had taken the wrong decision and that, at least for the moment, he had lost the woman. Still, even knowing of her existence was a marked advantage. It was possible – even probable – that she was simply the secret mistress Pérez had told him about, and therefore had nothing to do with either the death of the dog or the murder of Lieutenant Anton. But Valera’s reaction to her had certainly shown a weakness – an Achilles heel. And if Paco could find a way to use that, he just might be able to transform the colonel from being an enemy into a very reluctant ally.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The last rays of a dying sun filtered in through the church windows, throwing bars of pale gold and purple across the flagstone floor. Paraffin lamps had already been lit in anticipation of the darkness which would soon follow, and these burned in the alcoves, casting a glowing light over the plaster saints who normally had the space to themselves. The officers of the rebel army sat close together in the front few pews of the church, and Major Gómez, with his back to the altar, was gazing down on them like an officiating priest.

  Paco, standing at the back of the church, did a rapid head-count. These were not all the officers serving under the general – only the ones billeted on the Plaza de Santa Teresa – but they still formed a large enough group of potential suspects to give him a headache just thinking about it. He wished that he could be standing right next to Gómez, watching the officers’ faces as they answered the head of security’s questions, but he knew that, in this one case at least, Colonel Valera had probably been right, and the men would have resented his presence so much that they would have said nothing at all.

  Gómez surveyed his audience with all the confidence of a natural commander of men.

  ‘Lieutenant Luis Anton was a brother officer,’ he said solemnly, ‘and whoever is responsible for his death must be found at all costs. That is why we are having this meeting. I’m going to ask all of you to account for your movements last night, not because I suspect any of you of having anything to do with this cowardly crime, but merely to establish whether or not you were close enough to the incident to be of any value as a witness.’

  Gómez was good, Paco thought. Perhaps even better than good. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to shake off the uneasy feeling that something wasn’t quite right about the major’s presentation. He closed his eyes, and replayed Gómez’s words in his head. He had said all the right things at the right time, yet there was an air of unreality about it all. It was almost as if the man were simply going through the motions – pretending to want to catch the murderer, while in fact being more intent on playing some game which was entirely his own.

  Gómez stretched out his arm and pointed to the officer who was sitting at the end of the first row of pews. ‘You, Lieutenant Martinez,’ he said. ‘Can you please tell me exactly where you were last night?’

  The lieutenant, who, like the dead Lieutenant Anton, was little more than a boy, stood up and came to attention. ‘I was playing cards with three of my colleagues, Major,’ he said.

  Gómez smiled in an indulgent, almost fatherly, way. ‘What game were you playing?’

  ‘Mus, sir.’

  ‘And where, exactly were you playing your game?’

  ‘In my room, sir.’

  Major Gómez stroked his chin, reflectively. ‘Does your room face on to the square, Lieutenant?’ he asked.

  ‘No, sir, it doesn’t. It’s located at the back of the house. It overlooks the mountains.’

  Gómez nodded, as if that had been what he’d expected the young man to say.

  ‘Did you see, or hear, anything which might help us to get to the bottom of this dreadful affair?’

  Lieutenant Martinez shook his head. ‘No, sir, I’m afraid I didn’t. It was quite a lively game, you see, and I imagine we were making a fair amount of noise between us.’

  ‘So when was the first time you realized anything was wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t know anything out of the ordinary had happened until someone battered on my door and shouted that poor Anton was dead.’

  Gómez nodded again. ‘Could the other members of the mus card school stand up, please.’

  Three other officers – all of them lieutenants like Martinez – rose quickly to their feet.

  ‘Did any of you lads hear or see anything suspicious last night?’ Gómez asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ the three men replied in unison.

  ‘I’m going to suggest to you that perhaps you did see something,’ Gómez said, speaking in such a way as to give the impression that he was addressing one particular man. ‘I’m going to suggest that during a break in the game of mus, you went outside, either to have a piss or just to clear your head. You saw something unusual on the square, but you thought nothing of it at the time, and returned to your game. But later, after you’d heard about the murder, you understood the implications of what you’d seen, and realized that if you’d perhaps acted differently, you might have saved Anton’s life. Now you feel ashamed of yourself, and you’re afraid to tell me what you know.’

  At the back of the church, Paco shook his head admiringly. As the veteran of a hundred interrogations himself, he recognized when someone else was doing an excellent job.

  �
��Don’t feel ashamed,’ Gómez continued, still talking to the one particular unknown man who just might have seen something on the square. ‘Don’t be afraid. We all make mistakes, and my objective here is not to punish anyone, but to find a killer.’ He spread out his hands in supplication. ‘So I’ll ask you again. Did any of you see anything?’

  ‘No, sir,’ the four young officers said.

  Mistake, Paco wanted to scream from the back of the church. Bloody big mistake!

  Gómez had handled it all perfectly until the last two sentences. But he should never have asked them if they’d seen anything a second time. By getting them to publicly deny it twice, he was making it doubly difficult for any of them who was holding back to see him later in private.

  Paco felt a sudden chill run through his body. Had it been a mistake at all, he wondered. Or was what he’d just witnessed Gómez’s deliberate attempt to sabotage his own investigation!

  ‘Very well, gentlemen,’ the major said. ‘Since you have now been eliminated from the inquiry, you may go.’

  As simple as that? Paco thought. Did you see anything? No. Fine, you’re eliminated.

  The four young officers made their way down the aisle to the door. They were looking straight ahead, and there was no acknowledgement in their eyes that they even saw him standing there. It was almost as if he were invisible, and in a way, he supposed, he was. They lived in a closed world, a world which had its own rules and standards, which offered both a sense of direction and a sense of safety. Now an outsider had come to threaten that world – to turn its values upside down. How else could he expect them to act than by pretending that he didn’t exist?

  At the front of the church, Major Gómez had already turned his attention to the next man on the front row of the pews. ‘Where were you at the time of the murder, Captain Ortega?’ he asked.

  ‘I was with my friend Captain Hernández.’

  ‘In your room?’

  ‘No. We went for a walk.’