The Ripper

by Carmelo Anaya

  I leave and shout for Garcia as soon as I'm at the station. He's no Sherlock Holmes, but he is competent enough to sniff out the lies of a whore. I give him a dressing down, shout that he's made us all look like fools, thanks to him we'll be the laughingstock of the whole country. But he stands his ground. Says he has complete confidence the prostitute was telling the truth. He tightened up on her and cross-checked the dates.

  I stare at him.

  - 'Get her in here now,' I say.

  Imitating Jack the Great is like playing with a trickster

  The police's cards are marked

  And they still can't cheat me out of my hand

  Under their noses

  I slit her end to end

  They make it so easy

  Running around like headless chickens

  Hahahahaha

  8

  When she gave her statement, the COU let her go, pleased with themselves as they are.

  I let her stew in the interrogation room for a good while. I phone Lazaro Asuncion and ask him what we have here. I was expecting a young, pretty prostitute and instead I've got an older woman, short, plump, Algerian according to her papers. She says she's lived all over and her lightly accented, soft-spoken Spanish is no doubt a draw for many clients.

  Garcia, who's been short with her because of the mess he's in, sits her down at the interrogation table and says airily on his way of the room:

  - 'I don't know what they see in her. My fishwife's got more going for her.'

  Lazaro Asuncion knows her, just like he knows all of them. She worked in his brothel for a time but now she's out on her own. Yusida is special, he says. Then explains she'll do things the others refuse to do.

  - 'Because she's got no other choice?'

  - 'Not at all. She's into the weird stuff. Yusida's tough. That's why the special clients go to her. She's been here a year and a half. Moved down from France. That's her story anyway. She speaks French, English and German as well as Spanish and her native language, which could be... God only knows. She's as clever as they come and she must be making a fortune. Those services cost a pretty penny.'

  - 'BDSM?'

  - 'Whatever they want.'

  - 'Any weaknesses?'

  - 'Money. She'll do anything.'

  I hang up.

  The prostitute doesn't seem too bothered to be sitting there, But as the hours start to stretch on, she starts getting fidgety. She digs through her handbag for her phone, but there's no reception here in the basement and her frustartion shows as she tosses it violently back into her bag.

  - 'Don't tell anyone we've got her,' I order Garcia.

  He shrugs and tries to skive off, as usual.

  - 'I can't even remember what I've done today. Can I go home?'

  - 'Tell Lopez to come down here.'

  Once we're alone, I tell Lopez to record the conversation and go into the interrogation room.

  A woman's face, burnished by the sun, in her mid-fifties. Her skin is very delicate. It shines under the matte lights of the interrogation room. Her eyes are huge, made up with tonnes of eyeliner. She sizes me up the minute I sit down opposite her. She doesn't dislike what she sees, through I suppose business is always on her mind. Her black hair is pulled back and, as Garcia said, she could be a handsome fishwife plying her wares at the old market. Her silk blouse is unbuttoned enough that I catch a glimpse of her rounded breasts with not a wrinkle in sight. Her intense stare bores into me. I'm sure it's got more than one man going.

  - 'You told my men a few days ago that you spent the night of August 31 with Geoffrey Hunt.'

  - 'I lied,' she says firmly.

  - 'Why?'

  - 'He paid me to.' She shrugs.

  - 'So if you weren't with him, what were you doing that night? Where were you?'

  She shrugs again, even smiles.

  - 'Around. With a client.'

  I stare her in the face as fiercely as I can, but I fear she's used to hard stares and more dangerous men than me.

  - 'There's no confidentiality clause for you. Tell me who you were with or things will be very difficult for you.'

  - 'What are you going to do to me, chief?' she says, challenging me sarcastically, attempting to sway seductively in her chair but just looking pathetic in these surroundings.

  - 'I'm going to arrest you for interfering in an investigation and obstructing justice. I'm going to make sure word gets around that you're a rat. I'm going to ruin your business. I'm going to say you've given me a list of your clients and you film your encounters with them. I'm going to search your house and freeze your accounts. And that's just the start of it.'

  My words have a visible effect on her. Her smudged lips lose their sarcastic moue and she flinches, leaning back in her chair as if I'd threatened to hit her.

  - 'You can't do that. I'll call my lawyer.'

  - 'Of course I can. I've got officers ready and willing to confirm you lied to us and I'm going to hold you for three days to interrogate you before you'll go before the judge. I'll ruin your life here in those three days. You'll have to find somewhere else to do your whoring. No lawyer will be able to get you out in 72 hours. By the time they *do* get you out, it'll be too late. Yusida'll be history in Baria.'

  Now I'm the one who's smiling, the expression on my face as twisted as I can manage.

  Yusida grabs a packet of cigarettes from her handbag. She extracts a slim Long Player Special and puts it in her mouth. Then she fishes out a gold lighter and lights up, her hand trembling slightly.

  - 'Bastard,' she mutters between her teeth, with that lilting accent that gets them worked up.

  Then her eyes meet mine, abruptly. I give her a way out.

  - 'If you tell me the truth now, I'll leave you alone. Even though you lied.' I just need you to confirm the information. The rest stays between us.'

  - 'How do I know you're telling the truth?'

  - 'Because I'm a man of my word. 'I can phone Lazaro Asuncion and he'll tell you, if you like.'

  She hesitates, but then goes looking for her phone again. I invite her to step out of the room with me and tell Lopez to talke her upstairs so she can make the call. Then bring her back down.

  'You have one minute to speak to him,' I warn her.

  A minute later they're back. Lopez is dragging her by the elbow.

  - 'She tried to get away?'

  - 'And hit me.'

  He points to a bruise under his ear. Drags her to the chair.

  - 'If my wife sees this...' complains Lopez.

  - 'So. Did you talk to Lazaro Asuncion?'

  - 'Yes,' she says shortly.

  - 'Now I'll be adding resisting authority and assaulting a police officer.'

  Yusida isn't convinced and she holds my gaze. I stare back.

  - 'Lopez, call Lila (CHANGE NAME?),' I say into the speakerphone.

  She stays quiet for a few minutes, but my harsh stare is unmistakeable.

  - 'Who's Lila?'

  - 'A poor bastard who does whatever I tell him to and who's going to report you. For robbery.'

  - 'You're nuts!'

  - 'He's going to sign a statement saying hired your services at home and you robbed him. I'm sure I'll be able to come up with a list of items you stole. Oh, and one more thing.'

  - 'No one will believe you.'

  - 'The judge will decide who to believe: a whore or the chief of police.'

  - 'You - fucking - son - of - a - bitch,' she spits, emphasizing each word.

  - 'Funny to hear that coming from you. I'm going to give you five minutes on your own. When I come back, Lila will have arrived. Think about it. Talk to me and you'll go free, or I'll put you in a big mess you won't be able to get out of so easily. Oh, and...'

  I think it over and decide to go for it. 'Lazaro Asuncion will be footing the bill.

  - If you help me, I'll give you three grand. Just for you.'

>   She's so flabbergasted it's comical. Her weakness. Her Achilles' heel.

  - 'Lazaro Asuncion is fronting. He'll give you the money. Today. Think about it.'

  I leave and smoke a cigarette with Lopez while we watch her through the one-way mirror.

  - 'That woman's a fiera,' he says.

  - 'But she's not stupid.'

  - 'Are you really going to give her the money?'

  - 'I need the truth, no matter what.'

  He keeps staring, so I explain:

  - 'Lazaro Asuncion is paying.' Though he doesn't know it yet.

  I phone him and he goes ballistic. But when I raise my voice, he cools it and accepts it. He'll pay her and I'll owe him a favour. Then he adds he told Yusida that I can be trusted. And if she tries to get one up over me I'm a bastard who'll make her life a misery.

  I go back in, saying shortly,

  - 'Are you going to talk to me or not? Last chance.'

  - 'Sit down.'

  I pull up a chair and wait.

  - 'You're not recording this?'

  - 'No,' I lie.

  - 'The truth is I was with Geoffrey. All night. He phoned me. People know me, you know?'

  She bites her lip.

  - 'I have a good life here.' She casts her eyes down to the table.

  She wants to keep her status. Doesn't want me to spoil what she has going on here.

  - 'But they paid me a visit the other day. I opened the door and there they were. If they hear about this, I'm done for.'

  - 'No one is going to find out,' I lie again. 'Who came to see you?'

  - 'The Romanian.'

  A shiver runs up my spine. I can guess what's coming next.

  - 'He said I had to tell the Guardia Civil I had spent the night with Hunt.'

  - 'Why?'

  Yusida shrugs.

  - 'Business. And the fact is, when he says go, you go. Total obedience from everyone.'

  - 'Who is he?'

  - 'I don't know his name. Everyone calls him boss. He's the head honcho of every Romanian in the province.'

  - 'How does he know you? Why does he have power over you?'

  Her face twists with scorn and she says:

  - 'Your lot really don't get it.... He's in charge of all the prostitutes in Almeria province. Everyone pays a cut to him.'

  - 'Who's everyone?'

  - 'Every whore and pimp in the province.'

  My mind turns this over and over, some of the pieces falling into place as I realize despite myself, disbelievingly, that Malasana has been on the hunt for days for a man who's been able to walk around town scot free.

  - 'Do the South Americans answer to him too?'

  - 'Yep.'

  - 'What about Lazaro Asuncion?'

  She shrugs.

  - 'I don't know. He doesn't know. I think the brothel owners don't have to pay. But I'm not sure.'

  What interest does the Romanian have in Hunt's alibi being considered false and Hunt being labelled a suspect for the murders? If he knows Hunt isn't the Ripper, it makes no sense. Maybe he wants us to take the heat off him and focus on Hunt instead.

  - 'Where can I find this man?'

  - 'I don't know.'

  Her eyes meet mine and I believe she's telling the truth. There's no reason for her to know where he lives.

  - 'Do you pay him too?'

  - 'No. Just the girls who work on the stre,' she says, with scorn.

  I leave for a while and Lopez is on me like a rash.

  - 'I don't believe her. She's a liar.'

  - 'So when did she lie? Before or now?

  - Why did the Romanian make her?'

  Just at that moment it comes to me (change).

  - What he wants is for someone to be charged with the crime so it can be forgotten about. His girls are being monitored 24/7. Logistically, it's a problem for him. 'I want her phone tapped as soon as we let her go.'

  - 'Without a warrant?

  - We'll request it tomorrow.' 'Put in an urgent request. I want her phone tapped and localised round the clock.'

  I go back into the interrogation room and say:

  - 'You're lying. No deal.'

  - 'What? You lying son of a bitch! I told the truth!'

  She shouts so loudly her spit splatters on my shirt.

  - 'Do you have proof the Romanian went to see you?'

  - 'What are you saying? You want a fucking recording? I wouldn't be here if I had done that!'

  - 'You've given me absolutely nothing, Yusida. Nothing. Your little story about the Romanian makes no sense. 'What does he want with Hunt?'

  - 'How should I know?'

  I get up.

  - 'An officer is coming to take you to a cell. You'll be frisked. Get ready.'

  For the first time she wavers, hesitant, fearful. Her eyes are full of fear as if the Romanian capo himself were threatening her.

  - 'I... there's more.'

  I stand squarely facing her, watching.

  - 'Lazaro Asuncion said what you want most is information on the killer, the guy who murdered those women.'

  I don't even bother replying. She thinks for a minute. Weighing up her next steps. I can hear the cogs in her quick brain whirring. Finally, she spits it out.

  'Only if you don't lock me up.'

  'That depends on what you've got.'

  'There are... parties. Where.... strange things happen... I-I'll tell you...'

  The New Destiny headquarters are located in the basement of a former palace, stone facade and wraparound balcony, smack bang in the middle of the city's grandest area behind the town hall, in a neatly cobbled street lined with fine old houses with grilles over the windows and balconies. Anyone who wants to be someone seeks out a Gran Via address.

  We're late and the man we want to speak to, says Sebastian Rodriguez, is in the podium, chatting animatedly with El Dandy. We'll have to wait for the talk to finish before speaking with him. He invites us to take a seat at the back of the small auditorium, crowded with people.

  Don Silverio Carranza is a neatly-dressed older man with a shining bald spot and tiny eyes. Slight and stylish, he has a straight-backed, regal posture, though next to El Dandy - who's listening attentively to his speech - he looks positively tiny.

  - 'El Dandy must be here to network. Everyone here was born with a silver spoon in their mouth, boss. Just here to mingle. He's faker than a pair of silicone tits,' whispers Lopez.

  Silverio Carranza has a slighty whistling, high-pitched voice. Behind him, a PowerPoint slide screams the title of the conference: Crime and Spirituality in a Capitalist Society.

  - First, I'd like to draw your attention to a key aspect of our society, something we don't focus on enough, in my view. Western society is managing to transfer to the State and its institutions the obligations that for millennia corresponded to each individual's sense of responsibility. This is anything but a meaningless coincidence. In past centuries, communities took up solidarity fundraising if necessary or, at least, individuals felt guilty for the misfortune that befell their neighbours if they looked away and did nothing to help. Here, in our own communities, we have thousands of examples of parents and grandparents sacrificing themselves so their children could get an education and have a better future than they had. This was the case for centuries, but now there has been a dramatic shift. And the industrialized nations of the West, us, we are the ones driving the social evolution of humankind as a species. However, just look at how in our society now, we don't feel responsible for helping the unemployed. People who are dependent no longer give us the feeling of having any obligation towards them, of using our own resources to help them overcome difficulties. Previously, human beings were faced with the choice of being altruistic daily. We could be aggressive towards our peers or, conversely, be preyed on by them. That's what brought about that feeling of guilt. Today, we are all aware that these obligations - solidar
ity, sacrifice and justice - have been passed on to someone that is not us. We in the privileged world of the West are now free of that burden. We are a new type of human being, a kind that has never existed before: free of annoying obligations and a sense of guilt with regard to other people. Nothing can be demanded of us: the social machine takes care of the work. As individuals, we have lost our sense of guilt. What this brings about is a new kind of human being, with no attachments or sense of duty, more self-absorbed than ever. Bottomless solipsism. And egomania...

  The conference is based on the conversation between the two speakers. El Dandy must have introduced Carranza, and now he interrupts him:

  - 'Of course. We live in an infantilising, infantilised society.' He seeks out Carranza's eyes, looking for his approval, and goes on. 'Disneyland gets more visits - including adult visitors - per year than the Alhambra. We are living in a time when ego is everything, a dangerously inflated ego that takes over and looks down on everything. Frenzied, stupid, infantilised narcissim, making grown men cry like babies. We look down on other people with the same vacuous lightness as we love ourselves with. Narcissus is no longer a myth. It's embodied in each of us. Delighting in its navel-gazing contemplation of its inconsequential beauty. Though we are all but identical, two drops of water in an ocean, we want to stand out from the crowd in all that's trivial and shallow. We've ended up with an egalitarianistic, mediocre society, which drowns out talent. A cowardly society in which mediocrity and lack of talent are praised and anyone who stands out is punished. If we sin, we can immediately be redeemed, as easy as A, B, C. We blame everyone and everything for our suffering and misfortune, without ever pausing to reflect on our own responsibility, and wait for other people, and the state to give us what we feel entitled to, entirely undeservingly, might I add. Everything I have - dignity, freedom, social assistance, did I work for any of it? That's the heart of the matter. He who fails to pay for what he has loses his dignity. And yet we as individuals are always clamouring after something we didn't earn. Our protests are protofascistic.