He has a whole week ahead of him to continue his investigation and arrive at some answers. A week until Isabel is back in Madrid. A week to follow all the leads, examine all the possible hypotheses. For that, he needs Ana and her invaluable contacts among the cops and the intelligence agents. He knows she has a lot of work right now, but he needs to brainstorm with her. She has become closer to Isabel lately; maybe the lawyer told Ana things, insignificant things at first glance but that could shed light on some of the gray areas of his investigation.
When he finally does go to Ana with his suspicions, she is silent at first. Diego needed to get out of his apartment, so he came to see her at her office. As she listens to him talk, she occasionally knits her brow or shakes her head or scribbles some notes. Ana finally gets up, walks out from behind her desk, lights a cigarette, and flops down into her club chair with a long and profound sigh.
“Diego, you’re killing me. I’m not convinced by what you’re telling me, and yet if you look at the facts alone, your theory makes sense.”
Silence. They stay like that for a long moment without speaking or even looking at each other, staring into space, lost in their thoughts, trying to digest everything they know and searching for ways to tie up loose ends. Right now, the main question they still have is “Why?” Ana can’t stand not knowing. Before Diego can ask her to try to dig up some more information from the police and the intelligence agency, she picks up her phone and announces she is calling Ortiz at the CNI.
“At least then we’ll know.”
The call lasts just a few minutes. A meeting is discretely arranged for the following day. Ana thought she could hear a note of surprise in the voice on the other end of the line when she explained why she was calling. She hopes to have some answers in less than twenty-four hours. In the meantime, she’ll put the finishing touches on the trap she is setting for the NASB’s infiltrator, so he can never harm them again. She lays out her plan to Diego: as funny as he finds her idea, the Crusaders for Christ will certainly not be as amused.
Ana invites Diego to come with her. She needs to meet her prostitute friends to go over the final details, and she can’t risk showing up late. Moreover, ever since the NASB’s demonstration in the streets of Madrid, the atmosphere is electric. The country has practically split in two. Fringe groups like the Francoist throwbacks, traditionalist Catholics, and other reactionaries are starting to fight back. The NASB’s website has been targeted numerous times by hackers, though unsuccessfully this time. The building housing the NASB’s headquarters has been graffitied, and there are daily demonstrations outside by clean-shaven, buttoned-up protestors and by militants from different political and religious extremist groups who hurl insults and sometimes even tomatoes and eggs at anyone coming and going. They are spurred to ever more violent action with each passing day that the NASB’s message gets greater traction with the population and the media, especially the international press. One morning, a truck filled with manure dumped its stinking load at the NASB’s doorstep while the sickos applauded. A priest also came to recite the Hail Mary in Latin on his knees.
However, the resistance is becoming more coordinated too. Several organizations on the left—from political parties and labor unions to NGOs—have offered their support to the NASB to grow its members and train its staff. Help that is much needed. Regional chapters are opening in several cities, and, most notably, demonstrations are taking place, more or less spontaneously, on a daily basis. Zaragoza, A Coruña, Sevilla, Gijón, Salamanca, and other cities have each hosted a silent march. Even held midweek, each of these was attended by thousands of people. The movement is seriously ramping up. And, without fail, clashes disrupt the end of the marches. Pro- and anti-NASB militants are facing off in ever more violent confrontations. The police, meanwhile, are losing patience, sometimes firing indiscriminately at the protesters, leaving some seriously wounded. That was the case in Gijón. This city in northern Spain sits between a naval shipyard and a mining region and has long been at the epicenter of the country’s largest protest movements (unsurprisingly, given its location), and its residents don’t back down from anything. The silent march in Gijón took a violent turn when far-right militants looking for a fight were met by miners who were better-schooled at street brawling. But an eight-year-old kid lost an eye in the incident. A Flash-Ball fired at close range. The minister of justice was forced to resign. A diversion to defuse the situation, to make the people believe the government is listening to them, that it has the situation under control, and is responding accordingly.
A strategy, however, that is not pulling the wool over anyone’s eyes. The last decision the minister of justice made before he resigned was to dismiss Judge David Ponce before the disciplinary board could even come back with a verdict. Fired, effective immediately. As for the inquiry that he opened into the stolen babies, it’s safe to say it is now six feet under in the basement of the courthouse and locked up tight. If it seemed for a moment like everything could change, nothing, in fact, has changed. The political class is clinging to its privileges. And protecting the people who, one way or another, put them in power so that they can keep everything just as it is. “Status quo” is their motto. The Amnesty Law allowed them to slip through the fingers of the justice system, and they are not going to let a French lawyer who appeared out of the blue one day screw everything up for them. In the long run, they don’t care if the story about kidnapped babies is true or not. The only thing that matters to them is that they continue to live as they always have. The economic crisis? They don’t even know what that is, with their offshore accounts and their tax lawyers. Human trafficking of infants? What’s to complain about if a few kids were adopted by well-to-do families?
Walking to Ana’s appointment with her former colleagues, Diego tries to find out if Isabel ever told her anything. Nothing. Isabel told the detective a brief version of her grandmother’s story without going into much detail or providing any names or dates. The journalist is disappointed. Ana notices and tries to change the topic of conversation: she doesn’t like to see her friend like this. Invariably, however, their discussion always comes back to the two murders, their similarities, and their implications. Ana already admitted at her office that she thinks Diego’s theory is possible, and it’s probably true, though she still can’t believe the lawyer is the mastermind behind the murders and is less sure that Isabel pulled the trigger herself in these execution-style killings. Because that is what they are talking about, after all: executions, pure and simple, carried out the same way the mafia settles its scores. In any case, Ana wonders, to argue against his hypothesis, why should they limit their investigation to these two murders? Haven’t there been others committed over the past few months that shared the same modus operandi and which could be related to these two?
“We’ll have to find out what other cases the cops are looking into, especially any unsolved murders,” Ana continues. “Well, wait, why not Paco Gómez’s murder on the night of the elections? His father was in Franco’s inner circle, don’t forget. He was killed just like the other two.”
“If that’s a joke, it’s not funny. If you’re right, you’re only confirming my theory. We ought to try to get our hands on the official report, just to see. It still seems to me that we’ve overlooked something in that case. … Perhaps the ballistics. Don’t you have some way of getting the ballistics report? If the same weapon was used, we could be pretty sure it was the same murderer.”
“Or murderess.”
“That would be crazy! But even if it wasn’t the same gun that was used to kill the notary, the nun, and, why not, the APM councilman too, that doesn’t prove anything either.”
They have arrived outside the front door of a nightclub. It is still closed in the middle of the afternoon, but at night, it has one of the hottest scenes in Madrid. The Arena is the headquarters of Madrid’s transgender community. Ana buzzes, and the two friends quickly push open the door and slip inside. The club is dark at t
his hour, but Cumbia is playing on the sound system—a Caribbean techno mix from Colombia—and they can see that a few people are already waiting for them, seated on the club’s red satin divans and armchairs and sipping cocktails. They exchange greetings and then get down to business. The music is cut, and the lights go up. They move two tables together, and Ana takes out her camera, a laptop, and several pictures of a man seated at a computer and walking in the street, as well as a map of the city marked in several places with a cross.
Ten days. Isabel has spent ten days in Paris. Far more than she ever imagined. To bury her grandmother, to be alone, to be far from the turmoil in Madrid. She needed time to step back for a moment. Time to realize as well that she misses Diego. She refused her parents’ invitation to stay with them and found a comfortable hotel instead. She hasn’t disconnected entirely from the news from Spain; she has checked in daily with one or another member of the NASB’s executive committee. The movement has outgrown anything she ever imagined. But that only proves that she has been right all along, that the first handful of families who had been looking for their children for years, who never gave up, who always suspected the authorities had lied to them, who always believed their sons and daughters were still alive, were only the tip of the iceberg. Hundreds, even thousands, more families are bringing their cases, too. Everyone knows that people “disappeared” under dictatorships in Latin America. Now they will also know—Isabel is sure beyond a shadow of a doubt—that babies were abducted by the Franco regime. How many? If Spain wants to retain a shred of self-respect, it has no choice but to fully investigate this scandal. But the government seems unwilling to let the cat out of the bag.
Once back in Madrid, the lawyer hits the ground running. A quick visit to the NASB headquarters. Then a quick stop at home. And now back to the CNI. Before leaving for France, she had promised to return, to finish the conversation that began there. In the meantime, she has texted Ana and Diego to let them know she is back. Now Isabel is seated in the same windowless room as before, but she isn’t as nervous as the first time. Before she boarded her flight in Paris, she had a minute to speak to Ana, who reassured her: Nicolás Ortiz, the chief of the CNI unit that is responsible for her surveillance, is a friend whom Isabel can trust as well. Ana also explained his limp, which forces him to walk with a cane. It is because of a bullet he took in the leg years ago during a tumultuous raid on an active ETA cell. When he arrives, Isabel shakes his hand, a gesture to let him know that she followed his advice and spoke to their mutual friend.
“Before we get started, my deepest condolences. I understand you were very close to your grandmother. Well, I didn’t want to say too much the other day, but we really have to talk seriously about a few matters. Your security for one thing. As for the other, it’s a little more problematic.”
“I’m listening. But I can’t help but wonder about your mysteriousness. What could be more problematic than death threats?”
A long silence. Then Ortiz launches into a lengthy monologue about why and how she was put under surveillance. The longer he talks, the more details he provides. And the more Isabel feels a noose tightening around her neck. They have been tracking her every move since the press conference announcing the creation of the NASB. She always suspected she would be on their radar but not exactly on a daily basis. She had told herself, of course, that the intelligence services would try to find out about her, but she never imagined two agents would be assigned to stick to her, 24/7, over several months. The government didn’t spare any means or expense. And even though this Ortiz is one of Ana’s friends, has a good reputation, and is considered to be on the political left, his reassurances that her surveillance was for her own safety and not performed with the intention of spying on her aren’t putting her at ease.
His words are clear, precise, and direct. He outlines for her his team’s various operations and discoveries of late, as the threats to her safety became more and more serious. Several far-right-identified organizations had her in their sights, not just the Crusaders for Christ. No surprise as to who has been behind the anonymous letters, the messages sent via social media and the Internet, and the insults, some of which were extremely violent. The Internet’s anonymity gives people free reign to say the worst. They sorted through all of these, from the comments of run-of-the-mill reactionaries to the more carefully composed but no less sinister messages sent by a few genuine crazies. The CNI wiretapped people close to certain religious and political organizations in the hope of heading off an attack by some brainwashed maniac. In particular, they kept a close eye on the headquarters of the Crusaders for Christ, but they had to be especially discrete about it, given the close ties between the CNI’s director and traditionalist Catholics.
Ortiz sums up by concluding that the risk to Isabel is very serious. She has already been the victim of a mostly harmless attack. The consequences of a future attack could be much worse. He does not propose to increase her protection, however. In fact, he never mentions that possibility at all.
So far, Isabel has listened to him attentively, without interrupting him. However, this next part of his speech leaves her no choice but to react. Moreover, she is going to have to play a very careful game with Ortiz. What he is telling her now is that she is the leading suspect in several crimes.
“Let’s be clear; I’m not charging you with anything for the moment. However, we have you on video surveillance footage not far from the parking structure where Pedro De La Vega was assassinated. We also know you were in Valencia the day Sister Marie-Carmen was murdered. And we were able to confirm that you had a train ticket for Barcelona the same day that the doctor Juan Ramírez was found dead in the street in the Gótico neighborhood. Finally, we have evidence that would put you in La Moraleja on the morning the president of the Mediterranean Savings Bank took a bullet in the head during his morning jog.”
Every new sentence pronounced by the CNI’s unit chief hits her like a blow to the head. Breathe. Don’t panic. Think fast. Reveal nothing. Isabel clears her throat before speaking.
“So you’re accusing me of being a murderer, is that right?”
“No, as I just explained, I’m not accusing you of anything; I’m only sharing with you certain, shall we say, unfortunate coincidences between your schedule and some very serious facts. We are, after all, talking about the murders of several people. But I’m certain there is an explanation and that you can provide it for me now.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything,” Isabel states with resolve. “Everything you’ve just told me amounts to nothing more than conjecture. You don’t have any proof.”
“Very well, but as we speak, two of my agents are searching your apartment. Maybe what they turn up will make you change your mind. While we’re waiting for their report, I’m going to ask you to wait here.”
“You can’t do that! How did they get in? On what grounds?”
“Madam, your security and that of the State are ample grounds to take liberties with the law. And never more so than in matters of life and death.”
16
DAVID PONCE IS with Diego in their usual bar when the judge’s dismissal is announced. Radio Uno’s directors gave in to the pressure and are letting David continue his weekly justice report, especially since he refuses to be paid for it. The station could hardly say no to this now-famous public figure and to the ensuing free publicity. Diego and David are preparing the upcoming show when David’s phone rings. The news hits him harder than expected, but he keeps up his spirits enough to buy everyone at Casa Pepe a round of drinks to celebrate what he insists on calling his “freedom.” The two friends raise a toast to that and, after pausing a moment to let the news sink in, continue their discussion as if nothing happened. Well, almost nothing. To avoid interruptions, Ponce turns off his phone. He is in no mood to take calls from the media, nor is he under any obligation to make a public appearance or a statement, and that suits him just fine. The now ex-judge knows exactly what his next move
will be. He had previously shared it with Diego to get his friend’s opinion when David first learned of the disciplinary actions taken against him. Tomorrow, as soon as his registration papers go through, he will cross to the other side of the courtroom, from judgment to defense. He will become a lawyer. A court-appointed attorney, to get started. He’ll decide later if he joins a firm (if anyone will have him) or if he starts his own (the most likely scenario).
For the time being, the question on the table is still the stolen babies. The scandal cost Ponce his job, it’s true, but his decision to open the inquiry got him exactly what he wanted, on some unconscious level. He confides in Diego that he was getting tired of his job—the pressure, the endlessly accumulating cases, the scarcity of means at his disposal, the magistracy’s close ties to politicians: “I think that, subconsciously, I opened the inquiry as a way of saying ‘enough’ without actually admitting it to myself. It allowed me to stop before I burned out.”
Mala Vida Page 15