THE ENGLISH WITNESS

by John C. Bailey

  “OK,” I said at the end of the story. “He’s a fascist and a killer, but he’s a policeman as well. Maybe I should have let his men pick me up, and talked to him. I could have saved so much grief.”

  “You would have saved a lot of anguish for the girl and her mother, because you’d have been dead long before you could pay them a visit. Adolfo – that’s the name he requires his people to use – doesn’t forgive. And there’s more you need to know. How do you think I knew you were involved? Because as soon as I read the details, I knew he was involved.”

  “How could you possibly…,” I began, but he silenced me with a wave of his hand.

  “He’s usually managed to find victims with whom he’s had a score to settle, but I always thought his main motive was sexual.”

  “You mean he… Oh no, poor Trini. I should have guessed when I saw her like that.” I felt sick.

  “Once again you’re interrupting. He kills for pleasure, but he doesn’t try to have sex with his victims. In fact if the stories are true, he suffered a cruel mutilation when his family were murdered and he doesn’t have the ability. Incidentally, he seems to prefer young men, so if you had fallen into his hands…I’m sure you get my drift.”

  There was a long silence before Ignacio continued: “Gato spent the last few months of his life in hiding. It’s not clear why. As an angry young man he was once part of a militant group, but he hadn’t been in action for the best part of twenty years. By the way, for most of the time he was in hiding, your old friend Santiago was his eyes and ears out on the street.”

  My ears pricked up at the mention of Txako’s real name. I would have liked to find out how he was doing. But at that moment the priest looked directly at me: “You still haven’t told me why you really came back to Donosti.”

  “Donosti? What the…”

  “The real name of the city you call San Sebastián. What brings you back?”

  “I told you. I can’t risk leaving the country until I’ve put this thing to rest.”

  “And is that it? Is that the only reason? So you can put all this behind you and go home?”

  I thought about this in silence, and the priest didn’t try to hurry me. Minutes passed by in the silence, and at first I had no idea what to say. But then I pictured Trini in my mind, lying there, looking ready to seduce me when in reality another man had already had his twisted pleasure with her. I thought of her mother, who had more or less died in my place. I thought of Reme and all the other people who had made sacrifices large and small to help me. And my anger suddenly flared. “I want to get the bastard,” I said.

  JACK

  There was near-silence for several seconds, broken only by the drone of passing traffic and the soft drumming of Julio’s fingers on the metal tabletop. A steady stream of people was passing almost within arm’s reach, but nobody showed any interest in the array of vacant tables. No one even glanced in their direction, and Jack suddenly realised that their brooding presence was probably bad for business. He stacked up the cups and plates before speaking again. “I’d like us to go down to Anoeta for the next instalment,” he said. “On foot. And we’re going by the scenic route.”

  Keeping the sea on their left, they walked along behind the Concha beach and navigated their way into the lanes of the Old Quarter. “This city’s been confusing the hell out of me,” announced Jack. “Completely defeating the point.”

  “What do you mean,” asked Miguel.

  “It’s all changed. Down south, revisiting places brought back memories and sparked associations for me. But it’s not working up here. I knew the city too well the way it was before, and it’s changed almost beyond recognition. The new riverside apartments—I think they must have been built out over what was riverbed. And the skyline. And the kids. When I was here before they were natural allies against all the forces that oppressed them: brutal police, controlling parents, bullying priests. Now they have the same kind of youth divisions we have at home. I don’t feel any connection at all, and I need it. Because the story’s about to get rough again, and I need to be in some sort of comfort zone.”

  “I don’t know what we can do,” responded Miguel.

  “You can make me feel at home here,” answered Jack. “By getting me drunk. Here in the Old Quarter. Not absolutely rat-arsed; just drunk enough that I’ll have a headache in the morning. And you two have got to get drunk with me, because if you’re all sober and judgmental it won’t work.”

  “Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

  “It won’t be, by the time you’ve bought me dinner.”

  “I thought we were heading for Anoeta.”

  “We will be, eventually.”

  The Bar Alarra and the lanes around it were still teeming with life as the three men reeled out at about half past midnight. The alleys and squares were still lit, and the atmosphere was electric.

  “Welcome to Donosti,” roared Jack, playfully slapping Miguel on the back. “The real San Sebastián. You know, I always realised that life here was probably harsher than we ever saw. But this is what I remember. And look, no high-rise apartment blocks for upwardly mobile professionals. No disaffected street kids. Now we’re going to stagger down through the ensanche and look in the shop windows. And when we get to Anoeta, if we choose our position carefully, we won’t have to look at that wretched stadium.

  It took them nearly three quarters of an hour to stroll down to Anoeta, but when they got there Jack was still beaming. “Same old place under the skin. And look, if we walk round this way, we can turn our backs on all that commercial stuff and watch the cars going in and out of the tunnel. That was my last view of the city before I set off southwards on foot.”

  “Why did you need to bring us here, Jack?” asked Julio quietly. “Are you still trying to convince us that it all happened?”

  “Possibly. But it’s more about convincing myself that it’s still going on forty years later.” He turned and point to the southern edge of the development. “Over there, that’s where the old youth hostel stood. And over there is where I was crouching the one time I fired Antonio’s air pistol in anger. Better get your notebook out, Julio.”

  JAMES

  There were seven conspirators in the plainly furnished meeting room: Father Ignacio, five dour men ranging in age from mid-twenties to middle age, and me. The priest had warned me not to ask questions, but to speak when spoken to and keep my opinions to myself. The discussion had already gone on for a couple of hours before I was ushered in, but once I was settled the eldest of the five strangers spoke to me directly.

  “First of all, James, welcome. I hope you haven’t been too bored, and I’m sorry we couldn’t include you in all of our deliberations. Secondly, we welcome the interest you’ve taken in the affairs of our community and apologise for the suffering that has resulted for you and your friends. Thirdly, we understand that you’re angry about what has happened, and that you wish to help bring the man who calls himself Adolfo to justice. Is this correct?”

  I spoke for the first time to confirm that it was true, and received an approving nod from the priest.

  “And tell me,” the speaker continued. “Is your anger so great that you’d take a personal risk – a serious personal risk – if it would help bring justice and closure?”

  Again I confirmed what the man had said, wondering how I had got myself into a situation where my life was seemingly on the line.

  “Then you may consider us friends, or at least allies. But lives will depend on you holding to what you’ve said, and if you feel that you can’t go ahead then you should leave now and take your chances.”

  “There’s nowhere for me to go,” I answered without hesitation. “I want to get even, and as the padre knows this is my only way home.”

  “Then you should get some sleep. Heaven knows you won’t get much until this is over. There are beds in the next room.”

  I lay on a bunk in the darkness, wondering where I was. Nobody had attempted to blindfold me,
but there had been no need. Within minutes of leaving the lights of the city behind I’d lost all sense of direction. My senses told me that we were on high ground, but the short distance I’d walked from the van to the open door had given me no further clues. Nor did I have any idea who these vaguely sinister people were. All I had to rely on was Ignacio’s assurance that they were trustworthy—as long as I kept my word.

  Things were different when we left the next morning. It was broad daylight, and I was blindfolded for the short walk to the car and most of the journey. When the blinkers were at last taken off I could see that we were coming into San Sebastián. A few minutes later, I was dropped on the seafront and instructed to make my way down here to the youth hostel on foot.

  The plan was for me to attract attention, and so I clowned, got mildly drunk and acted drunker. All that day and all the next I made a point of annoying as many of the staff and guests as I could. And towards evening the first stage of the plan paid off; I heard the sound of a vehicle scrunching its way onto the forecourt. Peering out through a window, I saw a man getting out of a black car and I realised with a tingle in my arms and chest that I’d seen him before.

  This was only one part of the plan, though. I was sure the man would be only too happy to get me into the car and take me straight to his boss, but there was no advantage in that whatsoever. The boss had to be drawn out onto our terrain, and for that to happen he had to be angry enough to bypass his subordinates and come after me in person. I had to find ways of provoking him, making his subordinates look incompetent. And that involved a level of risk I’d never have thought myself capable of running.

  I crept round while the driver was inside the building and shoved a sharp knife through two of the tyre walls. Then I sprinted across to a low wall that used to stand down there and crouched behind it. When the man emerged from the hostel and bent down to inspect the damage, I aimed Antonio’s air pistol and fired, giving him what must have been a deep and painful wound in the calf muscle.

  He was tough. He made no sound. He simply lowered himself still further, and for a moment his hand went inside his jacket. I braced myself to run, but then he withdrew his hand, eased himself into the car and drove it with the two ruined tyres flapping towards the safety of the hostel building. Parking sideways-on to the entrance, he used the vehicle as a shield while he scuttled into the building.

  It took over two hours for the man’s cronies to send another car. I was lurking half way up the approach road, and as it swept past I noted down the make, model and registration number. Running to a nearby payphone, I passed the details on to one of the men from the planning meeting and knew the drugs police were about to get an extremely promising tip-off.

  Finally, we had to ensure that I didn’t slip down Adolfo’s list of priorities. And so, even as I spoke to one conspirator, another was phoning a national newspaper to offer them an exclusive on the ”real” story behind the sensational murders in Valencia. We thought Adolfo’s network was good enough that he’d hear of the impending revelations before the day was out. And when he made his move on me, my new friends would make their move on him.

  CHAPTER 14

  JACK

  “How long do we have to keep this up?” whispered Julio when Jack walked off in search of a restroom or a deserted corner that would serve the same purpose. “I was the one giving him the benefit of the doubt at first. But the longer he goes on, the less sure I am that I believe a word he’s saying. And the latest stuff sounds like pure teen fiction. What do you think?”

  “Strangely enough,” replied Miguel, “I think we’ve been wise not taking him in to HQ. There’s enough that rings true to suggest that we’d be putting his life in danger—and maybe ours too. I can see where you’re coming from, but the longer he goes on the more I actually believe. The early part of his story, anybody could have dreamed up. But this latest stuff is too complex and internally consistent to be pure invention. I think he’s authentic, quite apart from the way verifiable facts are beginning to stack up. We need to stay with it. Look, he’s coming back.”

  But Jack had put himself through enough for one day. At his request they took a taxi back to the Old Quarter, and once the driver was out of sight they walked to a run-down hotel in Gros—one that Julio promised was discreet and never more than a third full. As with the car there had been no pre-booking. They paid cash, and Miguel added a generous bonus to the modest room charge.

  They left early the following morning without giving the day staff time to react to their presence. Jack had clearly not had enough sleep, but of all of them he seemed the keenest to find a comfortable place to sit and resume his story.

  Julio was less enthusiastic. He seemed to feel they had taken an unnecessary risk coming into the city at all, and particularly spending a night there. The thought of sitting for perhaps two or three hours in a bar, where they might be recognised, seemed reckless to him.

  In the end, Jack broke the stalemate by suggesting that they cross the river to the secluded university campus. Once there, sitting on a bench in the open air with coffee purchased from the bar, they found themselves surrounded by milling students and staff. “This could be a long session,” Jack warned, ”but there’s a pretty clear shape emerging in my head and I don’t think you’ll get bored.”

  JAMES

  From the viewpoint of a smoke-filled room in the middle of nowhere, the plan had seemed simple and elegant. Now, in the heart of the city, it looked much harder to pull off. My protectors would have to stay well back to avoid being spotted, but move into position very quickly once Adolfo appeared. And if the traffic was heavy, he might shoot me on the spot rather than risk an abduction attempt.

  As it turned out, there was a more serious hazard; Adolfo was both smarter and angrier than we had bargained for. I was awakened in the small hours of the morning by raised voices. I lay there in my bunk, trying to work out what the argument was about, when suddenly there was a loud thud and the shouting stopped. Two or three others propped themselves up in bed, but one by one they settled down again.

  I knew immediately what the disturbance was about. I thought of creating a diversion – maybe letting off the fire alarm – but I already felt responsible for several deaths, and if people started milling around in a panic there would probably be more. Besides, my best chance of survival lay in stretching things out. I went and stood just inside the door from reception and called out, “Hey, I’m in here. Give me a minute.”

  A vaguely familiar voice came from outside. “You have exactly one minute to get your belongings together and come out. Otherwise I am coming in, and that will be the worse for you and others.”

  I had to tell myself not to believe that he was offering me any hope. I knew he would use all kinds of promises and threats to ensure my cooperation, but that whatever happened it was going to be the worse for me unless my allies came through very quickly.

  “Come now,” called the voice after a few seconds. Leaving my possessions on the bunk, I cautiously stepped out into the foyer and gazed into the face of Pepe, my generous Navarrese taxi-driving friend from the train. He still looked a reasonable and pleasant man, and this was probably his most effective weapon—but the unusual looking pistol in his hand came a close second.

  “Excuse me, Pepe,” I said. “I need the lavatory. Would you mind waiting for a moment.”

  He looked annoyed. “My name is Adolfo,” he said curtly. “And from now on you will speak only when I tell you to.” Even so, he gave a little twitch of his gun towards the restroom door.

  I had no idea how long I could delay our departure, but I waited about three minutes before making a great rustle of paper and flushing the lavatory twice. I felt curiously at peace. I simply had to keep stretching things out and trust other people. Delaying tactics came easily to me, trust less so.

  Eventually I emerged from the washroom and walked over to my erstwhile friend. He inclined his head towards the exit, and I walked slowly towards the main door
s. He kept a vice-like grip on my wrist as he led me to his car, a black SEAT saloon that I recognised in the faint wash of artificial light as an unmarked police vehicle. I was ushered into the rear seats and fastened in place with a pair of handcuffs attached to the floor by a length of chain. He said nothing, simply slamming the door on me and getting into the driver’s seat. He fished the keys out of his pocket but before he could insert one into the lock there was a sharp sound like a stone hitting the outside of the car.

  I knew my allies must be nearby, and I guessed it was a signal. But what could they possibly expect me to do when I was chained up in the back of a car? There was only one move I could possibly make. As Adolfo put the car into gear, I risked speaking again: “Do you mind if I lie down? I’m so tired.”

  “Go on, lie down, sleep,” he answered. “I don’t want you nodding off tomorrow. We have a lot to discuss.”

  With that I lay down on the bench seat, and no sooner had I done so than the rear windscreen burst in and showered me with pebbles of glass. Then I was thrown violently around as the engine noise rose to a howl and Adolfo let up the clutch in a roar of gravel. The rear end of the car fishtailed from side to side as it picked up speed, and then we were tearing up the main avenue towards the city centre. My heart sank lower still as I heard gunfire coming from behind us. I guessed that Adolfo had positioned his men in such a way as to prevent anyone from following.

  He drove round in a wide circle before heading out of the city to the south.

  As the dawn light grew I examined the chain securing me to the floor, but it was made of steel links attached to the chassis by a large bolt, and I pulled until my head throbbed without having the slightest effect. I recognised the outlying town of Hernani as we passed through it, and I briefly wondered why I had not been blindfolded before realising with a chill that this was meant to be a one-way journey.