Weak light from a single bulb threw angular shadows over the cheap furniture as he lay on the bed in his squalid room, unable to sleep. The mattress was hard and the pillow smelled of ancient sweat and tobacco. As he rolled onto his back, he saw a large carved effigy of the crucified Christ on the wall above. If that fell, it would kill him. The thought amused him.
Outside, the rain had stopped and a languid breeze stirred the faded curtains. Through the window, he heard the slow rhythm of breaking waves. Irritated, Guzmán stormed across the room and slammed the shutters. Freed from the disturbing cadences of the sea, he sank into his habitual dreams of gunfire, explosions and screaming.
VILLARREAL, 8 MARCH 1937
Most of the prisoners were killed at once, avoiding the inconvenience of guarding them.
Those chosen were forced to their knees as the legionnaires took up position behind them, waiting as their officer lit his cigarette before he gave the order to fire. Moments later, four were left alive. The Poet, the woman and two others. They would be questioned later.
The woman was allowed to carry her baby. If she tried to flee she would not get far.
Two hours later, the enemy camp emerged from the mist, a sprawl of dark vehicles, long rows of tents and sandbagged gun emplacements a hundred metres from a ruined village. As they walked, some of the Moors baited the woman with dark threats of what awaited her. Unimpressed, she cursed their mothers, colourfully and without repetition. She was still cursing as the prisoners were bundled down a flight of steps into the cellar of a ruined building.
The men were bound to chairs retrieved from the rubble. Unsure what to do with the woman and her baby, the Moors pushed her onto a chair and left her cradling the infant, staring at her captors with icy hatred. She had no illusions about her fate. It was usual to let the Moors have captured militia women. Few survived that and those who did were killed anyway.
The Moors snapped to attention as their officer came stamping down into the cellar. A tall, sullen-faced teniente. He took the woman by the arm and led her up the stairs. The Moors laughed, guessing the officer’s intention. Rank always had its privileges.
Outside, the teniente directed the woman along the side of the house until they were out of sight of the camp. She sat on a low wall, amusing the baby with her rag doll. Once he was certain they could not be overhead, the teniente finally spoke.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
She tilted her head to one side. A familiar gesture. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing, chico.’
2
MADRID, JULY 2010, CALLE MONTERA
To the women on the street she was Gabriela. To the men who came to buy, she was nothing. As she looked away from the road she caught her reflection in the grimy window of a tattoo parlour, a vague image sketched in dark lines and muted tones. A short, clinging dress, high heels, her pale face indistinct in the smeared glass. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the man across the street waving impatiently towards the intersection with the main road. She knew what that meant. It was time to sell herself.
Gabriela teetered towards the kerb, unsteady on the cheap high heels. From here, it was a five-minute walk into the heart of Madrid for tourists. But the sightseers on this street weren’t interested in shopping or culture. They came to buy women.
This was a feeling she would never get used to, waiting by the kerb as the cars rolled by, drivers inspecting her with the same attention they gave to buying a shirt. Probably less.
A green SEAT Ibiza pulled up. The driver kept the engine running, beckoning her with his finger. Gabriela started walking towards the car.
‘Oyes, niña.’ It was the black girl a few metres up the street. She lowered her voice. ‘I know that one. Be careful, he’s weird.’
Gabriela smiled. They were all fucking weird as far as she was concerned.
The man leaned through the window to look her over. ‘Got a name, princesa?’
She stayed half a metre from the car. ‘Gabriela.’
‘How much?’ He lifted his right hand, letting her see the thick wad of euros. She wasn’t impressed. He had no intention of paying her that.
‘For what?’ She put her hand on her hip and stared at him, pale but defiant.
‘Anal.’ Like he was ordering pizza.
‘Thirty.’
He grinned. ‘Fifty and forget the condom.’
‘OK.’ Across the street, a fair-haired woman stepped off the pavement as Gabriela opened the car door and bent to climb inside. A sudden surprised gasp as the man leaned forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her off balance. A sharp pain shot through her side as he dragged her into the car, trying to push her down between the passenger seat and the dash, out of sight. ‘Keep quiet, puta,’ he muttered, ‘or I’ll cut you.’
She stopped struggling and let herself fall against him, the sudden impact making him loosen his grip. She pressed her foot against the dashboard, keeping her weight pressed against him, as she fumbled in her belt.
‘Keep still, you little whore,’ he muttered, trying to get a grip on her arm.
Gabriela twisted round, pushing the muzzle of the pistol into his face. ‘Move and I’ll blow your fucking head off.’
He looked at her, eyes wide, his mouth sagging open.
She heard footsteps and then the driver’s door was wrenched open and the fair-haired woman leaned in, pressing her service pistol against the back of the man’s head.
‘Take the money.’ His voice was trembling.
‘We’re not robbing you, cabrón,’ the woman said. ‘Guardia civil: you’re under arrest.’ He didn’t resist as she dragged him from the car and cuffed his hands behind his back. Gabriela got out, noticing the women lining the street a few moments ago had slipped away.
The blonde woman was frisking the driver. ‘Well, well.’ She turned to Gabriela. ‘Look what your friend’s carrying.’ She threw a large paper bag down onto the pavement.
Gabriela picked it up and examined the wraps of kitchen foil. ‘Looks like coke to me.’
‘I think you’re right.’ Eva nodded. ‘There’s a lot of it.’
‘It’s only for personal use,’ the man protested.
Gabriela shrugged. ‘There’s enough here to charge you with dealing.’ She gave him a contemptuous look as she took an evidence bag from her pocket and bagged up the wraps. ‘Not your lucky day, amigo.’
A green and white patrol car stopped at the kerb. Gabriela watched the driver as she got out. A tall black woman wearing sergeant’s stripes.
‘Hey, Mendez,’ Eva called. ‘Still living the life of luxury up in HQ? When are you going to get a proper job?’
‘Fuck you too.’ Mendez grinned. She looked at Gabriela. ‘Had a makeover, Ana María?’ She raised her hand to her mouth. ‘Or should I call you Gabriela?’
‘Very funny,’ Galíndez said. ‘Did you drive here just to admire my clothes?’
‘Hardly.’ Mendez noticed the prisoner. ‘Who’s your friend?’
‘He tried to buy her sexual services.’ Eva nodded towards Galíndez.
‘Jesús, was that ever a mistake,’ Mendez laughed. Another patrol car drew up behind her vehicle. Two uniformed officers came over and took the prisoner to the car.
‘You’re wanted at HQ, Ana,’ Mendez said, as they watched the patrol car drive off.
‘Who wants me?’ Galíndez asked.
‘Apparently the disciplinary board have reached a decision about you’
‘Shit.’ Galíndez was suddenly attentive. ‘Do you know what it is?’
Mendez shrugged. ‘Hop in the car and let’s find out.’
‘Is that OK, Eva?’ Galíndez asked. ‘I’ve still got twenty minutes of my shift left.’
‘Go ahead, Ana. You’ve done a good job here. I know this wasn’t your first choice.’
Galíndez shrugged. ‘It was my only choice.’
‘Good luck with the board,’ Eva said. ‘I sent them a glowing report on your work.’
She fastened her seat belt. ‘So you’ve no idea what their decision is?’
Mendez pulled away and drove past the women now taking up their places again at the side of the road. ‘It’s one of two things, Ana. You’re fired or you’re not. You could flip a coin.’
Galíndez thought about it. ‘I’d rather not.’
MADRID 2010, CUARTEL GENERAL DE LA GUARDIA CIVIL
Galíndez came out of the locker room and went back across the corridor into the forensics office. Mendez was waiting by her desk.
Mendez wolf-whistled. ‘Look at you. When was the last time you wore uniform, Ana?’
Galíndez frowned, self-conscious. ‘A while.’ She smoothed her shirt. ‘Do I look OK?’
‘Christ,’ Mendez said, ‘it’s only Capitán Fuentes. You’re not scared of him, are you?’
‘I’m worried about what he’s going to tell me.’
‘Better get it over with then.’ Mendez pointed to the capitán’s glass-walled office at the far end of the main room. ‘Don’t keep him waiting.’
Galíndez paused outside the office and took a deep breath. She knocked on the door and went in.
‘Ana.’ Fuentes came out from behind his desk to shake hands. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Thanks, I’m pretty much back to normal.’ That wasn’t entirely true, though it was better not to say so.
Fuentes beckoned her to the visitor’s chair and went back behind his desk. She saw the brown envelope on his desk and swallowed.
‘Don’t look like that.’ Fuentes smiled as he slipped a sheet of paper from the envelope. ‘I don’t bite.’
‘Sorry, jefe, I’m just tense. This thing’s been hanging over me for months.’
‘I hear you did a good job in Vice,’ Fuentes said. ‘That was a good move to offer to help them out while they’re short-staffed. The disciplinary board were impressed.’
‘I hope they were impressed with other aspects of my career as well?’
‘They cleared you of breaking the guardia code of conduct, if that’s what you were wondering about?’ Fuentes grinned. ‘You’re reinstated, Ana. Welcome back.’
Galíndez lifted a hand to her face and wiped the corner of her eye. ‘Just like that?’
‘Your uncle Ramiro explained to the board how you were sent to the comisaría to investigate certain things relating to extremist terrorism. He may even have used the words Al Qaeda, I’m not entirely sure.’
‘And the unauthorised firearm charge?’
‘It was authorised,’ Fuentes said, expressionless. ‘I only found the paperwork recently, it had fallen down behind my desk.’
Galíndez’s eyes widened. She knew there’d been no paperwork. ‘You’re saying that you both covered for me?’
Fuentes looked down for a moment. ‘No, Ana, I’m not saying that and neither is General Ortiz. What’s happened is that we clarified the circumstances around the explosion in Guzmán’s comisaría. And because everything has been clarified, you keep your job. Understood?’
There was only one possible answer and she gave it. ‘I understand perfectly, jefe.’
‘Naturally, because of the security aspect, all of this will be kept secret.’ He toyed with the papers on his desk, distracted. ‘Your father and I were friends, Ana. He’d have done the same if the situation was reversed, as would Ramiro.’
Galíndez sat back in her chair, suddenly relaxed. ‘I bet you, Dad and Ramiro were like the three musketeers back in the day, boss.’
Fuentes’ eyes twinkled. ‘Something like that, Ana. We all joined up around the same time, Ramiro in seventy-eight and your dad and me in seventy-nine.’
‘So you were friends with Ramiro when his children died?’
‘That’s right.’ Fuentes nodded. ‘That was awful. Everyone wanted to help but you know what he’s like, he does things his way. Does he ever talk about it?’
Galíndez shook her head. ‘No, never.’ She bit her lip. ‘We’re not on very good terms at the moment, after what happened last year. And there was the incident when I left hospital.’
‘You mean when he punched that reporter?’ Fuentes laughed. ‘It served him right for shoving his mic in your face.’
‘Ramiro punched him on national TV, boss. He lost the NATO job because of it.’ She sighed. ‘He must have thought he was back in the eighties with you and my dad.’
‘It was another world back then.’ Fuentes sat back, remembering. ‘Madrid was like the wild west. Franco had only been dead three years. No one knew if the army would stage a coup and the politicians weren’t sure what to do next.’
‘It must have been weird,’ Galíndez agreed, ‘given that Franco had used the guardia to keep him in power for so long.’
Fuentes nodded. ‘True. In fact, some of the jobs we got were still connected to the old regime. Have you heard of the pensioners’ deliveries?’
She shook her head.
‘Unofficial payments to retired guardia officers,’ Fuentes said, a little uncomfortable. ‘For services rendered to the regime. Dirty tricks, rough stuff, maybe even murder, for all I know. The payments were always in cash and they assigned the monthly deliveries to new recruits like your dad and me. Miguel had quite a few on his list. He used to have this joke, he called them La Docena Sucia – like that American film, The Dirty Dozen. Because I was a rookie, I only got one.’
‘Did you know what your guy did to deserve the extra money?’
‘No idea. He was an old Dutchman, Herr Linderman. He was a nasty piece of work. I dropped off his money every month for nearly three years and he never once said thanks. One day, I arrived to make the delivery and found him dead in his chair.’ He smiled. ‘Sorry, Ana. Here I am going on about the past and I’ve not even asked how you are.’
‘I’m feeling great,’ Galíndez said, ‘especially now I know I’m not going to be fired.’
‘I think you can go far in the guardia, Ana. You’ve got your dad’s energy,’ Fuentes said, suddenly serious. ‘But there’s a condition attached to you coming back and it’s from the top so please don’t argue.’ He gave her a long look. ‘It’s the Guzmán investigation.’
‘What about it?’ She jerked forward, suddenly tense.
‘It’s over. The guardia directorate don’t think it’s worth the trouble of pursuing a long-dead secret policeman.’
‘But the public want to know what happened to him.’
‘Actually, you want to know what happened to him, Ana María. I don’t think most of the public care one way or the other.’ He saw her expression. ‘Christ, you’ve kept your job. Be thankful. The Guzmán investigation wasn’t going anywhere in any case.’ He looked down at the paper on his desk. ‘The directorate also took an interest in this right-wing group you thought were watching you, the Centinelas?’
She stared, suddenly anxious, trying to keep her voice natural. ‘What about them?’
‘We made extensive inquiries. They don’t exist.’
‘But Judge Delgado was investigating them.’ Galíndez frowned. ‘I gave him some evidence about them.’
‘Don’t you read the news? Judge Delgado was impeached for improper use of public funds six weeks ago. I think you’ll find he’s going to be occupied for quite some time as he tries to clear his name. Those cases go on for ever.’
‘But we also had Guzmán’s diary,’ Galíndez persisted. ‘It was written in code.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’ Fuentes opened a drawer and took out a slim package wrapped in brown paper. ‘Here, you can keep it. You were right, it seemed to be in code but cryptographics finally concluded that it’s just a diary.’ He slide the package towards her. ‘The message from the top is no more Guzmán.’ He met her gaze and held it. ‘Got that?’
Galíndez chewed her knuckle, wondering whether to argue. ‘I’ve got it, jefe.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Fuentes said, more cheerful. ‘On a different note, I wondered if you’d like to come over to our place for a meal? Mercedes thought after all that’s happened, you might like some home cooking. Would Sunday suit you?’
‘That would be great, jefe. I haven’t seen your girls since you brought them in last year.’
‘They’ve grown.’ Fuentes smiled, ‘and they’re twice as much trouble. Inés still wants to be a forensic scientist.’
‘She’s a bright girl.’ Galíndez nodded. ‘Should I go and start work, then?’
‘Not yet. You’ve some leave left over from last year. I think you ought to take it.’
‘But I’ve only just come back.’
‘I think you’re going to want to take a couple of days off.’ Fuentes waved to someone standing outside the office. The door opened and Mendez came in.
‘Has she recovered from the shock?’ Mendez asked.
Fuentes nodded. ‘I think so, Sargento. Probably time to give her another, I think.’
Mendez held out a file. ‘Present for you, Ana.’
Galíndez opened the file. ‘What’s this, a welcome-back card?’
‘We got a message from a guardia post in the Basque country,’ Mendez said. ‘The boss thought you might be interested.’
‘And what was this message from Euskadi?’ The change in Galíndez’s voice as she pronounced the Basque word wasn’t lost on the other two. They knew how she felt about Basques. After what had happened to her father, no one blamed her.
‘Just this and that.’ Mendez smiled, noncommittal.
‘I’m not going to beg.’
‘Jesús, just tell her, will you?’ Fuentes grumbled.
‘OK,’ Mendez said. ‘I got a call from a Sargento Atienza. He’s based near a place called Legutio. It’s near Vitoria. There’s a reservoir with water sports, fishing and stuff.’
The Exile Page 3