The Exile

by Mark Oldfield

  One of the students raised her hand. ‘May we ask questions now, Doctora Galíndez?’

  ‘I suppose.’ Galíndez nodded.

  She spent the next ten minutes dealing with questions about methods, about using the software and discussing the problems researchers encountered with various types of data. As she got onto the topic of advanced data analysis techniques, she decided to call a halt to things.

  ‘Will you be demonstrating those techniques later?’ someone asked. It took Galíndez a moment to identify the source of the voice, finally realising it came from one of the students sitting cross-legged at her feet.

  ‘We still have more letters to code first. When you’ve finished entering them, I’ll take you through the analysis step by step if you want.’

  The students’ enthusiastic response told her the answer to that.

  ‘You love your work, don’t you?’ Claudia said as the students went back to their desks and started work again. ‘Not everyone likes to share their knowledge like you do.’

  Galíndez looked at her, surprised. Knowledge was the only thing she was willing to share with anyone these days.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ Isabel asked, seeing the empty room.

  Galíndez looked up from a desk filled with piles of printouts, the tables and figures circled and annotated in red ink. ‘There’s a compulsory lecture for the statistics students this afternoon,’ she said. ‘And Claudia went home, she felt ill.’

  ‘No wonder, after the amount she drank last night.’ Isabel smiled. ‘She’ll sleep it off, that’s one of the great things about being young.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Galíndez’s fingers rattled on the keyboard and the printer stuttered into life, spilling new sheets of graphs and tables across the desk.

  Isabel came nearer. ‘Looks like you’ve been busy.’

  ‘So have you, I hear,’ Galíndez said, without looking up.

  ‘Are you still mad at me, Ana?’

  ‘Since you ask, I don’t think much of your behaviour,’ Galíndez said. ‘It was inappropriate.’

  ‘I put my arm round you. No one died. Can’t we move on?’

  Galíndez finally looked up. ‘I’m talking about you taking Claudia out, getting her drunk and then spending the night with her. She’s a student. That’s the sort of thing Luisa would do.’

  ‘Claudia spent the night at my place because she was blind drunk.’ Isabel laughed. ‘I told her to slow down but you know what? She’s twenty-two. That’s what people do when they’re at university. She gave Galíndez a long look. ‘Normally.’

  Galíndez looked down at her screen. ‘Even so.’

  ‘What?’ Isabel sighed, exasperated. ‘I phoned her boyfriend this morning and he came over to pick her up.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’ Galíndez saved her file. ‘You shouldn’t have let her drink so much.’

  ‘Por Dios, she’s young. Didn’t you ever get wasted when you were at uni?’

  ‘Not really.’ She frowned. ‘Once or twice.’ She saw Isabel’s look. ‘A few times, maybe.’

  ‘Feel free to apologise.’ Isabel pulled up a chair. ‘I think you’re jealous because I went out and had a good time while you were home poring over trichotomous outcomes.’

  ‘Dichotomous actually,’ Galíndez muttered.

  ‘Come on, loosen up, Ana,’ Isabel said. ‘This investigation is depressing enough without us being miserable. You’re usually happy when you’re knee-deep in figures.’

  ‘Someone’s got to do it.’ Galíndez gave her a reluctant smile. ‘But you’re right about not letting it get us down.’ She pointed to one the papers on her desk, a set of tables, surrounded by scrawled notes in red ink and flurries of exclamation marks. ‘We’ve got all the letters coded now, it’s starting to get exciting.’

  ‘Exciting?’ Isabel looked dubiously at the printouts. ‘You’d better explain it to me. Though without the numbers.’ She noticed something lurking under one of Galíndez’s printouts. ‘And if you’re leaving that sandwich, I’ll have it.’

  Galíndez retrieved the plate from under her papers and pushed it across the desk.

  ‘So, what is it you’ve been doing?’ Isabel asked.

  ‘Logistic regression.’ Galíndez pointed to the printout. ‘It identifies items of data that predict a particular outcome like yes or no, buy or don’t buy, that kind of thing. In our data the outcome is whether or not parents who made a complaint about their child’s death were killed after the letter was sent.’

  Isabel’s eyes widened. ‘Strangely, Ana, I understood that. Keep it at that level.’

  Galíndez leaned forward, using her pen to point to the figures in the table. ‘Out of all the factors we’ve got in our database, six things most accurately predict the subsequent death of the parents. The likelihood of getting these results by chance is about one in a hundred thousand. Since it’s highly unlikely they occurred randomly, we can infer there’s a relationship between the type of clinic and the death of the parents.’

  Factors in Letters Increasing the Likelihood of Parental Death

  Sig. Odds Ratio Change in Likelihood of death

  Private Clinic *** 2.0 + 100%

  Church-run Clinic *** 1.8 +80%

  Single mother *** 1.7 +70%

  Threat to complain to media *** 1.47 +47%

  Complaint to Policía/Guardia *** 1.36 +36%

  Working Class *** 1.25 +25%

  *** p < .0001

  ‘Which is good, right?’

  ‘It suggests the deaths weren’t random,’ Galíndez agreed. ‘It’s not conclusive proof.’

  ‘And what does that thing, the Odds Ratio mean?’

  ‘It’s an indication of how much a particular factor affects the likelihood of the outcome,’ said Galíndez. ‘If the Odds Ratio is one, there’s no change in outcome. If it’s less than one, the likelihood of the outcome is reduced and an Odds Ratio greater than one indicates an increase in the likelihood of the outcome.’

  Galíndez saw Isabel’s dazed expression. ‘OK, look at the column on the far right. It shows the percentage change in the likelihood of parental death. See what I mean? If someone’s baby was stolen in a private clinic, the odds of them being killed goes up by a hundred per cent; in a clinic run by the Church, the odds are increased by eighty per cent. Parents who threatened to complain to the media also had a forty-seven per cent increased likelihood of dying and those who complained to the police or guardia civil increased their chances of death by thirty-six per cent. Lastly, working-class parents had a twenty-five per cent greater increase in the odds of the parents dying.’

  ‘Jesús Cristo,’ Isabel muttered. ‘You can explain all that from a set of numbers?’

  ‘It’s not proof, but it shows we should focus our investigation on private clinics.’

  Isabel peered at the screen. ‘So why are single mothers more likely to be killed?’

  Galíndez shrugged. ‘It’s just conjecture, but I’d say because it’s because they’d be more vulnerable and easier to get at.’

  ‘Can we use these to get the people running the clinics arrested?’

  ‘It will take too long,’ Galíndez said. ‘We have to make the case to the prosecutor. Then we’d have to obtain warrants to examine their records.’ She chewed her lip. ‘Rosario Calderón wants our findings before the election.’

  ‘But that’s only a few weeks away,’ said Isabel. ‘We can’t check out all the clinics and hospitals in Madrid in that time.’

  ‘We won’t need to. Calderón wants something to illustrate what happened. As long as we can present clear-cut evidence about our findings, she’ll have to set up an inquiry or send in the police. Then she’ll get her wish – it will make her look good.’

  ‘Can you do that?’ Isabel wondered. ‘Give her clear-cut evidence, I mean.’

  Galíndez searched through her papers. ‘It would be a good start if we focused on the hospital with the highest rate of child thefts and took it from there.’

  Isa
bel nodded. ‘No time like the present. Shall we get started?’

  ‘I already have.’ Galíndez pushed a sheet of paper across the desk. ‘This shows the differences in the likelihood of parental death for different obstetric units in the Madrid area. These results are highly unlikely to have occurred by chance. Look at the figure I’ve circled.’

  Obstetric Favility & Likelihood of Parental Death

  Sig. Odds Ratio Increase in Likelihood of Parental death

  GL Sanidad *** 2.90 + 190%

  Hospital Santa Clara *** 1.80 +80%

  Clínica de La Virgen *** 1.60 +60%

  Hospital San Antonio *** 1.56 +56%

  Grupo Salud *** 1.20 +20%

  Hospital Manzanares *** 1.13 +13%

  *** p < .0001

  ‘Mierda,’ Isabel muttered. ‘So anyone complaining about a child theft to GL Sanidad had an increased risk of being killed?’

  ‘Absolutamente. Complaining to GL increased the likelihood of them dying by one hundred and ninety per cent. And these figures only relate to GL’s clinics in Madrid. Imagine if we could get hold of the figures for the entire country.’

  ‘So how many deaths are we talking about for GL’s Madrid operation?’

  ‘Of those who complained to GL between 1957 and 1994, around one thousand five hundred died,’ said Galíndez. ‘And don’t forget our data is based on people who complained. There could be others who had a child stolen but didn’t complain.’

  ‘Surely this is enough to call in the policía?’ Isabel asked.

  ‘First, I want to know more about GL Sanidad.’ Galíndez bent over her laptop and searched for the GL website. ‘Here they are. Their HQ is in an industrial park in San Fernando de Henares. And look.’ She pointed to a colour photo on the website. ‘The chief executive is someone called Jesper Karlsson.’

  Isabel leaned over her shoulder to look at the photograph. ‘Why is he orange?’

  Galíndez laughed as she took her phone from her pocket and called GL Sanidad. ‘I’ll ask him, shall I?’ She stopped laughing as someone answered. ‘Hola, may I speak to Señor Karlsson, please? This is Agent Galíndez of the guardia civil. Yes, it’s extremely urgent.’ She looked up at Isabel and winked as the receptionist put her through. ‘Good afternoon, Señor Karlsson.’

  MADRID 2010, AVENIDA DE ASTRONOMÍA, SAN FERNANDO DE HENARES

  The industrial park was a wasteland of barren fields crosscut by wide roads serving clusters of industrial buildings, warehouses and offices separated by wide open spaces where building work had stopped overnight when the economy nosedived. Immobile cranes next to half-completed buildings in the distance, dark skeletal outlines against the bright sky, more casualties of the recession. Galíndez slowed at an intersection, waiting as a large tanker rattled past, shrouding her car in a greasy haze of exhaust fumes. Ahead, isolated among the squares of unused land, she saw a gleaming white building, with black glass windows. A large sign across the front: GL Sanidad (España).

  She parked near the GL building and walked across the car park, seeing the distant cranes wavering in the burning air. As she approached, the entrance doors glided open, closing with a gentle whisper behind her. Inside, the air-conditioned building was cool and quiet, occasionally disturbed by the ringing of a phone. Even the staff talked in hushed voices, she noticed as the receptionist directed her to an expensive black leather chair in the lobby. Minutes later, she heard footsteps as the chief executive came to greet her.

  ‘Dr Galíndez? Jesper Karlsson.’

  Karlsson was tall, in his mid-forties, Galíndez guessed as she shook his hand. He had a tan that was either fake or the result of some serious sunbathing. From his name, she guessed he was Swedish, though there was barely a hint of an accent in his voice. He led her to an elaborate lift constructed entirely from glass and gleaming steel, showcasing the movement of the winch mechanism as they glided up to the second floor.

  Karlsson showed her into his office. The outer wall was made of dark glass, giving an eerie, shadowed view out over the strange post-nuclear landscape of the industrial park. Once she was seated, Karlsson reclined in his designer chair, anxious to get down to business. As she explained the purpose of her investigation, she noticed he wasn’t good on eye contact.

  ‘So how can I help, Doctora Galíndez?’ Karlsson asked.

  His attitude soon changed as Galíndez told him about the letters of complaint and the high rate of death among the parents. He made the right noises, but said nothing to suggest he was going to assist in any way.

  ‘Complaints are usually dealt with by individual clinics,’ Karlsson said. ‘It’s rare we need to deal with them here, unless they involve litigation.’

  Galíndez leaned forward a little. ‘Why would anyone take legal action against you?’

  Karlsson gave her a tight smile. ‘On rare occasions, staff might not handle a procedure as well as they might: putting in stitches after an episiotomy, for example. Patients are frequently nervous in childbirth so even the smallest error takes on great significance and for some people their first reaction is to sue.’

  ‘I presume you keep records of your correspondence?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not for very long. Unless the correspondence involves legal action, we only keep it for a year or two.’

  ‘What about parents complaining their child has been stolen?’

  Karlsson’s face showed the first sign of discomfort since she’d arrived. ‘I imagine you’re referring to the stolen children of the Franco era?’ An irritated tone to his voice now. ‘I don’t know anything about what happened during the dictatorship. I’ve been CEO here for three years and we haven’t had a single complaint relating to babies going missing from our clinics during that time. It was a long time ago, Dr Galíndez. We live in different times now, thank goodness. Frankly, it’s ancient history.’

  ‘You don’t seem concerned that your predecessors may have been involved in a major crime, Señor Karlsson.’

  ‘I don’t like your insinuation,’ Karlsson said. ‘Those things happened before you were even born. Quite frankly, I can’t see much point to your investigation. You’ve looked at some old data, misinterpreted the results and then blundered in here to see what you can find to back up your mistaken ideas.’

  ‘So you won’t cooperate?’ She went to the water cooler to get a drink. ‘That won’t look good in the press.’ An innocent smile. ‘It’s funny how they hear about these things so quickly.’

  Karlsson sighed. ‘Why don’t you go back to your investigation and carry on wasting your time on a spurious theory about parents dying because they wrote a letter years ago. You do that and I won’t complain to your bosses at the guardia civil.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Just so you know, young lady, I’m a personal friend of General Ramiro Ortiz. Piss me off any more and I’ll make a call and you can explain to him what you’re doing here. How would you like that?’

  Galíndez stared at him. Young lady? Hijo de puta. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘OK, but remember, you brought this on yourself.’ Karlsson reached for his phone and pressed a quick dial number. Galíndez heard a gruff bark as Ramiro answered.

  ‘Ramiro? It’s Jesper Karlsson. Karlsson, remember? Jesper Karlsson, GL Sanidad?’

  Galíndez listened to Karlsson denouncing her. Mainly he was correct, though she thought he exaggerated her lack of courtesy somewhat.

  Karlsson finished his list of grievances against her and she watched his smile vanish as he listened to the barrage of invective coming down the line. By the time Ramiro was done, Karlsson was sweating. He managed a stammered adiós and handed her the phone.

  ‘Buenas tardes, mi General,’ Galíndez said.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody formal, Ana María,’ Ramiro bellowed. ‘I don’t know why you’re threatening the head of the biggest medical group in Spain, but you’ll find he’s willing to cooperate now.’

  ‘I haven’t threatened him.’

  ‘No? Well, I just did. I told the oily bastard
if he obstructs you in any way, you’re taking him to HQ in handcuffs. You can Taser him if you like.’

  ‘I see.’ Galíndez noticed Karlsson wiping his face with a handkerchief. ‘Is there a reason for that assessment?’

  ‘He’s listening, is he?’ Ramiro growled. ‘There’s a very good reason, which is why I’m giving you permission to beat the crap out of him if he resists.’

  ‘Why is that?’ Galíndez asked, giving Karlsson a cheery smile.

  ‘He’s a big contributor to Rosario Calderón’s election campaign. Trying to buy favours, I reckon.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Galíndez muttered, watching Karlsson squirm as he wondered what Ramiro was saying. ‘I’ll let you know how things progress, General.’

  ‘Progress your boot up his arse. That should get his attention. Hasta pronto.’

  ‘A sus ordenes, mi General,’ Galíndez said. By then, Ramiro had hung up. She handed Karlsson’s phone back. ‘General Ortiz says you’ll cooperate?’

  ‘Of course,’ Karlsson muttered. ‘There’s been a misunderstanding, that’s all.’

  ‘Good, I’ll email you a list of the information I want later today,’ Galíndez said. ‘I’d also like details of the owners of this company.’

  His face fell. ‘Not without a court order.’

  ‘No problem. I can have one issued and delivered here within the hour and I’ll make sure it’s accompanied by a team of forensic accountants. It shouldn’t take them more than a couple of months to check your financial records.’

  Karlsson’s jaw sagged. ‘That would send our share price into a nosedive.’

  ‘I’m sure it will recover,’ Galíndez said. ‘Eventually.’

  He backed off. ‘I’m not trying to be difficult. The truth is, I don’t know who owns GL Sanidad. I take my instructions from a holding company.’