Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit

by Charles Brett

  Alberto appeared before her to suggest going to his parents' home to shower and change. This was different, and not entirely welcome. Emilia had not been invited back to his house before. The notion of appearing in sweat-sodden exercise clothes for a first meeting with his parents definitely lacked appeal. Although she did have her change of clothes with her, because she was moving between Ana and Davide's tonight, his suggestion failed to excite.

  "Don't look so worried, Emilia. My parents will be at the theatre by the time we get there. I thought ..."

  His voice trailed off at the manifest uncertainty on Emilia's face.

  "No; it's a good idea. Let's go out for some fun afterwards. I feel the need to have a few drinks and a good time. Okay, Alberto, let's do it your way. Who knows? I might even tell you more of what I am doing at work!"

  Emilia had been just about been able to resist the temptation to tease him about what she was working on, and she was now careful not to say too much again.

  Alberto relaxed. He did want her to meet his parents. Actually, he wanted them to meet her even more. All they knew was that she was Australian and that they had met at work. So far, this was good enough. It was as well that they did not know what else he and she 'got up to', which he loved, but would shock them. She was so inventive.

  Tuesday: Madrid

  In the evening Juez Garibey de Williams took his favourite table at the small restaurant round the corner from his apartment in Orense. His wife had gone to visit an old friend, sadly constrained to a hospital bed after some serious surgery, the cause of which was never specified. He suspected a malignant disease. He also suspected his wife thought the same or knew, yet nothing was ever said.

  He ordered a salad, which the chef here did rather better than was usual in Madrid or most parts of Spain. It was not the tired lettuce with tasteless tomato accompanied by tinned asparagus, tinned tuna, tinned maize and tinned anything else that so many places in Spain seemed to believe made a worthwhile salad. Here each day the salad was different and almost always tasty. He rejoiced in anticipation of the unexpected.

  To follow he ordered a well-done solomillo de cerdo. A good pork steak was his favourite. To accompany his meal he chose a Crianza from Rioja. He knew he would not finish it and that ordering a bottle was an indulgence. But a freshly-opened wine always tasted better than a glass from a bottle first used at lunch or left over from the previous evening – however well stoppered.

  The wine tasted fine. He took another sip and thought about the sequence of what he had set in motion with Pedro.

  He had authorised the separation of the investigation into two teams. Today he had supervised the issuing of formal invitations to the senior financial officers at CE, MMM and ServiArquitectos, for their attendance at his Sala next week. After much debate he had chosen to phrase the summons as being about past payments and little more.

  The positive aspect was that the executives would be ill prepared and therefore would not know what he was going to ask. The negative was that, given two of the organisations had overhauled their management teams in recent years, they would have to go away and research the answers to his questions. The exception was ServiArquitectos whose head of finance had been there for more than a decade. She ought to know something.

  In any case, by the end of next week, Pedro's teams should have access to the complete accounts of all three of the companies, assuming they cooperated. He could not think of any good reasons why they would not. Yet surprises were an ongoing aspect of his job.

  Pedro had also convinced him that it was time to see Márquez. Las Australianas, as Pedro liked to refer to them, were making progress but no breakthrough had emerged. The team needed something more. There were the previously discussed risks about questioning Márquez too soon, as she might clam up. But there was also the chance that an appearance might disorient her sufficiently to make a mistake. He was prepared to offer some form of deal if she would cooperate. The key issue was determining how vulnerable she was and whether she understood how potentially perilous her position was.

  As so often, when it came to swimming deeper in murky waters where all was not clear in advance, Jueces de Instrucción sometimes had to go out on a limb. What worried him more was that the interrogatory process would leak. In theory everything was confidential until he chose otherwise. In practice all Salas leaked – there was too much that was attractive to the press, amongst many others. There was nothing to be done but hope that clever scheduling could reduce this to a minimum. He and Pedro remembered all too well their past case when heavy political pressure from within the Justice Ministry was applied to extinguish his enquiries. This remained painful.

  His salad appeared. It was a work of beauty. No more than fresh green lettuce with a touch of onion. The lettuce would have to be good to merit this. He added some olive oil, a touch of vinegar and the lightest amount of salt. He took a forkful and felt astonished.

  "Do you like it, Señoría?" said a voice from behind, as Roberto made his way from his kitchen.

  He took another forkful and if anything enjoyed it more.

  "It's wonderful; sublime. How do you do it?"

  "I did nothing, except take time to select the right onion as complement."

  "But this lettuce is amazing! I'm lost for words."

  "I agree."

  "What's your secret?"

  "My bother-in-law's personal vegetable garden. And where is it, I guess you will want to ask? Behind his house between Majadahonda and El Escorial."

  "What? Majadahonda? The suburb by the A6 going out of Madrid? You're kidding me?"

  "The very same. How he manages to grow such sweet lettuce I don't know. Twice a year he lets me have some, enough for perhaps a day here and solely for a chosen few. This afternoon I received a clutch. I think tonight is the first time you're eating here on one of those two days a year. If you press me hard I might even find some more for you."

  Tuesday: Marta

  Marta had spent a month in various states of misery. At times she had not known what to do. Since the phone call from Alfredo, asking about her smartphone possibly having been copied by accident, she had been unable to prevent herself cycling through different scenarios, almost all with lurid endings.

  When nothing had happened after four weeks she began to ease out of her despondency, not that her increasingly less appreciative husband had noticed any problem. To her surprise it emerged that the only person she could even think of relaxing with was, of all people, Salvador – not that she had possessed the courage to tell him about not deleting the photos or anything related.

  Equally surprising was that it was he who had reinitiated contact, just when was concluding they would never be meeting in bed again. He expressed his fervent desire to see her. Although almost certainly a bad idea, Marta had been so miserable she'd acquiesced.

  They met at the little pied-à-terre she had maintained over the years after first moving to Valencia. After marrying, she had rented it out. Some years later the female occupant gave notice and departed. Nobody ever came forward who seemed a suitable replacement.

  Instead Marta used its emptiness to do it up. With that complete to her satisfaction she no longer wanted to rent it to others. Gradually its usage had evolved into, as a magazine once phrased it: une place des liaisons. In that capacity it had proved remarkably useful, even to the point of providing an excuse to her husband that, "she must go see what the latest complaining tenant wants". He never enquired more, nor noticed that no income appeared.

  When Salvador had arrived they had been unable to contain themselves. But the talking afterwards provoked a sympathy from him she'd not suspected. Marta discovered that he was also miserable. Five children were more than enough and a sixth was going to be worse. His pregnant wife was already talking of more. He was oppressed.

  Together they shared their miseries and felt better for it. What also surprised her was Salvador mentioning his behaviour from that Saturday morning in Madrid. He did
not quite apologise but did explain how he suspected she might enjoy something rougher and different.

  Marta explained again how she found violence abhorrent, to the point of being a total turn off, followed by admitting how she had also been aroused by the way he had taken her. Salvador smiled in an almost "I told you so" way, but so graciously that Marta couldn't take offence.

  Ever since he had focused on avoiding violence, instead introducing her to new ways of enjoying each other, which even included deploying silk ropes. Nevertheless, she frequently pondered whether she had allowed herself to be talked into this re-involvement and experimentation because of her unhappiness and their need to keep each other distracted.

  After that first month, when nothing had emerged about the phone, she began to relax. She talked occasionally with Alfredo but more with Puri. Now she found herself wondering if she could think of admitting Salvador to Puri. In any case it was a good time to call her.

  Her phone rang. Alfredo. Not a bad substitute.

  Marta said, "I've heard nothing at all, not even a bat squeak. Have you?"

  "No greetings nor pleasantries first? You must still be on edge."

  "You're right. Good morning, Alfredo. How are you? How's Puri? Would you both like to come to Valencia for a weekend?"

  "Touché. Nice recovery. I'm sure that Puri would love to come. The bigger issue would be how to manage this in a discreet manner. Remember, my wife's family's still there."

  "I'm sure I can arrange something, especially if you each arrive separately and I publicly introduce you, say at a small dinner."

  "That's worth considering. Anyhow, back to your original question. No, I've heard nothing. I now think it extremely improbable that we will hear anything."

  "Why do you sound so sure? Not that I'm complaining."

  "Let's say that the offending machine, the one which took the copy, has somehow found its way into my possession. That should stymie any progress by any would-be busybodies."

  "I won't ask more, other than are you sure it's the right machine?"

  "I'm 99 per cent certain it's the right one, but I can't enter it. The security's too good for me and I don't want to involve any outsider."

  In fact this wasn't wholly accurate. Alfredo had tried himself before seeking Alberto's advice, though without showing him the laptop. Alberto had been dismissive about the practicality. Apparently "you could try for a long time just with ordinary security and if it had anything in addition, not a chance".

  "I've been thinking that if we can't check if the copy's on it I should physically destroy the machine, like with a sledgehammer, to remove any possibility that the contents can be read. Or I could load a new operating system and thus obliterate the previous contents. It's a nice machine. I'm seriously tempted towards the latter when I've time."

  "Either way sounds good to me. Thank you, Alfredo. Will you and Puri think about coming to Valencia?"

  "Of course. In fact, why don't you invite her yourself? After all, she is the guardian of my intimate social arrangements."

  They laughed together before finishing the call.

  Wednesday: Madrid

  Though he did not know it, Alfredo was eating his dinner not far from where Juez Garibey de Williams had chosen the evening before. Also at a preferred table, he was looking forward to meeting with Alberto again, in so doing living up to his promise to himself to make time for his godson.

  He thought about the weekend in Valencia. Puri was looking forward to it just as much as Marta was. He was as well – if Marta could manage the discretion element. Puri was going to stay at a hotel whilst he was going to stay in his mother's apartment. As his mother was largely gaga these days he could come and go as much as he wished. She would not notice. Increasingly he found her mental wanderings tough. He tried to behave as a dutiful son but it wasn't easy – other than to provide the funds to ensure she could live out the rest of her days in comfort amid familiar surroundings. Even going outside these days with her chica was enough to panic his mother.

  Marta was arranging a dinner with a couple of her friends. At this she was publicly going to 'introduce' Alfredo and Puri, though she had admitted she was going to let Inocenta and someone else whose name he had forgotten understand the true situation beforehand. Puri was pleased with this. To him such social devices were artificial, awkward. But if that was how Marta chose to handle everything, so be it.

  Alberto entered. He possessed the air of someone thoroughly pleased with himself. If Alfredo was not mistaken here was a man who had just scored, if that was the word the Americans used. He stood in welcome.

  After shaking hands they sat and Alfredo offered a Vodka Martini. He knew from past experience that Alberto always declined. He was much surprised when Alberto accepted.

  With drinks ordered, Alfredo enquired, "Does some young lady have anything to do with your good humour?"

  Alberto flushed, saying, "Is it that obvious?"

  "It is. Could it be with that Australian you talked of before? Or have you found another?"

  If anything, Alberto's blush intensified, and not only because Alfredo had recognised the signs. He was embarrassed that he had needed to leave Emilia. He had not intended the early evening to start as it had. But she had jumped on him. There was nothing he could do, not that he had objected.

  "Yes and no. I'm still seeing Emilia."

  "And getting along fine I would judge. Do your parents know? Have they met her?"

  "No and no. I haven't had the nerve."

  "Why ever not?"

  "You know mamá and papá. I fear they wouldn't approve, especially mamá."

  "Again, why not? From what you told me this Emilia is special. She's certainly had an effect on you."

  "You're right. My fear is that mamá will see through me, thinking I might leave with Emilia for Australia. You can guess how she'd react to that."

  "Are you serious? Do you want to make a life halfway around the world, far from your parents and family?"

  Alberto paused, looking Alfredo in the face, before saying, "Frankly, yes. Put another way – do I want to stay in a Spain in decline with an economy gone to hell where all I have is a crappy job with an American outfit that treats me well but barely survives? If Emilia would have me I'd go tomorrow."

  Alfredo twitched at the reference to ORS and it having hard times. Patience, have patience he cautioned himself.

  "Have you talked about going to Australia together? What part does she come from?"

  "She's Sydney-based. Her parents are from further up the East Coast, near Brisbane I think, but inland. No, we've not talked about this. But I think it's what I'd like."

  "But you're not sure?"

  "Sadly, you're right."

  "Shouldn't you at least discuss the possibilities?"

  "I try but every time she steers the subject away and I'm scared that if I push too hard she'll dump me. It's why I have done nothing about your suggestion to ask more."

  "If I may say so, your fears don't sound like the basis for the long term. If you can't address such an important issue as where you will be together ... Anyhow, I won't press further. But do feel you can talk with me if you can't with your parents, okay?"

  Alberto nodded, mouthing his thanks.

  "So what about work? How's that going?"

  Over two courses, two Vodka Martinis and most of a bottle of good red, Alberto shared his triumphs (few) and frustrations (many). Without realising, he told Alfredo much about the parlous state of the ORS operation in Spain and how he feared that it would close and leave him without a job, yet again.

  In trying to lighten the conversation he also described a little of what Emilia had told him after their exercise session in the Retiro, how she was working on interpreting some mysterious accounting system ORS had acquired a copy of. In his increasing inebriation, quite the reverse of Alfredo, he forgot that he had said anything before about an accidental backup.

  But Alfredo had not forgotten. He could put two
and two together and come up with five. What on earth had Marta been thinking? A different thought arose. Could he induce Alberto to act, perhaps offering some incentive like his ticket to Australia? It was worth thinking about.

  When dinner was over, Alfredo poured Alberto into a taxi, gave instructions to take him home before waving down a second. He went in the opposite direction, to La Moraleja. His head was spinning with possibilities, though few of them were pleasant. The only positives he could detect were that ORS was near to collapse and no one must have cracked whatever was on the backup copy of what could only have been Marta's smartphone.

  Just as he entered his Moraleja study, what should have been obvious hit him. What was Emilia working with? Surely the silver laptop now in front of him was unique. He now wished he hadn't been so precipitate when he installed the new operating system on top of the old. By overwriting what had been there he had no chance now of seeing what Emilia might be looking at. He cursed. But it was a nice machine. It had been far too good to smash.

  Thursday: Emilia

  On Wednesday evening Emilia wandered around tío Toño's apartment. With Alberto out dining with his godfather before heading home to his parents, she was alone and lonely.

  If she had been at Ana's all would have been good. Emilia liked being with Ana though it was true that her apartamento was small and the spare bedroom even smaller. The sofa-bed barely fitted and it was a hassle having to make and unmake it every time she arrived and left. In that sense the space of the Malasaña piso was much superior.

  Thinking back she realised that she should not have persuaded Alberto to come home with her, despite knowing exactly what she wanted, and what he had wanted though he would never admit it aloud. For a quickie it should have been a valuable release after a tense day. But it hadn't been. If anything it left her more frustrated than before.