Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit

by Charles Brett

  At home yesterday she had begun again, but only in a desultory way. She had resumed, with a touch more enthusiasm, on the way out to ORS. On the Metro she felt that she was recognising something, though exactly what continued to elude her.

  Now, leaving ORS, she was ever more convinced something existed within those pages, but this required discussion or debate. It was not something she could get to the bottom of alone. She'd tried Pedro but he was too tied up, as were Lucas and Carlos – not that she thought them sufficient. They were good guys but lacking in intellect.

  Ana caught herself. She was again being ungenerous. She didn't like herself for it.

  Interestingly, Pedro had suggested Davide. She would not have dared. But with Pedro's explicit support she had arranged to meet Davide midway between their two homes, in a place that she particularly liked and where she felt comfortable.

  Now Ana, while waiting for him, used the time to plough through more of the paperwork. She had made it simpler to carry around by sending it to her tablet. This had the advantage in that she could make handwritten annotations on-screen using its stylus. Not only were these notations recorded but, if needed, they could be printed out. This was a boon she hadn't expected when she bought this particular device. Thank God for technology.

  When Davide walked in she regarded him from afar. He didn't look good – more like shattered or ill. She waved him over.

  "Are you okay, Davide? If you'll forgive me, you look awful. Have you flu or a virus? Would you prefer to go to bed? Because that's what you look like you need."

  "Thank you, Ana. Bed would be lovely. I've barely slept the past two nights and I'm someone who needs his beauty sleep. I'm not one of those who can go without rest for a night and still function."

  "So why aren't you sleeping? Or am I intruding by asking?"

  "No, you're not. In fact it's good to get it out. The long and the short of it is that Caterina has thrown another of her wobblies. I don't know if I am pleased or resigned."

  "Excuse me. I don't understand. What are 'wobblies'?"

  "That's tough to explain. Let me put it another way. Caterina and I have an established record of not quite managing to get it together. When she came to Madrid matters seemed to resolve themselves for the better."

  Davide winced.

  "As you'll have noticed, she's temperamental and highly-strung. From experience she's incapable of knowing what she wants for more than five minutes. At any sign of discomfort or threat, real or perceived, she runs away, like she's done now. I'm once again the butt and stupid enough to allow myself to be repeatedly kicked.

  "No matter. She's disappeared. She is around because she's still doing work for Pedro but isn't living chez moi. Instead I have the delightful Emilia along with all of her own quite different contradictions."

  Davide changed tack. "What is it with Australians? I can't even blame my ancestors for sending all those English or Irish convicts to Australia."

  "Why not?"

  "Because that pair have not a millilitre of English or Irish blood in them – it's Italian, Portuguese, or Spanish – as they've been only too pleased to remind me whenever it suits."

  "You must be suffering." As she said it, Ana wondered if this was the opportunity she had wanted but not expected. Was this a moment to exploit or to stay clear? She could almost hear long-expired teenage hormones reassembling and wanting to rattle.

  "I am, but nearly all of this mess is of my own making. Anyhow, let's change the subject. How are you? What's been going on? Bring me up to date. May we have a drink before we start?"

  After ordering, Ana spent almost an hour covering progress. She had not understood, until she thought through his questions, how far out of the loop he had become. He listened to her patiently, in an encouraging way. It warmed her. Perhaps not being so involved explained something of his dissatisfaction.

  Gradually she worked round to the list. She carefully avoided mentioning Caterina and its preparation. She did reemphasise Pedro's encouragement to talk to Davide.

  "Why do you and he think I can help?"

  "I'm not certain but I must talk with someone. I fear making connections that work for me but are not credible to others."

  "You mean you don't want to be caught out?"

  Ana stared at him across the table. Was that an implied criticism? She wasn't sure she liked the implication.

  Davide recognised her expression. "I'm not trying to criticise. Rather, I empathise. It can be difficult when you have an idea or see what you think is a pattern. If you're like me you don't trust yourself. You want to be right. Equally you don't want to look a fool. I've been there often enough. It's both exciting and lonely."

  He trailed off as if remembering something or somebody.

  Ana killed her rising antipathy. He had captured the essence of what she was feeling, and expressed it better than she herself could. All of a sudden she felt a kinship, though she was far from certain she could convince him.

  Davide shook himself literally. His eyes refocused.

  "So what d'you have?"

  Pointing to her tablet, Ana said, "It's all on here. If I sit beside you I can take you through what made me call Pedro. You can tell me if you think I'm crazy."

  She moved round the table and positioned the tablet so that they could both see the screen. In doing so she felt good being close, almost hip to hip. It would not take much to close those few millimetres, by artful accident if she played her cards right.

  "Look here. I've taken the list of all the M-Out payments from the smartphone files and sorted them. It's a fairly long list. I'm also pretty sure that this column refers to the method of payment. My guess is 'sob' or 'sobr' – both are used – is shorthand for sobres or envelopes. My guess is that 'ef' refers to efectivo or cash transfer by hand. If right, 'ch' could be for cheques, though there are few of these. I don't know what 'cart' might refer to. Possibly 'cartas', as in letters or possibly cards, as in credit or debit cards?"

  She continued for a long while, taking Davide down the various paths of her thought processes. He prompted. He questioned. He challenged. Ana found she liked the combination. It made her feel respected, wanted and special somehow.

  Several drinks later, even after diving down the occasional rat hole, she became aware that they now were sitting thigh-to-thigh. She hadn't noticed. Had she moved? Had he moved? It didn't matter as she listened to and basked in his approval.

  What was an undeniably pleasant sensation was all of a sudden ruined all by Davide phoning Pedro: "I recommend you talk with Ana as soon as possible. I'm convinced."

  Friday: Madrid

  Juez Garibey felt fractious. This week had already been long. Now he had to question Luis Zavala himself, a man with a solid reputation for being difficult. Already El Cerámico had made his distaste for appearing clear though, curiously, he had not been unwilling. This was puzzling.

  In the Sala Juez Garibey found a single person at the witness table, namely a small, sun-browned man with a deeply-tanned face that hid his age well. Garibey knew that Luis Zavala was in his late seventies or maybe early eighties. This was not obvious, especially when dressed so smartly. That tie must be Italian silk. It was fashionable, almost too much so for his age.

  As on previous days there were the legal processes to run through. Once complete, he turned to El Cerámico, remarking that he had not brought a lawyer with him

  "Very observant, Señoría. I don't trust them. I've been my own adviser for over sixty years now. I don't propose to change."

  "That's up to you. I will, however, do my best not to let the law intimidate. If you decide you wish to change your mind you can do so at any time."

  Garibey and Luis Zavala eyed each other with a wary mutual respect, perhaps born of recognition that both were coming to the ends of their working lives.

  "I would like, Señor, to ask about payments received from three companies."

  "Don't tell me; Constructores Equilibris, MMH and ServiArquitecto
s?"

  "How did you anticipate?"

  "Everybody seems to want to know something about these three."

  "What do you mean 'everybody'? Who?"

  "First there was my advisor, Señora Márquez, telling me about some American outfit called OverPayment Recovery Services. Also there was the gerente of Overpayment visiting me to tell me to repay monies. Isn't that enough?"

  "What did you say to them?"

  Zavala stifled a bitter laugh. It came out more like a strangled wheeze.

  "What did I say? I told them to get stuffed. I'm not paying a céntimo back to either ServiArquitectos or CE. They screwed me and my people. Why should I care about them? For the record, with MMH, I had virtually no significant dealings."

  "Would you like to elaborate?"

  "With the utmost pleasure. The bastards at CE and ServiArquitectos – I apologise if my language offends you, Señoría – placed major orders with me for fitting out their vast construction sites. Not only that, but they negotiated purchase prices to my bone. Yet when la crisis hit, they walked away, leaving me with a mountain of manufactured products they'd ordered and were declining to pay for. Rather than honour their agreements they preferred to renege. In so doing they obliged me to take major losses. In due course their actions forced me to make people, my employees, redundant."

  Luis Zavala was in full flow, his bile rising with every sentence. His sense of offence was apparent to all present in the Sala.

  "So you knew that you were double invoicing and not applying credit notes?"

  "Of course I did. Who do you think runs my business?"

  "What did you do with these monies? Did ServiArquitectos and CE know what you were doing?"

  "Certainly they knew. How would I have obtained the extra monies? It was a scheme dreamt up by them to provide me with money so that I could deliver their means to purchase influence to achieve their business objectives. They made me an accomplice. To be fair, I did cooperate. I can still see the original business advantages for me."

  "Let me be certain I understand. ServiArquitectos and CE executives suggested that if you double invoiced, for example, they would authorise the double payments. You would then keep the extra revenue and, when it was practical, you would apply those funds to buy whatever influence they suggested."

  "Right."

  "And how did you help the two companies achieve their objectives?"

  "Simple. My company paid Señora Márquez who distributed the monies as I told her and as I was told by the CE and ServiArquitectos executives."

  "How did she do this?"

  "I don't know the precise details. That was up to her. But she was good and discreet. If I had to bet, it'd be with envelopes stuffed with cash or paying for holidays or weddings or similar. I once heard that she used ATMs and prepaid debit cards. That way the lucky recipients could go to a machine and take out anonymous cash."

  "Again, if I may go through what you have said ..." Juez Garibey ran through the details. Zavala confirmed Garibey had understood. "Why have you told me this?"

  "Because you asked."

  "I was unclear. Why are you recounting these details to this Sala? What's your motivation? Have you reasons? You understand that you are probably admitting to committing offences which draw attention to other illegal acts?"

  "Of course I have reasons. Those two companies cost me millions. Worse, I had to make over 200 of my staff redundant. It broke my heart every time I had to tell an employee they no longer had a job. I was condemning them to penury in order to save what I could for the others.

  "Did CE or ServiArquitectos ever pay a cancellation charge or show other than paper remorse? Not a bit of it. They just turned their backs on me and my people. They deserve any comeuppance that you or any other authorities want to visit upon them. I haven't much sympathy, just as they hadn't for me or my people."

  Juez Garibey listened intently.

  "As for me ... Am I condemning myself? Yes, probably. I no longer care. Between you and me I probably don't have that much longer. I'm almost eighty. I've had a good life and owe this to others."

  Zavala smiled sardonically. "Plus I don't think that, however hard your authorities pursue me, you'll send an octogenarian to prison. We're now too civilised. It didn't happen to Berlusconi in Italy. It won't happen to me here either."

  Juez Garibey stopped for a moment before agreeing.

  "In that you are almost certainly correct. Tell me, would you look at some transaction details concerning ServiArquitectos and CE to see if you recognise any of the amounts or details? I can't promise you that this will prevent others from pursuing you but I can say I'll recount your goodwill."

  "As I have already mentioned, I'm not sure I need even that. But if it will assist you to reveal the crookery they encouraged me to participate in, certainly."

  "Thank you, Señor. I suggest we take a break while my people prepare the information. Afterwards we'll try completing everything by this evening so I can let you return home."

  Luis Zavala lowered his head in acceptance. He was pretty sure what he was doing was right. A small insistent voice in his head, which sounded much like his beloved though long-dead wife, was cheering her approval: "Well done, Luis. You never forgot our people."

  Saturday: Madrid

  Pedro arrived at Juez Garibey's apartment. This was a novel experience. Though he had known him since he was a relatively junior CNP officer, Pedro had never been invited to Garibey's house. It was unusual, not least that it was a Saturday.

  After ringing the doorbell he was invited to the seventh floor. The elevator was better than most in Madrid – modern despite being installed in a relatively old building.

  At the front door he found the Juez, smiling with a cheer that surprised. In fact, Pedro recognised, he felt much the same.

  "Pedro, come in. Café?"

  "Thank you, Señoría."

  "Here I can demand you forget the formality. There's no one else but my wife to know and she's gone out. Remember, it is Rafa. Your café."

  "Thank you. I'll try."

  "Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Shall I start or should you? I think I will, if you'll excuse an old man's impatience?"

  "Please do, Señoría, er, Rafa."

  Garibey passed a mock glare at Pedro before summarising what had happened the previous day with El Cerámico. He started going through the details that Luis Zavala had confirmed the previous afternoon. When finished, Pedro was amazed.

  "You look surprised, Pedro."

  "Indeed. If I've comprehended, you've single-handedly provided substantiation for the M-In accounts. If Luis Zavala will testify to this, we'll have made a huge jump forwards."

  "Don't jump to your desired end point too fast. First, I'm not sure that El Cerámico will testify to anything more than what he told me yesterday, at least not in open court. No, don't look dispirited. What he's done as you say is confirm that one side of the Márquez accounts are accurate, and on a monumental scale. We can now use this as leverage with Márquez. If she can be persuaded to open up we won't need El Cerámico at all. It's a matter of timing and nuance."

  "So what I have for you may assist a showdown with Márquez or even Señor Gómez."

  "Okay, time to add your share."

  Pedro started with the laptop. After some troubles obtaining a power brick, for Gómez had not brought this to the Sala, Caterina showed Carlos and Pedro a file that she had created deep in the BIOS. According to her this was an area of a computer that did not change even when you installed a new operating system or a new disk. Caterina had said that originally her computer came with Windows installed. Whoever had obtained it after it was stolen had installed something called Ubuntu. This reformatted the hard disk, thereby removing any evidence of the backup of Márquez's smartphone. But this installation of the new operating system did not affect the BIOS.

  Before opening a tiny file with an anonymous numerical name she had written down for Pedro and Carlos what would be ins
ide: her name, her date of birth and when this ownership file had been created, the day after she bought it. Following her instructions they opened the file to find exactly what she said. It was absolute proof that the laptop was the one stolen from ORS, though not that Señor Gómez was incorrect when he asserted he had bought it in the rastro.

  "Very interesting, Pedro. Your Caterina is both enterprising as well as pretty."

  "She is. She's also, I'm afraid to say, emotionally odd. I don't know how else to put it."

  Garibey raised his eyebrows in enquiry.

  "She has this on/off relationship with herself about Davide. I saw it a little during the HolyPhone episode. It's much more obvious here. I thought she was living with Davide. Now it seems she's not. What baffles me is that she hurts herself almost more than him. Most of the time it's with him where my sympathies lie. And it's to him I turn next, along with my cousin Ana."

  "Don't tell me she's taken a shine to Davide – or Caterina?"

  "It is either Davide or Emilia. Something's going on. But no matter on that score. At Emilia's insistence Ana started on the M-Out records. What she wanted was the application of local knowledge to find a name or names to follow up to try to prove the accuracy of the M-Out accounts."

  Pedro continued by explaining about Cardarzob. When the significance emerged Garibey looked astonished.

  Pedro proceeded to explain about what Ana had surmised, which Davide tested and retested for reasonableness. From the M-Out accounts they had collectively thought they could associate names to at least a half-dozen people with reasonable certainty, plus two of those people had transactions that might be traceable, providing Garibey gave the go-ahead to request the records.

  Next, Pedro dropped his bombshells. There were another group of codenames where Ana was fairly sure she could reasonably guess at the identity of the payee. Among these were Church people, as evidenced by Cardarzob, plus members of Opus Dei and politicians at all levels, along with lawyers, businessmen and social butterflies.