"No, on both counts," was Caterina's miserable response.
"We'll have to work on this, but not now. Maybe we should be considering moving on, if we can escape?"
"Now? Just when everything at ORS is turning interesting? You wouldn't give up at this point, would you?"
The expression on Emilia's face told all. Not for a millisecond, especially after last week's developments in the Sala.
"And what about your attachments? Who is it at the moment? Has Alberto been given the bum's rush in favour of Ana? Inma? That pair you met at the Retiro? Or are you having them all at once?"
"Catty, catty, catty! Even my appetites could never cope with that assembly. Alberto continues, but it's time to put him out of his misery. He told me he wants to marry me and how he's willing to make the sacrifice to accompany me back home. Re-worded – he's looking for a ticket out of Spain."
"Which you can't blame him for."
Emilia acknowledged the truth of this, saying, "It's going to be hard telling him. But I will."
"And the others?"
"With Ana – nothing. I'd jump into her bed if given the opportunity. She fits my desires perfectly, young, sexy and in her twenties. I like her. She likes me, but not in that way. Too bad. Inma? Not my scene. She's much older, yet I confess I might enjoy exploring that body. I don't think it'll happen. It seems to be the same for her. Now Klaus and Mila; they really are fun. We'd a 'fucking good time', putting it bluntly."
Caterina grimaced. Emilia was always able to shock her. This was the first time she had heard Emilia explicitly admit to a threesome. That did not mean it was the first, only that Caterina did not know. She decided irony was the best response.
"If I've understood correctly, you've got Alberto plus Klaus and Mila running in parallel with hot normal desires for Ana and abnormal ones – for you – for exploring an older woman like Inma. Is that a representative summary? Why haven't you included Davide, Carlos, or Lucas?"
"Davide? Giving me ideas? Fortunately for you I am sated, at least until tomorrow. Tonight we'll talk more. We can even go get smashed if you don't want to face your darling Davide, assuming he reappears."
Caterina knew she could not top this. She didn't even try. She paid for breakfast and they set off for the Metro station. Now she felt worse all over again, but sick at heart rather than in her abused stomach.
Monday: Sala de lo Penal, Madrid
Ana and Davide acknowledged Juez Garibey's greeting with brief movements of their heads, almost moving as a pair. Strange, thought Garibey. I thought Shape was attached to Señora Certaldo, not Pedro's cousin.
"The reason I asked you both here concerns confidentiality and secrecy. I apologise for being formal but what Ana surmises, and because she shared this with you, Señor Shape, has the potential to cause major problems – for this Sala as well as for the people you've tentatively identified. Should any names hit the newspapers or television prematurely, not only may we lose the initiative, but we might even see the whole investigation abruptly terminated. Did Pedro explain what happened to me once before?"
Ana and Davide nodded.
"You'll know, therefore, that the result was what can only be described as a failure of the justice system to render justice to those who deserved it. I was and still am ashamed, though hindsight tells me I could've done little more.
This time I am better prepared. And the case is stronger, thanks to you, Pedro, and your colleagues. After substantial discussions with Pedro we've decided that we must ask you to become a formal part of the investigation. This has some advantages. You will enjoy, if that's the correct description, the protection of the state, in particular of the CNP and this Sala.
"The downside is that by accepting you'll oblige yourself to be bound by the same sorts of constraints as police, lawyers and judges. As part of the revised arrangements I want to sequester you from contact with others in the investigation, who don't need to know what you surmise. This will likely be difficult though hopefully it won't last. It may be for a matter of a week or two but could be longer depending on what we find and how fast the investigation evolves."
Juez Garibey riveted them with his eyes before continuing: "I can't force you to 'sign up'. I do ask that you do, for the sake of everybody involved, but in particular for those who have suffered or are suffering from past misapplications of justice and failures to obey the law."
"May I ask a question, Señoría?"
"Of course, Ana. I hope you don't object to my familiarity. You could be my granddaughter whereas I would've needed to be prodigious in my youth to have grandfathered someone of Señor Shape's age."
He warmed to their appreciation of his attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
"I'm happy to be addressed as Ana. Just don't tell Señor Shape" – she glanced out of the corner of her eye at Davide – "what age I really am. That's for me and me alone."
"I appreciate that. Your question?"
"You're being very careful with us. Is what we've discussed really that serious? Isn't it just a matter of individuals who've committed crimes that can be charged and tried?"
"If only it were that simple. It's not." He halted. "How do I best illustrate this to you? Consider the Cardarzob reference. If this really was the late Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, the Pope's representative in Spain, how does any accusation that he was receiving backhanders make the Church look? Or, in the same vein, if your supposition is right that Inocencio Fajando is involved, this will confirm many doubts about the honesty of the modern Opus Dei movement – another pillar of a certain part of society. Or take Salvador Corcuera. There's a man who's appeared in court before and has evaded, though legally, the clutches of justice. He's a man with connections in a great many places. He's also a man with a background that does not encourage respect for the law.
"What I'm trying to communicate to you is that each of these three raises questions about a specific segment of society, its behaviour and potential response. Now add in politicians and their presumption that they are free to rearrange events to their own liking ..."
He trailed off, observing the impression he was making on Ana. Señor Shape seemed to have understood rather faster. But he was older, and possibly wiser.
"I see, Señoría. Sorry, I hadn't tried looking for that big a picture, just the individual criminal ones. I'd come to similar conclusions but presumed I was being overly pessimistic.
"I wish it were as straightforward but it isn't. So I must ask: will you agree to be bound by my conditions until I can release you? I promise to try to make this as brief as possible."
Ana nodded.
"I'd prefer you to say it aloud."
"I accept."
"And you, Señor Shape?"
"I also."
"Thank you. Now we must think about the mechanics of how to proceed. Señor Shape, as I understand it you live in my distinguished retired colleague Toño Sánchez Ocaña's apartment in Malasaña."
"Indeed. You know tío Toño?" responded Davide, surprised.
"Barely, but I've much respect for him."
"I should mention that Caterina Certaldo and Emilia Romagnolo are also staying in the piso at the moment, plus there's tío Toño's inestimable chica, Ángela, who looks after us."
"He retains Ángela still? Lucky man. Lucky you. She's the gem we've all been trying to steal for many years." Juez Garibey's eyes twinkled in fond memory. "What a cook she is. Only once was I fortunate enough to be invited to savour her kitchen.
"Nevertheless, you should not stay there if the others are present. Could the Australians move out? Have you any other suggestions?"
"Actually, I have," offered Ana hesitantly. "He could stay with me. I have a spare room. It's not big, but for a while it might work. Otherwise he'll end up in a hotel or a police barracks, no?"
"You're right, Ana. Could you tolerate this, Señor Shape?"
His expression said clearly that Davide would be a prime candidate for Madrid's top funny farm if he decline
d.
Simultaneously, Ana waited to see what Davide would say. She wasn't sure if she had committed the greatest faux pas in history or had been inspired. She could guess what her abuela would say, if she was ever to know. She shuddered at that thought, and also of her parents' reaction, plus Inma and her sisters. Hell. This was spiralling out of control.
"I'd be enchanted to be Ana's guest, though I hope it needn't be for too long. As you say, Señoría, and in the nicest possible way, I wouldn't want to deprive myself of Ángela's wonderful ministrations for any extended period."
"Now all I have to do is introduce you to Javier, your new guardian from Pedro's lair, after which I have the pleasure of preparing tomorrow's questions for Señora Márquez."
Tuesday: Sala de lo Penal, Madrid
Alfredo concentrated on Marta. As previously, he needed her to be calm. That was hard. As he had gathered over the weekend with Puri and Salvador she had a volatile imagination capable of matching René Magritte's castles in the air.
Did he like Salvador? The answer was simple: no. Neither did Puri. Both felt there was an insidious aspect to him, which Marta could or would not see. It didn't matter. That they were not taken with him did not mean he was bad company when enjoying himself. He was also attentive to Marta, which counted for much in his favour.
Now Alfredo was back at the long table waiting for Juez Garibey, a man he disliked on gut instinct. Too principled; too self-righteous.
Juez Garibey entered and sat at his own table. Surprising everybody, he did not start with Marta. Instead he addressed Alfredo directly.
"Before questioning your client, Señor Gómez, may I ask you a couple of complementary questions to those of last week?"
That was a privilege Alfredo could not challenge.
"Regarding this laptop," said Juez Garibey, displaying it. "I ask again, when did you buy it at the rastro?"
"It would've been the weekend before last, or the one preceding that. I'm not entirely sure which. I would need to check."
"But it was no more than, say, three weeks ago?"
"For sure."
"Thank you. Again, before questioning your client, I trust you will indulge me. I wish to ask Señora Certaldo some questions."
Caterina was led to a side table, one which Alfredo had not really noticed. A Sala official brought her the laptop. She did not touch it.
"Señora Certaldo, you believe this is your laptop. Please explain why."
"Whenever I've bought laptops in the past I've placed a thin red line on the side. As this is my third laptop when doing this there are three gaps in the red line, here."
She pointed.
"Is there anything else?"
"Yes. In the BIOS I add a small file, which, when unpacked, shows my name, date of birth and date of purchase. I can find out if it's present."
Caterina switched on the laptop. Before it could begin to load the operating system she pressed a function key and the BIOS menu appeared. Using an obscure key combination she identified a file and opened it.
"I have it here."
"What does it say? You don't need to share your year of birth, just the day and month will be fine."
Juez Garibey looked almost indulgent.
"Caterina Certaldo, September 11 and the purchase date from three years ago."
"If I understand you correctly this would be proof that it's your computer?"
"Yes."
"And it was stolen from the offices of OverPayment Recovery Services in Alcobendas sometime between Wednesday and Saturday, about two months back?"
"That's correct, though this is not the same as when it was stolen."
"What's different?"
"Someone has loaded a different operating system, effectively obliterating my contents."
Thus far Alfredo was unflummoxed. Nothing was new here. He puzzled at where Garibey was going. It seemed a fruitless line of questioning. All he was demonstrating was that this machine had belonged to Certaldo and confirming that it had been stolen.
"Is there anything else you can add, Señora Certaldo?"
"Yes. Because this laptop has a positioning capability, I created a second small application that writes the laptop's position to disk whenever it tries connecting to the Internet from a location different to its previous one." Caterina pulled up another file. "It's open here."
"Can you tell me where the laptop was, say, on Sunday ten weeks ago and again on the following Wednesday?"
Checking the file, Caterina said, "On that Sunday it was in Malasaña, where I'm staying, and on the Wednesday it started in Malasaña and later moved to Alcobendas, to the address of ORS where I've been consulting."
"And three days after that?"
She read out two different addresses, one in calle Serrano, another in La Moraleja.
"Thank you, Señora." Juez Garibey turned to Alfredo and said, "Señor, do you recognise any of those addresses?"
"I don't recognise the first two. The third is the address of the building where, among several other businesses, my family's legal firm has its Madrid offices."
He halted, unable to bring himself to say it.
Juez Garibey, plus all in the Sala including Marta, hung on what he would say next. Unintentionally for Alfredo his reticence was expertly stoking the drama of the moment.
"The fourth corresponds to my Madrid home."
There, he'd said it.
"A little earlier this morning you mentioned buying this laptop in the rastro 'no more than three weeks ago'. Yet the laptop shows that it was present at two locations where you have an interest, and six-plus weeks before you claim to have purchased it. Can you explain?"
Before Alfredo could formulate a reply he heard a brusque, "Stop! You don't need to answer here and now, Señor. That can wait till later. I suggest you leave your client to her other lawyer and seek professional advice for yourself. My initial assessment is that you've explicitly misled this Court regarding when you obtained the laptop. Additionally, you've probably misled me concerning how you acquired it."
White-faced, Alfredo could do nothing more than lowering his head in bleak acceptance. As he stood to go he said quietly to Marta that she shouldn't worry. There was no evidence that anybody knew what had disappeared when he loaded the new operating system onto the laptop. For that he was grateful. Imagine what might have been if the copy of her smartphone had materialised in the Sala.
Even so, matters looked grim for him. But Marta would not, however, be tainted by his stupidity, for that is what it was. He should never have authorised the robbery. Well, it was too late now. The milk was spilt, or whatever that stupid expression was.
Marta was shocked. The brilliant Alfredo Gómez tripped up by a pretty Australian girl massacring the Spanish language with her ugly accent. It was unbelievable. What would Puri do or think?
As Alfredo departed it dawned on her that all Alfredo's bland confidence that assumed Garibey did not know what he was doing had just been proved horribly wrong. The implications were not good.
A hand tapped her elbow. It was the first lawyer who had originally attended on Alfredo's instructions, though largely told by the latter to keep his silence.
"Señora, you should pay attention to Señoría Garibey."
Tuesday: Isidoro
Isidoro Silvestre felt on top of the world. To his amazement he had found himself fitting in smoothly to Consolación's household and the family's routines at the weekend. The children welcomed him as normal. They did not appear to see anything different. This, perhaps most of all, reassured him.
Consolación had solved the other 'not-so-little overhanging issue' with deftness. She had allowed him put his clothes and accoutrements in the spare room and children's bathroom when he returned on Saturday evening. That took the pressure off. When they had finally gone up to bed she kissed him thoroughly whilst on the landing but left it at that before disappearing into her own bedroom. He had climbed into the spare bed simultaneously frustrated and relieved.
Five minutes later she tapped on his door, let herself in and climbed into bed before he could react. It did not take long for barriers to break down.
Hours later he lay back in wonderment at his good fortune. He had told her so earlier. She placed a finger on his lips and said that she and the kids were the lucky ones, for she was so pleased to be in his bed, so would he possibly shut up and resume where they had left off.
He grinned to himself. The memory was made all the sweeter by his recall of his doubts about if he could perform adequately. He had, after all, led a pretty monastic life over the past decade.
Following a knock on his door, his assistant appeared, carrying yet more papers. He sighed. The work at Moncloa never ceased. It was becoming painful. Consolación had already suggested that if it was getting him down he should change.
His assistant said, "I must say, you've been looking abnormally pleased with yourself the past couple of days. Not even our illustrious master has managed to erode your positive expression."
He put her out of her misery and explained. She congratulated him. They bathed in mutual happiness. She was expecting her first child. She shone as any mother-in-waiting should.
His private line chirped. The moment was assassinated. As he reached for it they smiled in mutual recognition of what their jobs did to incumbents.
"Have you seen the news, Isidoro?"
"What news?"
"Is Moncloa still out of touch?"
At that moment his assistant reappeared and turned on the television in the corner, handing him the control. He had the television there for emergencies, like now. On screen he recognised a reporter, a distinguished journalist not given to the hyperbole of younger colleagues.
"... this morning at the Sala de lo Penal. According to this channel's sources, Alfredo Gómez, one of Spain's most distinguished and international lawyers, was effectively accused of lying and possibly commissioning theft by Juez de Instrucción Garibey de Williams who subsequently invited Gómez to excuse himself in order to find a lawyer to defend him. As if that was not bad enough, Gómez's client in court today, Marta Márquez from Valencia, is currently being questioned about receiving corrupt payments from big businesses, including Gómez's law firm, to pay off third parties including politicians, the Church and other organs of the state. This news is breaking. We'll update you as we learn more."
Corruption's Price: A Spanish Deceit Page 28