Blood in the Water

by Jack Flynn

  Vincente’s mother, Maria, had kept him safe by involving him in the local Catholic church. Javier, her older son, had already been recruited by the local insurgents, and been off at war for more than a year, but she had vowed that she would not let her youngest, who was more sensitive, fall prey to the same fate.

  Maria was a devout follower, and had dedicated herself to Christ since Vincente’s father had been killed in the war four years before. There was no local school, so the church was also the only place where he could be educated.

  It was located at the top of the hill in the center of town, and Father Cardozo presided over the congregation. He was a young man, and handsome. Vincente occasionally wondered whether his mother’s devotion to the church was in part driven by the fact that she was drawn to the charismatic priest. It wouldn’t have bothered Vincente if a relationship developed between Father Cardozo and his mother. He could certainly understand – in his eyes she was the most beautiful woman that he could imagine. Who wouldn’t be tempted? And the priest was already the closest thing he had to a father figure.

  ‘Vincente,’ Father Cardozo said one day after mass.

  ‘Yes, Father,’ he replied automatically.

  ‘How would you like to help put away the vestments today?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’ Vincente knew that it was considered an honor to help Father Cardozo with the instruments of the faith, but truth be told, he would rather have had the opportunity to go outside and play with his friends. Jorge had found an old, beaten football in the local woods, and for once they would have a real ball to kick around during their weekly game. He obeyed anyway.

  ‘Someday, my son, you may be an altar boy,’ Father Cardozo said. ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ the boy replied. He knew Father Cardozo was being kind. All Vincente could think about, though, was the delight in kicking an actual ball.

  ‘Take this back to the cabinet, behind the altar.’

  He did as he was told. He could hear the small congregation chatting with the priest out in the church as he worked to put the vestments carefully away, as he’d been taught. His mother’s voice rose above them, like a songbird’s melody tickling his ears. He loved his mother’s voice. He loved everything about her. She was his world.

  The commotion started outside in the courtyard. There was shouting, and then a woman screamed. That was followed by the report of automatic gunfire and more screaming. Vincente was terrified. He’d heard the sound of gunfire before, but never so close. It was always in the hills, far off. Vincente, who had not been alive the last time the war had intruded upon the small town, could not imagine that the violence could really happen here. He’d always thought of his town as a safe haven.

  He heard the shouting move into the church, and he poked his head around the corner of the church’s little back room, where the vestments were kept.

  There were a dozen armed men, all in the uniforms of the government’s army. Most of them looked like ordinary soldiers, but one wore a uniform that stood out. It was a darker green than the rest, and he wore a peaked hat with a flat top. An ascot was tucked into his shirt. There was no doubt that he was in charge, and he was holding a revolver, shouting at Father Cardozo.

  ‘You are the reason we are here!’ he shouted. ‘You have been aiding the enemy!’

  Father Cardozo remained calm, but there was something in his gaze that simmered under the surface. ‘I aid all mankind,’ he said. ‘I would aid you, if you would let me.’

  The soldier scoffed. ‘I don’t need the aid of a peasant priest!’ he shouted.

  ‘Perhaps you do more than you know,’ Father Cardozo responded.

  The soldier whipped his pistol across Father Cardozo’s face, and a stream of blood erupted from a gash above the priest’s cheekbone as he fell to the floor. The congregants pulled back, in horror – all except Vincente’s mother, Maria, who flew to him, her hands touching the handsome man’s face gently, trying to stem the blood with the hem of her long skirt. There, in that moment, it seemed clear that this was not the first time his mother’s hands had caressed his cheek.

  ‘Do you deny that you aided two rebels who made their way here?’ the soldier shouted at Father Cardozo, looming over him.

  ‘I deny nothing,’ the Father said through Maria’s skirt. ‘I do not ask men their affiliation when they seek the Lord’s help.’

  ‘You lie!’ the soldier said. He grabbed the priest by the shirt, and pulled him up on his feet. Blood continued to pour down his face. ‘You took them back to their platoon. You administered the sacraments to the enemy!’

  Father Cardozo said nothing. He just stared at the soldier, his head held high, even as he continued to bleed.

  ‘Where are they hiding?’ the soldier demanded.

  Father Cardozo said nothing.

  The soldier raised his pistol and pointed it at Cardozo’s head. ‘Tell me.’ He cocked the gun.

  ‘No!’ Maria screamed. She lunged to try to place herself in front of the gun, but was restrained by one of the soldiers.

  The man in charge seemed startled at first, but then an evil smile crept across his face. He looked back and forth between Maria and Cardozo, and the smile became more malevolent. ‘It looks as though Christ was right, Padre. We are all sinners, are we not?’ He put his gun into his holster and pulled out a large knife. The smile never left his face as he walked to the broad, low altar at the front of the church. ‘Put her here,’ he ordered the soldier who had hold of her. She tried to struggle free, but two other soldiers grabbed her as well, and they dragged her up to the altar – really just a table at the front of the poor church. ‘Lay her down,’ the man in charge ordered.

  As the three other men held her down on the table, the officer took his knife and cut off the peasant dress she was wearing, pulling and ripping at it until she was naked on the altar. The others in the congregation all looked away, but the officer nodded to his other men. ‘Make them watch,’ he ordered, and the soldiers raised their guns at those in the church.

  ‘Please, no!’ Cardozo begged.

  ‘Tell me where they are!’

  ‘I don’t know, I swear it!’

  The man in charge unbuckled his pants. He said to the congregation, ‘This is what your Jesus will bring you! This is what his priest allows!’ The he looked down at Maria and said, ‘Now I will have a taste of what the padre has been enjoying!’

  Vincente wanted to go to her. He wanted to stop it, but he was scared. And just as he thought he’d summoned the courage to throw himself at the vile man, her eyes caught his as he peered from around the corner in the back room. Her eyes were full of tears and bravery and resignation, and she shook her head ever so slightly to tell him to stay where he was. It was as though she was telling him that it would all be over soon, and that she would be all right.

  When it was over, the man in charge gave a satisfied grunt and pulled his pants back up. But it was clear that he was not truly satisfied. Not yet.

  He walked behind the altar so that he was looking out at the congregation, Maria lying still and naked like some grotesque sacrifice. ‘You still will not tell me, Father?’

  Cardozo’s head was down now, and he was sobbing. ‘I do not know, I swear it!’

  ‘I do not believe you.’ And with that, the man in charge took his large knife and swung it down as hard as he could. The blade sliced through her throat and travelled all the way down to the vertebrae before it stopped. The blood poured out over the altar like a deep-red velvet cloth. ‘This is what your God brings these people, Father!’ he shouted. ‘Death!’

  ‘You will burn in hell!’ Cardozo screamed. He lunged forward, but was cut down by automatic gunfire. The soldiers then turned their weapons on the congregation and mowed them down as they clambered to get away. Vincente watched the bodies dance and lunge as the gunfire tore them to shreds before it died away. The entire time, the man in charge was laughing maniacally.

  When the shooting was over,
the church looked like it had been painted in blood. Vincente sat there, in shock, unable to move. He watched the soldiers pick over the bodies, looking for anything of value that they might loot from the dead, until another man came in from outside.

  ‘Holy fuck!’ the man said. He was dressed in higher-grade military fatigues, and spoke Spanish with a distinctive accent. American. ‘Jesus holy fuck, what the fuck did you do?’ he demanded of the man in charge.

  ‘I sent a message.’

  The American looked appalled. ‘You can’t do shit like this.’

  ‘This is what is needed,’ the man in charge said. ‘That is why you give us the weapons.’

  The American shook his head, but did nothing. ‘We gotta get out of here,’ he said. ‘When this is discovered, we need to be long gone.’

  The soldiers filed out of the church and disappeared into the hills.

  Vincente never knew for how long he sat there, staring out at his mother’s naked corpse, splayed out over the altar, her head nearly severed from her body. He was found by the first people on the scene, sometime later, his eyes still open. When asked his name, he didn’t respond. In fact he didn’t speak again for more than two years. Eventually his brother Javier was located, and he took Vincente away with him so that he could be trained as a soldier.

  For years afterward, those who survived the massacre wondered what had gone on in the little boy’s head as he witnessed such terror. He would never speak of it, but nor would he forget. And only he knew that as he witnessed the horrors, he made two promises to himself. He would never trust God again, and he would do everything he could to kill as many of those who had visited such horrors against his country from afar.

  * * * * *

  Brooks was speaking as Vincente Carpio’s memories faded to the background. He was ticking through possible strategies for his defense. There might be flaws in the evidence, or reasons to challenge the science that was used to tie Carpio to the crimes. Vincente knew, though, that the science was sound. He’d been deliberate in letting the world know that he was responsible. Maybe there were other suspects that they could offer up to a jury to sow the seeds of doubt. That, too, was impossible. No one would mistake the deliberateness of Carpio’s handiwork. One final option was to plead insanity – the viciousness of the crimes themselves pointed to mental infirmity. But Carpio would never allow himself to be labelled insane. There was nothing infirm about his mind; his intellect towered over those of all who sought to prosecute him, and in that intellect he would find salvation.

  ‘My next court appearance is in two weeks, correct?’ he asked, interrupting the lawyer.

  Brooks looked startled. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Wednesday the thirteenth. You’ll be formally charged.’

  ‘And you are my lawyer, so what I tell you, you cannot tell to the police?’

  Brooks put his pencil down on the table and leaned back in his chair. Carpio saw him glance up at the camera in the corner of the room. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘That would be a violation of my professional ethics.’

  ‘Can I communicate to my brother through you?’

  Brooks rubbed his chin. ‘That’s a little more complicated,’ he said. ‘Anything I tell your brother is not privileged.’ He paused. ‘And if I relayed anything related to illegal activity, I would be putting my law license in jeopardy. I would need a reason to do that.’

  ‘Money.’

  Brooks’ eyes went to the camera again before coming back to Vincente’s eyes. ‘It would have to be a lot of money.’

  ‘Are you trustworthy?’

  Brooks’ gaze now seemed to go inward, and he gave a dark smile. ‘I’ve never betrayed a paying client.’

  Carpio nodded. He closed his eyes. ‘Describe this process where I am formally charged.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘I want to know everything.’

  Thirty-One

  Saturday 2 February

  ‘Where the hell have you been!’ The kitchen door had barely closed behind Diamond, the icy wind slamming it shut with a crash that seemed to rattle the entire house. Cormack was there, leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed.

  ‘I was out,’ she replied, not looking directly at him.

  ‘That’s all you have to say?’

  ‘What else do you want me to say?’

  Cormack fumed. ‘Did you get my messages?’

  ‘My phone was off,’ she said. ‘I just listened to them now.’ It was the truth. She had listened to them while walking back from the Holiday Inn. He’d left several of them, each asking her to call him. None of them specified that there was anything wrong, but the tone in each had been progressively more worried. She felt a tinge of guilt for not having picked up the phone and for having been out of contact for so long, but fought that feeling down. After all, Cormack was known to disappear for days at a time as well. What was good for the goose …

  ‘I was worried!’ Cormack was almost shouting, and it caught Diamond off guard. She couldn’t remember a time when she had ever seen him lose his temper. She looked at him, and her shock deepened.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she blurted out. ‘What happened to your face?’ There was a bandage across his nose, and dark scabs covered his cheeks. The dark bruises under his eyes made it look like he’d lost a heavyweight title fight.

  ‘I had an accident,’ Cormack said, looking down.

  ‘Mack, that’s not an accident,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’m not stupid.’

  He pried his eyes from the floor to meet hers. She could see the pain and fear in them, more clearly than she’d seen it since her mother died. It wasn’t a fear for himself, she knew; it was a fear for her. It was the fear, she supposed, that all parents feel when contemplating their child’s future, and their own inadequacy in protecting them from all the evils of the world. Her hand went unconsciously to her abdomen.

  ‘You’re right,’ Cormack said. ‘You’re not stupid. Far from it.’ The way he said the words sent shivers through her. She’d always known that her father’s business wasn’t entirely legitimate. There were too many people who showed him too much respect, and too many others who regarded him with palpable fear for him to operate entirely within the confines of the law. She realized that she’d always known that he wasn’t just involved in the corruption that ran throughout the harbor; he ran the corruption. She’d just never wanted to admit it to herself. She loved him too much to think about him in that way. And yet, now, as she allowed herself to acknowledge what she had always known deep down, she still loved him.

  ‘Are you in danger?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s nothing I can’t deal with.’

  She looked down at the phone in her hand and thought about the messages her had left for her, each one successively more desperate in tone. ‘Am I in danger?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not if I have anything to say about it.’

  She could feel a tear running down her cheek. ‘What’s going on?’

  He uncrossed his arms, stepped forward and wrapped them around her. She melted into the safety of her father’s embrace, and it made her feel, at least for a moment, like things would be all right. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘There are a few bad people who are unhappy with me. But I have the backing of the union, and this will all be taken care of.’

  She pushed away from him. ‘What the fuck does that mean? The backing of the union? Are they all involved in this?’

  He crossed his arms again. ‘It means I’ll take care of this. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Until this is done, though, I want you to stay here. I’ve got a man who will be here, too. Just to make sure nothing happens. He’s with the union.’

  ‘The union?’

  ‘It’s for your own good.’ His phone rang and he took it out of his pocket. He held it up to his ear. ‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘OK. I’ll be there shortly.’ He put the phone back into his pocket. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  He started to walk out, and then paused. ‘Th
e five hundred dollars you wanted …’ he began. Then he stopped to regroup. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about that.’

  ‘I don’t want the money,’ Diamond said.

  ‘You’ve made your decision, then?’

  She nodded. It was true, she had. Without even realizing it, something clicked inside her brain or her heart, or whatever part of her that made the best decisions on instinct.

  She saw Cormack allow himself a smile. She also saw that the smile was tinged with regret. She wondered what he was feeling.

  ‘Who’s the father?’ he asked.

  Diamond just stared at him, not answering.

  He nodded. ‘OK. When you’re ready. Does he know you’re keeping it?’

  She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t even know I’m pregnant.’

  ‘How do you think he’ll react?’

  ‘How did you react when Mom told you about me?’ The comment stung him, she could see, and she was instantly sorry she’d said it. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said.

  ‘No, it’s a fair point,’ he allowed. ‘Who knows, maybe the world has changed since then. Maybe he’s a better man than I was.’ She could tell that he wanted to say more. Finally, he asked, ‘Do you love him?’

  She stared at her father for a moment, afraid of what she would say. Afraid of how he would react. Afraid of how she actually felt.

  ‘More than I ever thought I’d love anyone,’ she said at last.

  He held her eyes with his for a long pause. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It may not make it work, but at least it makes it worth the try. I hope I get the chance to meet him soon.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’