THE CELL STANK of urine and electricity. Sanchís had never noticed that electricity had a smell – sweetish, metallic, like the odour of spilled blood. The air in the cell was stuffy, saturated with that aroma that made his stomach turn. In a corner the generator buzzed, making the lightbulb vibrate. The bulb dangled from the ceiling, projecting a milky light over damp walls that seemed to be covered in scratches.
Sanchís made an effort to keep his eyes open. By now he could barely feel his arms or his legs, which were tied with wire to the metal chair, so tightly that it cut his skin. “What have you done with my wife?”
“Your wife is safely at home. In perfect health. Who do you think we are?”
“I don’t know who you are.”
The voice acquired a face, and for the first time Sanchís confronted those crystal-clear, steely eyes, so blue they looked liquid. The face was angular, but with soft features. The man speaking to him looked like a matinee idol, one of those handsome men who well-to-do ladies steal a glance at and feel a rush between their legs. He dressed with extraordinary elegance. Gold cufflinks engraved with the eagle of the national shield gleamed on the cuffs of his dry-cleaned shirt.
“We are the law,” said the speaker, smiling as if they were good friends.
“In that case, let me go. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
The man, who had drawn up a chair and was sitting opposite Sanchís, nodded sympathetically. Sanchís noticed that there were at least two more people in the cell, leaning against the wall in the shadows.
“My name is Hendaya. I’m sorry we’ve had to meet in these circumstances, but I like to think that you and I are going to be good friends. Friends respect one another, and don’t keep secrets to themselves.”
Hendaya gave a nod, and two of his men came over to the chair and began to cut Sanchís’s clothes into shreds with a pair of scissors.
“I learned practically everything I know from a great man – Inspector Francisco Javier Fumero, who has a plaque in his name in this building. Fumero was one of those men who are sometimes not fully appreciated. I think this is something that you, Sanchís, my friend, can understand better than most, because the same thing happened to you. Isn’t that right?”
Sanchís, who had started to tremble when he saw how his clothes were being snipped off him, stammered out, “I don’t . . . know what you—”
Hendaya raised a hand, cutting him off. “We’re among friends, Sanchís. Just as I said. We don’t need to keep secrets from one another. The good Spaniard has no secrets. And you’re a good Spaniard. The trouble is that sometimes people can be spiteful. We must admit it. We’re the best country in the world, nobody can doubt that, but occasionally envy gets the better of us. And you know that. All those comments about how you married the boss’s daughter, how you married for money, how you didn’t deserve being made director general, how this, how that . . . As I say, I understand you. And I understand that when a man’s honour and his self-respect are put in doubt, he gets angry. Because when a man’s got balls, he gets angry. And you’ve got them. A good pair of balls.”
Sanchís’s voice drowned in a howl when the man operating the generator clamped the pincers on his testicles. “Please, don’t hurt me, no . . .”
“Don’t cry, man, we haven’t done anything to you yet. Come on, look at me. Look me in the eye.”
Crying like a baby, Sanchís looked up.
Hendaya was smiling at him. “Let’s see, Sanchís. I’m your friend. This is just between you and me. No secrets. You help me, and I’ll take you home to be with your wife, which is where you should be. Don’t cry, man. I don’t like to see a Spaniard cry, for fuck’s sake. The only people who cry here are those who are holding something back. But we have nothing to hide here, have we? There are no secrets here. Because we’re among friends. I know you’ve got Mauricio Valls. And I understand. Valls is a bastard. Yes, yes. I can say that: I don’t have any qualms about saying that. I’ve seen the documents. I know Valls was forcing you to break the law. Making you sell shares that didn’t exist. I don’t know much about these things. Can’t get my head around all this finance stuff. But even someone as ignorant as me can see that Valls was forcing you to steal for him. I’ll tell you clearly: this individual may be a minister, but he’s a shit. And believe me, this is something I do understand, something I have to see every day. But you know what this country is like. You’re valued according to what friends you have. It’s like that, I’m afraid. And Valls has lots of friends. The sort of friends who are in charge. But everything has a limit. There comes a point when one has to say: Enough. And you’ve wanted to take the law into your own hands. Look, I understand. But that’s a mistake. That’s what we’re here for. It’s our job. Right now all we want is to find that rogue Valls, so that everything is cleared up. So you can go home to your wife. So that we can put Valls into jail once and for all, and he can answer for what he’s done. And so I can go off on holiday – it’s high time I did, I tell you. And then we forget about it all. You do understand, don’t you?”
Sanchís tried to say something, but his teeth chattered so much the words were incomprehensible.
“What are you saying, Sanchís? If you don’t stop shaking, I can’t hear what you’re saying.”
“What shares?” he managed to articulate.
Hendaya sighed. “You disappoint me, Sanchís. I thought we were friends. And one mustn’t insult one’s friends. This is not going well. I’m making it easy for you because deep down I understand what you’ve done. Perhaps others wouldn’t understand, but I do. Because I know what it’s like to have to put up with this sort of rabble who think they’re above everything. So I’m going to give you a second chance. Because I like you. But just a bit of advice from a friend: sometimes one has to know when it’s not a good idea to get all cocky.”
“I don’t know what . . . shares you’re talking about,” stammered Sanchís.
“Stop snivelling, for fuck’s sake. Can’t you see what an uncomfortable position you’re putting me in? I must leave this room with results. It’s that simple. You understand that. Basically, it’s very straightforward. When life gives it to you up the ass, it’s best to pretend you’re a faggot. And life is about to fuck you in the backside big-time, my friend. Don’t make things difficult for yourself. Men a hundred times tougher than you have sat in this chair and only lasted a quarter of an hour. You’re a bit high and mighty. Don’t force me to do what I don’t want to do. For the last time: tell me where you’ve got him, and all will be forgotten. You’ll be back with your wife tonight, unhurt.”
“Please,” Sanchís begged, “don’t do anything to her . . . She’s not well.”
Hendaya sighed and slowly drew closer to Sanchís, until his face was just a few centimetres away. “Look here, you bastard,” he said, his tone infinitely colder. “If you don’t tell me where Valls is, I’m going to fry your balls until you crap on your mother’s memory, and then I’m going to get that little wife of yours and peel the flesh off her bones with a pair of hot pliers, slowly, so she knows that the crybaby she married is to blame for what’s happening to her.”
Sanchís closed his eyes and whimpered.
Hendaya shrugged and walked over to the generator. “It’s your party.”
The banker smelled that metallic odour again and felt the vibration on the floor under the soles of his feet. The lightbulb flickered a couple of times. Afterwards, all was fire.