Early on Friday morning, Vargas and Torres stood in the hallway outside the interview room. The chief inspector was holding a thick blue file containing case notes and photos of García’s two dead accomplices.
“Okay, Juan, let’s see what García’s got to say for himself. Hopefully a night’s sleep courtesy of our five star facilities has oiled his brain cells.”
Pedro looked up as the two detectives entered the room. Vargas sat directly opposite him, with Torres flanking him to the left. The only other person present was a young, newly graduated pro bono lawyer, appointed by the district, who sat alongside the accused man.
Vargas flicked on the tape recorder, the only object sitting on the table, and placed the folder down in front of the suspect.
“Good morning, Señor García. I’m Chief Inspector Vargas and I believe you’ve already met Inspector Torres?”
Pedro nodded.
“Señor García, we have good reason to believe that between the sixth and eighth of January you took part in a safe-deposit robbery at the Banco Estero, aided by Ricardo Gonzales and your cousin, Sebastian Ramos.”
Pedro tried his best to look unimpressed but couldn’t prevent his pupils slightly dilating. Vargas saw the telltale sign and continued.
“We believe the three of you split the haul and hid your respective shares in different places. Am I correct so far?”
Pedro couldn’t think of a decent reply so kept silent.
“Would you like to know where your associates decided to stash their shares?”
Pedro stared straight-ahead at the digital wall clock and remained silent. Vargas was only just warming up. He knew the best was still to come as, clearly, García had no idea his friends were dead.
“Ricardo decided to hide his share in a shed at the bottom of his father’s garden. He knew his old man was confined to a wheelchair, so figured it was a pretty safe location. Sebastian, on the other hand, decided to keep his share much closer to home. As you know, he was an accomplished carpenter and he hid it all under the floorboards in his flat.”
Pedro wondered if, right now, his two associates were somewhere inside the station being interviewed in separate rooms. But, at the same time, he had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. He knew both men well and was convinced neither of them would have named him or handed over their share of the take.
“Now, Señor García, would you care to tell us where your stash is hidden?”
Pedro still refused to speak. Vargas knew it was time to play his ace card and slowly opened the blue folder. He retrieved two A4-size photos that showed the mutilated bodies of Gonzales and Ramos. He slid them across the table so they fell directly under the gaze of his suspect. Pedro reeled back in his seat but couldn’t take his eyes off the photos of his friends. Torres spoke for the first time.
“Now you understand why I told you earlier you are a very lucky man. Unfortunately for your friends, we were not waiting for them when they returned to their homes. But somebody else was.”
Pedro’s face was now frozen with fear. He looked up from the pictures and glared at his two interrogators before speaking for the first time.
“Who did this and why?”
Vargas picked up the photos and placed them back in the folder.
“Two very good questions, Pedro. Questions we don’t yet have an answer to. But we do know one thing – you and your friends have seriously pissed off some very powerful people who appear as if they will stop at nothing to retrieve whatever’s in their stolen box. It seems that whatever they are looking for must be in your share of the haul. So, I’ll ask you again, where have you hidden it?”
Pedro was clearly stunned by the revelations but decided that for now his best chance of survival was to say nothing. He needed some thinking time and, at least for the moment, he was safe from whoever was out there looking for him. After two minutes of total silence, Vargas collected the folder and stood up from the table.
“Señor Pedro García, you leave us with no choice but to charge you with the unlawful entry and robbery of the safe depository at the Banco Estero on Avenida Cabildo in the Belgrano district. As it’s Friday, you will remain in custody over the weekend and then, on Monday, you will be taken to the federal courthouse in Morón, where you will be formally charged.”
Vargas and Torres made their way to the door while Pedro sat quietly in his chair, contemplating his fate. The chief inspector turned to look back at García.
“You seem an intelligent man, Señor García. Hopefully, a couple of nights’ sleep in a cell will help you to remember what you did with your cut.”