IT WAS LATE but lights were still lit on the top floor. Cámara identified himself at the main entrance and took the lift up. The place looked clean and undamaged: it seemed that, despite his best efforts, the demonstrators had not found a way into the bankers’ castle. A head-on assault by an angry mob was not always the best way to break a corrupt institution, but there were alternatives.
A passing secretary, carrying a tray of coffee cups and clearly disgruntled at having to stay so late, confirmed what he suspected and pointed him in the right direction. The lush and exotic pot plants on either side of the corridor softened the sound of his footsteps.
Felicidad Galván was on her own, sitting at her desk with hundreds of papers in neatly stacked towers in front of her. He walked in and she looked up over small, gold-rimmed reading glasses, her face expressionless, almost as though she had expected him.
‘The policeman from the other day. Forgive me if I don’t stand up,’ she said.
Cámara walked to the other side of the desk and was going to sit down when he changed his mind, picked up the chair and carried it round to Felicidad’s side. As he eased himself down she stared at him, confused.
‘I’m assuming you’re going to explain yourself at some point.’
Cámara glanced at the papers in front of her and saw handwritten documents with lists of names and numbers.
‘Javier Flores has confessed,’ he said.
Her eyes widened and a tense smile rippled across her thin mouth.
‘Javier Flores?’
‘He told us everything. About the slush fund, how it operated, where the money came from.’
She blinked.
‘How you were running it,’ said Cámara.
Her jaws tightened as she tried to conceal her reaction. For a moment Cámara got the impression that she was going to resist.
‘I’ve just come from seeing Flores now,’ he said.
Dried blood still clung to his shirt, his face was pale from the pain in his ribs and back. He wanted a shower and to sleep for days. But first he had to do this.
‘It looks like you had a rough time of it,’ said Felicidad.
‘I also came across some members of the LOP,’ Cámara said. ‘The Legionaries of Order and Progress. I think you know them. The leader, Francisco Soler, has been arrested. He has some interesting things to say as well.’
She took off her glasses and placed them on the desk.
‘Is that why you’ve come? To arrest me?’
‘That depends on you.’
She shuffled in her chair and picked up one of the documents, pondering it for a moment.
‘Do you know what this is?’ she asked. ‘It’s one of the many thousands of documents I’ve been keeping over the past ten years.’
She glanced back at him.
‘All handwritten, no copies made. No one else knows they even exist. Not even Diego Oliva. And he knew a lot of things. Too many things.’
‘Is that why you look at them late at night, all on your own?’
She smiled.
‘Yes, probably. All on my own. You make it sound like a death sentence. Is that it? Am I on my own?’
She shook her head, more resigned than defiant.
‘Perhaps I can still buy some friends. I’ve done it before. With a different sort of currency, of course.’
‘You mean those documents?’
‘Yes, these documents. You’ve probably guessed what they’re about.’
‘Is it all there?’
‘Everything. Every cent we received, where it came from, and where it went.’
‘And who ordered it to be spent where.’
She paused.
‘I suppose that’s the most important thing, is it? The puppetmaster behind it all. But yes, you’re right. That’s here as well. JF. I’ve used his initials throughout, but there’s no doubting who it refers to.’
The solitary siren of a police car screamed down the road several storeys below, very slowly diminishing as it sped past and continued its journey across the city.
‘It’s funny,’ she said. ‘In the daytime, with all the background noise, it’s as though you can’t hear anything up here. We’re isolated from the rest of the world, lost in our little tower, removed and yet here, in the heart of things, moving our pieces, playing our grand games. And it’s just that we’re deafened by so much noise. So it’s only at night, when everything is silent, that you can really hear. And understand.’
‘Did you think the police car was coming for you?’
She frowned.
‘Yes. For a moment I did.’
‘But to help you or to take you away?’
She squinted at him.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I know that Chief Inspector Maldonado has been tipping Flores off,’ Cámara said. ‘We’ve known for years. He is so transparent, despite his best efforts not to be.’
For a moment, Felicidad was silent, then slowly she began to nod.
‘You almost sound fond of him,’ she said.
‘It’s not quite the word I would use.’
‘No, perhaps not.’
‘How involved was he?’
‘Are you asking me questions now?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Why should I answer you? Am I being arrested? But if so, where are the handcuffs, the investigating judge, the other policemen who would surely be here? Not just a single chief inspector acting alone in the middle of the night.’
‘I shot Flores,’ he said.
She gasped.
‘That’s why I’m covered in blood. One of the reasons.’
‘Is . . . Is he . . .?’
‘Did you know Julio? One of the LOP men.’
‘I . . .’
‘Flores had just murdered him, put a bullet through his head. From point-blank range. Hard to miss, although admittedly it was in the dark.’
Felicidad could not speak.
‘That’s when I found him, with the gun in his hand and Julio’s shattered skull on the floor. So I shot him.’
‘You . . .’
Cámara spotted a glass of water on the desk. He leaned over and passed it to Felicidad.
‘So you see, this is no longer a political game. We’re not talking about people wriggling away by claiming they can’t remember anything, or simply denying taking kickbacks. You know, the usual way these cases end up, taking years in the courts and the guilty always walking free in the end, paying off the right people.’
Felicidad’s hand shook as she put the glass back on the table.
‘This is now a murder investigation. And real, easily identified murder. I’m not talking about the subtler, quieter murder of thousands by stealing money intended for their medicines, or to pay for their doctors. As far as I’m concerned, Señorita Galván, you are just as guilty as all the others I put away for stabbing their wives, or cutting up a rival drug dealer. You are a murderer and you are going to jail.’
He looked down at the documents on her desk and then back to her.
‘For how long depends entirely on you.’
There was a light knocking at the door and the secretary came in.
‘I’m going home,’ she said sulkily. ‘It’s almost midnight.’
‘Yes, go,’ Felicidad said, waving her away. ‘I’m so sorry, I . . . I should have said something before. Take . . . Why don’t you take tomorrow off. You’ve been working very hard.’
The secretary’s face brightened a little.
‘Now go, please. Take a taxi and charge it to me.’
‘Thanks.’
The secretary cast a questioning glance at Cámara and then closed the door. After a pause, Cámara spoke.
‘We’re alone?’
‘A guard is on duty through the night. He stays on the ground floor.’
‘Lonely work.’
‘Someone’s got to do it.’
She smiled.
‘I’ve always been a night bird. The problem is that this job demands early starts as well, so I often stay here through till morning, pretending that I’ve been the first to arrive.’
‘Not much life outside work, then.’
‘No. Not much.’
‘Until Flores came along.’
She jumped in her seat.
‘What?’
‘You were sleeping with him, weren’t you?’
‘How did you . . .? Did he tell you that?’
‘He didn’t have to. Those . . .’ He gestured around his neck. ‘Brown leather ties. I mean, come on.’
Her hand shot up to her throat. The leather thong drooped listlessly down the front of her blouse.
‘I still haven’t taken it off,’ she said in a low voice, her eyes staring at the floor.
‘Did he end it?’ asked Cámara.
‘Last night,’ she said. ‘Rang me up, said he was sorry, but . . . Just a load of excuses.’
‘Were you in love with him?’
She shook her head.
‘No. It was a diversion. Fun. A woman can’t get to where I have with things like love getting in the way.’
She laughed.
‘Besides, he’s in love with Emilia, the mayoress. He only screws around when she’s no longer letting him into her bed. It happens every now and again. I think she does it with a few of her councillors – keeps them on their toes.’
Her gaze became unfocused as she spoke.
‘We used these,’ she said, her hand stroking the tie. ‘His and hers. Mine to tie up his right hand and his to tie up his left. Then he’d get me to pretend I was Emilia, all dressed up and shouting at him how bad he’d been. He loved it. Although it didn’t do much for me, to be honest.’
‘Did Emilia know about the slush fund?’ Cámara asked.
She looked up, caught off guard.
‘No. I mean, I don’t know. There’s nothing about her there, if that’s what you mean.’
She nodded at the towers of documents.
‘Is that what this is about? Getting Emilia? Smashing the system?’
She grinned.
‘Emilia’s too smart for that. Not Flores, but then you’ve already worked that out.’
‘And Maldonado?’
She waved a hand.
‘Pah! Maldo is just a grubby messenger boy. He gets his little cut, like everyone. He was kept going, passing information about the police. But it’s more the thought that he’s currying favours, people who will help him up the ladder. He’s not really in it for the money. Although I did notice a gold Rolex on his wrist the last time I saw him.’
Cámara smiled.
‘Did you really think someone so stupid and ostentatious could be involved at a higher level?’
‘If he was involved, why did he get Torres and me to investigate both the killings? He could at least have buried Oliva’s death for a while – it looked like a genuine suicide attempt at the beginning.’
‘That was a mistake,’ she said. ‘He’d already assigned the cases before Flores could get to him. Once he got the nod, however, he did what he could to slow everything down.’
‘So he tipped off the LOP,’ Cámara said. ‘When we went to their gym it looked like they’d left in a hurry. He must have told them.’
‘No,’ said Felicidad. ‘That wasn’t Maldo. That was me.’
‘You?’
‘You came here, remember? Fished me out of the conference room. You were getting close. I thought precautions should be made.’
Cámara was silent.
‘Is that all right?’ Felicidad said. ‘As a confession? It makes me feel quite good. There’s something almost addictive about it.’
‘So you’ll give us the documents?’ Cámara asked. ‘As evidence?’
Her mouth tightened and she turned away.
‘You can have them,’ she said at last. ‘You can have the lot.’
‘Tell me,’ Cámara said. ‘Why the LOP? I mean, OK, I understand they’re on the Right, like Flores. But they’re extremists, violent thugs.’
‘I’m not the person to ask.’
‘You’re a party member. You were running the slush fund.’
‘Managing it,’ she said. ‘Not making decisions about where the money should go.’
‘You knew everything that was going on.’
She sighed.
‘They were useful,’ she said. ‘That was how Flores explained it to me. He used them – to keep tabs on other Far Right parties, to float political ideas sometimes. How voters reacted to Soler’s comments about Catalan Nationalism or a new wave of immigrants gave them a chance to test the waters. Then he could harden or soften the Town Hall’s own line on these matters depending.’
‘They did more, though. Much more.’
‘That’s how it began. Then Flores started using them for more direct action. They were told to make friends in the police – it wasn’t difficult, as far as I hear. Some of your colleagues are already quite politicised in that direction.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
‘But you’re right, they were doing more. Flores wanted them to keep an eye on certain people – political opponents, a few journalists. And the idea was to frighten them, perhaps.’
‘But then Amy Donahue and Diego Oliva got murdered.’
She pressed a hand to her lips, as though suddenly aware that she was talking – talking too much.
‘And Diego had worked for you.’
Still no answer.
‘Did you tell them about him? Did you mention that he might be a threat? That he knew about the slush fund?’
Her eyes reddened and with the tiniest of motions she began to nod.
‘You told Flores, right? Warned him about Diego.’
‘I didn’t want him to be killed. I didn’t know they would do that. That they would follow him and kill him. And then the girl. The American. How was I supposed to know?’
‘But you mentioned him. He was off the leash, out of work, pissed off at how he’d been treated here and knew everything.’
She nodded.
‘Why didn’t you buy him off?’
‘I tried. At first I tried to give him some money, sort him out,’ she said. ‘But too much time had passed. He was proud, said he’d never forgive me. I never really believed he’d spill everything, though. I mean, he still had a chance of getting a job at another bank one day. He wasn’t going to be out of work for ever. But if he went public with what he knew he would ruin everything. No one would ever hire him after such a breach of trust.’
Cámara laughed.
‘What?’
‘You’re all as fucking corrupt as each other,’ he said. ‘A man goes clean and suddenly no other bank would want to touch him. You’re despicable.’
Felicidad closed her eyes.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, we are.’
Cámara heard a noise outside, like a footstep, and stood up.
Felicidad looked at him with a curious expression.
‘That guard,’ Cámara said in a low voice. ‘Which company did you say he worked for?’
‘I didn’t,’ Felicidad said. ‘But now that you ask, I’m assuming the name Protegival means something to you.’
The door was thrust open violently and before he could react Cámara was thrown to the floor. The guard reached for his wrists, trying to pin him to the ground, and smashed downwards with his head. Cámara managed to turn his face at the last minute and the point of the guard’s forehead hit his cheekbone.
‘Fucking keep still!’
The guard’s head went back to take another strike. His weight was pressed down on Cámara, but only one knee had managed to immobilise Cámara’s left leg. With his right, Cámara jerked upwards and connected with the guard’s groin.
A low moaning sound shot from the guard’s mouth and he rolled on to his side. Cámara went to grapple with him, but the guard had already unholstered his pistol and was waving it in his hand. Cámara crouched and shunted his head against the guard’s stomach as the gun went off. From the other side of the room came the sound of shattering glass: the bullet had hit one of the large windows looking out over the street.
With his head still buried in the guard’s abdomen, Cámara reached up and put a finger in his attacker’s mouth, pulling it hard to the side and almost ripping the skin. The man went down, screaming. In an instant Cámara had pulled out his own weapon and trained it against his head.
‘It stops now,’ he said, panting. The guard was in agony, one hand pressed between his legs, the other nursing his face. Cámara reached round the back of the guard’s belt and unhooked the handcuffs, then flipped the man on to his front and secured his wrists.
He stood up, still trying to catch his breath, and looked around. There was no sign of Felicidad.
He raced to the open door and checked up and down the corridor, but she was nowhere in sight. Had she already made it downstairs?
On the desk, the towers of documents were all there. She had not taken a single one.
From the other side of the room, a cool breeze was beginning to blow in. Cámara looked up: the window had a much larger hole in it, not the neat circle where the bullet had just passed.
He ran over and peered out. But he already knew.
Felicidad’s body lay shattered and destroyed on the empty pavement below.
He stepped back, his head reeling.
On the railing, at the side of the window, hung the brown leather tie.