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“Do you really think you should be sitting like that?” Pizarro asked of Cortez as Diaz returned to the position he had previously occupied in the corner of the room and took out the tape recorder once more. “Quite apart from it being inappropriate for you to have your feet up on the bed, Miss Torres has been in a fire and her legs are badly burnt.”
“Strangely enough, I am aware of that, Francisco, seeing as how I saw her before she was brought here. My feet aren’t touching Sofia’s legs, though, so she isn’t being affected, and I don’t think the bed gives much of a damn where my feet are.” Cortez was amused by the annoyance that flashed across Pizarro’s face. “Do you mind that I have my feet on the bed, Sofia?”
“What’s going on?” Pizarro asked before Sofia could respond to the question. “You’re acting very strangely.”
“I take it you want to continue your interview,” Cortez said, removing his feet from the bed so he could stand. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Sofia. I’ll come back tomorrow if you like.”
“Yes please,” Sofia said with a small smile. “I know it’s rude of me to ask since I don’t know you very well, but would you mind bringing me some magazines when you come back, or maybe some books. I don’t mind what, I just want something to take my mind off the boredom.”
“I’ll see what I can come up with. I don’t have many books at home, I’ve never been much of a reader, but I’ll bring you something. I know just how boring hospitals can be, though I imagine by the time Francisco’s finished with you, you’ll have found a whole new level of boredom to deal with.” Cortez grinned as he delivered the verbal jab. He took his leave then and departed before Pizarro could think of a response.
“Was Sergeant Cortez bothering you?” Pizarro asked as he settled himself on the chair left vacant by Cortez’s departure. “I can make sure he doesn’t come back if he was,” he said, ignoring the fact that Sofia had seemed perfectly content to be talking to his former partner.
“Why don’t you like him?” Sofia asked. The animosity between the two men had been clear even in the brief time she had seen them together. “He seemed perfectly nice to me. Nicer than some people I’ve known. And no, I don’t want you to stop him coming back. My family is gone, and I’ve got few friends, so it’s nice that there’s someone who wants to come and see me.”
Pizarro couldn’t help wondering if Cortez had an ulterior motive for being friendly with Sofia Torres. He knew well enough that Cortez was not inclined towards friendliness on most occasions, and especially not towards people he didn’t already know or want something from, which made his behaviour unusual.
He chose not to voice his suspicions. Instead, he said, “I have personal reasons for disliking him. Are you ready to answer some questions for us now?” he asked, resolving to find out what Cortez was up to when he had a chance.
“I suppose I’d better get it all out of the way,” Sofia said, unhappily resigned to the necessity of it.
“We’ll do our best to finish this off as quickly and as painlessly as possible,” Pizarro said. “We’ll start at the beginning, if that’s alright.” He waited until Sofia nodded and then continued, “You stated that upon hearing gunfire you went to the window to see what was going on, and that you saw two vehicles, a van and a car. Can you describe them?”
“The van was just an ordinary van,” Sofia said. “The sort you see making deliveries all the time. I don’t know what sort it was. I was too surprised by what was going on to pay much attention to it.”
“Are you sure you don’t know what make the van was? It could be important. Every little thing you remember is important,” Pizarro said when Sofia shook her head. “Would it help if we show you some pictures of vans? You might be able to recognise the make and model if you see a picture of it.”
“If you think it’ll help, I’ll look at the pictures, but I don’t think it’ll make much difference.”
“We’ll compile a selection of pictures for you. What size van was it, small, medium, or large?”
“It was about the size of the ambulance that brought me here. Does that help?”
“Yes, it gives us a size range to work with. Once we have the pictures, someone will bring them over so you can look through them.” Pizarro had no intention of handling such a menial job himself. He would get someone junior to take care of it. “What colour was the van?”
“It was a dirty white.”
“Do you mean it was white and hadn’t been cleaned in a while, or that it was an off-white?” Diaz asked.
“White, but it hadn’t been cleaned in a while. Not a long while, just long enough to tell that it needed cleaning.”
“I don’t suppose, by some miracle, you saw the number plate of the van?” Pizarro was disappointed, but not surprised, when Sofia shook her head. “What about the car? What can you remember about it?”
“It was blue, a BMW, I think. It didn’t look brand new, but neither did it look old. That’s all I can tell you about it, I’m afraid. And I didn’t see the number plate.”
“Well, it’s not much, Pizarro admitted, “but it is something. How about the men you said you saw by the car? Can you describe them?”
“One of them was mostly hidden behind the car, so I couldn’t see much of him. The other two though, one of them was middle-aged from what I could see, maybe in his fifties, and I think he was the one in charge. The young guy, he was in his mid-thirties I’d say, was carrying a gun, a big one.”
“What else can you tell us about them?”
“The young guy was, I don’t know how tall. I was looking down so it’s hard to be sure, but the car came up to about his elbow. On the old guy, the car was between his elbow and his shoulder. Can you work out how tall they were from that?”
“It’s possible. There should be someone at the station who can work it out. Anything else?”
“From what I could see of him, the older guy was pretty ordinary. Like I said, I’m not sure about his height, but he wasn’t tall, and he seemed about medium build. His hair was black, but I think he was starting to go grey. I’ve no idea what colour his eyes were, he was too far away for me to see.” Sofia stopped speaking then as she tried to recall more of what she had seen. “He was wearing a blue suit. The other guy, the one with the gun, he had blond hair, very blond. I remember it because it was the sort of blond you see in American films, like the women in California have.”
“I think I get the picture. What clothes was he wearing, can you remember?”
“A grey suit. I don’t think he was used to it, though, he didn’t seem very comfortable.”
“What do you mean? As you said, you were a distance away, how could you tell he wasn’t comfortable with the clothes he was wearing?”
“I saw him fidget with the collar of his shirt and the jacket he was wearing, like they didn’t fit him properly.”
“That is a remarkably acute observation given the events of yesterday. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help us much. Did you notice anything else?”
“No, that was about it. I wasn’t at the window for long before I went to go downstairs.”
“And when you heard someone coming up the stairs, you hid, right.”
“Yes.” Sofia nodded. “I hid in the wardrobe.”
“Okay, let’s go through everything you can remember about what was said when the guy you heard entered the room.”
“Like I told you, he spoke English when he was talking to Mr Abrantes, and in French, which I didn’t understand, the rest of the time. I’m sure he was the older guy from by the car, though; I don't know what it was, but his voice just sounded like that of a man in his fifties, rather than someone younger,” Sofia said in response to the questioning look from Pizarro. “The main thing I heard him say was that Mr Abrantes should have listened to him, and that he had told him what would happen if he invaded his territory. It was so strange. He sounded like he was talking to a friend, not someone he was going to kill.”
“Some people are like that. They can kill without the slightest show of emotion. Psychopaths,” Pizarro said. “What was said next?”
“Mr Abrantes wanted to know what had been done to the rest of his family, and he was told they were dead. The guy didn’t seem to care in the slightest. I couldn’t hear what Mr Abrantes said clearly after that, but it sounded like he was calling the guy names, and I definitely heard him say something about stories. The guy said something about stories as well. I think he said Mr Abrantes’ family would still be alive if he had listened to the stories. He also said he should have killed Mr Abrantes in France. He believed him about not wanting a war, but he lied to him, and that meant he had to make an example of him.”
Sofia paused then to moisten her throat before continuing, “The only other thing I understood was the man saying that this was what happens to people who lied to him. What he meant by that I have no idea. I might have been able to see through the keyhole in the wardrobe door, but I was too afraid to move in case I made a noise.”
“You did the right thing,” Pizarro reassured her. “I don’t think anyone can blame you for not wanting to draw attention to yourself. Can you tell me anything about the voice you heard, the one you think belongs to the older man you saw?”
“No. It was just an ordinary voice.”
“Think hard, Miss Torres. Was it loud, quiet, rough, smooth? Did he have an unusual accent, something distinctive you would be able to recognise if you heard it again?”
“It was just an ordinary voice,” Sofia said, distressed that she was unable to help more. “If I heard it again, I might recognise it, but I couldn’t say for sure.”
“Okay. Can you remember anything else about what happened yesterday?”
Sofia spent several minutes thinking hard and then shook her head. “No, that’s everything I can remember, and it’s more than I wish I did.”
“I understand, but are you sure that’s everything? How about when you were leaving? Do you remember seeing or hearing anything on your way out of the house?”
“All I saw was the bodies in the kitchen. The people I used to know. People I spent time with. People I cared about. My uncle. They all died yesterday.” Sofia was beginning to get frustrated by the seemingly endless series of questions and it showed in her voice. “Don’t you care about the people who died? Don’t you care about anything other than if I heard or saw something that will help you?”
“Of course I care. I care a great deal about the people who died,” Pizarro said with as much sincerity as he could muster. He did care that numerous people had died, it was just that he cared more for the fact that their murders made for a good career opportunity for him. “But given the circumstances, there is only one thing I can do to help them, and that is to find the people responsible and make sure they go to jail. And I can only do that with your help.”
“Well, I’ve given you everything I can. I don’t know anything else.”
Pizarro sighed. “In that case we’ll be off. Thank you for your help, and for your patience. I’ll make sure you’re kept informed of how the investigation is going. If you think of anything that might help us, no matter how small or insignificant you think it might be, don’t hesitate to contact either me or my partner. Even the smallest thing could help us crack the case.” Taking a business card from his pocket he set it on the table at the side of the bed.