Or the Bull Kills You (29 page)

The
Municipal
had rolled on to his side and was curling up into a ball, giving off a faint, high-pitched whine. The neck brace of a few days ago had gone.

‘You've had so many opportunities to say please in the past,' Cámara continued. ‘Why should I listen to you now?'

The man was crying in fear and pain, shivering as though he were lying on frozen ground. Looking down, Cámara felt disgust. Couldn't he at least make a stand, rather than capitulate so easily? Was it even worth the effort with him? But he'd seen types like this before: collapsing into a useless wreck one minute only to get up the next when they thought they were out of danger to carry on where they had left off. No, this man needed to understand where he had gone wrong.

‘It wasn't my idea!' the
Municipal
shouted as Cámara went to haul him up. ‘None of it was my idea.'

Cámara let him drop back down to the ground.

‘You think I'm stupid, or something?' he said. ‘I know perfectly well you work for Flores.'

‘Flores,' the
Municipal
breathed. ‘It was all Flores.'

‘I'm glad you don't work for me,' Cámara mumbled to himself, ‘if that's your idea of loyalty.'

‘Flores said I should attack you,' the other man went on, clinging to the idea that a full confession would somehow save him.

‘Who were the other two?' Cámara asked.

‘They're not police,' he said. ‘Just a couple of guys I know.'

‘You use them regularly for this kind of thing, then?' Cámara said. The
Municipal
was silent. Cámara leaned forwards and grabbed his wrist, wrenching it behind his back again.

‘No, no,' the
Municipal
said. ‘I mean yes, sometimes. They're ex-prisoners. Just a couple of thieves. I use them sometimes when Flores wants—'

‘When Flores wants some dirty work doing,' Cámara finished the sentence for him. He softened the pressure on the man's arm, but held on to it.

‘Yeah, that's it,' the
Municipal
said. His head was bowed, his face staring at the floor.

‘And the other stuff?'

‘That was all me,' the man said.

‘You with the camera?'

He nodded.

‘And I smashed the window of your car to leave the photos there. Flores even had me deliver them by hand to your girlfriend's office. He didn't like it when you hauled him in. You shouldn't have done that.'

Cámara's eyes rolled. He should flatten the man's nose against his face, but the comment about Almudena threw him for a second. So she had seen the photos. It was to be expected, but until that moment there had been a faint hope within him that they hadn't reached her. Not that it mattered, though. She'd seen him with Alicia in the street.

His concentration lapsed and in that moment the
Municipal
pulled his wrist free and moved to run away. He scrambled to his feet and darted in the direction of the shed, and his gun lying on the floor. Cámara launched himself after him, stumbling on the loose dirt underfoot as he tried to catch him. The two men passed through the doorway almost simultaneously, but the
Municipal
was just able to reach down and pick up his gun. As he did so, Cámara hurled himself on top of him, throwing him to the ground. There was a loud CRACK as the revolver went off, but already one of Cámara's hands was reaching down to hold the gun away while the other was pressed against the man's throat. At once the
Municipal
went limp and the gun fell with a clatter to the cement floor.

‘Still hurt, does it?' Cámara said as he pressed hard on his trachea. A cold thrill passed through his hands, his jaw, his eyes, as he felt life beating in desperation against his fingers. ‘Still a bit sore from last time?'

The man was choking, his chest rising off the ground as he struggled for air, paralysed by the pain. Sitting over his abdomen to gain more control, Cámara could hear his legs thrashing against the floor as he fought to stay alive, his eyes like swelling bulges in his head. His grip tightened around his neck, and the
Municipal
's body grew tauter. It's coming now, he thought to himself: the point where I could kill him. Like flicking a light switch. Or slaughtering a bull.

He released the pressure and got to his feet. On the floor the man was panting for breath, his body immobile except for the rising and sinking of his ribs. Reaching for the revolver on the floor, Cámara slipped it into the back of his trousers. Then he grabbed the man by the shoulders and dragged him back outside. As they were passing through the doorway he saw a coil of rope hanging from a nail in the wall. He grabbed it and started tying the
Municipal
's hands behind his back, bringing the remainder down and tying his feet together as well. Then he sat him with his back against the wall.

The other man was silent, passive, his hands like ice.

‘There's one more thing before we finish here,' Cámara said.

‘If you kill me,' the
Municipal
said, struggling to talk, ‘they'll know it was you.'

Cámara crouched down to come face to face with him.

‘If I was going to kill you you'd be dead already,' he said, and placed his hand firmly but gently against the man's throat again.

‘Besides,' he said, ‘
Por la boca muere el pez
– A fish dies through its mouth. What I need from you is more information.'

Tears glistened at the corners of the man's eyes.

‘What did Flores want?' Cámara said. ‘Why did he get you to attack me?'

The
Municipal
remained silent. Cámara took his hand off his throat and pulled his head up straight to look him in the face.

‘Why?'

A sneer began to form on the man's lip.

‘You're useful,' he said at last. ‘This investigation is useful.'

Cámara pulled harder on the man's hair and he winced.

‘What are you talking about?' he said. ‘Useful?'

‘It distracts people,' the
Municipal
said.

‘Distracts them?' Cámara said. ‘Flores wanted the thing clearing up as quickly as possible. He made that very clear. Said that Blanco's death had made bullfighting more popular. It was bad for him, bad for the election campaign.'

The sneer on the man's face was turning into a grin.

‘What the fuck are you smiling at?' Cámara said. Still holding a bunch of his hair, he smacked the man's head against the wall behind him. The grin disappeared.

‘It was a smokescreen,' the
Municipal
said at last. ‘Flores needed it to go on as long as possible. Until after the elections were over.'

Cámara dropped his hand from the man's head.

‘Everyone was watching the case,' the
Municipal
continued. ‘It just got better and better. Releasing your only suspect, Ruiz Pastor's murder. It was in danger of dying down but then Carmen Luna came to the rescue.'

Cámara slapped him around the face.

‘Flores was behind that!' he shouted.

‘Flores didn't know the woman was going to top herself. He just wanted her to break the story about Blanco being gay. The suicide was a bonus.'

Cámara's hand was at the man's throat again and he saw the pain swell up in his eyes.

‘What in God's name are you talking about?' he said.

Unable to speak, the
Municipal
glanced down at Cámara's hand wrapped around his neck. Cámara pulled it away slightly, just enough to let him talk.

‘The Town Hall campaign is all about banning bullfighting.'

‘I know all that,' Cámara said.

‘But constitutionally the Town Hall doesn't have the power to do that.'

Cámara dropped his hand from around the man's neck.

‘They all know this,' the
Municipal
said. ‘They've known it from the start. But they're betting on the fact that no one else does. Or if they do no one's listening to them.'

‘The whole thing's a lie,' Cámara said.

‘They're campaigning against bullfighting because the only way Emilia's going to get re-elected this time is if young people vote. So they went for banning bullfighting. They even had journalists from abroad calling up.'

‘All part of the new international image,' Cámara said.

‘Fitted with having Formula 1 here, the America's Cup. Big, money-making events. But one of the opposition parties had discovered the flaw, saying the Town Hall couldn't ban bullfighting in the city even if it wanted to. Some of the others were picking up on it.'

The
Municipal
started coughing, bringing up a ball of phlegm from the pit of his stomach, which he spat out on to the ground.

‘But then Blanco was murdered and suddenly no one was talking about anything else.'

‘The smokescreen,' Cámara said. He stood up. He desperately needed a cigarette, but his pockets were empty.

‘Why not just let it run its course, though,' he said. ‘Why attack me?'

‘You were in charge of the case,' the
Municipal
said. ‘Flores wanted to make sure it dragged on. So he sent me round.'

Cámara spun round to stare the man in the face.

‘What? To soften me up?'

‘To slow you down a bit,' the man said. ‘Give you something else to think about. Perhaps even lead you down a few false trails. Flores had some dirt on you, some scandal.'

‘Yes, I know about that,' Cámara said.

‘Thought he could use it against you as well.'

‘Was that it, then?' Cámara said. ‘He just wanted to feel he could control me?'

‘Part of it.'

Cámara knelt down again in front of the man.

‘But why today?' he said. ‘You've been following me ever since I left my flat. Didn't Flores know I was off the case? Didn't he know I'd been sacked?'

The
Municipal
's eyes widened.

‘Someone's managed to be discreet for a change,' Cámara said.

Over towards the city, the fireworks were intensifying, the sound of their explosions reverberating in the night air. In front of him Cámara could see the
Municipal
was quivering again, perhaps through cold or fear. He looked him in the face, though, and was disturbed to see him laughing.

‘What's so fucking funny?'

The
Municipal
stared at him with a manic grin.

‘Flores always said this case would be your last,' he said. ‘And he was right. I've spent all day following an ex-policeman, getting the shit kicked out of me. What for? It's fucking stupid.'

He started laughing again as the fireworks spluttered blues and reds.

‘That's your career, then,' he said. ‘All gone up in smoke.' He opened his eyes wide. ‘Bang!'

His head fell back as he laughed again.

‘Bang!'

Cámara fell back on to his feet then stood up. Something had shifted inside him.

‘What did you say?'

‘I said that's it. You're finished. Why did I even waste a whole day following you…Hey, what are you doing?'

Cámara had leaned forward and after flipping the man on to his front was pulling on his arm again, tied up behind his back. Fearing he was about to wrench it out of its socket once more, the
Municipal
screamed. Cámara stared hard at the hands of the watch on his wrist in the gloom, then put him back upright.

‘It's all right,' he said. ‘I just needed to know what the time was.'

He reached inside the
Municipal
's pockets and found some keys.

‘I'll be needing these as well,' he said.

He looked up at the sky as the machinery continued to click in his head. And the nagging doubt that had been with him since earlier that afternoon, the piece that had refused to fit, clunked into place.

‘What's happening tonight?' He pulled the
Municipal
up to his face. ‘After the bullfight. They were talking about it. What's going to happen?'

‘The party,' the
Municipal
whimpered. ‘They're holding a victory party at the bullring for when the first results come in. Symbolic. Kind of putting the boot into the bullfight people.'

But Cámara had stopped listening. He dropped him on the ground and started running to the car.

A veces caza quien no amenaza
– Sometimes the one least threatening is doing the hunting.

‘Wait! You can't leave me here!'

Cámara ignored the pleas of the
Municipal
as he put his car – a Renault Mégane – into reverse and sped up the dirt track to a place where he could turn around. Following the lights in the sky he should be able to make it back to the city.

There was no time to lose.

It had gone ten thirty by the time Cámara made it to the outskirts of the city centre. He drove the car in as far as he could, then parked it in the middle of a road where the barricades for
Fallas
made it impossible to continue. He was still another five minutes away from the bullring if he ran from there.

The streets were crammed with people, hundreds of thousands all pouring out for this, the final night of the fiesta. Cámara pushed through as best he could against the tide of bodies, crushing toes and barging shoulders as he struggled through, barely registering the voices of complaint and indignation. He had to get to the bullring. If he could just make it in the next few minutes there might still be time. A hand reached out to try and pull him back.

‘Police!' he shouted, and reluctantly the grip was loosened and he was allowed to continue.

Minutes later, panting and sweating, he reached the square in front of the bullring. He double-checked: a handful of
Policías Nacionales
in dark blue uniforms and black jackboots were standing around, chatting and watching the people flowing past; groups of party activists were stepping through the bullring entrance; a party banner had been draped over one of the balconies. But there was no panic, no crime scene. Not yet.

With his badge in his hand, he walked up to the group of policemen and identified himself.

‘I need to use your mobile phone,' he said, addressing the sergeant.

It was an unusual request, but you didn't argue with a chief inspector from
Homicidios
.

‘Here, sir,' the sergeant said.

Thankfully Torres's number was one of the few Cámara had memorised. He couldn't even recall Almudena's once he'd set it to the phone's memory. He dialled 616 459830 and heard the familiar tone at the other end.

‘Who's this?' Torres's voice came on.

‘It's me,' Cámara said.

‘Paco's still silent on us,' Torres said. ‘No sign of any confession. I told you, I can't do it alone—'

‘I know,' Cámara interrupted him.

‘What?'

‘Listen,' Cámara said. ‘Officially I'm off this case. You need to find Roberto Ramírez.'

‘Roberto?'

‘It's important,' Cámara said. ‘He needs to be located quickly.'

‘You want to arrest him?' Torres said.

‘That can come later. For one thing, he needs to explain what phials of dope from one of his companies were doing inside one of the Ramírez trucks at the bullring. But for the moment he needs shadowing.'

‘Right,' Torres said. ‘Any idea where he might be?'

‘They've planned a victory rally at the bullring for tonight,' Cámara said. ‘As one of the party's top fundraisers I suspect he'll be coming along.'

‘Got it. No arrest, just shadow. I'll reach you on this number if I need to. Anything else?'

‘You need good men on this, Torres,' Cámara said. ‘Discreet but sharp. I've got a feeling Roberto is in danger.'

The patter of firecrackers heralding the start of another
mascletà
cut them off. Cámara hung up and signalled that he wanted to hang on to the phone. The sergeant nodded. There were five policemen there, their ears pricking up.

‘I need all of you to come with me,' Cámara shouted above the din.

They passed through the entrance and into the passageway of the bullring.

The sergeant took the matter in hand as soon as Cámara explained.

‘You two stand on the door and watch everyone coming in or out,' he said, pointing to the two nearest to him. ‘You two get inside there now and start looking around.'

The four men immediately went to their places. Cámara and the sergeant walked into the arena. Down on the sand there was no sign now of the bullfight that had taken place only hours before. A small metal stage was being set up, spotlights shining and a PA system being wired in. The preparations for Mayoress Delgado's victory party were already well underway. It was coming up to eleven o'clock. At midnight the
Fallas
celebrations would reach their climax and the first statues would be set alight.

‘What time is the rally set to take place here?' Cámara asked.

‘They're burning the statue in the Plaza del Ayuntamiento at one o'clock, as always, sir,' the sergeant said. ‘Then they're coming round here. Reckon the first election results would be in by then.'

Meanwhile there were already dozens – perhaps even a hundred or more – party activists and technicians setting the thing up now. He needed more men – groups scouring the roofs, checking the windows of nearby buildings, scanning the faces of the people coming and going. It would be another ten or fifteen minutes at least before Torres could get his first teams in. He couldn't pull in more ordinary policemen from the street; they could only do so much. Rely on them too heavily and they'd end up losing not only Roberto, but Blanco's killer as well.

The sergeant accompanied him as he headed out of the arena and back towards the passageway. Streams of people were passing through: party activists – the men in suits and women in Burberry coats – smiling at the thought of victory they felt so certain was theirs. Cámara stood to one side to let them pass. A technician laying a coil of cable bumped into him as he came down the slope.

‘
Perdona
,' Cámara said, allowing the young man to get through.

He looked up: something back down in the arena had caught his attention: a head of closely cropped black hair contrasting against the bright white of a shirt collar. The man's face was turned the other way, but his height, the slope of his shoulders, the clothes, all fitted. Cámara took a step and joined the crowd heading towards the sand; the sergeant followed closely behind.

Roberto Ramírez was chatting to an older man to one side of the main arena. Cámara looked at the sergeant and gave a slight nod. Immediately the policeman pulled up his radio and, looking straight towards Roberto, started putting out a call to his colleagues. Cámara just had time to pull him by the shoulder and spin him round to face the other way before the sergeant informed them that they'd found their man, giving his description and current location.

But Roberto wasn't keeping still. Patting his friend on the shoulder, he looked at his watch, made his goodbye and then started to cross towards the opposite side of the arena. Cámara waited a couple of moments and then made to follow, the sergeant still stuck to him. Keeping a close watch on where Roberto was heading, Cámara glanced about the rest of the bullring, looking, searching, but seeing nothing untoward. A woman with red hair approached Roberto, stopping him for a moment with a broad grin. He kissed her on the cheeks and then made to go, apologising that he couldn't stop. Eventually he managed to pull away from the increasing numbers of people and started heading up a side exit.

Back in the passageway, the milling crowds kept Cámara relatively camouflaged, but less so the uniformed policeman beside him. It wasn't so much that Roberto might realise he was being followed than that someone else might. Someone he felt sure was already close at hand. He glanced out at the street through the arches – still no sign of Torres's men.

He looked back to find Roberto, but he had disappeared.

‘
¿Qué cojones…?
'

‘Up the stairs, sir,' the sergeant nodded at the staircase leading to the upper floor. He was already reaching for his radio to inform his men, but Cámara grabbed his arm, then lifted a finger to his lips. The sergeant nodded.

Keeping close to the wall, they climbed the stairs. The upper floor had far fewer people on it: a technician was peering down through an archway to his colleagues in the arena, while a young woman was smoking a cigarette and watching the fiesta-goers below. Cámara glanced from side to side: there was no sign of Roberto, but moving away to his right, he caught sight of a shadow cast by one of the street lamps.

Blood pulsed swiftly through him as he realised where Roberto was heading. There was no need for Blanco's killer to wander in openly, or try to blend in with the others. There was another entrance. One that had worked well in the past.

He stayed as close to the inner wall as possible as he circled the passageway. There was no time to wait for Torres now. Trying to stay in the shadows, he moved slowly, crouching low. At least he needn't worry about being heard – the fiesta would take care of drowning out his footsteps – but the street lamps could betray him just as they had Roberto.

Ahead of them, cast against the side of one of the arches, the shadow had stopped. Cámara halted, waving behind him for the sergeant to keep still. A barrage of firecrackers went off down in the street and Cámara took advantage of the sudden crescendo to take a couple more steps forward. From here he could just see Roberto, standing to the side of the passageway, pushing his hand through his hair. He was speaking, but the person he was talking to was just out of vision.

‘…about more money?'

Cámara could just make out Roberto's words as the sound of explosions died down.

There was no reply, or at least none that Cámara could make out. Roberto waited for a moment.

‘Well?' he said.

From behind, Cámara could sense the sergeant drawing closer. He turned and saw the policeman reaching down to unholster his pistol. Cámara held out a hand to stop him, but it was too late: their own shadows were being cast against a wall and the sharp, jerky movement had already been spotted.

Cámara froze. For a moment Roberto remained still, then turning he made to check behind him, as though being told to do so by the other person. The sergeant was already standing up straight, holding out the gun with both hands.

There was a cheer from down in the street as another
traca
of firecrackers was let off. Roberto took another step and came fully into view, a look of shock on his face as he saw the policeman pointing his weapon at him.

BANG BANG BANG went the blasts outside.

Roberto fell to the ground.

Blood was already soaking through his clothes and trickling along the floor by the time they reached him. Cámara felt for a pulse: he was still alive; a bullet appeared to have hit him in the shoulder. The sergeant was speaking into his radio, calling for an ambulance.

Cámara got up and sprinted down the passageway. When he reached the end, it was empty. He leaned over the edge of the balustrade. A movement caught his eye, an incongruity in the crush of people below. A young man had just reached the bottom of the drainpipe running along the side of the Enfermería building. Skipping the last couple of feet to land on the ground, he looked up.

Cámara watched as Angel Moreno grinned at him momentarily, and then darted into the crowds. He waited for a couple of seconds to see where he was heading: it was difficult to make him out from the mass of people but he could detect a pattern of someone pushing their way through, heading towards Marqués de Sotelo Avenue and the Plaza del Ayuntamiento, deep into the heart of the city.

Keeping an eye on Moreno for as long as he could through the archways, Cámara dashed back along the passageway. The sergeant was still by Roberto's side, pressing against his shoulder to stem the bleeding.

‘Backup's on its way,' he said as Cámara ran past.

Cámara threw himself down the steps. Plain-clothed officers were streaming in: Torres's team had arrived.

Cámara ran past them and out into the crowds milling around the entrance to the bullring. He stopped, staring at the press of humanity standing between him and his prey.

‘Put out a call,' Cámara said, turning round to face the officer nearest him. ‘We're looking for a young man, athletic build, short blond hair.'

The policeman pulled out his radio.

‘He's wearing light-coloured trousers and a dark tank top,' Camara continued. ‘Last seen heading away from the bullring towards the Plaza del Ayuntamiento.'

The radio buzzed.

‘He's armed and very, very dangerous,' Cámara added.

He looked around. Two armed officers were standing nearby, controlling the gate.

‘You two,' Cámara said. ‘Come with me.'

The men followed in Cámara's wake as he started forcing his way through the crowds towards Marqués de Sotelo, and the last spot where he'd seen Moreno disappear into the throng.

Again the crushing weight of people. The policemen started blowing on their whistles, but in the party atmosphere no one paid them any notice, imagining they were simply adding to the festival spirit. Only when they came face to face with people and shoved them to one side did anyone realise what was really happening.

Painfully, so painfully slowly, the three of them inched their way through. Occasionally a small gap would appear and a few precious feet could be gained in a second or less, only for the multitude to close in on them once more. And all the while Moreno was getting further away. The children were the worst: too small to be pushed past, too slow in understanding that they had to make way. Cámara listened out for the crackle of the policemen's radios, news coming through that someone further up had caught sight of their man. But they obstinately refused to give any signs of life.

‘Are those things switched on?' he shouted at them. They could barely hear him as they made their way through into the giggling, screaming horde in the Plaza del Ayuntamiento.

And then…something, a movement, a head bobbing up against the backdrop of people. Was that him? Cámara darted to the side, suddenly changing direction as he caught a quicker movement dashing along the road in front of the Town Hall. Willing himself on he broke through only to see a young man holding out his arms and wrapping them around his girlfriend. Not Moreno. Not their man.

The great Ayuntamiento
falla
statue towered over him as the crowd continued to surge around them. Above the din he heard bells chiming and looked up at the clock on the tower of the Town Hall: half past eleven. Within half an hour the first big statues would be being set alight to the sound of massive explosions. What had Moreno said to him that day? Perfect for shooting someone – no one would hear the gunfire.