Doctor Frigo (13 page)

‘But you don’t believe that an emissary, particularly one from the service for which her husband works, is going to do much towards changing her mind.’

‘I wasn’t aware that Captain Duplessis worked for S-dec. That is the service you mean, I suppose?’

‘Our press critics use that term, so I’m sure Madame Duplessis does. Perhaps with a difference though. The affair Ben Barka is the stick usually used to beat our scrawny backsides. Madame Duplessis probably chooses to equate us with the Carbonari, and talks darkly of a second battle of Novara. Am I right?’

‘Novara?’

‘An Imperial Austrian army crushed a Carbonari-inspired
Piedmontese revolt there in 1821. She has not mentioned it?’

‘No.’

‘Nor the treachery of the third Napoleon who was a Carbonaro himself?’

‘Not in that context.’

‘Then there is hope.’ He moistened his lips with rum and lime; he is a cautious sipper of drinks. ‘May we talk about Villegas for a moment?’

‘I thought we
had
talked about him.’

‘Only in a general way.’ He put the drink down and reached for his briefcase. ‘I wondered if it would interest you to read the Mexico City medical reports on your patient.’

‘It would.’

He took them from the briefcase and handed them to me. I opened the file and then looked at him.

‘They’re in English.’

‘From the American British Hospital what did you expect? You read medical English don’t you?’

‘Not easily. May I keep this until tomorrow?’

‘I’m afraid not. Those reports were unofficially obtained and are therefore classified.’

I handed the file back to him.

‘A pity.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Still, I have read them all quite thoroughly myself. Perhaps I can satisfy your medical curiosity.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Guesswork, but let me try. You would like to know if there is any mention in the reports of slurring, of a speech impediment.’

I managed to keep calm. ‘A good guess, Commandant. I take it that, with you people, obtaining unofficial photocopies of confidential medical reports is a normal routine.’

He pretended to look wounded. ‘Since we are on DST territory here, Doctor, copies of local hospital records would be a matter for Commissaire Gillon’s office. Even so,
I can sympathize with your annoyance. If you knew the lengths to which some of our foreign colleagues go in the medical field you would be truly appalled. There is one service – I won’t mention the name – which keeps a team of thirty permanently employed on such work.’

‘Indeed.’

‘It is understandable surely? Think. Two great powers, let us say, are about to enter into critical negotiations in a highly sensitive area – phased reduction of conventional forces or some such thing. Both the leaders concerned and their most influential advisers are likely to be middle-aged or elderly men in whom the normal processes of physical decay have already begun. And where there is a loss of physical powers, psychological changes must also be taking place. The extent of them will vary with individuals, but change there will be. We all know about the role of the plague in the history of the Middle Ages, but have you ever thought about the part played by arterio-sclerosis in the history of the past fifty years?’

‘Who hasn’t?’

‘Well, then, you must see that to the old exhortation about knowing your enemy we have been obliged to add a new one – know your friend. Nor do we confine ourselves to the state of his arteries. We must consider the whole man.’ This time when he raised his glass he actually took a drink from it – at least two cubic centimetres. ‘So, Doctor, what about Villegas’ slurred speech? What suspicions did it arouse? That he may have had a minor stroke?’

‘I found no evidence to suggest it. Since you have read my report you know that there is some hypertension there which can and should be treated. When, if, he comes for his X-rays I intend to run some other routine checks, an electrocardiogram for instance. But I don’t expect to find anything much out of the ordinary. For a man of his age the state of the cardiovascular system seems good.’

‘Then what
do
you suspect?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘No mysteries, I beg you.’

‘I’m not being mysterious. I’ve seen this man just once, as a patient I mean. I noticed a slight speech impediment, a slurring of consonants. You tell me that this wasn’t observed at the Mexico City hospital. Did the examinations there seem to you to be thorough?’

‘At least as thorough as yours, probably more so.’

‘When was the last?’

‘Ten months ago.’

‘Then this is a relatively new development. There could be a large number of possible explanations.’

‘Did you ask him about it?’

‘No. Lots of persons have speech impediments, including politicians. I took note of it, that’s all. So, apparently, did Dr Massot. He thought that Villegas might be a secret drinker.’

‘But you don’t.’

‘No. Though I asked Segura about alcohol.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘That Villegas drank very little. Of course, he also told me that this speech difficulty was due to thoughts running ahead of the ability to express them. I guessed at the time that that was a lie. Segura probably suspects, as you did, that there’s been a minor stroke and wants to hush it up. Bad for the image.’

‘But you believed him about the drinking.’

‘He confirmed the opinion I had already formed. Villegas isn’t a drunk. I do think, though, that he is worried about himself and looking for reassurance.’

‘Though not in a hypochondriacal way?’

‘As I said in my report, he seemed aware of the speech difficulty and tried to conceal it. At first, that is. Later he seemed almost to be drawing my attention to it.’

‘In what way?’

‘Villegas is a talkative patient. As I told you, he asks questions – tests you, or tries to. Strokes interest him.’

‘He thinks he may have had one, as Segura does and I did. But you say we’re wrong, so what’s the answer?’

‘When I have all the test results in I may know more. Villegas is aware of that too. You can understand why the decision to dismiss me came as a surprise.’

‘Well, we know now that that was Uncle Paco’s decision, not your patient’s. The discovery must have given you food for thought, Doctor.’

He put his drink down again. ‘Then there’s one question I’d better ask you now, I think.’ He saw my mouth opening and raised one hand defensively. ‘No, no more medical guesswork. It’s simply this. Do you believe, or half-believe, or vaguely suspect that Villegas may, in spite of or because of all this insistence on his having been in New York, have had some part in the plot against your father?’

I stalled. ‘That’s a lot of questions.’

‘Not really.’

‘About his having been in New York when my father was killed, it has been suggested that all that’s an elaborate smokescreen.’

‘Suggested by whom?’

‘Elizabeth.’

‘You’ve discussed it with Madame Duplessis?’ He was displeased.

‘Why not? There’s nothing secret about it surely. She pointed out that the absence of Apis from Sarajevo when the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated didn’t absolve him from complicity in the crime.’

‘I asked you what
you
thought, Doctor.’

‘Assuming – a very large and unlikely assumption indeed – that the planners were of my father’s own Party?’

‘Yes, Doctor. Let’s pretend for a moment that we know that to have been the case.’

I shrugged. ‘Well then, for what it’s worth, I don’t think that Manuel Villegas could himself have been one of these notional plotters. It’s possible, I suppose – still playing your game of let’s-pretend – that he could have known in advance
of the existence of a plot. He could have been invited to play some part in it.’

‘And refused?’

‘And decided that an urgent business trip to New York would save him from having to make a commitment either way. He could have thought the plot would fail, that there would be incompetent planning or that someone would talk too much. In my country either or both would be reasonable expectations. When it succeeded he was caught off balance. He was too far away. When he told me that if he had been there at the time and could have made his voice heard the Party might have been able to seize the initiative, I certainly believed him. There’s no let’s-pretend about that.’

‘Then you don’t subscribe to the smokescreen theory.’

‘On the contrary, I think that if you accept all this party-plot stuff it’s very sound. The theory is, you see, that the smokescreen was intended not to hide a guilty man but to distract attention from one.’

He stared for a moment. ‘Uncle Paco?’

‘According to you and the Commissaire, he’s the one who seems to have decided that the smokescreen isn’t working.’

He picked up the drink again. ‘Well, we have ways of dealing with Paco. Anyway, he’s not your patient. Villegas is. How do you feel about him now?’

‘As a physician with a patient. How else should I feel?’

He gave me an unpleasant look. ‘I am aware that you have a local reputation to sustain, but don’t play Doctor Frigo with me, please.’

When I just stared at him sullenly he went on. ‘You would have reason to believe that Villegas, though not actually involved in the plot to murder your father, knew of its existence in advance. That would ascribe at least some guilt to him. I’m asking you how that belief would affect your attitude towards him as the leader of a provisional government in exile which – and I am in a position to know – could very shortly become the real Government of your country,
de facto
and
de jure.
Would you support and assist
him or would you be looking for the first chance that came your way to destroy him?’

I stood up. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Commandant. All this is too absurd.’

‘What’s absurd about it? I know quite a number of your countrymen who, just on the basis of the vague suspicions you now have, would be seriously considering how best to put a bullet through Uncle Paco’s head. Supposing other, more cogent suspicions were to grow and that they pointed in more critical directions, what then?’

I was getting really sick of him. ‘Suspicions, Commandant? Psychopathic fantasies, you mean. Until these people, members of my father’s own Party, started explaining so vociferously why they could have had nothing to do with his murder, the only ones who ever entertained the idea were a few crackpots. I’ve always assumed, and so has everyone else with a grain of sense, that those responsible were the junta’s men. To my way of thinking that explanation still makes the most sense.’

‘Please, Dr Castillo.’ He produced a God-give-me-patience look. ‘Your capacity for self-deception may be large, but it’s not that colossal.’

I said as politely as I could: ‘I know you have a dinner engagement. More rum before you go?’

He stared up at me. ‘I’ll go when I’m ready. Meanwhile, I asked you a question.’

‘Two answers then. First. If you’re in the slightest doubt about my professional attitude towards this patient, get him another doctor. Second, Villegas, assisted and supported by you people, might as you suggest be able to move in and take over. God knows the present government is unstable enough, and if the CIA keeps to the hands-off-Latin-America policy they seem to have adopted lately, or at least advertised, there shouldn’t be too much difficulty. A little bloodshed here and there perhaps, some firing-squad work and torture sessions in the militia barracks, nothing serious. But if you think that my support or assistance could make
any conceivable difference to the outcome you are sadly misinformed. The same value can be placed on my ability to oppose or hinder – that is, nil.’

He was looking at me curiously. ‘I think you really believe that.’

‘Why the surprise? Of course I believe it. If you’d had the education in political idiocy and ineptitude that I have, you’d believe it too.’

‘I dare say. But has it occurred to you that judgements based on the mindless behaviour of your mother’s Florida associates may not necessarily be valid elsewhere? All political movements, all systems of thought have their lunatic fringes. Would you condemn your own profession as a whole because some members of it still practise homeopathic medicine and orgone therapy?’

‘Political fantasies are not always so innocuous.’

‘Agreed. That is why we must try to deal in the realities. For instance, there can be no doubt that you, Doctor, probably through ignorance, totally underrate the present importance in your country of your father’s name and memory. He has become something of a folk hero. There is a Castillo legend.’

‘So they used to tell me in Florida,’ I replied acidly.

I might not have spoken. ‘In certain areas, Doctor, where the legend has the dimensions of a cult, the making of photographic memorials to the hero has become a back-room industry. Quite remarkable. I’m talking about the last few years by the way. This is entirely a post-junta phenomenon and it is growing.’

‘And I can guess the sort of areas in which this cult, as you call it, is practised. Remote mountain places where they don’t often see a priest, I would imagine.’

‘Do you call the slums of the capital remote mountain places? You see how it is, Doctor? You have to recognize that there is quite a lot you don’t know about your country these days. You may say that you don’t care, that you are not particularly interested anyway. That I will accept. But
when you tell me that, in a revolutionary situation, the position taken by the son of Clemente Castillo would be irrelevant, I have to disagree. For an incoming régime your support, or lack of it, could be an important factor. Not one of critical importance necessarily, but certainly one to be taken into account.’ He stood up. ‘Think about it.’

‘I think I’ll be better occupied thinking about my patient.’

It was Doctor Frigo at his stuffiest and I knew it even before I saw the amusement in his eyes. I did my best to erase the impression quickly. ‘That’s if Villegas still is my patient. And by the way, Commandant, there is something that you might be able to do to help.’

‘In what way?’