Doctor Frigo (36 page)

The shots when they came didn’t sound like shots at all. There was just a loud grating noise, as if one of the drivers, maddened by being asked for the tenth time the number of his car, had suddenly decided to destroy his gearbox.

But at the same moment Doña Julia screamed.

The shots hit Don Manuel in the chest and he fell backwards at first. Then, his left arm reaching the steps before his right turned him sideways. As I ran up towards him he began slowly to roll down. I stopped and held him on his left side.

Amid the pandemonium, it was the Procurator who kept his head. He knew where the telephones were.

All the same it was seven minutes before an ambulance arrived. All I could do meanwhile was to try to staunch the bleeding, and stop people from picking him up like a sack and carrying him to a car.

He died in the ambulance and without speaking.

Dr Torres had come down and was waiting when we got to the hospital.

‘An autopsy?’ he asked when he had examined the body.

‘As quickly as it can be done please, and as thoroughly.’

‘Do you propose to assist me?’

‘Not necessarily. But I shall have to be present. The Cabinet will expect me to report.’

‘Then you had better assist.’

His work was not as dashing as Dr Brissac’s but immaculate nevertheless. I had summoned a police ballistics man and when the five bullets, some fragmented, had been removed, these were handed to him in a marked container. He took them away. Torres then proceeded to do exactly what Professor Grandval had done in St Paul – take sections of muscle for examination. After a while he paused in his work.

‘If you want to write a preliminary report on the immediate cause of death,’ he said, ‘I am prepared to sign it. A fuller report can follow.’

‘I doubt if it will help to find the person who fired the shots. Still …’

I did the report.

I also had to send to the hotel for some fresh clothes. Those I had been wearing could only be thrown away. It was late afternoon before I could report in person to Don Tomás. There was not much I could tell him. He knew more.

‘According to the police the bullets were probably fired from an M 16 automatic rifle. That is a type used by the United States army.’

‘Probably? Don’t the police
know
?’

‘They have not recovered the actual rifle, but it was certainly fired from the roof parapet of the office building opposite, a distance of about a hundred and thirty-five metres. The parapet was rendered accessible from outside the building by a temporary ladder leading to floodlight supports. The television people had not had time to dismantle them yesterday. As to the perpetrator of this outrage, the police have reports from eight eye witnesses. All say that immediately prior to the shooting they saw a priest in a white soutane on the parapet. He was holding some object which none saw properly. One of the witnesses thought it was a motion picture camera of some sort. Obviously he was mistaken.’

‘Yes.’

‘Father Bartolomé has also been found, dead.’ He paused. ‘The police are at work on that too. The body was discovered about three hours ago by workmen laying a power cable near the bulk-carrier dock extension. There was a pistol beside him. An apparent suicide.’

‘Has his house been searched, Don Tomás?’

‘Yes. No rifle there either. The investigation is continuing. I have called for a full meeting of Ministers, which naturally you will attend in a dual capacity, for eight tonight at the Presidential Palace. We hope to know more by then.’

‘And Doña Julia?’

‘She is remaining for the moment in the Procurator’s apartment and is under sedation. In view of your pressing official duties it seemed advisable to call in another doctor.’

‘Presumably you will wish me to make special arrangements at the hospital about the body.’

‘For a lying-in-state? Yes. I take it the face is … er …?’

‘Unmarked? Yes. The chest wounds, though extensive, will not be visible. The Cathedral, I assume.’

‘Doña Julia will have to be consulted. I will announce the decision at the meeting tonight.’

I have just come back from that meeting.

As I had never attended a ministerial meeting of any sort before, let alone one following the assassination of a President, I was prepared to be impressed. And to begin with I was. The dreadful thing was that before long I began to be afflicted with a strong desire to laugh. Delayed shock no doubt. There was little to laugh about.

I didn’t see El Lobo there at first or perhaps the affliction would have developed sooner.

The meeting began, inevitably, with a solemn statement by Don Tomás of the fact, which everyone knew, that President Villegas was dead. There would by a lying-in-state at the Cathedral.

Then Uncle Paco rose. He had been in touch with the
United States and those other foreign governments who had already expressed their intention of recognizing the new régime. As a result of his representations the form of recognition would be modified. The Presidency of Manuel Villegas no longer existing, recognition would be given to the Provisional Government headed by Don Tomás.

Murmurs of relief. The Chief of Police was then summoned to make his report. It added little to what I had been told by Don Tomás earlier. Father Bartolomé’s movements that day had not so far been traced. The previous night, however, he had been drinking heavily and had seemed ‘depressed’.

I was called upon formally to confirm the hospital report that death had been caused by gun-shot wounds and by nothing else. Death had taken place while I was present in the ambulance. Murmurs of sympathy.

It was the security officer’s turn next. I did not envy him the cross-examination to which he was subjected. Why had the ladder to the parapet not been removed? Because the television people, whose ladder it was, had been too busy installing equipment for the arrival at the Presidential Palace. Then why had no security personnel been assigned to the parapet? No answer. Pressed, he claimed that he, too, had been short of men.

Now, about this quarrel between Don Manuel and Father Bartolomé of yesterday morning – what had that been about? He did not know exactly but Father B had been heard to utter threats against the President. At Doña Julia’s request security guards had been ordered to remove him. Had Father B been drunk? Perhaps, but difficult to say. What had been the nature of the threats he had heard uttered? Father B had threatened Don Manuel with eternal damnation.

Ordered to make a written report, he was allowed to go.

It was at that point that my affliction began to bother me. Perhaps it was stimulated by the security officer’s skidding wildly on the marble floor in his haste to leave us.

In the grim silence that followed, El Lobo rose to his feet.

For a moment I didn’t recognize him and I don’t think many others did either. He was dressed like a highly respectable young businessman.

‘Minister,’ he began politely, ‘may I be permitted to offer some comments on the evidence we have just heard?’

‘Certainly.’ Don Tomás turned to the rest of us. ‘Don Edgardo Canales is present here as prospective junior Minister for Social Security Affairs.’ There was a rustle of incredulity which he quelled with a glance. ‘I think that in such a matter as this we would all be interested to hear any observations that El’ – he caught himself just in time – ‘that Don Edgardo would care to make.’

Just one person snickered. He got indignant looks.

‘Yes, Don Edgardo?’

‘With the deepest respect, Minister,’ El Lobo said gravely, ‘none of this evidence makes any sense at all. What are we being asked to believe?’

We waited for him to tell us. He did.

‘Yesterday Father Bartolomé was drunk and quarrelsome. I would be surprised if anyone here finds that in any way unusual. He was rarely anything but drunk. Yesterday, you may think, he had reason to be, according to his lights, more than usually quarrelsome. As a result he uttered threats of eternal damnation. Gentlemen, I have heard him utter far more serious ones. I have heard him threaten a merchant with fire bombs. The man had objected to paying an extortionate price for the good Father’s protection.’

There was utter silence now. He went on.

‘Father Bartolomé was a sixty-year-old alcoholic who frequently found difficulty standing. Have any of you looked at the television crew’s ladder to the parapet? I have. It is nearly vertical. You are being asked then to believe that this ageing alcoholic not only climbed the ladder, but did so carrying an automatic rifle weighing some three kilos. You are further asked to believe that he then fired a
burst of five rounds at a range of over a hundred metres, and at a moving target, and hit it with every shot.’ He looked at me. ‘Doctor, what was the diameter of the wound area?’

‘Hard to be precise,’ I said. ‘I understand that this type of bullet has an explosive effect on impact. About thirty centimetres.’

‘For a breathless alcoholic trying to focus on a moving target, an amazing performance, gentlemen. I don’t believe it, but let us assume that he achieved the incredible. What then? In his white soutane and still carrying his rifle he then descends rapidly and disappears, to be found later four kilometres away with his brains blown out and a revolver in his hand. How did he get away? He himself couldn’t drive. Who drove him then? The same person who took his rifle and gave him instead a revolver with which to kill himself?’

He sat down abruptly.

Don Tomás waited to see if anyone else wanted to speak before he said: ‘Thank you, Don Edgardo, but what exactly is it that you are recommending? A Commission of Inquiry?’

El Lobo rose again slowly. For a moment the fish-eyes surveyed us all as if we were a shoal of small fry scarcely worth the trouble of swallowing.

‘A Commission of Inquiry by all means, Minister. But only if its terms of reference allow it to investigate the possibility of an entire conspiracy. An investigation into how poor, sodden, foolish Bartolomé could have done all this alone would have little value.’

‘You speak of a conspiracy, but conspiracy by whom?’

‘Naturally, Minister, I have no direct evidence to offer, only conjecture at this stage. But I think that the questioning could most profitably be directed towards the late Father Bartolomé’s gangster associates.’

It was a clever piece of impudence. I could feel the wave of approval which surged through the gathering. They now had the excuse they had so long needed for liquidating the Bartolomé gang. A Commission of Inquiry would soon do
the trick; and Don Edgardo, the bright new boy, might well be allowed a place on it.

I was interested to see, though, that when the meeting broke up they avoided him. He would have his uses no doubt, but it was well to be cautious. You didn’t make a friend of the termite exterminator. He was standing alone when I went up to him.

‘Congratulations,’ I said.

‘On what, Doctor?’

‘A fine performance. Two birds with one stone as recommended by the General. And, of course, congratulations on your appointment. I tried to get you Posts and Telecommunications, but I don’t suppose you care.’

‘Posts and Telecommunications?’ He grinned. ‘Surely you didn’t think they’d fall for that?’

‘Why not? It’s harmless as a power base.’

‘Something you can switch on and off, stop and start again, is never harmless.’

‘Perhaps not. There’s one thing though. I warned you about it in St Paul.’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re overweight. You should take off at least two kilos. I mean it. Going up a short ladder like that shouldn’t have made you breathless, even wearing a soutane and carrying a rifle.’

The fish eyes were still. ‘What risks you run, Ernesto,’ he said softly. ‘Supposing I were to take you seriously?’

‘No reason why you shouldn’t. I just thought you’d like to know that your timing was good. Don Manuel had heard of the General’s disappearance and was beginning to draw conclusions. You were first on the list. I was threatened. If I’d known how to reach you last night I’d have warned you.’

He looked almost compassionate. ‘You’ll never make a conspirator, Ernesto.’

‘No?’

‘Who did you think I was obliging? You? The moment
he had word that General Escalon had been taken we were all as good as dead, all on the list, me, you, Paco and the General. The General certainly knew the score. Told me he was going into hiding as soon as we dumped him. Say what you like about the late Don Manuel, he was no fool. His trouble was that, being a respectable new President and so much in the limelight, he’d had no chance to organize a private killer squad. That sort of set-up takes time and great care in personnel selection. He’d have probably found what he wanted among Bartolomé’s lot in a day or two and arranged for an intermediary to cover himself, but he couldn’t hurry the job, however much he may have wanted to. So, until he could act, he had to bluff. That’s why you were threatenend.’

‘I’m sure you know about these things. After all you’re our expert.’

He nodded vaguely. ‘We’ll be meeting again soon, I expect. Here or at the funeral.’

End of lying-in-state for Villegas. Mass in the Cathedral, Monsignor Montanaro officiating.

Doña Julia on arm of Uncle Paco. At her request I was also of the family group. The three children were flown in yesterday – the girl and young boy from Mexico City, the older boy from Los Angeles. The latter attached himself to me. If I had liked him this could have been embarrassing – I might have found myself identifying with him. As it was, there was no temptation at all to do so. He wasn’t upset, just bored. All he wanted to do was get back to California as soon as possible.

‘Think I could leave Monday?’ he asked.

‘Well …’

‘You’re in the government aren’t you?’

‘Minister of Education.’

‘Oh hell. I suppose my father told you he wanted me to go to MIT.’

‘He told me you wanted to go there.’

‘Well I don’t, apart from the fact that I’d never make it anyway. You might tell my mother that.’

‘All right. What
do
you want to do?’