The Exile (10 page)

The builder saw her pull the gloves on. ‘You've done that before,
muñeca
.'

Galíndez froze. ‘If he calls me “babe” again...'

‘You know, that's quite a temper you've got,' Atienza said.

‘Tell me about it.' Galíndez pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

‘Just be cool, he'll lose interest in a minute.'

‘I know what he ought to lose,' she muttered, taking her flashlight from the bag. ‘So, what made you contact me about this site, Sargento?'

‘Why don't you see for yourself?' He gave her a faint smile. ‘I thought I'd save the best till last, like I used to with my daughter's Christmas gifts.'

She felt a sudden warmth towards him for his attempt at being kind. ‘I bet your daughter liked that, didn't she?'

He shook his head. ‘She can't stand me. When she left home, she got into drugs big time. Three times I tracked her down and brought her home. She just ran off again.' He sighed. ‘You know, there's no helping some people and she's one of them.'

Galíndez wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

Fluffy clumps of cobweb clung to her sleeve as she negotiated the shattered stairs, running the flashlight over the debris littering the cellar floor. Shining clouds of dust rose in the white beam. In the rubble, she saw a large angular shape wreathed in cobwebs. Kneeling, she pulled away some of the thick web, revealing an ancient metal chair, lying on its back. She moved the beam to her right, her interest growing as the light picked out a jumble of bones around another chair.

‘There are bones everywhere,' Atienza said. ‘Were they in an explosion?'

‘No, over time, the skeleton falls apart,' Galíndez said, shining the light further into the gloom, seeing the same pattern repeated: another battered metal chair, bones strewn around. Looking closer, she saw the damaged spine, severed between the first and second cervical vertebrae. She took her phone from her pocket and took a picture.

Atienza moved closer and saw the look on her face. ‘What have you found?'

‘Someone cut off the head. Whoever did it had already hit the victim several times, see?' She pointed to the mark of the impacts on some of the bones. ‘He would have been bleeding badly before the fatal blow.' She knelt, examining the floor behind the chair.

‘So what are you looking for?' Atienza asked.

‘The head, of course.' The beam of her flashlight fell on a pale ball of dusty gossamer. ‘There we go.' A skull, the dark hollows of the orbital cavities discernible through the dusty shroud of accumulated cobwebs. A head didn't detach itself and travel two metres without assistance. Something bad had happened here.

‘Hello, what's this?' Atienza turned and saw Galíndez kneeling, head down, meticulously examining something. She got up, carefully brushing cobwebs from it. Her eyes suddenly widened. She turned the object towards him. He saw a chipped nose, a small mouth, two faded glassy eyes.

‘What's that?' He frowned.

‘You've a daughter,' Galíndez said, ‘can't you see? It's a doll's head, porcelain, I think.' She shone her torch down at the spot where she'd found it. ‘I expect the body was made from cloth or wool. It must have rotted away long since.' She bagged up the head and put it to one side. Her face set with concentration. ‘You didn't find any trace of a child's body, did you?'

Atienza shook his head. ‘No, I took a good look round and these were the only remains I found.'

Galíndez moved the torchlight over the rubble again. ‘Can't see anything. I'll keep an eye out in case. Let's see what else we've got, shall we?'

Atienza pointed his torch into the darkness, a circle of white light flecked by dust. ‘There's the other body.'

This one was different. Some of the body was still in the chair, half buried in a sloping pile of rubble that reached up to a ragged fissure near the top of the wall, crudely repaired with concrete, suggesting the damage had been caused by an explosion outside. There was no head here either, though the ribs and spine were kept in place by the debris that engulfed the body. She saw a humerus amid the rubble behind the chair.

Atienza kept his distance, giving her room to work. ‘What happened?'

‘Part of the wall collapsed,' Galíndez said. ‘Probably the result of shell fire. See that?' She played her torch over the sloping mound of rubble, her latex glove eerily white in the beam of the flashlight as she pointed to an irregular patch of concrete where the damage had been repaired. ‘It blasted a hole in the wall, and rubble poured down onto the body, that's what's kept it in place all these years.'

She moved closer, bending to examine the scattered bones. ‘
Mierda
, look at this.' She lifted the skull in both hands, turning it to show the full extent of the damage. ‘Someone cut through his skull as if they were taking the top off an egg.'

Atienza looked round. ‘What do you make of all this?'

‘What it looks like,' Galíndez said, mulling it over, ‘is that someone hacked these people to death. I mean he really hacked them, there'd be body parts all over the place.' She glanced at Atienza. ‘Are you OK with me talking like this? Some people get a bit squeamish.'

Atienza nodded. ‘I've seen worse.'

‘Lucky you.' Galíndez played the light over the cellar. ‘Is this everything?'

‘You sound disappointed.'

She shrugged. ‘If this is all we've got, I'm going to try spraying with Luminol.'

‘That's the stuff that finds traces of blood, isn't it?'

‘With these injuries, there would have been plenty of blood. Using Luminol might just help give me a better idea of how the killings happened.'

‘Can I help?' Atienza asked.

She looked at him in surprise, unused to anyone offering to help her in these situations. ‘It would be great if you'd operate the camera. You'll need to sit on the stairs about halfway down and hold it steady because we need a prolonged exposure.'

‘I think I can do that.'

On the stairs, she found an angle that would take in most of the cellar while keeping the skeletons in view. ‘This will do nicely.' She handed him the camera.

Atienza watched as she prepared the mixture, mixing luminol with a catalyst and then pouring it into her spray gun. ‘You think there'll be any blood after all these years?'

‘
Absolutamente
. Luminol will show blood over a hundred years old. And old blood glows brighter than new. Let's see, shall we?'

She pulled up her face mask and began spraying, careful not to trample any potential evidence. As she reached the far end of the cellar she called to Atienza. ‘Press the button, Sarge.'

Atienza obeyed and Galíndez switched off her torch, plunging the cellar into darkness. It was not dark for long. The Luminol began to glow in iridescent blue patterns, covering the cellar floor with intricate geometries of glinting blue light. ‘Press it again, Sarge,' she said. The camera shutter snapped, brittle and loud. ‘Now move down three or four steps and let's do another.'

He took another photo. ‘What do you think, Ana?'

‘I think it was a messy killing; there's blood everywhere.'

‘So what do you want to do with these skeletons?'

‘I doubt we can identify them,' she said, gauging the work involved. ‘Maybe you should bury them once your forensics unit has carried out its investigation?'

‘There's no local forensics unit,' Atienza said. ‘And the construction company has political connections, so my boss doesn't want things held up any longer. If you don't take these bones with you, the guys up top will fill the cellar with concrete and build over it.'

‘I'll take them,' she said quickly. ‘You said something about saving the best till last?'

‘Over here.' Atienza led her to the side of the stairs. ‘I left it just where I found it.' He pointed the flashlight at the ground. In the white circle of light she saw a glint of metal.

‘Is that a machete?' Growing curiosity in her voice.

‘See for yourself.'

‘
Mierda
.' Galíndez picked up the weapon with both hands. A scimitar, the curved blade mottled with rust. She brushed away encrusted dirt with her finger. ‘
Hombre
, there's something written on it.'

Atienza raised his flashlight, illuminating the inscription.

Galíndez looked at it, wide-eyed. ‘
Puta madre
.'

Two rows of writing. The first consisted of elegant, precisely etched symbols, Arabic by the look of them, worked into the metal with great skill.

The second line ran parallel to the first. Bigger letters, crudely stamped onto the sword:

Capitán Leopoldo Guzmán 16.4.1937

‘Is that your man?' Atienza asked.

Galíndez nodded, her eyes still fixed on the blade.

LEGUTIO 2010, PENSIÓN ARALAR

Atienza stood by the entrance to the
pensión
, watching as Galíndez finished putting her forensic kit into the car. She slammed the door. ‘Thanks for everything, Sargento.'

‘
De nada.
Listen, this is a one-way street, so the best thing is to go straight down and turn in the square at the end, see where those trees are?'

‘Got it. Thanks again for helping with the skeletons.'

‘You're welcome. I hope those
cabrónes
didn't upset you?'

Galíndez looked away. ‘They wound me up, that's all.'

He smiled. ‘In this part of the world, that's not the worst thing that can happen. I'll see you around. Maybe I'll look you up if I come to Madrid?'

‘Do that.' Galíndez climbed into the car and adjusted her mirror. She leaned out of the window. ‘
Hasta pronto.
' Atienza shook her hand and walked to his car.

Galíndez eased the car forward. Down a side street she caught a glimpse of the dam, its dark water burnished by the setting sun. Ahead, she saw the square and slowed, ready to turn.

Ten metres away, a figure stepped off the pavement. It was the construction worker, Aïtor, heading for a bar on the other side of the square. Galíndez stopped the engine and gripped the wheel, her knuckles white. When she took her hands away, they were shaking.

LEGUTIO 2010, BAR ANTZOKIA

The barman looked up. ‘
Kaixo
, Aïtor. What will you have?'

‘Beer.' Aïtor leaned against the bar. ‘Nothing like a day's work to build up a thirst.'

The barman held a glass under the tap. The nozzle hissed, spluttering froth.

‘Out of beer? I can always go somewhere else.'

‘I'll get a new barrel,' the barman said. ‘It'll only take a minute.'

‘Fine, I'm off for a piss.' Aïtor walked to the rear of the building, through a large tiled area in semi-darkness, wooden tables and benches where the restaurant had once been. At the far end, a murky passageway led to the toilets.

Mikel disconnected the empty barrel and rolled it towards the storeroom. Behind him, he heard a rustle at the door and turned, hoping it was another customer. No such luck: the bar was empty. He shrugged and went to get the new barrel.

In the men's
komun
, Aïtor washed his hands in cold water. The hot tap hadn't worked in years and Mikel still hadn't fixed it. At least there were paper towels today. He dried his hands and tossed the screwed-up towel on the floor with the others, wondering why he still came to this dump. Once, the place had been a popular restaurant. Now, it was just a seedy bar with a dwindling clientele as competition grew from the places springing up round the dam. When they finished the new complex, most customers would take their business there. Certainly he planned to. No more hundred-metre walks to take a piss or hot water taps that never worked.

He stepped out into darkness. Someone had turned out the light in the old restaurant, reducing the passageway to a dark tunnel. At the far end, he saw a figure, framed against the dim light, coming towards him. A pale face emerged from the shadows.

‘What did you call me?' Galíndez said.

N-240, GAMARRA MENOR, 2010

With just a kilometre to go before she reached the A-1, Galíndez started looking for the slip road. After that, she could look forward to the monotonous three-hour drive back to Madrid. Behind her, she saw the flashing light of a patrol car in her mirror, travelling fast, probably on its way to an accident. As the patrol car passed, it veered in front of her and slowed, forcing her to brake. A hand emerged from the driver's window, pointing to the verge. She pulled over.

The patrol car stopped a few metres ahead. Galíndez killed the engine and waited, rehearsing her story:
No, really, was I going that fast?
An attitude of quiet surprise.
Here's my ID. That's right, I'm guardia
– just like my father, actually.
Mendez said stuff like that worked every time and she ought to know, she drove like a lunatic.

Galíndez opened the window as a figure in a hi-vis vest came toward her. Atienza leaned in through the window. ‘You want the good news or the bad news?'

‘Surprise me.'

‘He's not going to press charges. I don't think he could face his pals if they heard you'd beaten the crap out of him.'

Galíndez frowned. ‘So what's the bad news?'

‘You've got a problem.'

He's guessed about the tablets. Dilated pupils maybe.
‘What sort of problem?'

‘I think they call it anger management.'

She relaxed.
He doesn't know about the medication.
‘I'm fine,' she said. ‘I saw that builder in the square and had a quick word with him.'

‘It was a hell of a word: he's got a broken collarbone and two black eyes. Why didn't you tell me if he upset you that much?'