The Exile (23 page)

Oh fuck off.
Galíndez gripped the handrail tightly as the audience burst into loud applause. Luisa glanced around the lecture theatre for a moment and then stepped away from the microphone with a sharp swirl worthy of a bullfighter, marking the end of her first lecture in the new centre. Galíndez leaned on the rail, looking down over the rows of people below as they emerged from the dark, suddenly illuminated by the overhead lights. On the podium, Luisa was surrounded by well-wishers, engaged in a pageant of handshakes, air kisses and extravagant embraces as if receiving an Oscar.

She certainly deserved one, Galíndez thought, turning to go. She paused, realising she was being childish. Luisa was what she was, it was Galíndez who was the interloper here. Since they were going to be working only a few metres away from each other, it was probably best to say hello now and get it over with. If Luisa still held a grudge that was just too bad. As she went down the stairs, the last of the audience were melting away, leaving Luisa alone. As Galíndez stepped onto the podium, Luisa looked up from her papers.

‘Ana,
probrecita
.' She rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Galíndez, her hands sliding down to clasp her rear
.
‘It's so good to see you.'

‘You too,' Galíndez said, turning her head to avoid Luisa kissing her on the mouth.
Clearly she doesn't hold a grudge.

‘I'm so sorry about what happened to you, my poor darling. Are you OK?'

‘I'm fine, thanks,' Galíndez said, wriggling from her grasp. ‘I thought I'd just say hello since we're going to be colleagues again.'

‘So I heard. I'm very pleased.' Luisa slipped her arm around Galíndez's waist, resting her hand on her hip. ‘I miss the intellectual tension between us.'

‘Speaking of which, you won't be surprised to hear I'm going to continue my investigation on Guzmán,' Galíndez said, trying to keep Luisa's hand from progressing any further under her shirt.

‘Just as I expected.' Luisa nodded. ‘Good for you. Just ask if I can be of any help.' She frowned. ‘What's this on your ribs?'

‘Scar tissue. I was in an explosion, remember?'

Luisa pulled her hand away. ‘I'm so sorry. I didn't realise you'd been disfigured.'

‘It's nothing when you think how close I was to being killed.'

‘You had such a splendid body.' Luisa took a step away from her.

‘Are you OK with me continuing the Guzmán investigation?' Galíndez asked, changing the subject.

‘Of course.' Luisa smiled. ‘In fact, the work you did last year led me to rewrite parts of my manuscript to accommodate your criticism. As you'll have gathered from my talk, my work focuses on the discursive mechanisms employed by people like him. I'm going to call the book
Textual Oppression in Spanish History 1936
–1982
.'

‘Very appropriate. I'll be using a scientific approach as always.'

Luisa gave her a patronising smile. ‘I'm sure you feel you have to.'

‘I've got to dash,' Galíndez said, noticing the time. ‘I'm meeting my assistant in the new office. Thanks for the flowers you sent when I was in hospital.'

‘
De nada
.
Let's do lunch soon?' Luisa briefly embraced her, though this time with markedly less enthusiasm.

Galíndez strolled to the History building. This was familiar territory with its dimly lit interior pervaded by a lingering odour of dust. She made her way along the corridor past Seminar Room B and paused for a moment, remembering how she'd first been introduced to Guzmán's crimes in this room filled with black and white images of war. Her mood began to deteriorate as she followed the corridor down a flight of stairs into the basement. A handwritten sign on the wall pointed the way and Galíndez realised dejectedly that the new research centre was located at the end of this low passage, next door to the boiler room. She opened the door.

‘Surprise.' Isabel grinned.

Galíndez stepped into the windowless room, trying to hide her disappointment. The sparse office furniture looked suspiciously like a collection of rejects from another department: a few shelves on the back wall, an electric kettle and some mugs. In one corner was a battered whiteboard, with a few marker pens.

‘I've worked in nicer places,' Isabel said, pointing to a patch of damp on the wall.

‘It's pretty basic,' Galíndez agreed. ‘Still, we've got a budget so we can get computers and whatever else we need in the next couple of days. Maybe you could do that?'

‘From radio star to purchasing clerk,' Isabel sighed. ‘Just as well I like shopping.'

‘How come you're early? You said you'd be here at two.'

‘I got this.' Isabel reached under the desk and brought out a large cake.

Galíndez raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that chocolate cake?'

‘It is and if you don't like it, I'll take it home and eat it while I watch TV.'

‘You won't.' Galíndez dipped a finger into the icing. ‘I love chocolate cake.'

Isabel started slicing the cake. ‘A woman was looking for you earlier.'

‘Who was she?'

Isabel shrugged. ‘She didn't say but she seemed a bit odd. Maybe she's a crazy fan?'

‘You're the media star, I don't have fans.'

Isabel sighed. ‘Nor do I, since she didn't recognise me. It's always a problem in radio.' She put a slice of cake onto a plate and gave it to Galíndez. ‘Thanks for the job, by the way.'

‘You're welcome.' Galíndez took a bite of cake. ‘It could last a while too. Señora Calderón promised to fund us for the next five years if her party win the next election.'

‘And of course you believe politicians' promises, Ana María?'

‘At least you've got this,' Galíndez said, gesturing round the dingy room. ‘Interesting work and a pleasant boss.' She dabbed her finger into the cake topping again.

‘You want to go for a drink tonight, Ana? Celebrate our first day?'

‘I'd love to, but my boss phoned me earlier. He and his wife are going to a show and they need a sitter.'

Isabel rolled her eyes. ‘How many kids?'

‘Two. Inés is twelve and Clari's three. You wouldn't like to come, would you?'

‘Sorry, I'm allergic to children.'

‘They're sweet, really.'

‘I'm sure, but there are some things I just don't do, and kids are one of them.'

Their conversation was interrupted as a woman came into the room. Probably in her fifties, a little older maybe, a gaunt face and unkempt hair. The expression of someone who knew what it was to be unhappy.

‘Doctora Galíndez? I'm sorry to bother you.' She had a wild, haunted look that made Galíndez wonder about mental health issues as she shook the woman's nicotine-stained hand.

‘Take a seat, señora,' Galíndez said, looking round for a chair. ‘My colleague said you were looking for me earlier?'

‘That's right, my name's Adelina Solano.'

Isabel stood up. ‘Sit here, señora. I'll go to the cafeteria and get some coffee. How do you like yours, Ana María?'

‘Double espresso,' Galíndez said. ‘How about you, señora?'

Señora Solana gave her a cold look. ‘I can't afford it and I don't accept charity.'

Galíndez shrugged and pointed to the cake. ‘This is our first day in this new unit, won't you have a slice of cake and a coffee with us?'

‘If you're sure,' Adelina Solano muttered, hesitating. ‘A white coffee would be nice.'

‘
Café con leche
it is.' Isabel went out into the corridor.

‘How did you hear about our investigation?' Galíndez asked. ‘This is our first day.'

‘I tried to get you at the
guardia
HQ. They said you were on secondment here, investigating the stolen children.'

Galíndez brushed a few crumbs from her shirt. ‘So, how can I help?'

Once Adelina Solano started, she couldn't stop. ‘I was watching TV the other morning and they were talking about your Guzmán investigation. One of the commentators said you seemed to be on a personal crusade. That struck a chord because so am I.'

‘Is this about someone lost in the Civil War?' Galíndez cut in. ‘We can't investigate individual cases.'

‘It's about my daughter, Leticia,' Adelina Solano said, looking her straight in the eye. There was more pain in those eyes than anyone deserved, Galíndez thought.

‘I suppose you know about the
niños robados
, Dr Galíndez?'

‘I do. Was your daughter one of them?'

Adelina Solano exhaled slowly, trying to compose herself. ‘The hospital told me she died at birth, but that was a lie. I'm certain she was stolen.'

Galíndez looked round in vain for a pen and paper. ‘Did you go to the
policía
?'

‘Of course. But the clinic said they'd cremated the baby, so the police refused to do anything. That was seventeen years ago. No one's done anything since.'

Galíndez sighed. If she started taking individual cases, she'd be working on them until she retired. ‘This isn't my area, señora. My main focus is on investigating Guzmán and his links to the stolen children.'

Adelina pursed her lips. ‘You sound like Señora Calderón.'

‘Do you know her?' Galíndez asked, surprised.

‘I tried to get her to do something about my daughter's case, but she wouldn't.'

‘There are support groups, aren't there?'

‘I used to be spokeswoman for a
niños robados
parents' group. We met regularly with Señora Calderón – that's how I know her. She's like all the others, she did nothing.'

‘Didn't the other people in the support group help?'

‘Not really.' Adelina shrugged. ‘In fact, they threw me out.'

‘Why did they do that?'

‘I'm too radical for them because I want action, Dr Galíndez. This has been going on year after year, and all the time, the officials and politicians just make it harder to find out what happened to our children.'

‘Even so...' Galíndez saw the look on Adelina's ravaged face and shut up.

‘I should have known,' Adelina said, in a tired voice. ‘You're like all the others. You listen, patronise me and then show me the door. And nothing gets done to find my daughter.'

‘I have to focus on Guzmán,' Galíndez muttered, suddenly defensive.

‘No, you don't.' Adelina Solano leaned forward. ‘My daughter has grown up without knowing her mother. If you knew what that was like, you'd help.'

‘Actually, I do,' Galíndez said quietly. ‘When I was eight, my mother killed herself a few months after my father was murdered.'

‘Then you, of all people, should help me,' Adelina said with an air of vindication. ‘These are her details.' She took some handwritten sheets from her bag and pushed them across the desk. ‘I've put down the dates, the name of the clinic and the doctor.' A tear started to trickle down her lined face. She wiped it away. ‘I've lost my daughter, my husband and my home. I can't stop now. I have to find my Leticia.' She stared into Galíndez's eyes. ‘Help me, Dr Galíndez. I don't know who else to ask.'

Galíndez sighed. ‘Even if I agree, there's no guarantee I'll find her.' She ran a hand over her hair, thinking about it. ‘Do you have any information that would help me?'

‘Oh yes,' Adelina said. ‘That parents' group I told you about, the ones who threw me out? Well, I was the driver of their van. In fact, I've still got it at the moment.'

‘We don't need a vehicle, señora
.
But thanks for the offer.'

Adelina frowned, annoyed at being interrupted. ‘I was about to say that earlier this morning I drove round to see a priest in a church on Calle Robles. It's in Vallecas.'

‘I know where it is,' Galíndez said. ‘I was nearly killed there.'

‘Then it's a good job I went and got the boxes. You might not have been up to it.'

‘Boxes of what?'

‘Letters. They're from people who wrote to the Church authorities to complain about their children being stolen. They sent them to priests, bishops and even the archbishop. They've been stored in the church vaults. I thought maybe they could be put to better use.'

‘How many?' Galíndez asked. The least she could do was take them off Adelina's hands as a gesture of support. Going through a few letters wouldn't take long.

‘About ten thousand.' Adelina watched Galíndez's expression change.

The door opened as Isabel returned with their coffee. ‘What's going on?'

‘You're just in time to help unload the van,' Galíndez said.

‘Read the label on my T-shirt, Ana María,' Isabel muttered. ‘Go on.'

Galíndez lifted Isabel's collar. ‘Stella McCartney.'

‘That's right. And what's this across my chest?'

‘Dust mainly, and grease. Or it might be oil. '

‘Exactly.' Isabel took the lid off one of the Styrofoam cups and sipped her coffee. ‘So why are we filling our new office with all these filthy boxes?'

‘The material in them could be really useful.'

Adelina brought in the last box of letters and put it on a desk, raising a cloud of dust. ‘I'll take the van back now.'

‘She was a character,' Isabel said, going to the door to make sure Adelina was gone. ‘I bet she'd have been awkward if you hadn't agreed to help her.'

‘She was pretty assertive.' Galíndez nodded.

‘You'd better be like that with your kiddies tonight, or they'll run rings round you.'

‘Not at all,' Galíndez said, ‘they obey my every command. It's the
guardia
training.'