The Exile (43 page)

‘Can you do that?' Isabel wondered. ‘Give her clear-cut evidence, I mean.'

Galíndez searched through her papers. ‘It would be a good start if we focused on the hospital with the highest rate of child thefts and took it from there.'

Isabel nodded. ‘No time like the present. Shall we get started?'

‘I already have.' Galíndez pushed a sheet of paper across the desk. ‘This shows the differences in the likelihood of parental death for different obstetric units in the Madrid area. These results are highly unlikely to have occurred by chance. Look at the figure I've circled.'

Obstetric Favility & Likelihood of Parental Death

‘
Mierda
,' Isabel muttered. ‘So anyone complaining about a child theft to GL Sanidad had an increased risk of being killed?'

‘
Absolutamente
. Complaining to GL increased the likelihood of them dying by one hundred and ninety per cent. And these figures only relate to GL's clinics in Madrid. Imagine if we could get hold of the figures for the entire country.'

‘So how many deaths are we talking about for GL's Madrid operation?'

‘Of those who complained to GL between 1957 and 1994, around one thousand five hundred died,' said Galíndez. ‘And don't forget our data is based on people who complained. There could be others who had a child stolen but didn't complain.'

‘Surely this is enough to call in the
policía
?' Isabel asked.

‘First, I want to know more about GL Sanidad.' Galíndez bent over her laptop and searched for the GL website. ‘Here they are. Their HQ is in an industrial park in San Fernando de Henares. And look.' She pointed to a colour photo on the website. ‘The chief executive is someone called Jesper Karlsson.'

Isabel leaned over her shoulder to look at the photograph. ‘Why is he orange?'

Galíndez laughed as she took her phone from her pocket and called GL Sanidad. ‘I'll ask him, shall I?' She stopped laughing as someone answered. ‘
Hola
, may I speak to Señor Karlsson, please? This is Agent Galíndez of the
guardia civil
. Yes, it's extremely urgent.' She looked up at Isabel and winked as the receptionist put her through. ‘Good afternoon, Señor Karlsson.'

MADRID 2010, AVENIDA DE ASTRONOMÍA, SAN FERNANDO DE HENARES

The industrial park was a wasteland of barren fields crosscut by wide roads serving clusters of industrial buildings, warehouses and offices separated by wide open spaces where building work had stopped overnight when the economy nosedived. Immobile cranes next to half-completed buildings in the distance, dark skeletal outlines against the bright sky, more casualties of the recession. Galíndez slowed at an intersection, waiting as a large tanker rattled past, shrouding her car in a greasy haze of exhaust fumes. Ahead, isolated among the squares of unused land, she saw a gleaming white building, with black glass windows. A large sign across the front:
GL Sanidad (España)
.

She parked near the GL building and walked across the car park, seeing the distant cranes wavering in the burning air. As she approached, the entrance doors glided open, closing with a gentle whisper behind her. Inside, the air-conditioned building was cool and quiet, occasionally disturbed by the ringing of a phone. Even the staff talked in hushed voices, she noticed as the receptionist directed her to an expensive black leather chair in the lobby. Minutes later, she heard footsteps as the chief executive came to greet her.

‘Dr Galíndez? Jesper Karlsson.'

Karlsson was tall, in his mid-forties, Galíndez guessed as she shook his hand. He had a tan that was either fake or the result of some serious sunbathing. From his name, she guessed he was Swedish, though there was barely a hint of an accent in his voice. He led her to an elaborate lift constructed entirely from glass and gleaming steel, showcasing the movement of the winch mechanism as they glided up to the second floor.

Karlsson showed her into his office. The outer wall was made of dark glass, giving an eerie, shadowed view out over the strange post-nuclear landscape of the industrial park. Once she was seated, Karlsson reclined in his designer chair, anxious to get down to business. As she explained the purpose of her investigation, she noticed he wasn't good on eye contact.

‘So how can I help, Doctora Galíndez?' Karlsson asked.

His attitude soon changed as Galíndez told him about the letters of complaint and the high rate of death among the parents. He made the right noises, but said nothing to suggest he was going to assist in any way.

‘Complaints are usually dealt with by individual clinics,' Karlsson said. ‘It's rare we need to deal with them here, unless they involve litigation.'

Galíndez leaned forward a little. ‘Why would anyone take legal action against you?'

Karlsson gave her a tight smile. ‘On rare occasions, staff might not handle a procedure as well as they might: putting in stitches after an episiotomy, for example. Patients are frequently nervous in childbirth so even the smallest error takes on great significance and for some people their first reaction is to sue.'

‘I presume you keep records of your correspondence?'

He shook his head. ‘Not for very long. Unless the correspondence involves legal action, we only keep it for a year or two.'

‘What about parents complaining their child has been stolen?'

Karlsson's face showed the first sign of discomfort since she'd arrived. ‘I imagine you're referring to the stolen children of the Franco era?' An irritated tone to his voice now. ‘I don't know anything about what happened during the dictatorship. I've been CEO here for three years and we haven't had a single complaint relating to babies going missing from our clinics during that time. It was a long time ago, Dr Galíndez. We live in different times now, thank goodness. Frankly, it's ancient history.'

‘You don't seem concerned that your predecessors may have been involved in a major crime, Señor Karlsson.'

‘I don't like your insinuation,' Karlsson said. ‘Those things happened before you were even born. Quite frankly, I can't see much point to your investigation. You've looked at some old data, misinterpreted the results and then blundered in here to see what you can find to back up your mistaken ideas.'

‘So you won't cooperate?' She went to the water cooler to get a drink. ‘That won't look good in the press.' An innocent smile. ‘It's funny how they hear about these things so quickly.'

Karlsson sighed. ‘Why don't you go back to your investigation and carry on wasting your time on a spurious theory about parents dying because they wrote a letter years ago. You do that and I won't complain to your bosses at the
guardia civil
.' He leaned towards her. ‘Just so you know, young lady, I'm a personal friend of General Ramiro Ortiz. Piss me off any more and I'll make a call and you can explain to him what you're doing here. How would you like that?'

Galíndez stared at him.
Young lady?
Hijo de puta
.
‘Go ahead.'

‘OK, but remember, you brought this on yourself.' Karlsson reached for his phone and pressed a quick dial number. Galíndez heard a gruff bark as Ramiro answered.

‘Ramiro? It's Jesper Karlsson. Karlsson, remember? Jesper Karlsson, GL Sanidad?'

Galíndez listened to Karlsson denouncing her. Mainly he was correct, though she thought he exaggerated her lack of courtesy somewhat.

Karlsson finished his list of grievances against her and she watched his smile vanish as he listened to the barrage of invective coming down the line. By the time Ramiro was done, Karlsson was sweating. He managed a stammered
adiós
and handed her the phone.

‘
Buenas tardes, mi General
,' Galíndez said.

‘Don't be so bloody formal, Ana María,' Ramiro bellowed. ‘I don't know why you're threatening the head of the biggest medical group in Spain, but you'll find he's willing to cooperate now.'

‘I haven't threatened him.'

‘No? Well, I just did. I told the oily bastard if he obstructs you in any way, you're taking him to HQ in handcuffs. You can Taser him if you like.'

‘I see.' Galíndez noticed Karlsson wiping his face with a handkerchief. ‘Is there a reason for that assessment?'

‘He's listening, is he?' Ramiro growled. ‘There's a very good reason, which is why I'm giving you permission to beat the crap out of him if he resists.'

‘Why is that?' Galíndez asked, giving Karlsson a cheery smile.

‘He's a big contributor to Rosario Calderón's election campaign. Trying to buy favours, I reckon.'

‘Interesting,' Galíndez muttered, watching Karlsson squirm as he wondered what Ramiro was saying. ‘I'll let you know how things progress, General.'

‘Progress your boot up his arse. That should get his attention.
Hasta pronto
.'

‘
A sus ordenes, mi General
,' Galíndez said. By then, Ramiro had hung up. She handed Karlsson's phone back. ‘General Ortiz says you'll cooperate?'

‘Of course,' Karlsson muttered. ‘There's been a misunderstanding, that's all.'

‘Good, I'll email you a list of the information I want later today,' Galíndez said. ‘I'd also like details of the owners of this company.'

His face fell. ‘Not without a court order.'

‘No problem. I can have one issued and delivered here within the hour and I'll make sure it's accompanied by a team of forensic accountants. It shouldn't take them more than a couple of months to check your financial records.'

Karlsson's jaw sagged. ‘That would send our share price into a nosedive.'

‘I'm sure it will recover,' Galíndez said. ‘Eventually.'

He backed off. ‘I'm not trying to be difficult. The truth is, I don't know who owns GL Sanidad. I take my instructions from a holding company.'

Galíndez took out her notebook. ‘What's their address?'

‘They're based in the Cayman Islands,' said Karlsson. ‘They communicate with me through our chairman.'

Her eyes narrowed. ‘So, effectively, no one knows who the owners are?'

‘I can ask the chairman of the board if you want?'

‘
Bueno
. Can you speak to him as a matter of urgency?'

‘Of course. I'll contact him this afternoon,' Karlsson said, eager to cooperate now.

‘Thanks for your help.' When she went to the door, he didn't offer to see her out. ‘By the way,' she said, turning back. ‘Can you tell me the chairman's name?'

‘Of course.' Karlsson nodded. ‘His name is Jose Luis Calderón.'

21

SAN SEBASTIÁN, OCTOBER 1954, BANCO DE BILBAO

Señor Cifuentes unlocked another door and ushered Guzmán into a badly lit chamber. ‘This is the door to our strongroom.' Guzmán watched as the heavy door swung open. The bank manager pointed at a line of sacks inside the vault. ‘There it is,
Comandante
. Twenty sacks of notes, worth—'

‘Five million pesetas,' Guzmán cut in. ‘Don't look so worried, no one will steal it.'

‘Of course,' Cifuentes agreed. ‘And, since the
caudillo
guaranteed to reimburse us for any losses, our only concern is for the safety of you and the brave men of the
benemérita
.'

Guzmán nodded, relieved that Cifuentes had swallowed the lie about Franco so completely. ‘I'll pass on your good wishes to the civil guards in due course.'

‘And may I add, I have every confidence in the success of your operation,
Comandante
. It's well known the Spanish police are the best in the world.'

Guzmán stifled a laugh. ‘That's what we tell people,' he agreed. ‘Did you make arrangements for my men?'

‘Billeted in the church, as you instructed. The nuns are providing refreshments.'

‘Excellent.' Guzmán gave the bank manager an encouraging slap on the back, forcing Cifuentes to clutch the vault door in order to stay on his feet. ‘You've handled the arrangements very well,' he said. ‘So well, I'm going to inform the
caudillo
of your cooperation once this operation is over.' He cut short Cifuentes' obsequious thanks with an impatient gesture and hurried up the stairs, wondering how anyone so gullible could reach such an elevated position in the bank.

The church was three hundred metres away, tucked down a quiet side street of shabby offices with dark windows and lowered blinds. Guzmán went up the steps and pushed open the doors. The church shimmered with whispering echoes. Absently, he dipped his hand in the font and crossed himself. As his eyes became accustomed to the unsteady glimmer of votive candles around the altar he saw the civil guards slumped on the pews, resting their heads on their rucksacks, rifles at their sides. He recognised some of the men from the Oroitz garrison, tense and anxious.

The lance corporal leaped to his feet. ‘
Buenos días, Comandante
.'