It’s starting to get light. The time has come. He gets to Vélez Sarsfield, drives around the bridge and he’s beside the stagnant river. He takes a perfumed tissue out of his pocket and drives with one hand on the wheel, the other holding the tissue over his nose to cover up the putrid smell. He remembers that his father used to make the same joke whenever they passed the Riachuelo: Breathe in boys, it’s good for a cough. It’s a grey morning and he can’t see more than twenty feet in front of the car, the fog acting like a wall refracting the car’s headlights. He turns them off, reduces his speed. How the hell am I going to find the hut in this kind of visibility. And then he sees it. It’s like a brown brushstroke on a canvas of grey. He brakes. He reverses back up the road until he passes the hut again, then noses forward down the dirt track towards it. Before he’s gone far, he spots the bulk of something. Two corpses lie on the ground. Competing winds start to sweep away the fog. The girl’s head has been destroyed with gunshots and part of her brain has spilled out onto what remains of her face. He feels himself retch and turns away. He doesn’t want to see any more. He opens the boot and faces up to the gruelling task of getting Biterman out. He takes the tarpaulin off. The movement of the car has made the curtain slide off the dead body, leaving the Jew’s blood-soaked belly on full display. As he pulls at the corpse, he finds one of its arms has got jammed under the spare tyre. To Amancio, it seems like the dead man is refusing to let go. He wrestles with it, but only succeeds in getting the arm stuck even more. He looks for the key that unfastens the screw that holds the tyre in place. He finally manages to free the arm and pull the body halfway out of the car. He grabs hold of the dead man’s belt and pulls. The buckle snaps. Amancio throws the strip of leather away in anger. He grabs hold of Biterman by the legs and drags him out of the car. He unties and unwraps the body, not wanting to leave the curtain behind, and he notices that the corpse is already starting to go stiff. He gets his breath back. He rolls the fabric into a ball and hurls it into the river. The water begins to stain it, then swallows it up. Slowly the bundle sinks, becomes a ghost and disappears.

  Amancio gets into the car and reverses up the track. As he reaches the street, he notices a car approaching with its lights on. He takes the same lane and pulls away at top speed. In the rear-view mirror, the lights of the other car quickly get smaller and smaller until they can no longer be seen. He slows down and carries on towards General Paz. All he can think of is a whisky, a bath and bed.

  15

  Lascano arrives at police headquarters when everyone else is getting ready to go home. He wants to go through certain dossiers when the archives department is at its quietest, so that he can work unobserved and avoid having to check files in and out at the desk, preferring to leave no record of his research. Office work, what he likes least.

  Five hours of reading have blurred his vision and five hours of chain smoking have filled his lungs with soot. He sets off walking from headquarters to his car, parked on the end block of Diagonal Norte. He’s nearly there when he gets mixed up with the audience coming out of the late showing at Cine Arte. He notices Pasqualino Setebelleze on the billing and starts to weave his way through the crowd when a scream draws everyone’s attention.

  Across the road, a man holding a shotgun is standing beside a double-parked Ford Falcon. Two other men come out of an apartment block with their pistols drawn, dragging along a young man who cries out again and manages to pull himself free. One of the armed men swings a punch but misses. The youth runs out into the middle of the street, but when he’s halfway between the cinema-goers and his pursuers he trips, falls and is recaptured. He shouts out his name. One of the men lunges at the boy and hits him on the head with his gun. The men with pistols carry him over to the Falcon and throw him in the back. The man with the shotgun points it at the crowd and growls something that can’t be understood but that everyone understands and the group starts to disperse. Lascano, alone on the pavement, watches the Falcon turn onto Libertad and quickly disappear.

  Where Diagonal ends, behind the leafy eucalyptuses on Plaza Lavalle, the solemn Palace of Justice stands tall, blind, dirty and deaf.

  16

  Lascano likes the suburbs. They’re the essence of his youth. Nobody knows these places and these people better than he does. Out here people still have a provincial air, but it’s spiked with the cynicism that emanates from the big city, just twenty minutes up the Panamerican highway. Ponds, stray dogs, a bar where men sit playing hands of Tutte Cabrero, Guigue the pools coupon man on the street corner, the bottle collector pulling his cart.

  But it’s not nostalgia that has brought Lascano here. A cast-iron arch adorns the entrance and above it a sheet-metal sign announces the Fortuna Sawmill, in rather pretentious shaded lettering. This is the only clue offered by the corpse planted at the scene of the execution. As if in a scene from a film noir, Perro takes out the business card and looks up at the sign. Here is where he hopes to find the end of the thread that will unravel the crime. This is the place all right.

  Dodging the potholes full of water and rotting wood shavings spilled by the freight lorries, he moves forward purposefully. He is guided by the screech of an electric saw as it cuts through a board, held by a huge blond man in overalls. The man’s missing the top of his index finger on his right hand and a cataract in one of his eyes has turned the pupil white. The guy is so concentrated on the saw edge he seems not to notice Lascano’s presence. But without stopping his work he suddenly speaks.

  And how may I be of service, Superintendent? Good morning.

  Lascano takes out the photo of Biterman and throws it onto the bench.

  Do you know this man?

  The woodcutter closes his cloudy eye and half-heartedly glances at the photo with the other.

  Biterman. Pardon? Biterman, a moneylender. Do you know him? Is he dead? As dead as Gardel. What’s your relationship with him? When I was flat broke he cashed me cheques. So someone finally went and killed him. How do you know someone killed him? If he’d died of the flu I doubt you’d be here. Do you know anyone who might have had a motive to kill him? Yes. Who? Me… and half the phone book. The guy was a swine. Honestly, I’m glad he’s pushing up daisies. Did you kill him? Just my luck, someone got there before me. Where were you Tuesday night? You see the bar across the way? Go in there and ask. I was watching the beating Galíndez gave Skog. As well as the owners and the waiter, there were at least twenty others in there. We stayed pretty late. Did they televize it? Now that you come to mention it, no, we actually listened to the fight on the radio. It’s just that the commentator… Cafaretti. That’s the one, Cafaretti, he describes it so well you feel like you’re ringside. Do you have the address of this… Biterman? Sure do. Gladys! What? Give this man the Yid’s address. Thanks a lot.

  Lascano heads towards the girl hidden away in the “office”. The voice of the carpenter booms out over his shoulder.

  If you do catch whoever killed Biterman, tell him I’ll pay for his lawyer.

  17

  And what’s all the mystery in aid of? It’s a surprise. Another one? This one’s different. Come on. Where are we going? To the place where you found me. The brothel? Exactly. Are you going to tell me what this is all about? Not until we get there. Shrouded in secrecy. You have to make a promise.

  She looks lovely and he’s ready to promise her anything.

  I’m going to show you something I found when I was hiding and you were busting the brothel. OK. What I found is very important. What is it? Let me finish. You haven’t said your vows yet. Go on. I want you to promise that we’ll keep what I show you for us, just for you and me. But what is it? Promise. All right, I promise. Good, let’s go then.

  The street is empty. They quickly get out of the car, cross the road and pull down the crime-scene tape stuck across the green door to Tony Ventura’s bordello.

  We are committing a crime, Eva. The crime was meeting you in the first place.

  Lascano follows her up the stairs to the room with the false socket.

  Close your eyes. Again? Close them. OK, they’re closed. Surprise!

  Lascano opens his eyes, Eva’s hand waves the two wads of dollar bills.

  Holy shit! And what’s this? Money to buy bird food. It must be a very hungry bird. It’s starving. Girl, we have to hand this in. You promised. And anyway, hand it in to who? I don’t know… to the law. What law? Don’t look at me like that, it’s not ours. It is, it says so here, pay the bearer. It belongs to whoever is holding it. I don’t know. I do, you look after it, but remember it’s both of ours. OK, but we’ll decide what we’re going to do with it later. Secure our future is what we’re going to do with it. We’ll have to think about that. You think about it all you want. I’ll make you see sense. For now, I have to go and see your friend, the one who’s going to help me with the documents. Do you want me to give you a lift? Please.

  18

  Lascano crosses the road, squeezes his cigarette butt between thumb and forefinger and tosses it into the little stream running in the gutter. The doorman is a tight-lipped country boy who immediately recognizes Lascano as a policeman. Lascano’s just as quick to work out the porter is an ex-con, but he decides not to question him for now. Perro walks past and they pointedly ignore each other, monitoring one another all the while. The building is silent. Lascano gets in the lift. The grill jams when he tries to draw it shut. There’s a small triangular chink of something stuck in the groove, stopping it from sliding smoothly. He bends down to pick up the offending item. It’s a little piece of perforated plastic with the quarter part of a hole, evidently the fixing for a screw. He’s pretty sure it belongs to the handle of a gun. He puts it in his pocket. He tries the grill again and, much to his satisfaction, it slides shut with ease.

  Good morning, I’m Superintendent Lascano. Good morning, Superintendent, how can I help you? Is this Mr Biterman’s address? Mr Biterman at your service. You’re Biterman? I am. I’m looking for a different Biterman. That’ll be my brother. Is he around? He hasn’t arrived yet. Can I come in? Be my guest. When did you last see your brother? Tuesday afternoon.

  While Horacio turns to shut the door, Lascano takes the Polaroid out of his pocket and holds it up, ready to observe Horacio’s reaction.

  Is this your brother? What’s happened? He was murdered. But… how…why…who? I was hoping you might be able to answer some of those questions. I don’t know who could have done such a thing. He was a much loved guy, never upset anyone. What kind of a business is this? Finance. So I see. Things going well for you? Modestly, we can’t complain. Were you and your brother partners? I’m an employee. Do you mind if I have a quick look around? Is it really necessary? I can come back with a search warrant and ten other officers if you’d prefer. No, there’s no need for that, go right ahead.

  Keeping his hands in his pockets to be sure not to touch anything, Lascano explores the office, which seems to be a bit too tidy. Something tells him it’s not normally like this. On top of the desk is a chequebook for the Banco de Crédito Comercial. He notices that the corner of the desk is splintered and that the damage seems recent because the laceration sprouts hairs of fresh wood. On the wall there’s a black stain that someone has tried to clean up. Lascano would like to confirm it’s still damp but Horacio’s watching him like a hawk so he resists the temptation. He walks past Horacio in silence. The curtain rail has fallen down and a shred of cloth hangs from it.

  Did he have family? Just me. Enemies? None I knew of. Well, I don’t want to trouble you any more at this painful time. But I will need to talk to you again. Whenever you like. Would you be able to come down to the mortuary to identify the body? When would you like me there? Tomorrow at eleven suit you? Fine. Do you know where it is? No. Viamonte, 2151. I’ll find it. Was your brother rich? Let’s say he was fairly well off. And how about you? I get by. See you tomorrow at eleven then.

  By the time he leaves, Lascano’s convinced Elías was killed in the Bitermans’ office. There’s no sign of Horacio having been in a struggle, and in any case he seems too faint-hearted for murder, but Lascano has no doubt the brother was instigator, brains or accomplice. As ever, the question is: Who benefited from this death? Horacio. But there’s someone else involved and I have to find out who before putting the pressure on little brother. These are Lascano’s thoughts as he waits for the lift, when he hears a noise to his side. He pretends to cough and with a quick glimpse catches the neighbour’s eyes at the little window of the peephole. When he starts to walk over, the shutter closes with a bang. He can see the shadow of feet at the bottom of the door as he knocks lightly with his knuckles. He smiles. The door opens immediately, revealing a woman around seventy years old, tiny but strong and tense. Her hard hands hold a brand new dishcloth. She smells of bleach, is wearing a pinafore and has slippers on her feet. She looks like she’s stepped straight out of a detergent commercial.

  Good day to you, madam. I’m Superintendent Lascano. What did you say? That I’m Superintendent Lascano, from the police. Oh, sorry, I’m a little deaf, the health service still hasn’t got around to authorizing my hearing aid. I need one in order to hear properly these days… Can I come in and talk to you for a minute? And how do I know you’re really from the police?

  Lascano flashes his badge.

  Satisfied? Please come in.

  It’s a space much like the Bitermans’. The whole flat speaks of an owner obsessed with cleaning. Everything gleams. Through the door opening to the bedroom Lascano sees the television covered with a plastic sheet. It has a glass cockerel on top that predicts the weather by changing colour. The floor shines. It’s easy to guess that a pristine façade hides a mortally boring life, but in spite of this, or maybe precisely because of it, the place is very soothing.

  Sorry to bother you. It’s no bother. Please take a seat. Thanks. Do you live alone? Yes. I’m widowed. My son lives in Comodoro Rivadavia. He’s an engineer. Great. Do you know your neighbours, the Bitermans? If you mean know them in the sense of knowing them, then no, I don’t know them. I come across them on the landing from time to time. The younger one is friendly. The elder one never even says hello. He always seems to be on a different planet. What can you tell me about them? Well, they don’t live here. They just have their office here. But if you asked me what they did for a living, I wouldn’t have a clue. What is true though, is that quite a lot of people come and go. Sometimes they buzz my door on the intercom by mistake. They get confused. I see. And these visitors, what sort of people are they? Older people, always in a hurry. No one stays for longer than ten or fifteen minutes. Don’t ask me what they talk about though, because I don’t like to meddle in other people’s business. Each to their own, that’s what I think. But I do know that the two of them don’t get on well. You don’t say. I do say. You know what these modern apartments are like. The walls are paper thin. Even if you don’t want to, you can’t help but hear everything. And I’m half-deaf, so just imagine. What have you heard? Now and again voices are raised. I don’t pay much attention, but on more than one occasion I’ve had to bang on the wall to make them stop shouting. It gets as bad as that? The other night they had a terrible fight. I was already in bed. It sounded to me like it came to blows. In fact, I was quite scared. When was this? …Let me think… Tuesday night. Are you sure? Yes, because it was the day I went to the dentist. And did you see anything? When I got up, I looked out of the peephole, but things had calmed down by then… I was quite shaken… I had to take a pill to get back to sleep. Excellent. Thanks a lot for your help. Has something serious happened? We don’t know. A complaint was made and so we’re investigating. It was probably nothing more than a brotherly squabble. Yes, of course. Well, I shan’t trouble you any more. It’s no trouble. Oh, one other thing. I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention our little conversation to anyone for the moment. No problem. If you need anything, I’m at your service. Many thanks. Good day. Good day.

  19

  Marraco’s office is on the sixth floor of the courthouse and is reached via an intricate labyrinth of corridors lined with shelves packed with files. Lascano’s convinced that justice almost always gets lost somewhere in this sea of papers that come and go like the tides: deadlines, conclusions, official letters, certificates, notifications, notice orders, pigeon hole memos, public prosecutor permits, counsellor permits, days that go by, files that grow thicker, lawyers that issue more and more writs, documents, evidence, court orders, expert opinions, proceedings and more proceedings, until nobody can remember why the whole thing started in the first place, or nobody is left with the will to read through three or four hundred pages. Criminals with the means to hire a skilled lawyer end up going free. The ones who lack the resources end up counting the days to their release dates, learning the error of their ways doing time at “the school”, as inmates call Devoto prison, because you learn a lot there.

  The judge is showing an office junior how to log the writs in a case file, like those on the racks behind them. He’s a lad around seventeen years old, a law student working for free in order to get a foot on the judicial ladder. Lively and curious, he quickly gives Lascano the once over. Lascano likes the look of the kid. A bond forms between them right away. Lascano sits down opposite the judge and, while they chat, he admires the precise movements of the youngster, itemizing and amending.

  Superintendent, I have to congratulate you. Operation Gaspar Campos was a total success. Even if some walked. Two. Who were they? A colonel and his deputy. Anyway, you haven’t come here for a pat on the back. No, I’ve come about another matter that also corresponds to you. The three John Does. Two John Does.

 

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