They depart with a firm handshake. Actually, the firmness comes from Perro, because Marraco’s hand is like a jellyfish with manicured nails. Lascano says
see you kid
to the office boy, who responds with a smile that makes Perro feel all fatherly. Marraco, deep in thought, grabs the file.
Hey, kid, go buy me some cigarettes.
He opens a drawer in his desk, puts the file inside and locks it away with a key.
20
Have you got the cheques? All right, Amancio, calm down. A cop’s been here. What did he want? They’ve found Elías. How? I don’t know. What did you do with the body? That’s got nothing to do with you. I put it somewhere safe. Not safe enough it seems. Damn! I don’t understand how this can have happened. What do we do now? How the hell should I know! Calm down, idiot, and let me think. You think all you like. But I have to go to the mortuary and identify the body. And when I’m there, I’m going to have to deal with this cop. What’s his name? Lezama. Lezama, eh? Right. Don’t say a word to him. Mate, the stiff is my damn brother, I can’t just sit there in silence. And what’s more, this guy doesn’t miss a trick. He acts the innocent, but he’s a radar, picking up on everything. Honestly, I think the whole thing has turned very sour. Shut up, don’t be such a chicken. Whose idea was it for me to come over and threaten your brother anyway? Yours. Who told me he was terrified of weapons? You. And when I pointed it at him, he jumped on top of me like an animal. You lied to me, you son of a bitch, you knew what would happen and you hoped I’d end up killing him. But Amancio, I swear… Don’t bother swearing anything to me, you’re more false than a three-dollar bill. You Judas, you surrendered him just like that! But no, honestly… Do me a favour and shut up, will you, your sort
can’t be trusted, that’s as clear as Christ walked the earth, until you sent him to his death, that is
.
What are you talking about? The only one who has sent anyone to their death here is you. Your tongue’s too loose, Cain. Now let’s see, let me think… leave this Lezama for me to sort out. You just keep your gob shut. I’ll be in touch later to let you know what to do. Fine. OK then, now give me the cheques and the blank papers I signed, I’ve got to get going, things to do. Look, I was thinking I might hold on to the cheques for a bit longer, until this whole mess has cleared up. You’ll give me them right now! After I’ve been to the mortuary. Now! Later! Look, you piece of shit Jew, give me the cheques right now before I send you off to keep your brother company! OK mate. No need to get like that. Everything’s fine. Here they are. That’s more like it. Now just keep quiet and wait for my instructions. Understood? Understood.
Amancio puts the gun back in the holster and leaves, slamming the door in fury. While he waits for the lift, the neighbour noses quietly through the peephole. Horacio opens the door and pokes his head out.
Amancio. What? I’ve got to be there at eleven. I’ll drop by or call you before that. OK, I’ll be waiting.
21
Fuseli has been sitting in the mortuary yard for some time, amusing himself watching the changing skies. It started out as one of those winter days blessed with a little sun. Then later on, typically for this time of year, rain clouds suddenly gathered over the urgent city, an urgency only too evident in the impatient cars jammed up on Viamonte, right outside the mortuary gates. Through those gates comes Lascano, with his familiar bear-like walk. Fuseli smiles: he’s always pleased to see his friend. In some way he feels personally responsible for the fact that Lascano’s still alive, that Perro was able to overcome the catastrophe of Marisa’s death. Fuseli had been Lascano’s deep-water harbour, somewhere he could dock until he was ready to set sail again, but set sail where? Fuseli decides he’s not in the mood for existential questions today. Right now life consists of him resting in the yard and his friend coming towards him, a friend who owes him a debt, a nice one, one that never need be repaid.
Hey there, Count Dracula. How’s the repression going, Perro? Getting better by the day. Did you manage to get me any of that stuff I asked you for? Here you go, I’m told its top-quality Colombian. Is it now? Hmm, it smells like genuine Red Point. Is that any good? Let’s find out.
Lascano watches Fuseli’s hands as he rolls the weed into a thin Gentleman cigarette paper. His artisan fingers work with agility. He wets the sticky strip with his tongue, finishes sealing it and then twirls a perfect cylinder, smooth and delicate, in his fingertips. He passes it back and forth over the flame of his old Monopol lighter until the dark stain of his saliva disappears. He puts the joint in his mouth and lights up, inhales deeply and holds back a hiccup. The yard fills with an acrid smoke that stings your nostrils. Looking down at the shiny cobbles, Lascano gets the feeling they’re at the seaside, fishing.
What the hell, I smoke and you get high? Is it any good? Excellent. Want to try a bit? No thanks. But tell me, why do you smoke that shit? Look, Perro, I spend my days working with death, face to face, you know? Death’s the only thing that can’t be faked, the only thing you can’t falsify or simulate. It’s the ultimate truth, and a truth that, what can I say, is not for everyone. So I need to take a break from it all sometimes and this is my break. A little joint and I pick myself up again. It’s true that it does fuzz the head a little, but it stimulates your imagination. Basically, we all need an anaesthetic in life, and this is mine. And while we’re on the subject, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s yours? Me, mate, I live without an anaesthetic, but there is something I want to tell you. Tell me then. A few days ago I organized a raid on a brothel up north. Uh-huh. Well, in the end we’d caught everyone, except for a couple of fish we had to throw back in the water, and I was left wandering about the house to see what I could find. And what did you find? A girl, hiding under a table. And? I nearly died of shock, the girl’s identical to Marisa. Ah, so your hallucinating condition is getting serious. I thought it was a vision at first too. But no, it’s just that she’s identical. She is? She is. I thought I was going
mad. And so what did you do? What could I do? I wasn’t even sure if she was real or a ghost. Think about it, I couldn’t arrest her but nor could I turn her out on to the street. So I took her home. This is getting good, and so? So nothing, she’s there now. Living with you? Yes. You’ve got to be kidding me! The other night I fucked her, well, she fucked me. And? I don’t know, my head’s a mess: I don’t know whether to shit or wind my watch. You’re in love. I don’t know, who knows, I don’t think so, what does it look like to you? That you’re a lost cause. What do you know about her? This is the worst part. Yesterday I found out that she was part of a People’s Revolutionary Army cell that just got broken up. And how did she end up in the brothel? I’ve no idea. Haven’t you asked her? No, not just that, I don’t want to know. You’re scared. I am. I’m telling you, you crazy fool, you’re in love. You reckon? I don’t reckon, I know. So what shall I do? Infatuation is a passing psychosis, but love is eternal, while it lasts. If you were a true coward, you’d run, but as you’re not, you’ve no choice but to gamble, even though you know you’re going to lose. Now you’ve lost me. It doesn’t matter, life’s providing you with a respite in the arms of… What did you say her name was? Eva. Eva, well, in her arms. Go with the flow, spin the wheel, you might even get another go. But she’s suspected of running with the guerrillas. Right now we’re all suspected of something. She’s on the run. Who knows she’s with you? Only you. Keep it that way. And do what? Enjoy her while you can. And Marisa? Marisa’s dead. Has the ghost been back? Now that you mention it, no, she hasn’t appeared since Eva’s arrival. Now the ghost is Eva. But you really can’t imagine how much they resemble one another. Try to focus on the differences, amuse yourself that way. The truth is I envy you. It’s been a long time since a woman made my hair stand on end, I think I’ve dried up. I don’t know what to suggest. You don’t have to suggest anything. I’ll introduce you to her, when
you see her you’ll fall flat on your arse in disbelief. Oh don’t you worry about me. Anyway, I’ve loads to tell you about Biterman so come on, let’s go inside.
With a sharp yank, Fuseli uncovers the corpse, which now has stitching splitting it in two down the breast bone.
They killed the guy somewhere else, and I would say between seven and nine hours before you found him. Generally speaking, hypostasis becomes fixed between fifteen and eighteen hours after death, but in this case there were blood deposits in several different areas, a clear sign that the body was moved. That’s conclusive. He was shot with a nine, from a distance of three to five feet. The bullet entered through the stomach and followed a fairly typical trajectory, passing through the skin, muscle layers, peritoneum, intestine, and finally lodging itself in the pancreas. Here’s the bullet. I’ll send it to ballistics, but I can tell you now that the gun and entry wound have nothing in common with the other two bodies. This guy was shot at an angle of forty-five degrees, more or less, from shoulder height. The other two were shot straight on, from the front. We recovered three bullets from each of them. They were shot at almost point-blank range in the place where they were found, hypostasis was constant and well fixed. In both their cases, injuries were sustained to the brain and cerebral white matter, death was instant. Biterman must have been alive for a little while after being shot. I don’t think I’d be wrong to suggest he attacked his assailant. Look at his hands, these abrasions are typical of those sustained in a fight, but there’s no trace of anything similar anywhere else on his body. He does have a few knocks, but as there is no haemorrhaging, it’s clear that he received them after death, when he was moved. Here’s a detail: we found skin remains under the fingernails, the killer is blood type O negative. What else? They actually did him a favour by killing
him. Why? The guy had advanced liver cancer. He would have died soon anyway. They saved him his suffering. That doesn’t make the killer any less of a killer. Conclusion? Your suspicions were right. The bullet wounds, types of injury and other marks on the bodies indicate that the kids were executed on the spot while Biterman died in a fight elsewhere. Your murderer should have a fair few scratches on him. Another detail, Biterman had been shot before. How? It must have happened many years ago, but he’s got an old gunshot wound in the back, bullet passed through his lung and missed his heart by five millimetres. He was saved by pure luck. Looks like his luck finally ran out.
The door opens and an orderly announces that Horacio has arrived. Fuseli quickly covers the body back up. As Horacio enters, Lascano notices he’s wearing brand-new clothes.
This is Doctor Fuseli. Are you ready to identify the body? I’m ready.
Fuseli and Lascano deliberately stand on one side of the table, across from Horacio on the other, the better to monitor his reaction. Fuseli distracts him, Lascano watches him.
I must warn you, Mr Biterman, that what you’re about to see is not pleasant. Are you sure you’re ready? Yes.
With a flamboyant gesture, Fuseli unveils the body. Horacio goes into some kind of stupor. He covers his mouth with his hand, lowers his head and sobs without much conviction. Lascano and Fuseli exchange sceptical looks.
Elías, what have they done to you? Do you recognize this as the body of your brother, Elías Biterman? Yes. It’s him. OK, well, there are some papers you need to sign. When will he be turned over to me?… I need to arrange the funeral. That depends on the judge. More tests are required to determine the time and
place of death. Thank you, doctor. Not at all. Lascano, don’t go off with my medicine. I won’t. Now there’s a few questions I need to ask you…
Perro takes Horacio by the arm and leads him out into the courtyard.
Where are you thinking of burying him? He always wanted to be cremated. I understand. Aren’t you interested in knowing how he died? Of course I am… It’s just that I’m so overcome, everything has been so sudden… Of course. Tell me, you’re his only heir, is that correct? If there’s anything to inherit, then I suppose I am. Your brother was a moneylender, wasn’t he? I imagine that line of work required him being a bit unfriendly to certain clients. Elías was very careful: he never loaned without guarantees. I imagine that on more than one occasion he’ll have had to enforce those guarantees. I suppose so. What do you mean you suppose so? You worked with him, surely you know. He handled all that side of things on his own. I just used to run his errands. Like what? Fetch and carry, pay things in at the bank, that sort of thing. What are you thinking of doing now? Well, it’s a bit too soon to say. I have to settle my brother’s affairs first. Then we’ll see. Can you provide me with a list of all his clients? All of them? Just the ones who owed him money. I’ll see if I can dig something out.
Horacio departs, Lascano noting that the soles of his shoes are brand new.
22
Hello… Hi Amancio, how’s it going… Who’s Horacio?… Who?… Lezama you say?… When?… And what did he say to him?… I don’t understand how this can have happened… And what does he know?… And what does he know about me?… OK… No. Don’t do anything. Leave it to me … Yes… I’ll call you… I said leave it to me, you civilians can’t be trusted with anything… Just keep your mouth shut, don’t even leave the house unless I tell you to, understood?
Giribaldi furiously slams the receiver down. It bounces and falls to the floor, ululating. His mad anger abruptly subsides and calm restraint takes over. He slowly bends down, picks up the receiver and replaces it carefully on the base. He sits motionless for a few minutes. In his head he goes through the names of the people he’ll have to lean on to sort out the mess that Amancio the imbecile has caused. “Life on a plate” they used to call him. Giribaldi’s from a lower-middle-class background and deep down he’s always despised Amancio. He finds him too soft and clumsy, and without a single aim in life. Giribaldi sees himself as the product of hard work and endeavour, earning everything through self-sacrifice, while everything of Amancio’s came from above. Wealth, social standing, his wife, other women, property, everything for free. With one simple call to
his friend Jorge, Giribaldi finds out that the policeman sticking his nose into the Biterman affair is not called Lezama but Lascano. He also finds out that the bodies have ended up at the mortuary and that the name of the doctor who did the report is one Antonio Fuseli. Giribaldi decides it would be opportune to pay this Fuseli a visit.