Murder in Buenos Aires (9/9)

Juliet Harris woke up feeling very strange. It was as if she were returning to Earth after three hundred years in space. Noticing that she felt supremely uncomfortable, she tried to stretch but couldn’t. Instead, she seemed to be effectively paralyzed, and her side felt bruised and tender. There was an unpleasant bumping motion.

She realized, all of a sudden and with horror, that her hands were tied behind her back, her ankles were bound together, her eyes were covered and her mouth was stuffed with cloth. The realization sent a shot of adrenalin through her system, more vivifying than coffee.

She was being kidnapped. Probably she was in the trunk of someone’s car. Possibly she’d be killed.

For a few moments she struggled to remember what had led to this. Then it all came back. The encounter in the park, the hands around her throat, her panicked run back to her car. Then driving to see Sandra. Sandra had hugged her, run her a bath. Sandra brought her chamomile tea…

Numbness washed over her as she realized what must have happened. Sandra had drugged her tea! But why? Why would Sandra care if Frank was smuggling weapons into Argentina?

Juliet set aside the massive wave of anger and grief at the betrayal, of pain and fear. Instead, she went into ‘analytical mode’. Experimentally, she moved her wrists a little. They were tied so tightly that she could hardly move them at all. They seem to be tied with twine—the rough fibres were cutting into her skin. Next she focused on her ankles. Same deal, but her jeans offered slightly more give and the rope wasn’t cutting into her flesh so much. It was confirmed: she couldn’t do anything physically.

What about her phone? No good. There was no way she’d have that on her still. And without her hands…Then she remembered her watch. It had an SOS function that enabled emergency services to see her location. All she had to do was figure out how to push that button…

***

Christina called León after getting back from Señora Lampedusa’s house. She’d given the matter plenty of thought and had come to the conclusion that she had to act.

“I need to borrow your car.”

“Of course. Why?”

“I have to follow someone and I’d rather not do it in my van, which is fairly conspicuous and liable to stall.”

Briefly, she outlined what she had in mind.

“That sounds dangerous, Christina,” he demurred.

“And?” she scoffed. “These bodies are piling up.”

“It’s the kind of thing police are paid for. For a reason.”

“You’re telling me Rodriguez is going to pay for someone else to do it?”

“Aw Hell, Chris.”

“I thought not. Trust me. I’m afraid of what might happen otherwise.”

“Fine. Take the car. But don’t do anything risky without texting me first. I don’t want to have to explain your untimely death on top of everything else.”

So it happened that Christina was parked hidden by lush foliage from the view of the driveway she was looking at but close enough to see if headlights illuminated the street.

When the big, black SUV came crawling down towards the gates at two o’clock in the morning, Christina stopped playing Candy Crush on her phone, texted León and started the car as quietly as possible.

“There you are,” she murmured. “And here we go…”

She waited a few beats before sliding away into the night, in pursuit.

***

Unknown to Christina, León was tracking her movement on his phone. When he realized she was moving at three o’clock in the morning, he decided to be on hand just in case.

He followed the dot on the map and stayed fairly calm until it went beyond the city proper, veering south, where there were lots of abandoned building sites. These were sometimes, he knew, used as convenient graves by criminal types.

He felt a little bit of anxiety at that point, increasing his speed until he had Christina in sight.

The car ahead disappeared but León had a good idea of where it was going. He called Christina and told her to  pull over.

“Why? What’s going on?” she asked.

“Uh, I have a pretty good idea of where that car is going. It’s not good. I don’t want him to know he’s being followed.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I’m going to get in with you. We’ll let him get ahead and then we’ll go together.”

She pulled over when there was something of a shoulder and he hopped in beside her.

“What do you mean when you say, ‘It’s not good’?” Christina asked.

“It’s basically a body-dumping site. It’s a favourite with the barras bravas. Shallow graves, concrete coffins, that sort of thing.”

“Oh,” said Christina, turning slightly green.

“Are you all right?” León asked. “Want me to drive?”

“No, no. I’m OK. But you’ll have to give me directions. The car’s disappeared.”

***

Gigi refused to talk and it was pretty clear why. Maria Mendoza resisted the urge to snap at Rodriguez. After all, he was her superior and held the golden key to her future in his pudgy hands. But it was undeniable that he was making every possible mistake in the interrogation book. He’d started in with threats and insults, he’d given away key information and would not let Gigi get a word in edgeways.

At first, when Rodriguez had insisted on joining her in the interview, Maria had felt validated. Surely if he wanted in on the interrogation it meant Gigi was a high-value suspect. Ordinarily, he wanted as little as possible to do with the grunt work, vastly preferring business lunches and interminable meetings with big wigs. Now, thought, seeing him botch this prime opportunity, she was starting to wonder.

She looked at her phone—a pretext.

“Sir?” she said. “Can I see you outside for a moment? I just got a message.”

“Can’t it wait? This boludo is about to squeal,” Rodriguez growled and thumped the desk.

Maria winced with embarrassment. Gigi stared at him with serene contempt.

“No, I’m afraid it’s urgent sir,” she said decisively.

Rodriguez looked at her in surprise. He had never heard this tone from her before.

She stood up and briskly walked outside, quivering with annoyance.

Rodriguez followed, a merry puglet, rubbing his hands with pleased satisfaction.

“We’ve really got him on the ropes now! What did you want to see me about?”

“What were you doing in there?” Maria hissed.

“Eh?” he blinked.

“With all due respect, sir, that is not how I was taught to question a suspect.”

“It’s not rocket science, Maria. You don’t need advanced studies to squeeze out the truth. You need tough-mindedness!”

“I—” she bit her lip and took a deep breath. “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I would really prefer to deal with Gigi alone or with a colleague.”

He looked taken aback, even a little hurt. She immediately regretted losing her cool. “It’s just that I have a different style. I think I can get on a wavelength where he’ll respond more readily.”

“Well…if you think you can handle it…”

“I believe I can, sir,” she said firmly.

“All right. I’ll send someone along.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Don’t go too easy on him, that’s all.”

“No, sir. I won’t.”

“Oh, and Maria? Bring me the transcript when you have it, will you? I’d like to review it. After all, you’re still on probation with this new position. It’s not that I don’t trust you, of course. But, you know, I need to make sure that everything is in order.”

“I’ll bring it straight away, sir,” she said primly.

She thought she detected a slight threat in those words, but for now she was so relieved to be rid of him that she could shrug it off.

***

Juliet had not managed to hear anything like the wail of sirens coming to her rescue, and now the car had stopped. In a matter of moments, she’d be dead. The thought stunned her. It seemed ridiculous but all the indicators seemed to confirm it. She was beyond terrified. Even if her hands and feet had not been tied, she would have been paralyzed with fright. She felt her heartbeat shake her entire body. She heard the car door slam, slow footsteps. All that was left now was waiting…waiting for oblivion.

When she heard the gunshot, she immediately assumed she’d passed over to the other side.

But then she heard another one.

At that moment there was a scream of agony and it was not coming from her. She heard running footsteps on gravel, voices—a man’s and a woman’s. She took a chance and started kicking the top of the trunk as hard as she could.

Even before the trunk opened, she heard the comforting howl of an ambulance siren.

***

Kristin Ocampo steeled herself. She’d rehearsed what she was going to say five times, once in front of a mirror, and she wasn’t going to back out now.

A make-up artist was putting the finishing touches on her face and a hairdresser was perfecting newly crafted ringlets.

She felt a pat on her shoulder.

“All set now, Ms. Ocampo,” said the hairdresser.

“Thanks,” she said distractedly. She stood up and walked out onto the set. Immediately she was immersed in the almost stunning sound of studio applause.

The host, Mina Forbicelli, all teeth, greeted Kristin warmly with a kiss, took her hand and led her to the big comfy red couch.

“How are you?” Mina asked warmly.

“I’m doing well,” Kristin said, flashing her trademark bewitching smile.

“It’s wonderful to have you here for this live, exclusive interview. We’re very lucky.”

“Thank you so much,” Kristin murmured.

“Tell me. You’re back home for a holiday? Or are you working?”

“Originally I was here on holiday, to see my family. But my brother was killed so I’ve decided to extend  my stay.”

“We are so sorry to heart that,” said Mina. “I did hear that he had committed suicide, isn’t that right?”

“No, it’s not,” said Kristin. “He had discovered sexual abuse at the Santo Domingo school for boys and intended to make that public. So he was murdered.”

There was a collective gasp in the audience, followed by a tense, uncertain silence. Kristin could hear someone was shouting in Mina’s earpiece.

“Shocking,” said Mina weakly. “Shocking, dear. I believe, though, that the police ruled it a suicide, didn’t they. Well, it’s very sad indeed. Please send our regards to your parents.”

“The police have failed here. They failed my brother. They failed Lola Graf, who was also trying to bring this issue to light. They have failed the young victims of sexual abuse. I would like to take this opportunity to ask the police to look into this issue and prosecute the people in charge of this horror,” said Kristin, “For my brother’s sake, I urge everyone watching this show to call the Buenos Aires police and demand a comprehensive investigation. And anyone who has information, tell them about it too.”

“Well!” said Mina, smiling with her mouth but looking desperate around the eyes, “Unfortunately we have to take a short break but we’ll be right back after these messages from our sponsors.”

***

There were six people in a small conference room at the Palacio Asti hotel. León Marconi stood at the front of the room, surrounded by an audience seated in a horseshoe. They were Christina, Juliet Harris, Diego Sosa, Kristin Ocampo, Sandra Lopez, Frank Giordano (flanked by two hefty cops) and Maria Mendoza. Two more policemen, armed, stood by the door to ensure no one could leave.

“I asked you all here today,” said León, putting his hands behind his back and pacing like a university professor, “Because this is where my part in the drama began. It is where Lola Graf spent the last night of her life, and where I met you all, though there was one more of you then, Martín Gaviscon.”

Kristin Ocampo sniffled and plugged her nose with a tissue.

“I would ask you to bear with me

“When a television personality dies of an opiate overdose during a party, it is not on the face of it very surprising. Very easy to dismiss as ‘one of those things’. But it became clear quite early on that this was not just one of those things.

“In the first place, Lola was abstemious. She’d renounced alcohol and drugs for more than ten years. In the second place, she claimed to be in the possession of information that would compromise several very important people. Considering all that, it became necessary to consider the possibility that her death was planned.

“Posing as a cleaner, my friend Christina discovered some interesting things. In the first place, someone had been in Lola’s room. They had taken two things: a black book containing the names of the abusers Lola was threatening to expose. They had also taken a gift basket. Why?

“That question seemed to be answered the following day, when she found the book and the basket in Martín Gaviscon’s wardrobe. The book had multiple pages torn out of it, the basket contained the packet for a face mask that seems to have actually been a fentanyl patch. Soon after this discovery, Gaviscon was found dead, apparently of suicide. Near his body was a typed and printed confession declaring he had put opiates in his own drink and that Lola had drunk it accidentally. Such was his guilt, the note declared, that he’d decided to end it all.

“Clearly,” said León, “This was bosh. Lola Graf did not drink alcohol so she would not have mistaken his drink for hers. What’s more, Gaviscon did not take his drugs in drinks. Nor is it likely that he’d have torn out all the names written in the black book except his own. Presumably he would not have left evidence in his hotel wardrobe, where anyone could find it. Clearly, he was being framed, but ineptly.”

“How long is this going to take?” Frank Giordano growled.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Giordano, do you have some pressing engagement back at the holding cells?” León inquired. “To return to the night of Lola’s death. What I didn’t realize that night was that the drama had begun a long time beforehand.

“There were five key circumstances seemed significant. One: Juliet Harris had been orphaned when Lola Graf killed her parents. Two: The death of Kristin Ocampo’s brother was intimately connected to his relationship with Lola. Three: Frank Giordano was in Argentina for some specific but mysterious reason. Four: Did Sandra Lopez know that the face-mask she was giving to Lola was really a fentanyl patch? And finally: Were the accusations that Lola was about to make—that there a high-profile sex-abuse ring was being tolerated by police--true or false?”

“The last question seemed to me to be the first one we had to answer. Everything suggested and still suggest that the accusations were true. The Santo Domingo school had been used as the central hub of a network of predators. According to multiple witnesses, the head of the school Father Justus invited these criminals on the premises for the purpose of abusing students. His accomplice was the school secretary Gigi. When Father Ocampo learned about this activity, he confronted Father Justus, who in turn threatened to expose Father Ocampo’s homosexual love affair. Ocampo was bullied and squeezed out of the school. He found an unlikely ally in Lola Graf, who offered him friendship and a kind of ‘alibi’. He was afraid his family would disown him on account of his homosexuality, so she cooperated in spreading the rumor of having had a heterosexual affair with him that led to his defrocking. Meanwhile, because Ocampo feared for his life, she accepted guardianship of the book in which he’d written down the names of abusers.”

“What has any of this to do with us?” growled Frank Giordano.

“Have some patience and you might find out,” León replied pleasantly. “What I initially found most extraordinary was the fact that Juliet Harris was at a party with the woman who’d killed her parents. Twenty years earlier, Lola Graf, intoxicated, had got behind a steering wheel and gone for a joyride late at night and knocked over a young couple. At that moment, a little girl’s life changed forever. That said, the young women she was now seemed to be living a charmed life: beautiful, rich, skilled, celebrated—it was hard to imagine her being all-consumed with rage by something that had happened when she was still an infant. On the other hand, who knows? Imagine your parents had been taken from you and one day you came face to face with their killer? What would you do?

“Another thing that suggested Juliet might have had a hand in Lola’s death was the fact that she was the one most likely to have been able to obtain the fentanyl patch that Lola had unwittingly used as a facemask. After all, dermal patches were more or less the main topic of her academic study.

“In the end, the case against Juliet did not add up. The facemask, for example, was not what had ultimately killed Lola—rather it was drugs in her drink. And then, what about the abuse allegations? Were they really just a coincidence, or a red-herring designed to draw attention away from Juliet?”

“I had nothing to do with it!” Juliet could not resist objecting.

“Perhaps,” León pursed his lips. “Another question I had about you was your relationship with Frank Giordano. It was conceivable, I supposed, that you were accomplices. Perhaps he had a reason to want to silence Lola and you were in a position to help him. Perhaps he himself had been one of the secret visitors to the school.”

“Horseshit!!” Frank Giordano roared. “I want put up with that from a slimy chicken liver. That’s character defamation. Put it in writing, I dare you!”

“Tomarlo con soda, it’s just a hypothetical, friend,” said León. “As it happens, there is nothing to link you with the school. However, as you are aware, there is the small matter of arms smuggling. That’s between you, Special Branches and Interpol. I am, obviously, interested in your homicide attempt in Parque de Los Niños, but we’ve already talked about that.”

Giordano swore colorfully.

“That matter is only of interest here because it reveals the nature of your relationship with Ms. Harris. As she has told me, you offered her a tidy sum for some research here and in return she introduced you to Sandra and Diego, friends of hers who could give him access to celebrity circles and also, more importantly, to underworld connections.”

Diego Sosa snorted and shook his head in disbelief.

“Of course, there was also clearly a romantic aspect. However, unfortunately, Mr. Giordano never let his affection for Ms. Harris get in the way of business. In fact, when he learned she’d overheard compromising information, he tried to kill her.”

“So you say. We’ll see!” Frank grumbled. Juliet looked at him in disbelief and took off her scarf.

“You did this to me! Are you going to deny it?”

“You bet I’m going to deny it,” said Giordano, scowling. “You all think I haven’t been framed before?”

“Anyway,” León continued, “So much for Juliet Harris and Frank Giordano. There was someone else at that party who had a very good reason to dislike Lola Graf. This was Kristin Ocampo. A few hours before Lola died, Kristin had quarreled with her, to the point that Lola was crying and Sandra Lopez had had to intervene. Why had they argued? Because Kristin blamed Lola for her brother’s untimely death. Her brother had been unable to tell his family about his love for another man. Lola had stepped in to create the impression that he left the clergy because he’d had an affair with her. He was afraid that news of his homosexuality would be the last straw for his parents, who were aggrieved enough about the fact that he'd been defrocked.”

“They would have accepted it!” Kristin cried. “Most of my friends are gay and my parents know that.”

León shrugged apologetically.

“Probably, you’re right,” he said. “But fear is a strange thing. In any case, you admit that you were angry with Lola?”

“Yes I was. To be absolutely honest I wouldn’t have minded slapping her and when I heard she was dead I was glad. Not now though, of course, that I know she was trying to help Gustavo. I feel very grateful to her. And I went on TV to honor her, in a way. I wanted to carry out her promise, you see.”

“Admirable. However, the fact remains that you had as much opportunity as anyone else to spike her drink. And you might have done it and regretted it later.”

“I might have, but I didn’t,” Kristin retorted.

“You also had ample opportunity to help Martín Gaviscon into the afterlife.”

“If you think I killed Marty you’re crazy,“ she said, holding her head up high and looking him in the eyes.

León met her gaze and smiled sardonically.

“Bueno. Maybe I am crazy. You had the opportunity to poison both Lola and Martín…but in reality there are four other people here who had the exact same opportunity. What makes me think you probably did not kill Martín is that you would probably not have left the clue of the black book that led directly to the school where your brother taught. In fact, you did not even seem to be aware of the sex abuse. That said, you are an actress by profession, so…”

Kristin tossed her head with annoyance.

“Now we come to Diego Sosa. He was Lola Graf’s ex-boyfriend. Did he, I asked myself, have a convincing motive to kill her? He was the main beneficiary of her will but compared to his salary as a star footballer, that was peanuts. What’s more, the former partners were fond of one another—their split had been an amicable one. In the last few hours of her life, it was he who was keeping her company and calming her down after she got upset. So it seemed—”

“Stop her!” Christina cried, pointing to Sandra, who’d put something into her mouth. Two policemen lurched over to stop her, but she had swallowed and now treated them all to a ghastly smile.

“Take her to the ambulance, it’s waiting out there.”

“Two policemen lifted her up and carried her out.”

Diego Sosa leaned forward, distraught, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. León patted him on the shoulder.

“Are you ready to talk now?” he asked.

Diego froze, then slowly nodded.

“Good. Come with me.”

***

In one of the small conference rooms near the dining room, León finished making a sugary coffee and brought it over to where Diego Sosa sat. Diego made a face and shook his head.

“Drink it, you’ll feel better. And you’ll be glad to know they got her in time. She’ll live.”

Diego let out a shuddering sigh of relief and leaned back in his chair.

“It’s all my fault,” he mumbled to the wall. “I’m a real forro.” He shook his head.

“You want to tell me about it?” León asked.

“Listen Marconi,” said Diego thickly, “If I tell you the truth, will you go easy on Sandy? It wasn’t her fault. I got her into it, you see? I led her here. But I didn’t know it would end up like this, I swear to you…”

León looked him in the eyes.

“I can’t make a deal with you until I know the truth. I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t know if I can make a deal with you even then.”

Diego nodded glumly.

“It was the money,” he said at last, looking at the cup of coffee as if it were the Abyss.

“At the start of this year, the club directors said I had ‘business potential.’ I’m not going to lie, I knew what that meant. I could’ve said no. I knew it meant the barras bravas, weapons and drugs and shit. But I swear on my life I didn’t know about those poor kids. I talked the business proposition over with Lola—we were still together then. That’s why we broke up. She said she didn’t want to be involved with that crowd. I said fine, don’t be involved with them, don’t be involved with me either, let’s call it fucking quits. I got together with Sandy, and she was cool. She knew the deal. That’s just what it means to be a footballer in this city. You dabble in the black market a little. There are no saints in this world.

He lapsed into thought and the room was filled with the faint electrical buzz characteristic of all hotel spaces.

“See, footballers who retire, they don’t have many options. They can become mechanics, or they can make some kind of use of the network, you know? Sandy encouraged me, she’s got a great head for business. And she charmed the directors. It was thanks to her, really, that they ended up accepting me. So, anyway, I was a made man, practically. Then Sandy got an idea.”

“What was her idea?”

“Her friend Juliet started dating this Giordano pelotudo. I guess the fact that he was one of the richest guys in the world went to her head or something. He wasn’t afraid of a dirty deal, neither. She invited him over to our house a few times and tested him out. She suggested I introduce him to my directors. She figured I’d be the golden child bringing that kind of cash to bear. You know, it worked like a charm. He agreed to back the club, he was open to shifting a few guns. In return, some of my people put in a good word for him in the Pink House and got him some nice deals. It was going great. I’m telling you, Sandy’s a smart kid. But then…Christ, I didn’t know she’d go after Lola.”

“When did you know about it?”

“When Lola found out about the abuse, she told me about it. She told me that one of the Ministers who cut a deal with Giordano was an abuser, one of my directors, another former player on my team. Lola begged me to speak out about it. I didn’t. When Sandy found out she was wild with Lola. The way she saw it, Lola was threatening the whole deal. If this scandal came out, Giordano would back out quicker than a poodle sees a skunk. Not only that, but she thought they’d blame me—I was Lola’s ex, so I’d be tarred with that brush.”

“But she invited Lola to your engagement party?”

“At that time, they’d made up already. Or I thought they had. Looks like Sandy found her own way to keep Lola quiet though.”

Diego bowed his head.

“She wouldn’t have done none of this without me. It was me who gave her a taste for luxury, you know?”

“Well…” León demurred. “It’s true you were an idiot and you’re going to jail for a long time unless your friend Giordano is going to spring for legal services. All the same, I don’t think just anyone becomes a murderer. I think you need to have…inclinations. And it looked like she planned this very cold-bloodedly.”

“What do you mean?” Diego said, surprised.

“She killed three people and very nearly killed a fourth.”

“Three?” Diego stared at him.

“She didn’t want this news getting out. There were two possible leaks: Lola and Gustavo. The night before Gustavo died, he met a woman in a bar in Lobos. We did an autopsy on his body and he died of an opiate overdose. She drugged his drink, drove him to a secluded spot and hung him from a tree. She effectively faked his suicide.

“Then there was this party. You think it’s a coincidence that both Juliet and Kristin were at the party? She knew both women had a grudge against Lola. You think it was a coincidence Martin was there, when he’d been at the school? It was all part of her twisted plan. Knowing that the facemask contained fentanyl, she persuaded Lola to make a promotional video for her products. She very probably prepared the nonalcoholic cocktail containing a lethal dose of opiates, then handed it to Lola. In fact, I imagine you saw her do it.”

Diego shuddered, then nodded.

“I didn’t realize it at the time, but the next day…it hit me.”

“Sandra poisoned her friend Martín, took the book from Lola’s room, destroyed the pages with the names of your team-members, left one page to incriminate her friend Martín and the fentanyl-tainted mask cover to incriminate her friend Juliet.”

“Juliet…” Diego whispered.

“She’ll be all right. It’s yourself you have to worry about now, my friend.”

“Thanks a lot, Marconi.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Buenos Aires Cleaning Services.”