lawyer had spent the last three years as a janitor, but decided against it. “How long have you worked here?” he asked, his mind still running on professions.
“Since the end of ’36.”
“You’re fortunate,” Tejada commented.
“Fortunate?” Doctor Rivera repeated. Bitterness temporarily colored his gray voice. “I was planning to spend that winter in Vienna. I had the money. I’d exchanged letters with the Psychoanalytic Society there. I was looking at schools for the kids. I started working for Ramón at just the time when I thought I’d be packing my bags.”
There was, Tejada felt, nothing more to say. You were a damn fool to meddle in what didn’t concern you , seemed apt, but unnecessarily cruel. “Thank you for your time,” he said instead. “If you do learn anything of Arroyo’s whereabouts, please contact the Guardia Civil.”
“Yes, sir.” Rivera stood and followed the lieutenant to the door like an obedient child. As Tejada went out the doctor cleared his throat suddenly. “Lieutenant?”
Tejada turned. “Yes?”
“Am I under surveillance again because of Arroyo’s disappearance?”
“Yes.”
“I . . .” Dr. Rivera stared at the ground. “Would it be possible for it to be a bit more discreet? It’s only . . . my daughter . . . well, she’s at an age where—where if she goes out her friends are likely to notice and well . . .”
“I can’t make any promises,” Tejada said slowly, recalling with something akin to guilt that he had specifically excluded Elena from her father’s surveillance. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
Tejada left Quiñones and Sons feeling vaguely depressed, for reasons he did not bother to analyze. He returned to the post, examined his desk with distaste, and then considered who else he could question regarding Arroyo. The professor’s wife and brother-in-law were high on the list. And Guillermo Fernández. The lieutenant decided that delegation was the key to successful command. He sent for Sergeant Hernández. “Go and talk to Guillermo Fernández about the Arroyo business,” he ordered. “Find out when the two of them met, how they became involved with the other petitioners, everything you can. And see if Fernández knows anything about Arroyo’s connections to France or Switzerland.”
“Yes, sir.” Hernández nodded. “Right away, sir?”
“No.” Tejada shook his head. “Call Arroyo’s brother-in-law, and set up an appointment for me first.”
“Judge Otero Martínez y Arias, sir?” the sergeant asked.
“Does he have other brothers-in-law?”
Hernández shook his head. “Well, no one can say you shirk the hard jobs,” he commented.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Remind me to delegate more of them in the future.”
Hernández laughed, and reached for the telephone on his desk. His conversation with Judge Otero, or rather with Otero’s secretary, was lengthy and (judging from his expression) frustrating. After nearly ten minutes he hung up the phone. “His Honor can squeeze you in for half an hour at five-thirty tomorrow,” he said dryly, “if you will meet him in his chambers.”
“Well done,” Tejada said, because he felt that the sergeant deserved some recognition for the phone call. “Give me the address, and then go talk to Fernández.”
Sergeant Hernández saluted and then left, and Tejada turned his attention to other tasks. He managed to successfully distract himself from the Arroyo case until a few minutes before five-thirty the following afternoon, when he knocked on the polished oak door of Judge Otero Martínez y Arias.
A few minutes after six an obsequious secretary entered the waiting room, gave the lieutenant a nervous half-bow, and said that the judge was currently free and would the Señor Guardia be so kind as to state his name. Tejada, who had spent the better part of twenty minutes thinking of cutting things to
“Since the end of ’36.”
“You’re fortunate,” Tejada commented.
“Fortunate?” Doctor Rivera repeated. Bitterness temporarily colored his gray voice. “I was planning to spend that winter in Vienna. I had the money. I’d exchanged letters with the Psychoanalytic Society there. I was looking at schools for the kids. I started working for Ramón at just the time when I thought I’d be packing my bags.”
There was, Tejada felt, nothing more to say. You were a damn fool to meddle in what didn’t concern you , seemed apt, but unnecessarily cruel. “Thank you for your time,” he said instead. “If you do learn anything of Arroyo’s whereabouts, please contact the Guardia Civil.”
“Yes, sir.” Rivera stood and followed the lieutenant to the door like an obedient child. As Tejada went out the doctor cleared his throat suddenly. “Lieutenant?”
Tejada turned. “Yes?”
“Am I under surveillance again because of Arroyo’s disappearance?”
“Yes.”
“I . . .” Dr. Rivera stared at the ground. “Would it be possible for it to be a bit more discreet? It’s only . . . my daughter . . . well, she’s at an age where—where if she goes out her friends are likely to notice and well . . .”
“I can’t make any promises,” Tejada said slowly, recalling with something akin to guilt that he had specifically excluded Elena from her father’s surveillance. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
Tejada left Quiñones and Sons feeling vaguely depressed, for reasons he did not bother to analyze. He returned to the post, examined his desk with distaste, and then considered who else he could question regarding Arroyo. The professor’s wife and brother-in-law were high on the list. And Guillermo Fernández. The lieutenant decided that delegation was the key to successful command. He sent for Sergeant Hernández. “Go and talk to Guillermo Fernández about the Arroyo business,” he ordered. “Find out when the two of them met, how they became involved with the other petitioners, everything you can. And see if Fernández knows anything about Arroyo’s connections to France or Switzerland.”
“Yes, sir.” Hernández nodded. “Right away, sir?”
“No.” Tejada shook his head. “Call Arroyo’s brother-in-law, and set up an appointment for me first.”
“Judge Otero Martínez y Arias, sir?” the sergeant asked.
“Does he have other brothers-in-law?”
Hernández shook his head. “Well, no one can say you shirk the hard jobs,” he commented.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Remind me to delegate more of them in the future.”
Hernández laughed, and reached for the telephone on his desk. His conversation with Judge Otero, or rather with Otero’s secretary, was lengthy and (judging from his expression) frustrating. After nearly ten minutes he hung up the phone. “His Honor can squeeze you in for half an hour at five-thirty tomorrow,” he said dryly, “if you will meet him in his chambers.”
“Well done,” Tejada said, because he felt that the sergeant deserved some recognition for the phone call. “Give me the address, and then go talk to Fernández.”
Sergeant Hernández saluted and then left, and Tejada turned his attention to other tasks. He managed to successfully distract himself from the Arroyo case until a few minutes before five-thirty the following afternoon, when he knocked on the polished oak door of Judge Otero Martínez y Arias.
A few minutes after six an obsequious secretary entered the waiting room, gave the lieutenant a nervous half-bow, and said that the judge was currently free and would the Señor Guardia be so kind as to state his name. Tejada, who had spent the better part of twenty minutes thinking of cutting things to
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