‘You’re right,’ said Mariscal. ‘Tell them to come via the shade. Over and out.’
Carburo repeated, ‘Come via the shade. Over and out.’
The bodyguard disconnected the transceiver, took down the antenna and closed the false compartment in the dashboard. He got out of the car and stretched like a cat. Rarely had he seen Mariscal so excited. Clearly the bundles were going to be full. There he was, next to the cliff’s edge, standing tall, craning his neck, that way he had of helping the binoculars. The speedboats travelled full throttle along two different routes. Rather than sailing on the surface of the sea, they seemed to be jumping from wave to wave. Outside the estuary they would converge in a single direction, towards the mother boat.
‘How I wish I could see the mamma!’ said Mariscal, scanning the horizon.
‘Sure, boss. Wouldn’t that be nice?’
The day we see the mamma, Carburo murmured to himself, we’ll be well and truly done for.
27
FROM THE YACHT Fins took time to focus on Leda. Almost all the windows were open. Hardly surprising, given how hot it was. He looked around. The way a spy does. Then sought out the presence of Salgueiro, the officer on board the customs patrol boat. There he was, waiting. Fins made the prearranged signal of lifting a green handkerchief to his face. Shortly after that, the patrol boat began to cast off.
When he picked up his camera again, he saw that Leda’s window was empty. Just as he’d expected. She didn’t take long to return with some binoculars. She focused on where the patrol boats were usually moored. He watched her do so.
Using the powerful zoom, he could see the expression on her face change. To one of surprise, stupor.
Leda made a phone call from her usual position.
On the carpet in the sitting room a child was playing with two dinosaurs, pitting them against each other in a mock battle. He was six years old. This was Santiago, Leda and Víctor’s son. He wore a corrective patch over one of his eyes.
‘The T-rex will smash you, silly velociraptor.’
Leda told him to lower his voice while quickly dialling a number. At the other end, in the hair salon, Guadalupe picked up.
‘Is Mr Lima there? It’s urgent.’
‘No, Mr Lima is out, but I can give him a message.’
‘This is Domingo’s wife. Tell him Domingo, Mingos, left for work. Left in a hurry. Is already refreshed. This is urgent.’
‘Understood.’
Guadalupe scribbled a note, balancing the receiver on her shoulder.
She covered the receiver and gestured to Mónica, ‘Quick! Take this to Mariscal. And give it to him personally.’
Leda made sure the customs boat had left the port. She lit a cigarette, sat down on the wretched imitation leather sofa, that nightmare of hers, getting stuck and not being able to get up. She tried to distract herself by watching her son play.
Fins decided to wait. Now he was the man in the empty window. Time became eternal when Leda was out of sight. This was an absence he couldn’t manage. For which there was no medicine. Except for something new in the surroundings. Like this. A red Rover. Brinco had one that was the same model. The car parked at an angle to the kerb, next to the docks. Yes, Leda had a visitor. Brinco always walked a couple of feet in front when Chelín was with him. They had two ways of walking that were very different. Brinco in a straight line, striding fast, sometimes jangling the car or house keys. Chelín trying to keep up, glancing from side to side, noticing the occasional detail. A shop window. Some graffiti. Which is why, in almost all the photos Fins took that day, Chelín is more visible. As if he was posing or something.
Leda heard a noise in the lock and started. There was a small hallway which led directly into the sitting room where she was and where she had her lookout position next to the window. Brinco always entered like this. He never rang. Never warned he was coming. He went up to her and gave her a hug.
The first thing Chelín noticed was the patch Santiago was wearing over one eye. ‘Don’t tell me you turned out cross-eyed, Santi?’
Brinco heard the unusual question and turned towards his son. ‘What happened to him?’
‘Nothing happened to him. It’s to make him better. Doctor’s orders.’
Chelín burst out laughing. ‘Blimey, squinty!’
‘It’s called strabismus,’ said Leda. ‘He’s strabismic.’
Brinco bent down and observed the child’s free eye slowly. He then stood up and pointed at Chelín very seriously. ‘It’s not a squint! You heard his mother. It’s…’
‘Extremism,’ said Chelín ironically, managing to suppress his laughter.
‘Strabismus, you fool, strabismus!’
‘It’s nothing serious,’ continued Leda. ‘Fortunately the people at school realised. He has a lazy eye. One sees better than the other. You have to cover the good one so that the other does some work.’
‘That’s the way of the world, lad!’ declared Víctor solemnly. ‘The truth is the patch looks good on you.’
‘It looks great!’
‘Why don’t you take him for a walk?’ said Brinco to Chelín.
‘Sure thing. Come on, you. Let’s go give that lazy eye something to do.’
The inspector watched Chelín leave with Leda’s son. They were messing around. Fins thought he knew the boy well. He realised Chelín sometimes took on the role of general and court jester. They got in the car. He wondered whether to follow them or stay behind. Deep down, though, he already knew what he was going to do.
He looked up at the window and aimed his zoom.
Víctor and Leda were kissing.
Fins couldn’t stop photographing them. His eye and pulse had gone beyond any mission. The couple unconsciously obeyed the camera’s every wish. The way Leda turned towards the window. Brinco embraced her from behind. The way they made love on top of the harbour, bounding over the city’s hills.
He waited before returning to Noitía. He wanted to be alone in the police station, no questions or inquisitive looks when he came out of the darkroom. He certainly wasn’t expecting Mara Doval to still be there. That may have been one of the reasons he held back. But there she was, reading, like one of those students who wait for the lights to go out before leaving the library.
‘How was the session?’
‘OK. He turned up. He finally turned up.’
‘I want to see that couple!’
Before he went into the darkroom, Mara said she had some important news. The phone in Leda’s apartment only received and made calls to a single number. And that number belonged to a public establishment.
‘Which one?’
‘Bellissima, Bellissima!’ she laughed enigmatically.
Fins closed the door behind him. Turned on the red light.
He didn’t know quite where he was, where he’d come from, what he was doing with these carnal prints in his hands, which emitted the groans of a pair of lovers. But Mara Doval hadn’t moved. She looked annoyed. Professional.
‘Next time, inspector, close the door more slowly.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘I don’t want to see any more of your paparazzo photos. What I want you to see now are mine. You didn’t let me finish. Apart from Bellissima, Bellissima, I have some other news. If the inspector is interested.’
‘There were two twin cars. Two Alfa Romeos. Nuova Giuliettas. I noticed because I like them. That badge with the serpent and dragon’s head. Yes, you told me the other day, I like the same cars as mafia bosses. I also like Portuguese tiles. Which is why we were there, Berta and I. Berta the painter. Yes, she also likes cats, but I have one whereas she must have a dozen. Her studio’s full of cats, mostly stray ones. No, she doesn’t paint them. She takes inspiration from their eyes, or so she says. It’s wonderful watching how attentive they are while she paints. She only ever uses primary colours. Reds. Both Nuova Giuliettas were red. Hang on, wait a minute. Be patient. So we went to Caminha railway station to see the nineteenth-century murals. You should go and see them, really you should. That’s the only reason my shutter was open. I know they say that if you’re on a case, you should never close your shutter. But yesterday was my day off, and I didn’t want it open. My primary objective was to go and eat cod in Viana do Castelo. No, not à la Margarida da Praça, nor à la Gomes de Sá. In the end what I had, let’s see if I can remember, was “sliced cod with maize bread on a bed of baked potatoes and salted turnip tops”. Mnemosyne never forgets. And then we stopped in Afife, at Cabanas Convent, Homem de Mello’s place. Yes, the one who wrote “Povo que lavas no rio”. Isn’t that the best fado ever? “Chaves da vida”? No, I haven’t heard that one. How strange! Our next stop was Caminha station, the one with the tiles.