“Now, why would you say such a thing?” Sanchez asked. “I have not seen that young man since I took his statement and warned him to disclose to the police all contact with his sister, otherwise he would face some serious charges. Is there something I should know about?”
Captain Sanchez was playing his counter-threat perfectly, leaving just enough duality in his words to keep his pursuit secret. He aimed to play oblivious to what Sabian thought he was driving at — and succeeded — as not to reveal that his meaning was intended exactly as Sabian had initially gathered. Decades in the most hardcore crime fighting units, not to mention having to have aced a psychology module to attain his rank, had trained Pedro Sanchez in a bit of cerebral how’s your father too—and it worked.
“Nothing, no,” Dr. Sabian answered. “I just feel that Javier is a loose canon who might be harboring feelings of jealousy towards any other men in his sister’s life. First Paulo, and now myself.”
Captain Sanchez said nothing in retort. With his silence, he could claim any thought Dr. Sabian had about the matter without allowing an opinion. It was a technique often used during hostage negotiations he had been involved in before. He had planted the seed in Sabian’s mind that he, Sanchez, could possibly know more than what Sabian reckoned. However, at the same time, the police captain was keeping the psychologist in the dark as to his intentions, confusing him into an uncertainty regarding the captain’s level of comprehension. In other words, Sanchez played dumb.
“Is there anything else, Dr. Sabian?” the captain asked. “If you don’t mind, I have some administrative work to get out of the way before some scheduled meetings.”
The psychologist raised himself from the seat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Alright, then, captain. I thank you for your time,” he mumbled awkwardly, having been so unceremoniously ejected from the conversation. “Please, do not hesitate to call me should anything of interest arise.”
“Likewise, doctor,” Sanchez replied. “We should do our best in assisting each other to help this lady. I am sure you agree that we do not want her to go on some sort of psychotic spree with that child in her care.”
“Agreed, agreed,” Dr. Sabian concurred, back in his professional guise. He nodded and left promptly. It was a great relief to watch him disappear down the hall, finally leaving the station before the next meeting was due; it would have proved problematic to the police captain’s plan. Sweating profusely in the mid-morning heat, he checked his watch. Only a few minutes remained before he was due to see his next appointment.
Sanchez jumped up and took a small black box from his brief case. It looked like a pencil case, perhaps somewhat smaller, but it opened much like the packaging of fancy watches and bracelet’s. The bright sun refused to be deterred by the broken blinds of his window and sharp rays penetrated the shadows of the room to illuminate the objects in the box he was opening in his palm.
“The air conditioning people are here, sir,” the sergeant said suddenly by the door, sending the captain into another jolt of fright. “I’m sorry, Captain! Just thought you should know.”
“I have an appointment, Sergeant,” he grumped.
“I know, sir, but I wanted to ask if I could sign off their work once they are done, or would you prefer to do it yourself?”
“Oh, no, that would actually suit me,” Sanchez replied in a nicer tone, holding the box out of sight. “Gracias, Sergeant.”
Once the sergeant had left the office, Sanchez hastened in his preparations. From the box he took a small device that looked like a square stamp, only thicker. The bugging apparatus was a potent new product Sanchez had invested in two months before while on a stake out to bust a human trafficking ring in Zaragoza. There was no distance limitation in its function, and it contained a SIM card that Sanchez had programmed to collaborate with his personal cell number. All he had to do was plant it on the target and for the next forty-eight hours of battery power he could simply call the bug from his cell phone to listen in.
When he had it prepared, Sanchez called his front office from his desk phone. “Sergeant Martin, for the next two hours I want you to confiscate all personal effects of civilians coming in as a security measure.” Dismissing the officer’s enquiries as to the security breach concerned, Sanchez simply told him to obey orders. “All effects are to be returned to them once their visits or charges are completed. Do you understand?”
“Sí, Captain,” the desk officer replied, sounding slightly baffled.
He then sat behind his desk, waiting for his next appointment, contemplating the lengths to which he was going to apprehend this suspect and at the same time, look into speculation usually not of his concern. Usually, Pedro Sanchez only spent his time on that which directly pertained to the actual crime and the people involved. He didn’t know why he was feeling so compelled to get personally involved in this homicide case, not only to arrest the killer, but also to find out why it all happened the way it did.
“Captain Sanchez?” he heard from his doorway. Surprised from his brief contemplation, Sanchez tried to look unassuming.
“Oh, hello Javier,” he smiled. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice. I just want to make sure we cover all bases.”
He looks like a walking dead man. My God, the captain thought at the sight of the pasty-skinned Javier Mantara. It was clear that he had not been sleeping much, or eating, perhaps, in days? His eyes were sunken and his cheeks too pronounced, especially since only three days had elapsed since they last met.
“Sir, did you give some thought to my point of view since the other day?” Javier asked, jumping right in. “He’s mad, calling me and saying nothing but his usual stupid mumblings like ‘inaquosum!’ or ‘perpello’. Asshole.”
But the captain gave him a waving gesture. “Please, Javier, let me just get the formalities out of the way for which I asked you here,” Sanchez told the troubled young man. “Then we can talk about things, okay?”
Javier reluctantly agreed with a shrug.
“Come, I must take your prints, just to make sure we have your current biometric information,” Sanchez said. “Did they also take your personal effects at the front?”
“Yes, that was strange,” Javier frowned, standing still while the captain tried to get him to accompany him into the corridor. “What’s going on, Captain?”
“Just a precaution for today. I am not at liberty to say, but we had to clamp down a bit with the public freely walking in,” Sanchez lied. “Come, I need your prints.”
“Why don’t you get an officer to do the dirty work, sir?” Javier asked innocently as he followed the captain into an interrogation room. Sanchez had expected the question, so he chuckled, “I have taken a special interest in this case, as you know, Javier. Maybe I just want to make sure that all the details are obtained correctly so that we don’t have any foul ups.”
Javier accepted the reason. In truth, he was too tired to second-guess the police captain. He had slept well and still maintained his healthy eating habits, yet the fatigue was on him like a psychotic ex-lover. No amount of rest could rejuvenate him, but he chalked it up to the unusual heat this summer had brought with her. Even for Spaniards the heat had begun to sting.
“Please, have a seat. I’ll be right back. I forgot the inkpad,” Sanchez told Javier. The captain went to the front desk. “Javier Mantara’s effects, please. I’m done with him, so I’ll take them back to him in the office.” On his way back to his office, the police captain looked at the few items in the plastic basket belonging to Javier. He selected the young man’s digital diver’s watch, the best bet for what he had planned.