The inspector made an entry in his notebook. “Did the gunman say anything to you?”
“No.”
“Did he shout anything — a slogan or a threat?”
“No.”
“Did you notice the kind of weapon he used?”
“I’m sorry, I did not. It was a handgun of some kind.”
“A revolver?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she lied. It was an automatic. But she didn’t want the inspector to know that she knew enough to tell the difference.
“Did he pause between shots?”
“I believe so.”
“Was it loud?”
“Not very,” Aideen said. “It was surprisingly quiet.” The gun had been silenced but she didn’t want to let him know that she knew that.
“It was probably silenced,” the inspector said. “Did you see the getaway car?”
“Yes,” Aideen said. “It was a black sedan. I don’t know what kind.”
“Was it clean or dirty?”
“Average.”
“Where did it come from?” the inspector asked.
“I believe it was waiting for the killer down the street,” Aideen said.
“About how far?”
“Maybe twenty or thirty yards,” Aideen said. “It seemed to creep up along the curb a few seconds before the man opened fire.”
“Did any of the shots come from the car?”
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “The only flashes I saw came from the one gun.”
“You were behind the other victim, the postman, for part of the attack. You were very conscientiously attending to his wound. You might have missed a second gunman.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I was only behind him at the very end. Tell me — how is the gentleman? Will he recover?”
“Sadly, señorita, he has died.”
Aideen glanced down. “I’m sorry.”
“You did everything you could to help him,” the inspector said. “There is nothing you should regret.”
“Nothing,” she muttered, “except moving in that direction. Did he have a family?”
“Sí,” said the inspector. “Señor Suarez supported a wife, a baby son, and a mother.”
Aideen felt her temples grow tight as fresh tears formed behind her eyes. Not only had she failed to do anything to help Martha, but her instincts to draw the gunman’s fire had cost an innocent man his life. In retrospect, she should have jumped toward Martha. Maybe she could have put her body between the gunman and Martha or tried to pull the wounded woman behind the goddamn sentry booth. She should have done anything but what she’d done.
“Would you like a glass of water?” the inspector asked.
“Thank you, no. I’m all right.”
The inspector nodded. He paced for a moment, staring at the floor, before looking back at Aideen. “Señorita, ” he said, “do you believe that you and your companion were the gunman’s targets?”
“I believe we were,” she replied. She had expected the question and now she wanted to be very careful about how she answered it.
“Do you know why?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Have you any suspicions? Are you involved in any kind of political activity? Do you belong to any groups?”
She shook her head.
There was a knock on the door. The inspector ignored it. He regarded Aideen harshly and in silence.
“Señorita Temblón,” he said, “Forgive me for pressing you at this time, but a killer is free in the streets of my city. I want him. Can you think of no reason that someone would want to attack you or your friend?”
“Comisario,” she replied, “I have never been to Spain nor do I know anyone here. My companion was here years ago but she has — she had—no friends or enemies that I know of.”
There was a second knock. The inspector went to the door and opened it. Aideen couldn’t see who was standing outside.
“Sí?” the inspector asked.
“Comisario, said a man, ”Deputy Serrador wishes for the woman to be brought to his office at once.“
“Does he?” the inspector asked. He turned and looked at Aideen. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Perhaps, señorita, the deputy wishes to apologize in person for this terrible tragedy.”
Aideen said nothing.
“Or perhaps there is some other reason for the audience?” the inspector suggested.
Aideen rose. “If there is, Comisario Fernandez, I won’t know that until I see him.”
The inspector folded away his notebook and bowed courteously. If he were annoyed with her he didn’t show it. He thanked Aideen for her assistance, apologized again for what had happened, then extended an arm toward the open door. Aideen left the room. The sergeant who had brought her inside was waiting. He greeted her with a bow and they walked down the corridor together.
Aideen felt bad for the inspector. He had an investigation to oversee and she hadn’t given him anything to go on. But as Martha had pointed out, there were rules for every society and for every stratum of that society. And whatever the country, despite the constitutions and the checks and balances, the rules were always different for government. Phrases like “need-to-know” and “state secrets” effectively shut out otherwise legal inquiries. Unfortunately, in many instances — this one among them — the obstructions were necessary and legitimate.
Deputy Serrador’s office was located a short walk down the corridor. The office was the same size and had largely the same decor as the room Aideen had just left, though there were a number of personal touches. On three walls were framed posters of the bullring of Madrid, the Plaza de las Ventas. On the fourth wall, behind the desk, were framed newspaper front pages describing Basque activities during the 1980s. Family photographs were displayed on shelves around the room.
Deputy Serrador was seated behind the desk when Aideen entered. Darrell McCaskey was sitting on the sofa. Both men rose when she entered. Serrador walked grandly from behind the desk, his arms outstretched and a look of deep sympathy on his face. His brown eyes were pained under his gray eyebrows. His high, dark forehead was creased beneath his slicked-back white hair and his wide mouth was downturned. His soft, large hands closed gently around Aideen’s.
“Ms. Marley, I am so, so sorry,” he said. “Yet in my grief I am also relieved that you are unharmed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Deputy,” Aideen said. She looked at McCaskey. The short, wiry, prematurely gray Deputy Assistant Director was standing stiffly, his hands folded in front of his groin. He was not wearing the kind of diplomatic sympathy that was all over Serrador: his expression was grave and tight. “Darrell,” she said. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better, Aideen. You all right?”
“Not really,” she said. “I blew it, Darrell.”
“What do you mean?”
“I should have reacted… differently,” Aideen said. Emotion caused her to choke. “I saw what was happening and I blew it, Darrell. I just blew it.”
“That’s insane,” McCaskey said. “You’re lucky you were able to get out of the way at all.”
“At the expense of another man’s life—”
“That was unavoidable,” McCaskey said.
“Mr. McCaskey is correct,” Serrador said. He was still holding her hands within his. “You mustn’t do this to yourself. These things are always much clearer in — what do you call it? Hindsight.”
“That’s what we call it,” McCaskey said with barely concealed irritation. “Everything is always much clearer after the fact.”
Aideen gave McCaskey a questioning look. “Darrell, what’s wrong?”