But for the next two nights, nightmares gave him no peace.
Added to his dreams about fire were dreams about blows, dry thuds, and a woman's screams. On Sunday he had to sleep in his mother's bed to feel safe. On Monday he woke shaken by the blows in his dreams. As soon as he opened his eyes, he was certain the institution of the police would take charge of the case that same day.
In the afternoon, after he left the Office of the Prosecutor, he went to police headquarters. He had a bandage on the back of his neck covering the wound.
“Good afternoon, I am looking for Captain Pacheco.”
The sergeant on duty was the same one as before. Chacaltana wondered if he lived in that desk.
“Captain Pacheco?”
“That is correct, yes.”
Nervously the sergeant went into the side office. He stayed for six minutes. Then he came out.
“Unfortunately the captain isn't here right now. He's gone to the barracks with respect to certain operations.”
“Do you know when he will be back?”
“I have no specific knowledge in that regard.”
It was late. The prosecutor thought about the work piling up in his office for the next day: sending his regrets for two banquets, and preparing a memorandum for the provincial prosecutor regarding sexual crimes in the region. Prosecutor Chacaltana considered the request from the provincial prosecutor as a way to finally recognize his work in the field and his thinking about this social misfortune. Furthermore, he had to write a document concerning electoral transparency before the next elections. It was very difficult for him to make the decision, but he had no time to lose. And he did not have anything better to do to fill the hours after work. After thinking it over for a moment and finding a chair to sit on that had fewer holes, he said:
“I will wait for him here.”
He sat down. The sergeant was not expecting that answer. He seemed nervous. He looked at the office. Then he looked again at the prosecutor.
“No, the fact is … The captain won't be back for hours. Maybe he won't come back at all. But I'll inform him that you …”
“I am in no hurry, but I do feel some urgency.”
“He left word that he'd send you a report with regard …”
“I prefer to see him, thank you.”
The sergeant's look turned into an entreaty. He sat down and took a deep breath. So did the prosecutor. The sergeant let half an hour go by before he spoke again, with a yawn.
“I don't think he's coming back anymore today, the captain.”
“If he comes tomorrow morning, I will still be here. Or Thursday. Or whenever.”
He was surprised by his own decisiveness, but it was true that the functioning of the mechanisms of inter-institutional communication in Ayacucho left much to be desired. He thought that perhaps in this way he might be able to improve them. He could be very bold if he put his mind to it. He shifted in his seat and let time pass. At 8:00, two gendarmes came in and the sergeant had them go into the office. They came out at 9:00, cheerfully saying good-bye to someone inside. At 10:30, the sergeant repeated that he would inform the captain that the prosecutor had stopped by. At 10:31, the prosecutor replied that it would not be necessary because he would be in the reception area when the captain arrived. At 11:23, he took off his jacket and arranged it over his body as if it were a blanket. At 11:32, he began to snore with a muffled whistle. Finally, at 12:08, the sound of a door wakened him. Captain Pacheco came out of the office, looked at the prosecutor with hatred, and kept walking to the bathroom. He stayed inside for seven more minutes, after which he came out drying his hands to the sound of the toilet flushing. The sergeant stood to greet him:
“Good evening, Captain! I didn't know you were here. The prosecutor came to the office to …”
“Shut up, damn it. Go in, Chacaltana. You want to talk? We'll talk.”
The Associate District Prosecutor followed him into the office, victory shining in his smile. Captain Pacheco sat down heavily behind his desk, beside the national flag, beneath the photograph of the president. On the wall hung the coat-of-arms of the police with its motto: “Honor is their shield.”
“Before you begin, allow me to say that you are really a pain in the balls,” he said by way of official greeting. “What happened to your head?”
The prosecutor was afraid to say that he had been beaten. He would not be respected if he said that.
“Nothing, I fell. And I am sorry for recent events, Captain, but I have sent a brief to your off …”
“Yes, yes, yes. Mayta Carazo. I've seen it.”
“Unfortunately, your response in this regard seems to have been lost and never came into my possession …”
“I didn't send you a response, Chacaltana. And I'm not going to send you one. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“No, Captain. I need your cooperation and collaboration to close the case of …”
“Chacaltana, are you an Aprista or an imbecile?”
“Excuse me, Captain?”
“Didn't you hear Commander Carrión when he spoke to you?”
“Yes, Captain. And I believe, in fact, that I have found confirmation of his suspicions … I have evidence that indicates that the aforementioned Justino …”
“I don't want to know what evidence you have. I don't want to know anything having to do with this case. Elections are just around the corner. Nobody wants to hear about terrorists in Ayacucho.”
“Permit me to express my surprise at your words …”
“Look, Chacaltana, I'll be totally frank with you, and I hope this is the last time we talk about this subject. The police are controlled by the Ministry of the Interior, and the interior minister is a military man. Doesn't that tell you something?”
“That does not constitute an irregularity. Members of the armed forces are authorized to …”
“I'll try to say it so even you can understand: They make the decisions here. If they don't want an investigation, there's no investigation.”
“But it is our duty …”
“Our duty is to shut up and do what we're told! Is it so difficult for you to get that into your head? Listen, I have no interest in helping you because I don't feel like it. But even if I did want to help you, I couldn't. So don't get me involved in this because you'll fuck up my promotion. Please, I'm begging you! I have a family! I want to go back to Lima! I can't be bothering Commander Carrión.”
In the hierarchical gears that constituted the mind of Associate District Prosecutor Félix Chacaltana Saldívar, there was no place for the possibility of not being promoted because of following procedures. To the contrary. He tried to explain the point, but the captain interrupted him:
“Why don't you write a report and close the case once and for all? Attribute it to a fire or a car accident … And everybody's happy.”
Chacaltana opened his eyes in genuine surprise.
“But I … I cannot do that … Doing that without the police report is illegal, Captain.”
The captain buried his head in his hands. He closed his eyes. He moved his lips gently, as if counting to one hundred in silence. When he was calmer, he said:
“Chacaltana, this is an emergency zone. A large part of the department is still classified as a red zone. Laws are legally suspended.”
“Moreover, the survivors of the deceased could demand …”
“He has no survivors! Nobody knows who he is! The case has not been leaked to the press. Nobody will complain, the Indians never complain. They don't care. And neither do I.”
The picture of the president seemed to tremble at his back when he said that. Then the office sank into silence. On his desk, the captain had national ID-size photographs of his family, two children and a wife. Chacaltana liked families. But at that moment he rose to his feet in genuine indignation.