genitals,â Quintero had added. Cámara had refused his offer to show him.
âAs you wish,â he said. âItâs not pretty, I agree. And I need to get a closer look at it, but from the angle and depth of the cut itâs possible the killer was attempting to remove the genitals completely.â
âWhy didnât he?â Cámara said. Quintero shrugged.
âPerhaps he heard something. Perhaps he got frightened off. I donât know. Thatâs more your department, Iâd say.â
The Juez de Guardia arrived at that point and Cámara was called away. Moments later, aware of how late it was getting, and with an eye to the public aspect to the case, the judge had ordered the body be removed, and the crime scene was left in the hands of the PolicÃa CientÃfica to scour for clues.
Cámara glanced down at his notes, tossed on to the table as heâd walked in. Unsurprisingly, the overweight, balding guard at the bullring had seen nothing, too busy watching the ValenciaâReal Madrid game in his little booth. (It ended in a goalless draw.) There was only one security camera, fixed on the main entrance, and there was nothing on it as theyâd run out of film three months before and no one had got round to replacing it.
Not that it was much good anyway, the guard had insisted â all it showed was a grainy black-and-white image. Wouldnât even recognise himself if he appeared on it. It was only when heâd gone for a piss at half-time that heâd noticed something strange in the middle of the ring. Of course the floodlights were off, so he couldnât see, and he wasnât allowed to switch them on. Rules. Still, heâd gone out there to take a look, not that he was supposed to walk into the ring, mind. And thatâs when heâd found the body. Still hadnât got over the shock. Wouldnât do his blood pressure any good.
Far from being concerned that the crime of the year had taken place under his nose on his watch, heâd been more interested in complaining about the inconvenience this had caused him. Cámara had encountered this kind of thing before: one minute competing with the dead man for victimhood, the next heâd be down the bar milking it with his mates about having been there âthe night Blanco was butcheredâ.
The guard had called a local policeman to the scene, who had immediately contacted the PolicÃa Nacional . The Municipales were for keeping traffic moving, sorting out domestic disputes, taking direct orders from the Town Hall. Murder was for the real police â the Nacionales â to sort out.
They found Blancoâs driver back at the Hotel Suiza, where the matador had been staying. Heâd waited after the fight, but Blanco never showed up, something the other bullfightersâ drivers confirmed. When Blanco failed to appear after half an hour, he left on his own, assuming that Blanco had already gone without telling him. He was fastidious about some things â like visiting the chapel â but then he had a habit of disappearing sometimes, breaking away from his entourage without telling anyone, perhaps vanishing for anything up to a couple of days before returning as though nothing had happened.
âWe were never allowed to talk about it, or even ask,â he told the policeman who interviewed him. âJust had to fit round him. The way it goes â he was the one paying the wages.â
Heâd only been with Blanco for a couple of months, and had already been ticked off by the matadorâs apoderado , Ruiz Pastor, for trying to second-guess where he wanted to go.
If ever he doesnât show, you wait a bit, but then leave, Ruiz Pastor had told him. Donât ever go around looking for him.
Cámara reread the notes.
âI never asked,â the driver said. âHeâd disappeared for a couple of hours around lunchtime as well, just before getting ready for the