Free Watcher in the Pine by Rebecca Pawel Page A

have.”
     
    “Yes, sir.” Márquez nodded. “He said he’d send someone with them tomorrow.”
     
    “Well done,” Tejada said, glad that the sergeant had for once taken the initiative. Márquez might be useless as the commander of a post, but he was performing a sergeant’s duties capably. Perhaps he was one of those efficient but limited men who are superb subordinates, but disasters when promoted beyond their competence. Tejada turned back to the director. “Suppose you take us over to the site now. I’d like the sergeant to see the scene of the thefts as well.”
     
    “Yes, Lieutenant.” Rosas was already standing up and digging his gloves out of his coat pockets.
     
    The barracks and storage space used by the Department of Devastated Regions in Potes stood only a few minutes’ walk from the Torre del Infantado, but the buildings formed an obscene contrast. While the tower projected the firm security of centuries, the hangarlike structure for the workers was pathetically fragile and strikingly ugly. It was made of unpainted wood that had weathered to gray and looked like a dirty heap of snow. The longest side of the building sat along the highway to Espinama, broken only by high barred windows. The driveway and entrance to the structure faced the tower. An extension had been built onto this side of the building, turning it into an L shape. The majority of the extension, Tejada noted with envy, was devoted to a garage currently holding three vehicles, with space for a fourth. A member of the Policía Armada stood on guard outside a narrow doorway.
     
    Señor Rosas waved to the guard and led his companions toward the garage. “We can go in this way,” he explained. “It’s quicker.”
     
    Tejada took a deep breath. “There’s an unguarded entrance?” he said, hoping that his voice sounded neutral. Given the amount of local cooperation the guerrillas were receiving, Devastated Regions might as well have put up a FREE HARDWARE sign as leave an unguarded entrance during working hours.
     
    “Oh, no, not when the workers are here,” Rosas reassured him. “The garages are all locked when the men come in. But for now it’s quicker to head out back this way.”
     
    He led them quickly into the shelter of the garage, past the trucks, to a door fastened with a padlock.
     
    “Who else has the key?” the lieutenant asked as Rosas fumbled in his pockets and drew out a fat ring of keys.
     
    “The foremen. Well, three of them.” Rosas was inspecting keys as he spoke. He selected one and fitted it into the lock without pausing. “There are two more who are skilled masons, but they’re also prisoners, so we don’t let them have keys. And my assistant Martin. And Ladislao. He’s the chief engineer. So that’s five, altogether.”
     
    “Six, counting yours,” Tejada corrected. “Where do you keep yours normally?”
     
    “In my desk drawer. It’s locked, and so is my office when I’m not there.” Señor Rosas pushed open the door and gestured them toward the storeroom.
     
    Tejada nodded and stepped forward, recalling that Señor Rosas had not bothered to lock his office before escorting them to the storeroom. He must go between the tower and the barracks several times a day , the lieutenant thought. And probably he doesn’t lock up if it’s just for five minutes. Although Martin is there. And whoever got into that office would be taking an awful risk. Unless they knew what they were looking for. I’ll have to talk to the foremen as well. And if they’re using prisoners as foremen, I bet they can borrow keys. My God, what a setup! It’s a wonder there’s anything left!
     
    There was really very little to see in the storeroom. It was piled with tiles, lumber, coils of wire mesh, and lengths of lead pipe. Tools were put away in cabinets along one wall. The abundance of materials gave a false impression of chaos, but Rosas’s evident confidence as he detailed the inventory made it clear