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The father who went undercover to find his son’s killers	The father who went undercover to find his son’s killers
2017-10-02 22:30:08 UTC	2018-01-17 05:20:37 UTC (4 months later)
At 4.30am on 22 November 1995, taxi number 69 pulled into the Campsa Red petrol station in La Constancia, a scruffy neighbourhood in the centre of Jerez. The driver stopped at pump 1, got out of his car and dragged the nozzle to its fuel inlet, but the pump wouldn’t turn on. When he went to look for the attendant, he saw that the door to the station’s shop had been smashed. Magazines and papers were strewn across the floor. Then the driver noticed blood on the shop’s walls, and ran to a payphone to call the emergency services.	At 4.30am on 22 November 1995, taxi number 69 pulled into the Campsa Red petrol station in La Constancia, a scruffy neighbourhood in the centre of Jerez. The driver stopped at pump 1, got out of his car and dragged the nozzle to its fuel inlet, but the pump wouldn’t turn on. When he went to look for the attendant, he saw that the door to the station’s shop had been smashed. Magazines and papers were strewn across the floor. Then the driver noticed blood on the shop’s walls, and ran to a payphone to call the emergency services.
Within minutes, municipal police arrived. One of them found a trail of blood, which led to an office behind the cash register. When the door to the room wouldn’t open, they forced it open. Barricaded inside, behind a photocopier, a young man lay slumped on the floor, inert and bleeding heavily. He was still breathing.	Within minutes, municipal police arrived. One of them found a trail of blood, which led to an office behind the cash register. When the door to the room wouldn’t open, they forced it open. Barricaded inside, behind a photocopier, a young man lay slumped on the floor, inert and bleeding heavily. He was still breathing.
Five minutes later, a team of paramedics crammed into the cluttered office. Covered in blood and surrounded by medical equipment, they tried to staunch the young man’s wounds. But by 4.45am, Juan Holgado was dead.	Five minutes later, a team of paramedics crammed into the cluttered office. Covered in blood and surrounded by medical equipment, they tried to staunch the young man’s wounds. But by 4.45am, Juan Holgado was dead.
Just after 5am, Manuel Buitrago, the acting magistrate who would oversee the criminal investigation, arrived at the petrol station. Buitrago, who was 41 and had never handled a murder case before, immediately ordered a thorough inspection of the premises. Investigators found a large juice carton stained with blood, a button ripped from a raincoat and a pendant engraved with the sign of Virgo. They collected 23 fingerprints from the scene, though at this stage it was impossible to know whether any of them belonged to the perpetrators or to the customers who had entered the petrol station that day.	Just after 5am, Manuel Buitrago, the acting magistrate who would oversee the criminal investigation, arrived at the petrol station. Buitrago, who was 41 and had never handled a murder case before, immediately ordered a thorough inspection of the premises. Investigators found a large juice carton stained with blood, a button ripped from a raincoat and a pendant engraved with the sign of Virgo. They collected 23 fingerprints from the scene, though at this stage it was impossible to know whether any of them belonged to the perpetrators or to the customers who had entered the petrol station that day.
The shop floor and office had not been cordoned off, and as word of the murder spread, the crime scene became increasingly chaotic. By 5.30am Buitrago found himself surrounded by paramedics, consultant criminologists, police officers and local journalists. While they trampled over one another, and sometimes the evidence, investigators were picking up crime-scene debris without using protective gloves.	The shop floor and office had not been cordoned off, and as word of the murder spread, the crime scene became increasingly chaotic. By 5.30am Buitrago found himself surrounded by paramedics, consultant criminologists, police officers and local journalists. While they trampled over one another, and sometimes the evidence, investigators were picking up crime-scene debris without using protective gloves.
The initial inspection of Juan’s body by a forensic scientist took place at 5.50am. There were 30 stab wounds in total – some relatively superficial slices across his face and hands, others deep gashes to his chest and the backs of his legs. The coroner later determined that they had been inflicted by an 18cm blade, like the ones used for carving Spanish ham.	The initial inspection of Juan’s body by a forensic scientist took place at 5.50am. There were 30 stab wounds in total – some relatively superficial slices across his face and hands, others deep gashes to his chest and the backs of his legs. The coroner later determined that they had been inflicted by an 18cm blade, like the ones used for carving Spanish ham.
To Buitrago, the violence of the attack suggested two or more male assailants. Records from the petrol station’s cash register showed that someone had bought the juice carton and a pack of cigarettes at 4.02am, but there was no CCTV footage and no witnesses. Prosecutors would later conjecture that Juan’s killers had encircled him, slashing the backs of his legs so that he couldn’t run away, and then knocked him to the ground. Juan somehow managed to scramble to the small office at the back of the shop, but the attackers forced their way in and continued to stab him. There was no obvious motive. It seemed that Juan, who was 26 years old and had never been in trouble with the law, had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had even swapped shifts with a colleague that night.	To Buitrago, the violence of the attack suggested two or more male assailants. Records from the petrol station’s cash register showed that someone had bought the juice carton and a pack of cigarettes at 4.02am, but there was no CCTV footage and no witnesses. Prosecutors would later conjecture that Juan’s killers had encircled him, slashing the backs of his legs so that he couldn’t run away, and then knocked him to the ground. Juan somehow managed to scramble to the small office at the back of the shop, but the attackers forced their way in and continued to stab him. There was no obvious motive. It seemed that Juan, who was 26 years old and had never been in trouble with the law, had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had even swapped shifts with a colleague that night.
Buitrago soon came to suspect that Juan’s attackers were drug addicts. By the beginning of the 1990s, Spain had become the primary entry point for the cocaine trade in Europe, and Jerez, 30 minutes north-east of the Bay of Cadiz on Spain’s southern coast, had begun to suffer from drug-related crime. There had been a series of recent robberies carried out in and around Jerez by the “Harpoon gang”, a criminal group that specialised in attacks on petrol stations. But the work of this gang had been efficient and professional, while the robbers who killed Juan seemed desperate and careless. They had ransacked the shop and failed to break open the station’s safe, making off with just 70,000 pesetas (480 euros) from the till.	Buitrago soon came to suspect that Juan’s attackers were drug addicts. By the beginning of the 1990s, Spain had become the primary entry point for the cocaine trade in Europe, and Jerez, 30 minutes north-east of the Bay of Cadiz on Spain’s southern coast, had begun to suffer from drug-related crime. There had been a series of recent robberies carried out in and around Jerez by the “Harpoon gang”, a criminal group that specialised in attacks on petrol stations. But the work of this gang had been efficient and professional, while the robbers who killed Juan seemed desperate and careless. They had ransacked the shop and failed to break open the station’s safe, making off with just 70,000 pesetas (480 euros) from the till.
It took Buitrago six weeks to detain the first suspects. The three accused were known criminals with a history of robbery and drug-dealing. (A fourth suspect was detained several months later.) Three of the four men had criminal records, and all four were known to the police as consumers of hard drugs. They all vehemently denied the charges against them.	It took Buitrago six weeks to detain the first suspects. The three accused were known criminals with a history of robbery and drug-dealing. (A fourth suspect was detained several months later.) Three of the four men had criminal records, and all four were known to the police as consumers of hard drugs. They all vehemently denied the charges against them.
News of the arrests soon made its way into the local press, and on 15 February 1996, they said the case was close to being solved. But for the victim’s father, Francisco, and his family, it was the beginning of a nightmare that has never ended.	News of the arrests soon made its way into the local press, and on 15 February 1996, they said the case was close to being solved. But for the victim’s father, Francisco, and his family, it was the beginning of a nightmare that has never ended.
When Francisco Holgado first learned of his eldest son Juan’s death, he reacted as many suddenly bereaved parents do. “I never believed that something like this could happen to me,” he told me recently.	When Francisco Holgado first learned of his eldest son Juan’s death, he reacted as many suddenly bereaved parents do. “I never believed that something like this could happen to me,” he told me recently.
For most of his adult life, Holgado had been a bank clerk. To his friends and neighbours, he was the respectable patriarch of a normal, middle-class family – husband to Antonia Castro, and father to their three boys and a daughter. But the murder changed him: “I was an ordinary man who was forced to unbelievable extremes,” he said.	For most of his adult life, Holgado had been a bank clerk. To his friends and neighbours, he was the respectable patriarch of a normal, middle-class family – husband to Antonia Castro, and father to their three boys and a daughter. But the murder changed him: “I was an ordinary man who was forced to unbelievable extremes,” he said.
In the months following the killing, as Spanish authorities struggled to solve the case, Holgado, then 51, grew increasingly obsessed with identifying his son’s murderers. Over the next two decades, his pursuit of justice came to consume his life. The Spanish press, upon discovering his story, championed his cause, and nicknamed him padre coraje, or father courage. But as the media portrayed him as a hero and the embodiment of paternal love, his own family was falling apart, and would eventually abandon him.	In the months following the killing, as Spanish authorities struggled to solve the case, Holgado, then 51, grew increasingly obsessed with identifying his son’s murderers. Over the next two decades, his pursuit of justice came to consume his life. The Spanish press, upon discovering his story, championed his cause, and nicknamed him padre coraje, or father courage. But as the media portrayed him as a hero and the embodiment of paternal love, his own family was falling apart, and would eventually abandon him.
Today, two decades after his son’s death, Holgado looks younger than his 73 years, but talks with the tremulous voice of an old man. He is bald, with olive-coloured skin and a long, drawn face. He still dresses in black, and lives alone in government housing on a narrow, cobbled street in Jerez’s old town, surrounded by shabby, whitewashed townhouses and crumbling baroque mansions.	Today, two decades after his son’s death, Holgado looks younger than his 73 years, but talks with the tremulous voice of an old man. He is bald, with olive-coloured skin and a long, drawn face. He still dresses in black, and lives alone in government housing on a narrow, cobbled street in Jerez’s old town, surrounded by shabby, whitewashed townhouses and crumbling baroque mansions.
Every morning he wakes up at 7am in his small, dark bedroom. After breakfast, he goes to a local cafe to scan the newspapers. From here, he normally cycles to the cemetery to visit the grave of his son, to clean his tombstone and replace the flowers.	Every morning he wakes up at 7am in his small, dark bedroom. After breakfast, he goes to a local cafe to scan the newspapers. From here, he normally cycles to the cemetery to visit the grave of his son, to clean his tombstone and replace the flowers.
One afternoon this spring, Holgado interrupted his routine to take me to the neighbourhood of La Constancia. Passing through streets of anonymous high-rise blocks, Holgado stopped at a busy roundabout and pointed to a petrol station. Cast in the familiar red, orange and white of the Spanish petroleum giant Repsol, the building looked unremarkable. To Holgado, however, this is the place where his life fell apart – a memorial to his family’s suffering and to his attempts to make such suffering go away – which, in turn, only led to more suffering.	One afternoon this spring, Holgado interrupted his routine to take me to the neighbourhood of La Constancia. Passing through streets of anonymous high-rise blocks, Holgado stopped at a busy roundabout and pointed to a petrol station. Cast in the familiar red, orange and white of the Spanish petroleum giant Repsol, the building looked unremarkable. To Holgado, however, this is the place where his life fell apart – a memorial to his family’s suffering and to his attempts to make such suffering go away – which, in turn, only led to more suffering.
“I wonder what all the people who pass by would think if they knew what happened here 21 years ago,” he said. “And all that I became as a consequence.”	“I wonder what all the people who pass by would think if they knew what happened here 21 years ago,” he said. “And all that I became as a consequence.”
In the weeks following the murder, the Holgados grew increasingly angry about the lack of answers from the police, who had promised the family a speedy resolution. On 21 December 1995, three weeks before Buitrago made his first arrests, they rallied 3,000 people from all over the city for a “justice march” through Jerez’s historic quarter. Friends, politicians and strangers paraded through the narrow, serpentine streets of the old town, while neighbours yelled encouragement from windows and shopfronts. The following day the headline of the local newspaper, El Diario de Jerez, read “Weeping for Juan”.	In the weeks following the murder, the Holgados grew increasingly angry about the lack of answers from the police, who had promised the family a speedy resolution. On 21 December 1995, three weeks before Buitrago made his first arrests, they rallied 3,000 people from all over the city for a “justice march” through Jerez’s historic quarter. Friends, politicians and strangers paraded through the narrow, serpentine streets of the old town, while neighbours yelled encouragement from windows and shopfronts. The following day the headline of the local newspaper, El Diario de Jerez, read “Weeping for Juan”.
The savagery of Juan’s murder had shaken many inhabitants of Jerez, where, despite the drug problems in the city’s poorer barrios, an atmosphere of conservative Catholic gentility still prevailed. “I remember everyone was talking about it,” Joaquin Rodriguez, a nurse and lifelong Jerez resident, said. “It struck many families that it could have been their own son.”	The savagery of Juan’s murder had shaken many inhabitants of Jerez, where, despite the drug problems in the city’s poorer barrios, an atmosphere of conservative Catholic gentility still prevailed. “I remember everyone was talking about it,” Joaquin Rodriguez, a nurse and lifelong Jerez resident, said. “It struck many families that it could have been their own son.”
As the investigation dragged on through the spring and summer of 1996, with the prospect of a trial looking increasingly distant, the Holgados stepped up their demonstrations. Francisco Holgado visited the local constabulary every day to get the latest updates and he often joined Antonia in front of the magistrates’ court, where the pair would protest next to a large poster criticising Buitrago’s decision to release the defendants on bail. On the 22nd of every month, they held a rally in the city’s main square, calling for justice for their son.	As the investigation dragged on through the spring and summer of 1996, with the prospect of a trial looking increasingly distant, the Holgados stepped up their demonstrations. Francisco Holgado visited the local constabulary every day to get the latest updates and he often joined Antonia in front of the magistrates’ court, where the pair would protest next to a large poster criticising Buitrago’s decision to release the defendants on bail. On the 22nd of every month, they held a rally in the city’s main square, calling for justice for their son.
From the moment it began, the official investigation into Juan’s murder had been a disaster. “The police entered [the crime scene] like bulls in a china shop,” José Luis Fernández Monterrubio, the head of the Jerez police at the time of the killing, would later admit. In autumn 1996, senior murder investigators from Seville joined the case, and uncovered further blunders by local police. Crucial evidence, such as the bloody juice carton, had been lost, and it emerged that several witness testimonies had been made under duress. The local paper began criticising the police and attacked Buitrago, claiming he had been sanctioned by the Spanish ministry of justice for the unnecessarily long time he had taken to investigate two previous cases. Buitrago would later claim that the criticisms of the Jerez police were exaggerated, telling the local television channel La Sexta, “Whoever arrived at the crime scene that day would have done the same thing. It was the way cases were worked back then.”	From the moment it began, the official investigation into Juan’s murder had been a disaster. “The police entered [the crime scene] like bulls in a china shop,” José Luis Fernández Monterrubio, the head of the Jerez police at the time of the killing, would later admit. In autumn 1996, senior murder investigators from Seville joined the case, and uncovered further blunders by local police. Crucial evidence, such as the bloody juice carton, had been lost, and it emerged that several witness testimonies had been made under duress. The local paper began criticising the police and attacked Buitrago, claiming he had been sanctioned by the Spanish ministry of justice for the unnecessarily long time he had taken to investigate two previous cases. Buitrago would later claim that the criticisms of the Jerez police were exaggerated, telling the local television channel La Sexta, “Whoever arrived at the crime scene that day would have done the same thing. It was the way cases were worked back then.”
The coverage made Holgado even more sceptical of the authorities. On a visit to Juan’s grave in the sprawling, dusty cemetery of Nuestra Señora de la Merced on the city’s outskirts, he made a promise to the son he had lost. “I told him I would see his case through to the end, no matter what I had to do, no matter what the consequences,” he recalled. If the police would not solve the case, Holgado decided that he would.	The coverage made Holgado even more sceptical of the authorities. On a visit to Juan’s grave in the sprawling, dusty cemetery of Nuestra Señora de la Merced on the city’s outskirts, he made a promise to the son he had lost. “I told him I would see his case through to the end, no matter what I had to do, no matter what the consequences,” he recalled. If the police would not solve the case, Holgado decided that he would.
By the beginning of 1997, two years after the murder, Holgado was living a double life. Every weekday morning at 6am, a bus picked him up to take him to his office in Seville, 60 miles away. He slept on the bus, worked at the bank until late afternoon, and came home to change his clothes. Then, several nights a week, he went out to wander through Rompechapines – a once-salubrious area of Jerez that had turned into a drug neighbourhood – desperately hoping to dig up any information related to the murder of his son. Until the early hours of the morning, he would visit smoky bars frequented by pimps and brothels in abandoned townhouses.	By the beginning of 1997, two years after the murder, Holgado was living a double life. Every weekday morning at 6am, a bus picked him up to take him to his office in Seville, 60 miles away. He slept on the bus, worked at the bank until late afternoon, and came home to change his clothes. Then, several nights a week, he went out to wander through Rompechapines – a once-salubrious area of Jerez that had turned into a drug neighbourhood – desperately hoping to dig up any information related to the murder of his son. Until the early hours of the morning, he would visit smoky bars frequented by pimps and brothels in abandoned townhouses.
His early expeditions were “impromptu, very off the cuff”, Holgado told me. This was not wholly out of character. He could be an impulsive man. Once, in his 20s, when stationed in north Africa on military service, he had slapped a superior officer across the face during a game of football because the man had spoken to him rudely. Even after becoming a father, he always took opportunities where he thought he saw them, in spite of the tensions it caused at home. In Jerez, he moved his family from home to home – more than 10 times in 10 years – always searching for new properties that he thought were bigger and better. “He could be quite self-absorbed,” Paco, his second oldest son, told me.	His early expeditions were “impromptu, very off the cuff”, Holgado told me. This was not wholly out of character. He could be an impulsive man. Once, in his 20s, when stationed in north Africa on military service, he had slapped a superior officer across the face during a game of football because the man had spoken to him rudely. Even after becoming a father, he always took opportunities where he thought he saw them, in spite of the tensions it caused at home. In Jerez, he moved his family from home to home – more than 10 times in 10 years – always searching for new properties that he thought were bigger and better. “He could be quite self-absorbed,” Paco, his second oldest son, told me.
Slowly, he became more organised and began pursuing leads he that picked up in the local press or from police officers with whom he was friendly. At crack dens in Rompechapines, Holgado had long conversations with half-stupefied junkies, who he enticed into conversation with cigarettes or tablets of Tranxilium, a tranquilliser prescribed for the chronic anxiety he had been experiencing since Juan’s death. While his subjects got high, Holgado smoked cigarettes and recorded everything on a Sanyo dictaphone he carried in a plastic shopping bag. At one point, a drug dealer he tried to interrogate threatened to put a hole in his chest with an industrial road drill if he didn’t stop with his questions.	Slowly, he became more organised and began pursuing leads he that picked up in the local press or from police officers with whom he was friendly. At crack dens in Rompechapines, Holgado had long conversations with half-stupefied junkies, who he enticed into conversation with cigarettes or tablets of Tranxilium, a tranquilliser prescribed for the chronic anxiety he had been experiencing since Juan’s death. While his subjects got high, Holgado smoked cigarettes and recorded everything on a Sanyo dictaphone he carried in a plastic shopping bag. At one point, a drug dealer he tried to interrogate threatened to put a hole in his chest with an industrial road drill if he didn’t stop with his questions.
On the weekends, instead of spending time with his family, Holgado would sit down to review his recordings. Usually, what he heard disappointed him: meaningless names, fanciful stories and dead ends. “Whatever made him think that he could better the efforts of a fully funded state police force was something I always found strange about Holgado’s escapades,” Manuel Hortas, a lawyer for two of the defendants, told me.	On the weekends, instead of spending time with his family, Holgado would sit down to review his recordings. Usually, what he heard disappointed him: meaningless names, fanciful stories and dead ends. “Whatever made him think that he could better the efforts of a fully funded state police force was something I always found strange about Holgado’s escapades,” Manuel Hortas, a lawyer for two of the defendants, told me.
Holgado believed that what was holding his private investigation back was not his lack of expertise as a detective, but his local fame. Francisco’s face had been plastered across front pages, his “bravery in the face of tragedy” repeatedly lauded in El Diario de Jerez, his voice broadcast to listeners of the local radio station. He tried using fake names during his nighttime sorties, but he was often recognised.	Holgado believed that what was holding his private investigation back was not his lack of expertise as a detective, but his local fame. Francisco’s face had been plastered across front pages, his “bravery in the face of tragedy” repeatedly lauded in El Diario de Jerez, his voice broadcast to listeners of the local radio station. He tried using fake names during his nighttime sorties, but he was often recognised.
One afternoon in late 1997, Holgado was at a cafe in the barrio of Asunción when a tall, spindly man with wild hair and an ill-fitting suit approached him. The man introduced himself as Pepe el Gitano (Pepe the gypsy). He told Holgado that he had some important news related to Juan’s case. If he wanted to hear it, they would have to meet later at a secret location.	One afternoon in late 1997, Holgado was at a cafe in the barrio of Asunción when a tall, spindly man with wild hair and an ill-fitting suit approached him. The man introduced himself as Pepe el Gitano (Pepe the gypsy). He told Holgado that he had some important news related to Juan’s case. If he wanted to hear it, they would have to meet later at a secret location.
Pepe never showed up at the rendezvous point. After months of investigating, Holgado was used to such disappointments, but Pepe lingered in his mind. It struck him that, in Jerez’s underworld, unknown people seemed to appear and disappear all the time. Why couldn’t he do the same?	Pepe never showed up at the rendezvous point. After months of investigating, Holgado was used to such disappointments, but Pepe lingered in his mind. It struck him that, in Jerez’s underworld, unknown people seemed to appear and disappear all the time. Why couldn’t he do the same?
At the end of March 1998, Holgado joined the queue of a methadone clinic in the Asunción neighbourhood. He wore a leather jacket, baggy jeans, a blue denim shirt and large tortoiseshell sunglasses. He also wore a medium-length wig, with dark brown hair parted at the side; affixed to his head, it looked like the clip-on hair of a Lego character. Introducing himself as Pepe, he began striking up conversations with addicts by offering a 50,000-peseta reward for a fictitious lost dog named Rufo.	At the end of March 1998, Holgado joined the queue of a methadone clinic in the Asunción neighbourhood. He wore a leather jacket, baggy jeans, a blue denim shirt and large tortoiseshell sunglasses. He also wore a medium-length wig, with dark brown hair parted at the side; affixed to his head, it looked like the clip-on hair of a Lego character. Introducing himself as Pepe, he began striking up conversations with addicts by offering a 50,000-peseta reward for a fictitious lost dog named Rufo.
After meeting Pepe, Holgado had decided that rather than interview people at random, he would focus his intelligence-gathering missions on the four suspects, who had been charged with murder but whose trial was not scheduled until the following year. He believed the police had the right men, but he did not trust them to uncover the necessary evidence for a conviction.	After meeting Pepe, Holgado had decided that rather than interview people at random, he would focus his intelligence-gathering missions on the four suspects, who had been charged with murder but whose trial was not scheduled until the following year. He believed the police had the right men, but he did not trust them to uncover the necessary evidence for a conviction.
Holgado knew it would be impossible to follow all four defendants at once; they moved in similar circles, but as one of them would later claim, “we barely knew each other”. Two of the men were in and out of prison for other crimes, and another suspect had proven difficult to track down. Holgado had learned through local newspaper reports that the fourth suspect, Pedro Asencio, had stayed in Jerez since the murder, a requirement of his bail conditions, at the house of his blind father in Asunción. Asencio, who was 35, had a long history of heroin abuse and petty crime, and people who knew him had told Holgado he could be unpredictable and violent.	Holgado knew it would be impossible to follow all four defendants at once; they moved in similar circles, but as one of them would later claim, “we barely knew each other”. Two of the men were in and out of prison for other crimes, and another suspect had proven difficult to track down. Holgado had learned through local newspaper reports that the fourth suspect, Pedro Asencio, had stayed in Jerez since the murder, a requirement of his bail conditions, at the house of his blind father in Asunción. Asencio, who was 35, had a long history of heroin abuse and petty crime, and people who knew him had told Holgado he could be unpredictable and violent.
Holgado found Asencio at the methadone clinic, standing in the queue, his hands shaking from withdrawal. Holgado offered him a Tranxilium tablet and a cigarette to ease his nerves. The two men struck up a conversation, and Holgado told Asencio that he could get him more drugs if he wanted.	Holgado found Asencio at the methadone clinic, standing in the queue, his hands shaking from withdrawal. Holgado offered him a Tranxilium tablet and a cigarette to ease his nerves. The two men struck up a conversation, and Holgado told Asencio that he could get him more drugs if he wanted.
As the spring crept on, Holgado – always posing as Pepe – contrived more meetings with his mark. He would offer Asencio, who couldn’t drive, lifts in his car to visit his friends, to buy drugs and even to see his daughter, who was living with his ex-wife outside Jerez. Asencio, who was normally a very suspicious person, was charmed by Holgado. “I had been looking for ways to make quick money so I could take care of my daughter,” he later told the newspaper El Mundo. “What Pepe was offering me was what I was looking for.”	As the spring crept on, Holgado – always posing as Pepe – contrived more meetings with his mark. He would offer Asencio, who couldn’t drive, lifts in his car to visit his friends, to buy drugs and even to see his daughter, who was living with his ex-wife outside Jerez. Asencio, who was normally a very suspicious person, was charmed by Holgado. “I had been looking for ways to make quick money so I could take care of my daughter,” he later told the newspaper El Mundo. “What Pepe was offering me was what I was looking for.”
The more time the pair spent together, the more elaborate Holgado’s fictional identity became. He told Asencio about a gang he was connected to, which moved large quantities of cocaine through the north. He even employed the help of another local junkie, Jaime Monje Rodriguez, who, using the pseudonym Carlos, posed as Holgado’s gang contact.	The more time the pair spent together, the more elaborate Holgado’s fictional identity became. He told Asencio about a gang he was connected to, which moved large quantities of cocaine through the north. He even employed the help of another local junkie, Jaime Monje Rodriguez, who, using the pseudonym Carlos, posed as Holgado’s gang contact.
Nearly two months into Holgado’s undercover operation as Pepe, Asencio told him that he suspected that Domingo Gomez and Francisco Escalante, his fellow defendants, were involved in the murder at the petrol station. Asencio claimed that he had seen Gomez give Escalante a bag of bloody clothes to throw in the bin a few days after the murder. “When Escalante saw the bag, he got spooked, and started yelling at Gomez to get rid of it,” Asencio said in a recording that would later be played in court. He told “Pepe” he hadn’t had any involvement in the crime himself. (Gomez and Escalante have also always maintained their complete innocence.)	Nearly two months into Holgado’s undercover operation as Pepe, Asencio told him that he suspected that Domingo Gomez and Francisco Escalante, his fellow defendants, were involved in the murder at the petrol station. Asencio claimed that he had seen Gomez give Escalante a bag of bloody clothes to throw in the bin a few days after the murder. “When Escalante saw the bag, he got spooked, and started yelling at Gomez to get rid of it,” Asencio said in a recording that would later be played in court. He told “Pepe” he hadn’t had any involvement in the crime himself. (Gomez and Escalante have also always maintained their complete innocence.)
By mid-1998, Pepe and Asencio were meeting two or three times a week. Around this time, Holgado quit his job at the bank; he could no longer work and investigate his son’s murder at the same time. He was just about keeping his anxiety in check with antidepressants, but his relationship with his family was becoming increasingly strained. Even before Juan’s death, his marriage had been fragile. Now, things were deteriorating under the strain of grief, with Antonia’s feelings about her husband’s late-night trips varying from day to day. Sometimes she would encourage him; other times, she could not understand why he went to such extremes. “I was uneasy about his trips,” she told me. “I, too, wanted justice for my son, but Francisco always had to make things unnecessarily difficult, and he had to do them his way, no matter what.”	By mid-1998, Pepe and Asencio were meeting two or three times a week. Around this time, Holgado quit his job at the bank; he could no longer work and investigate his son’s murder at the same time. He was just about keeping his anxiety in check with antidepressants, but his relationship with his family was becoming increasingly strained. Even before Juan’s death, his marriage had been fragile. Now, things were deteriorating under the strain of grief, with Antonia’s feelings about her husband’s late-night trips varying from day to day. Sometimes she would encourage him; other times, she could not understand why he went to such extremes. “I was uneasy about his trips,” she told me. “I, too, wanted justice for my son, but Francisco always had to make things unnecessarily difficult, and he had to do them his way, no matter what.”
Their son Paco, who had occasionally accompanied Holgado on his investigative trips before he assumed his undercover identity, agreed with his mother. He believed his father’s new endeavours were too dangerous, and probably futile. (The only other person who knew of Holgado’s double life was the family’s lawyer, Juan Pedro Cosano, who was supportive. “I thought it was an extraordinary act of bravery and love,” Cosano told me.)	Their son Paco, who had occasionally accompanied Holgado on his investigative trips before he assumed his undercover identity, agreed with his mother. He believed his father’s new endeavours were too dangerous, and probably futile. (The only other person who knew of Holgado’s double life was the family’s lawyer, Juan Pedro Cosano, who was supportive. “I thought it was an extraordinary act of bravery and love,” Cosano told me.)