The Lords of Time

by Eva García Sáenz

Don’t let this affect our family. Don’t let these bastards ruin what we have, I repeated for at least the hundredth time. It had been my mantra since Deba was born. I did not want to let these cases impact our life.

  Besides, we had paid the piper many times over. So, we tried to discuss our work as little as possible at the end of the day. But I couldn’t help but wonder whether it would ever end or whether our life would be entangled with each new case until we finally turned it over to the magistrate?

  I was still turning the model of medieval Vitoria over in my hands, touching its rooftops and the four church spires, when Alba’s cell phone rang and I heard “Lau teilatu.”

  It had been a long time since we had first listened to that song together, on the roof that was now just a few yards above our heads, during our first Fiestas de la Virgen Blanca before we were officially a couple.

  Since then, we had gone to the roof only once or twice, and once Deba was born, we’d let the tradition slide completely. We couldn’t leave her alone in the apartment while we climbed onto a roof, and even when Grandfather, Nieves, or Germán were babysitting, we didn’t have much time to ourselves.

  Then it struck me: “Lau teilatu.” Four rooftops.

  The Nájeras’ apartment was in Calle Pintorería, and the girls were found in Calle Cuchillería. The roofs were connected.

  Many buildings in the Old Quarter’s narrow guild streets had skylights in the stairwells to let in light.

  I used my cell phone to search for a more recent aerial view than the one I had on my medieval replica. Google Earth had what I needed.

  Alba turned around. She looked relieved.

  “That was Milán. She insisted on staying at the hospital so I could get some rest. She says Mom is loaded up on painkillers. She’s fast asleep. I think I’ll go to bed early and visit her first thing tomorrow. You can go running at six if you want, and when you get back, I’ll head out and stop at the hospital on my way to work.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. My mother-in-law was a tough woman who’d been through a lot. A tumble on the stairs wouldn’t stop her, but she was older and it would take longer for her to recover her mobility.

  Alba remained pensive as she sat down opposite me, her back against the wall. She saw the glint in my eyes.

  “What’s up, Unai?”

  “I know how the kidnapper got in. ‘Lau teilatu.’ Four rooftops. He got in through the skylight, and he left with the girls the same way. It was the end of August, so a lot of people were away on holiday. Nobody saw him. He carried them over the rooftops and then lowered them through another skylight into the building where we found them. The apartment was being remodeled: He had probably already started building the wall. He left a space big enough to push them through and then sealed it up. Remember our mysterious nun? She escaped over the roof of San Miguel Arcángel Church, and she was very agile. What if our culprit is familiar with the rooftops in Vitoria, either because of his profession or for some other reason?”

  “There are a few holes in your theory. It’s still a locked-room mystery. Don’t forget their apartment was locked from the inside. The windows, too. Honestly, even with years of experience, I still can’t get my head around how somebody could do such a terrible thing to two young girls.”

  “No, not two young girls. To the perpetrator who was carrying them, they were just two garbage bags. By the time they were inside the wall, they were completely concealed in plastic,” I pointed out.

  “Call it whatever you want, but forensics confirmed that the girls were alive when he abducted them.”

  “True. But I think that the killer’s use of the bags shows a degree of compassion. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he’s killing two girls, so he places them in bags because he prefers to think of them as bundles.”

  “And what does that tell us?”

  “That he has empathy, so he’s not a psychopath. Killing them is a means to an end. He derives no pleasure from the act, but it’s part of his larger plan.”

  She frowned at me.

  “And is that good or bad?”

  “Bad. In fact, it’s really bad,” I said, “because it means that his plan has been set into motion.”

  Alba didn’t welcome my assessment. The idea that we might be in for a series of bizarre murders committed by a killer whose modus operandi seemed to be based on medieval crimes, like poisoning people with Spanish fly or bricking them up, was enough to make anyone nervous.

  But that wasn’t all. There was something else. Alba was distracted, far away.

  “What’s wrong? You’ve been distant for a while now. I feel like I’m living alone. We’re going to have to talk sooner or later.”

  She folded her arms and gazed out at the monument to the Battle of Vitoria.

  “I’m thinking of going back to Laguardia to help my mother.”

  “You mean when she gets out of the hospital?”

  “Yes, she won’t be able to manage the hotel on her own, and her staff and their families depend on it staying open. I grew up handling the bookings and the paperwork so I could easily run the place when she retires, and that time is not too far away.”

  “Hold on a minute….We’re not just talking about you spending a few days in Laguardia when she gets out of the hospital, are we? What are you trying to tell me?”

  Alba took a deep breath and plucked up her courage. She looked me straight in the eye as she said, “I don’t know if I want to keep doing this job, Unai. I don’t know if I want to continue being a DSU, exposed to so much tragedy, to the ugly side of humanity, day in and day out. I see things differently now that we have Deba. I only have one life, and so does she: one life, one father, and one mother. You’re always in the line of fire, all of Vitoria knows who you are. Deba is Kraken’s daughter, or worse—” she broke off.

  “Worse?” I echoed. “What do you mean? I’m not sure I’m following. Is this about you and your job, or is it about Deba’s future? And what exactly are you saying? Do you want to ask for a transfer back to the Laguardia police force? You’ll be giving yourself a demotion. You don’t need me to tell you how difficult it was for you to break through that glass ceiling. You’re a living legend on the force, the youngest woman ever to be made DSU. Everyone respects you. And now you’re talking about taking an indefinite leave of absence to help your mother run a hotel?”

  “Yes. I’m talking about living near the mountains, a slower pace of life. I’m talking about coming home to dinner without being splattered with blood, about closing my eyes without seeing a teenage girl’s rotting corpse. My mother is on her own, and she’s going to need me more and more. We’re closer now, and I want to spend the future with her. I want Deba to grow up with her and with her great-grandfather. If we move to Laguardia, we’ll be closer to Villaverde. You know Deba and your grandfather are inseparable. She’ll give their lives renewed meaning.”

  “And what about her father? Don’t you want Deba to grow up with her father? Where do I fit in?”

  Alba looked up at me. At some point during our conversation I had gotten to my feet. Now I was standing over her as she sat on the floor. And I must have raised my voice, because Deba appeared in her mouse pajamas, eyes wide as sunflowers.

  “Can I sleep with you?” she asked in her baby voice.

  “Of course, you can, sweetheart. Papa’s going to bed right now,” I replied. “Alba, I’ll go for a run at six, and we’ll see each other at work.” I planted a kiss on her lips, but she barely reacted. Then I clasped my daughter around the waist and carried her off to our bedroom, as though she were a small gift.

  Whenever I had an awful day, watching Deba sleep would comfort me. It reminded me that I must have been very good in a past life, because I got to hold this small miracle in my arms, her tiny galloping heartbeat giving me all the warmth I needed.

  But tha
t evening my daughter was wide-awake.

  “Papa, is twenny-two a lot?” she whispered.

  “That depends: Twenty-two what? Twenty-two hugs isn’t very many. I give you way more than that every morning. Twenty-two roasted chestnuts is a lot for you; remember the time you ate a whole packet?”

  “Twenny-two dead people,” she said.

  In my daughter’s tiny voice, those words chilled me to the bone.

  “What do you mean by twenty-two dead people, darling?”

  “I heard a grown-up at school say it when I was going pee-pee. She said my papa has twenty-two dead people behind him. Can I see them?”

  Goddamn. Now I understood what Alba meant. To some people, Deba was Kraken’s daughter. But others saw her as the daughter of a man who had murdered twenty-two people.

  “They found out! How?” I parried, making my voice lighthearted.

  “What did they find out, Papa?”

  “About my Halloween costume. I’m going as a zombie hunter. I carry a sack on my back with twenty-two zombie dolls in it…but it’s a secret. How did they find out?”

  “Was it the people in the fancy dress store, Papa?”

  “Why didn’t I think of that! Of course. We won’t go there again, Deba,” I said. I stroked her soft blond hair, which usually made her fall asleep within minutes.

  “No, Papa….We won’t,” she murmured, her breathing becoming steady.

  Alba had been listening in the doorway, arms folded.

  She didn’t have to say a word.

  Three years earlier, Alba and I had made a promise, one that united our family against the world. We would stick with one story, forever, no cracks. It was the only way to keep Deba safe from the inquisition of others.

  14

  LA HERRERÍA

  UNAI

  September 2019

  I had a rough night, trying to come to understand what Alba was saying: she needed more than just a few days back in her village to unwind. Alba and Deba were the only things that mattered to me. I loved them. What Alba was suggesting was a major change—for all of us.

  I was still lost in thought, familiarizing myself with the shadows on the ceiling, when the clock struck five. I showered, slipped on my sneakers, and snuck back into the bedroom to kiss the two ladies in my life before hitting the pavement. The early dawn welcomed me with its icy breath. I put on my headphones and began to run to “Cold Little Heart.”

  I was on the Plaza de la Virgen Blanca, heading for the verdant arches of Florida Park, when I saw curious figures on Calle Herrería.

  Curious, because one of them was wearing a cassock—at six o’clock on a Friday morning, that was surprising to the say the least. I knew the other figure’s shock of red hair all too well. They were giggling, but they didn’t look drunk.

  “Good day to you, López de Ayala! Are you out on your dawn rounds? Are the town’s inhabitants safe and sound?” Alvar asked with genuine delight, finally recognizing me when we were practically face-to-face.

  I shot Estíbaliz a quizzical look. I had no idea what was going on.

  “Good day to you, Don Alvar, or should I say good night?” I retorted.

  “Last night we went to see the vestment exhibit at the Museum of Sacred Art in the New Cathedral, and then I decided to give Alvar a taste of Vitoria’s nightlife,” Estíbaliz answered for him. She looked at her phone as though it were broken. “Surely it can’t be ten after six already?”

  Estí was the only person I knew who could get away with taking a priest in a cassock out on the town. In under twenty-four hours, she’d managed to lure Alvar out of his tower. It was pure instinct, and I knew she’d been watching him while she plied him with drinks. Not the most conventional approach, but, with two bodies in the morgue and a young girl in the hospital, it was certainly good enough for me.

  “Did you know Calle Herrería used to be called Calle Ferrería? Alvar knows the names of all the old places in the Medieval Quarter. For example, Zapatería was actually Çapatería, and Calle Correría used to be Calle Pellejería because the traders sold pelts there, and…” She trailed off as I leaned toward her.

  “Read the novel, Estí. Now,” I whispered in her ear. Then I shook Alvar’s hand and resumed my run.

  Estíbaliz’s feigned enthusiasm was designed to nurture Alvar’s inflated ego, but she and I both knew that she was a skilled huntress, and that she would place her bait wherever she needed to. She had taken him outside his comfort zone all night and doubtless probed his behavior to learn more about him—all of which she would later put in a report.

  My colleague was still working the Thursday shift.

  * * *

  —

  By midafternoon, I had visited my mother-in-law at the hospital. I was relieved to discover that she was on the mend. Then I drove out to Valdegovía again. I wanted to check a couple of things at the tower.

  To my surprise, the wooden gates were locked, and no one, not even the guide I had met the day before, answered the visitors’ number. Instead I was invited to leave a message on the answering machine.

  I resorted to knocking on the door. I assumed Alvar was in his apartment, because while I was parking the car in the lot near the moat, I had seen someone close the study window. I thought it was Alvar, but the curtains had obscured him.

  I kept banging on the door until the hand-shaped knocker grew warm in my palm. I was ready to camp outside, when the door finally opened and I heard a soft male voice I didn’t recognize murmur, “Here I am, here I am….”

  I was expecting to meet a mysterious new resident, but instead I saw Alvar wrapped in a thick blanket that trailed on the entrance cobblestones behind him.

  He was wearing a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses with thick lenses that made his blue eyes look smaller. But they couldn’t disguise the puffy shadows from his night on the town. His blond locks were no longer slicked back, in fact, he seemed oblivious to the wavy strands that drooped over his forehead and covered his right eye.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  Again, I was stunned by his voice. It wasn’t just that he whispered, as if he were afraid of waking a sleeping mother. His tone was also higher and he sounded younger than I remembered. The ravages of a hangover, I supposed.

  “Good afternoon, Don Alvar. Forgive me for bothering you, I came to retrieve something I left behind—”

  “I’m sorry, do we know each other? Are you from the village?”

  “Er…No, I’m Inspector Unai López de Ayala. I came here yesterday with my colleague Estíbaliz Ruiz de Gauna. Are you feeling okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Actually, I’m a little tired. I must have had a bad night. Won’t you come in? Claudia doesn’t seem to be here today. I suspect there weren’t any tours booked for this afternoon. So it’s just you and me. You said you’re an inspector. How can I help you? Isn’t that the phrase?” he asked, pulling the thick blanket closer around him.

  I took a few seconds to react. I was astonished, but I couldn’t waste this golden opportunity.

  “Actually, you can help me,” I said. “Shall we go inside where we can speak more comfortably? It’s a bit chilly down here, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, of course. I am sorry. I hope you don’t think me rude. Let’s go up to my apartment.”

  I followed him through a different door. This one was on the right side of the entrance, and he led me through it and up a flight of stone steps to the third floor. Every landing was cluttered with objects: worn-limestone corbels, broken columns, even a huge overturned baptismal font that blocked the bottom step.

  “The most recent renovation,” he explained. “I have no idea where to store all these discarded objects.”

  “Why bother? A lot of people would kill to live in a museum like this.”

  He turned and smiled a little sel
f-consciously. “I have to admit, I love it, too. I adore the past, and this tower is a piece of living history. I strive to be worthy of my ancestors’ legacy, but it isn’t easy.”

  The man seemed cripplingly shy. I looked at him with something verging on tenderness.

  He guided me through the tower’s maze of corridors. Some I recognized, but others opened into rooms we hadn’t seen the day before. There were tiled chambers, long-abandoned nurseries, and dining rooms with fully set tables.

  When we reached the third floor, he walked resolutely to the end of the corridor, perhaps to another study I hadn’t seen. But as we passed the tapestry room we had been in the day before, I walked in without waiting for an invitation.

  “My book! I hope you enjoyed it. Actually, it was a gift from my wife, which is why I came here to get it back,” I said. Without giving him a chance to protest, I crossed the room and picked up my copy of The Lords of Time.

  “Ah…so it’s yours. Be my guest,” he said, eyes glued to the cover as he watched me slip it inside my jacket. He was staring at me like I was stealing a Fabergé egg. “Thanks for the loan. I’ll certainly buy myself a copy. I only dipped into it. But tell me, Inspector, what really brought you here?”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk that’s a bit warmer than the corridor, Alvar?”

  “Ramiro. Ramiro Alvar. Come into my study. Heating the entire tower is an impossible task, although, as you may have noticed, I’m terribly prone to the cold. And yet I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”

  I followed him into his den, which couldn’t have been more different from the room he’d taken Estíbaliz and me into the day before. The tones were dark red and gray; the style more modern, yet welcoming, suggesting the decorator had impeccable taste. A sumptuous armchair invited hours of peaceful reading, an oasis in that isolated tower. Several large books lay on the huge desk. Notes on the Seven Divisions by Alfonso X lay alongside Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations. The walls were lined with bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling. There were also framed pieces of parchment.