* * *
—
We left Vitoria behind us. The countryside was dark and tree branches formed a tunnel over the car as we sped toward the tower.
“She’s still not picking up,” I muttered, trying to keep the concern from my voice. “She’s not even replying to my texts. But her phone is on. She just isn’t answering.”
“We’re here, Kraken. Should we call for backup?”
“Let’s wait until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
I don’t want to get her in trouble, I thought.
I didn’t know what was going on yet, and I didn’t want to expose her by calling anyone. I didn’t trust Alvar, but Estí may have gotten him to talk, and I didn’t want to risk compromising that.
We parked on the edge of the property and switched off the engine. I knew the path well enough to find my way using only the faint light of the stars. We saw Estíbaliz’s car in the parking lot.
We walked over the drawbridge and crossed the lawn. The small window above the arched entrance was open.
This time, instead of dialing Estí’s cell phone, I called Ramiro Alvar’s landline. I could hear it ringing from inside the tower. I let it ring, but no answer. I pounded on the door. Nothing. Not a sound.
“Shine your light on the window,” I told Peña.
It didn’t appear forced or broken.
The window’s been opened from the inside, I thought. Ramiro wouldn’t leave a window open overnight; he’s sensitive to the cold. Estíbaliz called from the tower two hours ago. If she’s still in there, someone or something is preventing her from picking up. Alvar or Ramiro Alvar isn’t answering the phone, either. She’s in danger. Ramiro Alvar never goes out. So he must be inside. What the hell is going on?
I shone my phone’s flashlight on the patch of grass below the window. There were no marks that would indicate a heavy object had been dragged through the area.
They haven’t been abducted. They must still be inside, and a third person must have jumped out of this window.
“We’ll climb in. I’ll give you a leg up,” I told Peña.
He placed his foot in my cupped hands using the wall to steady himself, pulled himself through, and disappeared inside the tower. A few seconds later he popped his head through the opening.
“The coast is clear,” he whispered.
“Go downstairs and open the door for me.”
I had to wait two minutes, each one as long as a bitter winter, until finally, the heavy wooden door opened and I entered the tower.
Everything was dark, except for a beam of light shining onto the inner courtyard. I looked for the source: a lamp in Ramiro Alvar’s apartment was giving off a warm glow.
I pressed the intercom several times. Nothing. So we couldn’t get into Ramiro’s private residences. We could only access the public areas of the tower.
I pulled out my gun. Peña did the same.
I crossed the inner courtyard, planning to climb the stairs.
But I slipped.
One of the cobblestones was wet, and I fell onto something soft, cracking my elbow on the ground. Wincing from the pain, I was going to pull my phone from my pocket—I could use it as a flashlight—when I realized my hands were wet as well. Peña managed to turn on his flashlight first, revealing that I was sprawled on top of a half-naked body, my hands covered with blood.
“The hair…Kraken.”
“What hair?”
“You tripped over someone with red hair.”
No, that’s impossible. I refused to believe it.
“Shine the light over here!” I commanded.
I scrambled to my feet, but it was difficult to keep my balance—I was standing in a dark pool of blood.
I looked down at Estíbaliz’s pallid face. I snatched Peña’s phone and shone it in her eyes.
Her pupils contracted. She was still alive, but she was unconscious.
“Call this in, now! We have an officer down. She’s lost a lot of blood. She’ll need a transfusion—blood type AB-positive. Tell them to send a patrol car and a forensics team.”
“Kraken, there’s another body.”
Peña shone the flashlight on a second figure. I could just make out an old-fashioned white nightshirt soaked in blood, with a pair of bare legs peeking out from beneath it. Everything outside the light from Peña’s phone was swallowed in darkness.
“See if they’re still alive!” I ordered.
Peña stepped forward to check while I called for backup. I forced myself to step into my criminologist shoes so I could observe my colleague’s injuries. I had no choice; I couldn’t dwell on the fact that this broken body lying at my feet was Estíbaliz.
Not you, not you, not you.
“Male, pupils responsive to light!” Peña shouted. “What do we do?”
“We don’t know how far they fell, so we can’t move them,” I said. I shone the light from my phone across the length of the balcony. “They probably have internal injuries and internal bleeding. Describe the man’s injuries.”
“One leg has multiple fractures. The body is twisted, like a broken doll. I think he fell feetfirst.”
“If so, he will have injuries to his pelvis and femurs and possibly fractures of his heels and ankles,” I said.
“It looks that way.”
“Estíbaliz is almost in the center of the yard, while he’s at the foot of the stairs. That means she was pushed or possibly thrown from a greater height. And yet I can’t see any damage to the balcony’s railing. Maybe somebody picked her up and threw her over? That would take incredible strength, even though she only weighs a hundred and ten pounds or so,” I reasoned.
I visualized how this crime could have taken place. Someone broke into the building while Estíbaliz and Alvar were…well, enjoying themselves in Alvar’s apartment. For whatever reason, one of them came down the tower stairs and fell or was thrown over the balcony. Afterward, the exact same thing happened to the other one. Estíbaliz’s slight frame worked in her favor: less weight, slower speed, less energy released on impact, fewer injuries.
Alvar hadn’t fallen as far, but they were both unconscious. Only the doctors could assess how severe their internal injuries were.
“As for you, Estí: How are we going to explain what you were doing in your underwear at the main suspect’s house tonight?” I whispered in her ear. I knew she couldn’t hear me, just as I knew I was going to have to lie for her, as she had always done for me.
But that was the least of her problems. Right now her life was hanging by a thread.
29
EL JARDÍN DE SAMANIEGO
UNAI
October 2019
Dawn had broken by the time I started the drive to Laguardia. It had been a long night. The surgeons were still operating on both Estíbaliz and Ramiro Alvar. I supposed that was one of the drawbacks to being the ANP: when your alter gets into trouble, it’s your body that suffers.
The medical team told us it would take several more hours—and they gave no guarantees. Estíbaliz was in critical condition.
And that was more than I could bear, so Kraken took control: What can I do right now? What else needs to get done?
I focused on what was in front of me. On what was feasible right then.
Driving to Laguardia and back was a better use of my time than climbing the walls in the hospital waiting room. And I knew that Alba deserved to hear the news from me in person.
When I got to the hotel, Deba was dressed and having breakfast with Alba. I watched them from the doorway. It was a tranquil, rather ordinary scene: a perfect moment.
Deba seemed to sense me with her superolfactory powers and wheeled around, happy as a puppy.
“Papa! You look ugly!” she shrieked joyously.
“Deba’s right, you
look terrible,” Alba said. “Long night?”
I was about to respond when Grandfather arrived carrying an assortment of plastic bags. Deba ran and leaped on him as though he were a life preserver.
I knew the feeling. He was my anchor, too.
“Why are you here so early, Grandpa?” I asked.
The old man set down his bags carefully. He scratched his head with his crooked forefinger, the way he always did when he was telling a fib.
“I got a ride with Eusebio’s son.”
“From Villafría? So you walked along the main road to Villafría carrying those heavy bags?”
He shrugged dismissively. “It’s only two kilometers, son. Walking is good for me.”
“Grandpa, would you take Deba over to the park? Alba and I will join you in a bit.”
“Come here, little one,” he said to Deba, picking her up and plonking his beret on her head. “Alba, my dear, I brought you some pots of jam. I thought your guests might like some with their breakfast.”
Alba smiled. Grandfather had a soothing effect on her. He seemed to ground her, giving her the same solace that comes from hugging a thick, gnarled oak.
“Thanks, Grandpa. That’s a splendid idea.”
We watched in silence as they disappeared downstairs. Alba could already sense that my early-morning visit would bring dark clouds.
“Come on, Alba, let’s go up to the tower, I need to clear my head.”
“Is it that serious?”
“You have no idea.”
She followed me up the steep spiral staircase. Outside, a pale sun was shining, but it gave no warmth. Alba shuddered and clasped her arms across her chest; she was used to consoling herself. I suppressed the painfully vivid image of Estíbaliz’s body smashed against the ground.
I glanced at the sierra, following its jagged contour until I came to San Tirso. I was searching for something that would ground me.
The tower overlooked a section of the park. Grandfather had taken Deba to the playground, where he knew we could keep an eye on them.
He sat on a bench while Deba stormed a wooden castle. The stairs and low-slung bridges had tiny climbing holds perfect for small hands.
I turned toward Alba, sighed deeply, and began: “Estíbaliz is in critical condition. They’re operating on her right now. She fell thirty feet or more. We think she was thrown over a balcony at Nograro Tower late last night.”
“Last night?”
“Last night. I wanted to give you the details before you read them in an official statement. We found Ramiro Alvar Nograro on the ground a few yards away from her. We won’t know exactly what happened until the forensics team gives us their report, but it seems like Ramiro Alvar didn’t fall quite as far, although he’s severely injured, too. He fell feetfirst, and one of his legs is broken in four places. Estíbaliz is in worse shape, though. She landed on her side and has multiple fractures. We don’t know about internal injuries; the prognosis is pending. When we found them, Estí was in her underwear, and Ramiro Alvar was in his nightshirt. The attacker must have broken into the building. The main door was locked, but a low window had been opened from the inside. We suspect the culprit used it to escape. Estíbaliz and Ramiro Alvar must have discovered him, and then he threw them off the balcony. I’ve asked forensics to check the library for fingerprints, because I think the perpetrator was looking for the copy of the twelfth-century chronicle. I doubt the thief will be stupid enough to try to sell it on the black market right away. In any case, we won’t know if I’m right until Ramiro Alvar can confirm that it’s missing. I’ve asked Peña to get a gag order; the public will link the murders to the appearance of the chronicle. If word gets out that it’s been stolen from Nograro Tower and that the owner and the lead officer on the case were attacked during the robbery, the press will focus all their attention on the tower and this fiasco will become even bigger.”
“I need to go see Estíbaliz,” Alba finally said. “Is anyone with her?”
“Peña and Milán are taking turns. They’ll call me as soon as there’s any news.”
“For God’s sake, you left our best friend on her own?”
“They’ll be operating on her for several more hours, and the doctors won’t tell us anything until they finish. I came here because I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. I called Germán, and he’s taking the day off so we can drop Deba at his place. We’ll take Grandfather with us. Whether we’re visiting the hospital or…arranging a funeral, we won’t be home much over the next few days. Germán and Grandpa can take care of Deba.”
Could anyone possibly deal with all this death? Was it even possible for two detectives to raise a family? Had it ever been done? And if so, who gave those everyday heroes the medals and awards they deserved?
I turned to go back downstairs, but Alba put her hand on my arm to stop me.
“Wait. We won’t be able to discuss this with Grandpa and Deba in the car. I want you to tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out. I’m going to have to come back to work.”
“I know. I tried to keep you out of it until now. You deserved some time off to grieve for your mother. Everyone deserves that, goddamn it.”
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“You know exactly what I’m asking. How long has Estíbaliz been involved with our main suspect, and how long have you known about it?”
“About them sleeping together”—I checked the time on my phone—“approximately twelve hours.”
“Unai…”
“I’m telling the truth! I never would have dreamed it would go this far. Estíbaliz never told me how she felt. All I had were suspicions, and I didn’t think it was worth bothering you with them. You took yourself off the investigation, and I wanted to respect your decision.”
“You should have told me, Unai. My God! Did you know about this inappropriate relationship when I put her in charge of the case?”
“Yes, I knew the very first night. I went out for an early run the next morning and bumped into the two of them. I sensed it.”
“Sensed what?”
“What you and I had at the beginning, the way we looked at each other. Estíbaliz couldn’t take her eyes off him, and he looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real. I don’t know if Estíbaliz was even aware of her feelings at that point, or if she was only pretending to flirt with him. But I knew it, the moment I saw them. I’ve never seen that look in her eyes before. They gazed at each other like precious objects, like gifts waiting to be unwrapped. What Doctor Leiva would call the ‘halo effect.’ ”
“Is that how you felt about me?”
“With you, it was so much more. You’re in control of your life. You’ve always made your own decisions, and all I can do is choose whether to go along with them. I admire you, and I still find you incredibly sexy. Actually, I’m more hooked now than the day I met you. Does that answer your question? And yet it’s even more than that. It’s a matter of flesh and blood. Isn’t that what we’re creating together? Hasn’t Deba made us a family?”
“Grandpa’s jam is what makes us a family,” she replied, fingering the length of red silk I had tied around her wrist a few days ago. “Okay, let’s get going. I’ll never be able to forgive myself if we leave Estíbaliz alone in Vitoria.”
I peered at the park, looking for the bench where Grandfather had been sitting.
And then I recognized him.
Tasio Ortiz de Zárate.
Tasio had approached my daughter. He was holding something in his hand, and he was talking to her. He had intercepted her as she came down the slide, but the castle’s wooden sides blocked Grandfather’s view. He was still sitting on the bench, oblivious to the danger his great-granddaughter was in.
“Alba, Tasio is talking to Deba. Don’t yell for Grandfather. If Tasio panics an
d grabs her, he won’t be able to run after them,” I whispered. A shiver ran down my spine, and I broke out in a cold sweat that quickly seeped through my T-shirt.
We flung ourselves onto the stairs, ran outside, and circled the wooden castle, all without saying a word. Tasio was crouching down, timidly stroking a delighted Deba’s hair.
“Step away from her, Tasio!” I shouted as I drew within a few yards of them.
When Alba came charging around the other side of the castle, Tasio leaped to his feet and made a run for it. Alba scooped up Deba and whisked her away while I went after Tasio. I couldn’t catch him even at a full sprint. The bastard was in good shape. I ordered him to stop several times, but he kept going.
His pace slowed as we reached the bandstand named after the fabulist Samaniego, and I seized the opportunity. I lunged forward and tackled him to the ground. We fell onto grass still damp with the morning’s frost.
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry, Inspector Ayala,” he exclaimed, putting his hands in the air.
“I told you not to go near her, Tasio.”
“There’s been a mistake, Inspector! Look in my wallet. I’m Ignacio.”
I came to a halt. I hadn’t expected that.
“Ignacio? What are you doing in Laguardia?”
“I have a villa here,” he cried nervously. “I was walking through the park, and I saw your grandfather and the little girl. I’m sorry, my curiosity got the better of me—I couldn’t help myself. I had no idea you’d spoken to Tasio, or forbidden him to talk to her. Please, look at my ID, Inspector. It’s in my back pocket.”
I kept him immobilized while I pulled his expensive wallet out of his back pocket. ID, driver’s license, credit cards—all in Ignacio Ortiz de Zárate’s name. It was true.
I loosened my grip. Ignacio sat on the grass beside me.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to cause any problems for you or for DSU Salvatierra. There’s been enough tragedy already. Tell me where you usually go around here, and I’ll make sure I avoid those places whenever I’m in Laguardia.”
The Lords of Time Page 24