“Later, Peña. Not today.”
I walked in without asking permission. I felt a pang when I saw her. She was in a neck brace, with her right arm encased in bandages, and she was hooked up to IV bags on a drip pole.
“Auntie Eztí! Are you a mommy now?”
Estíbaliz could barely muster a smile. She held my gaze, and her look spoke volumes. She was a soldier returning from battle who recognized a fellow survivor.
The Grim Reaper tested you. You looked him in the eye and came back from the abyss.
“I called you. Alvar had gone out to the kitchen and he hadn’t come back. I heard noises and…” Estí whispered, but she was having difficulty speaking. Her lips were dry, her tongue sluggish.
“It’s okay, Estí. Not today. Today the whole family is just here to see you. They’re out in the hallway, worried sick. We can’t take another shock.”
“I have no family, Unai. Even if you went to Txagorritxu and told him about what happened, my father wouldn’t understand. I have no family.”
“Yes, you do,” I insisted. She was speaking nonsense.
I gently set down Deba on Estí’s uninjured side and lay on the bed next to her.
“You see, you do have a family, and quite an extensive one, in fact,” I whispered in her ear.
We touched foreheads, in the way animals sometimes do when their guards are lowered.
“Look, Auntie, a red bracelet. I’m gonna give you one,” said Deba, proudly showing off her braided wristband.
“And I’m going to give you an eguzkilore. It will protect you forever, so you won’t fall down the stairs like your auntie,” she replied, running her fingers through Deba’s unruly curls.
I didn’t see Alba standing in the doorway, but she must have been watching.
“Mama! I know what I wanna be when I grow up!” Deba exclaimed when she saw her mother.
“A doctor?”
“No, I’m gonna have a hospital. With lotsa comfy beds.”
I smiled and sat up. Deba had started to stamp her feet on the bed, as if to prove the merits of the mattress to her mother and thereby justify her choice of career. I scooped her up and whisked her away from the IV.
“Alba, we need to talk,” said Estíbaliz.
“I know, Estí. But not now. Just enjoy the pampering for a few days.”
“I messed up, didn’t I?”
Alba approached the bed. I knew memories of her mother in that same hospital were painfully fresh, but she put on a brave face. She smiled.
“On a professional level, there will be consequences, yes. Your superintendent wants you off the case.”
“How is Alvar? When I saw him on the ground, I ran downstairs. There was hardly any light coming from the upstairs windows.”
“And…?”
“The attacker was waiting in the shadows in a corner of the stairs. He tripped me, and I fell to the floor. I tried to fight him off, but he grabbed my neck and legs. Then he threw me off the balcony.”
Physically strong. I made a mental note.
“Are you sure you saw Alvar lying in the courtyard?” Alba probed.
“Yes, he had on a white nightshirt, and it stood out in the dark. Why? Do you think I’m covering for him?” she asked, defensive.
“I don’t think anything, Estí. I haven’t even seen a report.”
Furious, Estíbaliz tried to hoist herself up, but her elbow gave way and she fell back on the bed.
“What’s wrong, Auntie?” Deba screeched.
“We don’t need to discuss work now,” Alba said, backing off. “We came here to let you know that whatever happened, we’re behind you. We’ve all struggled to separate our personal and professional lives. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry. You need to rest, get better, and come to terms with what happened. Unai and I are going to leave now, because a lot of people who love you are waiting outside. We love you, too, very much.”
She sat beside Estíbaliz and gave her a big hug. They didn’t need me, so I took my fidgety daughter and left them.
Peña, Germán, Grandfather, and Milán gathered around me as soon as I came out of the room.
“How is she?” they asked as one.
“Like they said, she’s made of rubber.”
32
SANTIAGO HOSPITAL
UNAI
October 2019
The days passed more quickly than I had expected. Ramiro Alvar had regained consciousness that morning, but we still were unable to get his statement. Daily visits to Estíbaliz before and after work took up all of our family’s time.
Alba had to juggle reacclimating at police headquarters and liaising with the staff at the hotel in Laguardia over the phone. I knew she didn’t want to lose the place and would fight tooth and nail to save her fortress, her octagonal tower overlooking a sea of vineyards.
But back in Vitoria, we had urgent business.
Alba walked into my office. The serious look on her face told me she had bad news. I stared out the window. The east wind was not only cold; it had turned the entire day tiresome and unpleasant. But I still couldn’t tell whether a storm was brewing. Grandfather was much better at reading the sky.
“Now that Estíbaliz is out of danger, we need to get her statement. Do you want to do it?” Alba asked.
“Yes, leave it to me. She’ll hate me for it, but one of us has to play the bad cop. It might as well be me.”
“Suit yourself. Let me know when you’re finished, and I’ll call her afterward,” she said, disappearing through the door.
Good idea, she’s going to need it, I thought.
Once I was alone in my office, I called Milán. “I need you to find out if Ramiro Alvar Nograro had the tower insured and, if so, for how much.”
* * *
—
I went into Estíbaliz’s room. In the past few days, she’d improved by leaps and bounds. She now found bed rest challenging and had taken to pacing back and forth with her IV pole. She made my head spin.
“You look serious today,” she said by way of greeting.
“We have to get back to the real world, Estíbaliz.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
I stepped out of her way, standing next to her empty lunch tray—poached chicken and rice pudding.
“We need to take your statement. We need to know what happened at Nograro Tower. We’re looking at a possible aggravated robbery. You know how this works.”
“Do you really think he stole the chronicle?” She shook her head, incredulous.
“We still don’t know whether the motive for the break-in was to steal it. We haven’t spoken to Ramiro Alvar yet. He only just regained consciousness this morning. But it’s possible that he staged the robbery to shift suspicion away from himself.”
“Are you saying he slept with me as part of some master plan?” she demanded angrily.
I was irritated, too. How could she be so blind? I raised my voice. “Is he really worth it? You’re telling me you don’t feel threatened by Alvar after what happened?”
“Threatened is the last word I’d use to describe how Alvar makes me feel. And I know what I’m talking about, Kraken. I grew up with a man who was prone to violent outbursts but was extremely good at convincing other people that he was a loving father and husband. I know the signs. Alvar isn’t violent. He’s not our killer.”
“I need to tell you something. I’ve discussed Ramiro Alvar’s case with Doctor Marina Leiva, the psychiatrist who taught me at Arkaute. She couldn’t account for his amnesia and at first thought he might be agoraphobic. But now we’re both convinced that he’s suffering from dissociative identity disorder. He admitted as much to me the day before the accident, but he said he’s never wanted to see a psychiatrist for treatment. He told me he had written a vers
ion of the chronicle as a kind of therapy. He hoped it would help him get rid of his alternate personality, or alter. And it seemed to work for a year or so, but for whatever reason, meeting you reactivated his alter. I was going to explain this all to you the night you visited him at the tower. The man you know as Alvar Nograro, the twenty-fourth Lord of Nograro Tower, is an alter ego. Doesn’t that scare you?”
“So far you haven’t proven your multiple personality theory to me. I know only the Alvar I met. You don’t even have a diagnosis. You don’t have anything.”
How can I explain this to her? How do I make her see?
I sat on the bed. I wished the gods had blessed me with patience when I was born, but they hadn’t. I was sick of this.
“Estíbaliz,” I said at last, “I think you suffer from hybristophilia.”
“You think I’m attracted to criminals? Is that what you’re saying?”
“It’s common in people who grow up surrounded by violence and crime. Your father was a violent alcoholic. Your brother was a drug dealer. You became a detective, and that choice puts you in contact with people like that on a daily basis. Being around people who live outside the law seems to be part of your pattern, your emotional trigger.”
“Says the guy who empathizes with serial killers!” she screamed.
A low blow. I took it in stride and tried to keep my cool.
“It’s my job to get to know them. I need to understand how they think,” I said in a measured tone, possibly to convince myself more than anything else. “We try to classify them, but no two psychopaths are alike. They’re all unique. And the only way I can persuade them to admit their guilt is by gaining their trust.”
“Okay, Kraken, so tell me this: What do you call someone who chooses to surround themselves with women who suffer from hybristophilia, like me and Alba?” she protested. “Is there a name for what you are? A fucking junkie addicted to sickos?”
I was barely aware of Alba’s presence. She had stormed into the room while Estí and I were arguing.
“Enough! Everybody in the hallway can hear you.”
“Weren’t you supposed to stop by later?” I asked reproachfully.
“This has to stop. You’re out of control, both of you! This happens every time.”
“Every time?” I wheeled around, as furious as Estíbaliz. “Is that a criticism? Our division has the highest clearance rate in the country. If you don’t believe me, go through the records. There hasn’t been a single unsolved case since Estíbaliz and I teamed up.”
“But at what price, Unai? You’re out of control. All three of us are out of control, and it’s affecting every aspect of our lives right now. And you know it.”
I took a deep breath. I could feel the dark clouds engulfing me.
“Yes, Deputy Superintendent. Nothing makes sense, but in the guarded room at the far end of the hallway, we have a suspect who suffers from dissociative identity disorder. He refuses to undergo psychiatric treatment, and we can’t legally force him to do it. I’m the only person he trusts enough to confide in. And I swear to you, he holds the key to solving this. So, unless you’re taking me off the case, I intend to do my job and interrogate your deputy’s new boyfriend.”
I rose to leave.
“Let me see him,” Estíbaliz said suddenly.
“Are you crazy? Have you developed Stockholm syndrome on top of everything else?” I asked her.
“You said he’s being guarded, and you and Alba will be with me. Even if he is the monster we’re looking for, what could he possibly do to me?”
“Nothing. He’s hooked up to a hundred tubes and his leg’s in traction,” I admitted.
“In that case, show me the guy you insist is so different from Alvar. I want to confront the asshole who slept with me and then left me like this. As for Stockholm syndrome, stop insulting my intelligence and stop making assumptions.”
Alba and I exchanged a quick glance.
My look said, We have nothing to lose.
But hers let me know, in no uncertain terms: This is the last time I give in to you.
“Unai, can you step outside for a minute? I’d like to talk to you,” she asked.
I followed her into the hallway.
“It would be incredibly helpful for me to see how Ramiro Alvar responds to seeing Estíbaliz. For the time being, we won’t ask him about the theft of the chronicle. We’ll wait and see if he brings it up,” I said quietly, once we were out of earshot.
“All right,” she said, after thinking for a moment. “We need some momentum in this investigation, and this seems like the best way forward. But remember, Estíbaliz’s safety is our first priority.”
“That goes without saying.”
Estí slipped on the quilted, daisy-patterned robe that Grandfather had bought for her, and we all walked down the hallway, Alba and I on either side of her.
Alba spoke to the two officers outside Ramiro Alvar’s room.
I reached for the door handle, but Estíbaliz pushed past me, impatient, with IV in tow, neck brace on, and one arm in a sling. I felt sure this wasn’t going to be the romantic reunion she imagined.
“Alvar…?” she murmured, perplexed.
Ramiro Alvar was in worse shape than Estí. He seemed smaller, shrunken since the fall. He peered out at us from behind his glasses—someone had retrieved them—as he read a book from the pile on his bedside table.
The glasses were a crucial detail. I’d asked my colleagues in forensics to search for them during their inspection. The glasses were eventually found in his desk drawer. The conclusion was obvious: Alvar slept with Estíbaliz, and Alvar fell down the stairs.
“You must be Inspector Ruiz de Gauna. I’m sorry to be meeting you under these circumstances. I can’t even greet you properly,” he whispered.
“You really don’t remember me?” she asked, drawing closer.
Alba took a step forward as well, to stand beside her.
Ramiro Alvar said nothing. It really did seem as though he were seeing Estí for the first time. A lock of curly hair fell over his brow. Estí was in a state of shock.
“I’m afraid not,” he murmured apologetically.
“Even your voice is different,” said Estíbaliz.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your voice…It’s softer.”
“I don’t like drawing attention to myself,” he mumbled, looking down at his book.
“Aren’t you hot in this room? The windows are always open at the tower. Shall I open one here to let in some fresh air?”
“No!” he blurted. “Please don’t. I’m sensitive to cold, and it looks like it’s going to rain any minute now.”
It broke my heart to see Estíbaliz’s face. She moved closer to the bed and reached out her left hand. With her forefinger, she touched Ramiro Alvar’s arm where it lay on the sheet. She was very gentle. It was such an intimate gesture, I was almost ashamed to witness it.
He shrank back slightly, as if hers were the burning finger of God.
“Alvar, is this an act? Do you want them to leave? Would you rather speak to me alone?”
“No! No….Please don’t take this personally, Inspector. I like your company, but…Inspector López de Ayala, well, he understands. He’s the only person I’ve ever told about my illness. You may not want to believe that I suffer from dissociative identity disorder, but it’s true. Alvar is my alter, an alternate personality I’ve been trying hard to suppress.”
“Don’t you start with that, too!” yelled Estíbaliz.
The timid Ramiro Alvar held her gaze. Estíbaliz searched in vain for a glimmer of recognition.
“Inspector, I think you activate him,” he said after a pause.
“Then why isn’t he here now, huh? Why am I looking at this…this fucking boring nerd? Where’s the most fasci
nating man I’ve ever met?” she shouted.
“Estí, stop yelling. It only makes things harder,” Alba cautioned.
“Hell, is this some kind of stunt? One of your mind games, Kraken?”
I opened the door and directed Estí out. The two of us stormed down the hallway to her room while the nurses pretended not to watch.
“No, Estíbaliz, this is not a mind game. It’s the truth. You fell for a guy who exists only intermittently, and you need to face that. I’m going to do whatever I can to ensure that Ramiro Alvar heals and gets rid of his damn alter. So Alvar’s days are numbered. He didn’t resurface when I took you to see Ramiro just now, so I think it’s possible that this recent trauma has changed the balance of power in that man’s mind. No matter who he is, Estí, he’s suffering from a mental illness. And, as you well know, we have a piece of evidence from every crime scene that links each murder to the tower.”
Estí turned her back to me. She went over to the window and looked out at the storm. It was brilliant: lightning, thunder, the whole damn spectacle. It was coming down hard, raindrops streaking diagonally on the glass.
“How timely, right?” she said without looking at me. “A clue with each crime.”
“What?”
“Do you think my involvement with Alvar clouded my judgment? Do you think I haven’t considered all your lines of research? That I haven’t reread the damn novel so many times, I practically know it by heart?”
“Well, then prove you haven’t lost your way. Because you haven’t contributed anything to the investigation yet.”
Estí winced. The neck brace was bothering her, I thought. Or maybe it was something else.
“Could you just leave me alone for a while?” she pleaded. “Just a few hours or a few days. I need to sit with all this…with what I just witnessed.”
“We don’t deal with easy people in easy situations,” I said. “You and I get caught up with complicated people in complex situations.” I turned to go, intent on leaving and not bothering her anymore.
“But it hasn’t always been that way,” she replied. “Paula, Iker…They were normal people who led normal lives—and we loved them.”
The Lords of Time Page 26