‘Tired, my eye! I don’t mean I’m losing my faculties. I’m not that old! Only that I find it increasingly difficult to read your cards because of my personal involvement. There are things I can’t see, because I don’t want to see them.’
‘Tell me what you see,’ said Amaia.
‘What I can see, I would prefer not to see either,’ replied Engrasi, pointing a bony finger at one of the cards. ‘You and James have a serious problem; you and Flora also have a problem. Then there’s the problem between Flora and Ros, which involves you. And as if that weren’t enough, you still have an evil threat hanging over you.’
Amaia never ceased to be amazed at her aunt’s ability to put her finger on things, although she suspected this had more to do with her aunt’s love for her, how well she knew her, than her fortune-telling skills.
‘You should be careful of Dupree—’
‘Why, Auntie? Tell me why. Dupree is possibly one of the finest people I know.’
‘I’m not denying that. In fact, I’m sure he is, but he makes you open doors that should be kept closed.’
Amaia moved the cards around on the table, shuffling them together, a look of dejection on her face.
‘You know that what you’re asking goes against my nature. I don’t believe in closed doors, in walls, in burying things. Buried secrets are like zombies, the living dead that come back to haunt you for the rest of your life. Have you never stopped to wonder why I’m a police officer, Auntie? Do you think people choose this job like any other? I have to open doors. I will knock down walls, I will dig deep until I unearth the truth, and if Dupree can help me to do that, then I welcome his help, as I do yours.’
Engrasi stretched her arms across the table once more, seizing Amaia’s hands, then went about shuffling the cards.
‘You assume that behind those closed doors lie truth and light. What if they open on to chaos and darkness?’
‘I’ll gather the chaos into a big heap, and set fire to it to illuminate the darkness,’ she said with a chuckle.
Engrasi’s face grew serious, belying the tenderness in her voice.
‘This is no joking matter, and if you don’t believe me you can ask Dupree when he calls, which should be any minute now.’
Amaia followed her aunt upstairs. As she was kissing her goodnight, she felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket.
‘That’ll be him,’ declared her aunt. ‘Go downstairs, or you’ll wake everyone up. And don’t forget to ask him about what I said.’
Amaia ran downstairs, hurriedly closing the sitting room and kitchen doors before answering the call.
‘Good evening, Aloisius,’ she replied, feeling her heart race as she waited to hear him speak. At last Agent Dupree’s voice reached her, a hoarse, distant whisper, as if he were inside an echo chamber.
‘Is it nighttime already in Baztán, Inspector Salazar? How are you?’
‘Dupree,’ she sighed, ‘I’m worried. I’ve forgotten something important. I had it for a second, and then it was gone.’
‘If you had it, you can be sure it’s still there. Stop thinking about it, and it will come back.’
‘I’ve obtained a warrant to search the files in the house of the midwife who assisted Rosario at my birth, and who probably also delivered all the baby girls who died in their sleep. Possibly, I’ll know more tomorrow.’
‘Possibly …’
‘Aloisius?’
He didn’t reply.
‘I’ve spoken to Agent Johnson a few times. I think he genuinely admires you and is worried about you. He asked if we were still in touch … He says it’s a while since you contacted your superiors.’
Silence.
‘I didn’t tell him anything; I was waiting to talk to you. He thinks you are in danger … Are you? Are you in danger?’
Dupree didn’t reply.
‘I imagine you have your reasons.’
‘Come on, Inspector, you know as well as I that the system is riddled with bureaucracy. If we followed the rules, we’d never get anywhere. I’m working on an extremely complex case, one of those cases … Do you tell your superiors everything you do? Do you tell them how you get your great results? Do you think they’d approve of your methods? Could you even begin to explain to them what they are?’
‘I want to help you,’ she replied. Again, silence. ‘My aunt says that if you’re my friend, you’ll never ask for my help, but I know that you’re my friend, and you don’t even have to ask.’
‘Not yet, I’m the one who still has to help you.’
‘Is that what my aunt meant?’
‘Your aunt is a very clever woman.’
‘She says I should stay away from you.’
‘Your aunt’s advice is sound.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘At least it comes from the heart, and she’s right to advise you to be careful. You’re surrounded by people who aren’t what they seem.’
The call was cut off. Thirty seconds later, Amaia was still staring at her phone, wondering what it all meant.
23
She had set her alarm clock for six in the morning, and by seven a.m. she was in the car park at the police station waiting to leave for Irurita. She took out her phone and reread the message which had been sent with the search warrant attached, feeling in her pocket for the printed version she would show to Fina Hidalgo. She waited until her team were all in their cars, then climbed into hers, so that she was driving behind the small convoy. The sky appeared white on that cold morning, a light breeze buoyed the high clouds, preventing the sun from breaking through, but also keeping the rain away. There was no sign of activity at Dr Hidalgo’s beautiful stone house. Amaia felt almost smug about her evil plan to drag Fina Hidalgo out of bed, give her the surprise of her life. However, no sooner had they rung the bell than the woman opened the door as if she’d been waiting for them to arrive. She was dressed in a pair of beige slacks and a brown roll-neck sweater, her hair in a loose bun fastened with Japanese hair sticks. She smiled when she saw them. Deputy Inspector Zabalza presented her with the warrant and explained how the search would be carried out. She stood aside to let them pass, pointing towards the back of the house where the office was located.
Amaia knew something was wrong as soon as Fina Hidalgo opened the door; she didn’t look the faintest bit surprised. She’d been expecting them. Knowing this, and yet being unable to prove it, infuriated her. She pushed past the officers walking ahead of her along the corridor and entered the masculine study, which Dr Hidalgo’s sister had preserved exactly as it was when her brother was alive. The cardboard boxes stood on the desk, each bearing a date written in marker pen. It was obvious they were empty; the lids had been hastily thrown on the floor. Fina Hidalgo walked in behind Amaia, pretending to read through the search warrant.
‘What bad luck! Those files have been gathering dust for years. I imagine my brother had a sentimental attachment to them … And, well, I suppose I hung on to them as a sort of souvenir. Actually, I’d forgotten they existed until someone reminded me of them recently,’ she said, giving Amaia a significant look. ‘I’ve never been one for housework, but I decided to give the study a thorough spring-clean yesterday, starting with those boxes.’
Amaia pounced on her. ‘Where are they, what have you done with them?’
‘Why, the only thing one can do with a pile of old papers: I burned them,’ she replied, gesturing towards the window.
They rushed over as one to see the smoking remains of a bonfire in the back garden.
Amaia stood motionless at the window. She was so incensed she couldn’t move, and Fina Hidalgo hovering behind her didn’t help. Etxaide and Zabalza hurried outside to where the remains of the fire lay smouldering. She watched them stamp on the embers, presumably to extinguish the last flames. Looking up at the heavy curtains, she casually tore one of them from its rail, then opened the window.
‘Come here, boss, I think we might be able to salvage a few fragments,’ said Et
xaide. ‘Maybe forensics can do something with them.’
Burnt paper required special handling. It had to be collected layer by layer, each piece protected in a separate plastic pouch. The process could take several hours.
Amaia entered the house once more and found Fina Hidalgo sitting at the table in her splendid kitchen, where she’d laid out hot coffee, buttered toast, various jams and a bowl of walnuts.
‘Would you like some coffee?’
Amaia didn’t answer, although judging from the expressions on her colleagues’ faces, they would have gladly accepted. She restrained them with a gesture.
The old nurse smiled genially.
‘Did you know that breakfast is the most important meal? A complete breakfast sets you up for the day: bread, coffee and a few walnuts,’ she said, offering a handful to Amaia. ‘They are from my own garden. Don’t be afraid – take them, won’t you?’
Amaia’s colleagues watched the scene, aware that they were witnessing a battle of wits between the two women.
Amaia ignored her and turned towards the door.
‘Let’s go,’ she said, addressing her team. ‘No one must eat anything this woman offers them.’
Out in the street, Iriarte and Montes caught up with her.
‘Can someone explain what the hell happened in there?’
Amaia didn’t answer. She climbed into her car and drove half a mile, at the head of the convoy this time, until she came to a clearing used for cattle auctions. She parked and got out, motioning to the others to do the same, and when all the men were gathered in a group, she went over to them.
‘She was expecting us. She knew we were coming. I obtained the warrant late last night, but the actual authorisation only arrived first thing this morning. I want a list of everyone who knew about the search; I want you to check all outgoing calls from the police station, and I want the mobile numbers of anyone unconnected with the case, so that we can rule them out.’
‘Are you implying that one of us warned her about the search? Do you realise the seriousness of what you’re saying?’ said Iriarte.
‘Yes, I do, but I sent each of you a text telling you the search was on for this morning, and that bitch even had time to make us breakfast. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t believe this was premeditated, but I do think there’s been a leak.’
‘But, boss, that information wasn’t classified. I talked about it myself at the police station this morning, when some of the officers on night shift asked why they were there so early,’ admitted Deputy Inspector Etxaide.
‘Who did you tell?’ she demanded, glaring at him.
‘I don’t remember, it was in the canteen …’
‘Don’t be annoyed, boss, but I talked about it too,’ confessed Fermín. ‘We’ve never had to keep hush-hush about work-related matters in the past … For fuck’s sake, we were sequestering a GP’s files, not raiding a cocaine plantation.’
She looked away.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t change the fact that the information was leaked. Unless one of you mentioned it to someone on the outside.’
They shook their heads as one.
‘Go back to the police station. I have a visit to make. But when I return, I want the name of the person responsible.’
24
The woman at Lau Haizeta greeted Amaia with the same hospitality as before. Amaia stayed outside, stroking the dogs. At the end of winter, with spring just round the corner, their coats had formed into long, thick tufts, like the fleeces of the sheep they watched over.
‘If you pet them too much, they’ll follow you everywhere,’ the woman warned, sticking her head round the door to tell her that the coffee was ready. But Amaia lingered for a while, laughing as the dogs jumped up, vying for her attention, their antics finally dispersing, like a welcome breeze, the anger and irritation she had brought with her. Fina Hidalgo’s smug expression as she sat in her kitchen, like a proud queen holding court, seemed like a clear admission of guilt. The way she had offered Amaia the walnuts, looking her straight in the eye as she held them out, knowing that she knew, was also a silent confession. Much as she sympathised with Iriarte’s indignation, with Jonan’s reasoning and Montes’s justifications, it was obvious to her that the information must have been leaked from the police station. In her estimation, Zabalza was still the unknown quantity; something about the guy wasn’t right. Perhaps what jarred were his efforts to appear ‘normal’, to fit in, while remaining true to himself. She knew he disliked her, but he didn’t have to like her to be a good cop, and there were times when she thought he might have the makings of one; and yet she didn’t trust him. For all that, there was no evidence of any connection between Zabalza and Fina Hidalgo, and she didn’t think he disliked her enough to jeopardise an investigation simply to make her look bad.
Amaia sipped her coffee while the woman regaled her with stories about her dogs, what good companions and guard dogs they made. After an hour had passed, she glanced at her watch again. She realised she was killing time, because she didn’t know what to do next, because her options had run out. She fished out her phone, and showed the woman the photographs of Fina Hidalgo and her car, taken outside the midwife’s house. The woman recognised her instantly.
‘That’s Fina Hidalgo, the doctor’s sister. I’ve known her for years.’
‘Have you ever seen her visit Argi Beltz?’
‘Many times, she’s one of their most frequent visitors, even now.’
Before she put her phone away, Amaia searched for the photograph of her sister Flora to show to the woman.
‘I recognise her too, I’ve seen her on television. Doesn’t she do that baking programme? I heard she’s originally from here in the valley.’
‘Have you ever seen her go to the house? Take a look at the car.’
‘Very fancy, but no, I haven’t seen it.’
Amaia said goodbye to the owner of Lau Haizeta with a mixture of optimism and disappointment. What good was the woman’s testimony confirming that all those people had visited Argi Beltz, if she couldn’t establish any other link between them that wasn’t purely social? She drove to the top of the hill, stopping the car in the place with the best view of the house; afterwards, on a whim, she drove down the hill again, parked outside the property and sat staring at the fence that concealed the main entrance and garage doors. Then, she glimpsed a movement in her rear-view mirror. Startled, she turned and saw a woman, who had climbed the grassy knoll opposite the property and was taking photographs over the fence with what looked to Amaia like a zoom lens. She climbed out of the car and made her way up the slope, the long slippery grass hindering her ascent. The woman was about forty, well built, wearing designer sports clothes, that were clearly too small for her, and which her exertions had caused to ride up, revealing thick folds of flab about her midriff. She was so absorbed by what she was doing that she remained oblivious to Amaia’s presence until she was only a couple of metres away. Seeing her, she screamed:
‘This is a public place! I can take photos if I want.’
‘Calm down,’ Amaia tried to reassure the woman.
‘Stay away from me,’ she cried, slipping backwards, and landing on the grass. Still screaming, the woman scrambled to her feet. ‘Leave me alone, I have every right to be here.’
Amaia pulled out her badge.
‘Calm down, it’s all right, I’m a police officer.’
The woman looked at her suspiciously. ‘Why aren’t you in uniform?’
Amaia smiled, showing her the badge. ‘Detective Inspector Amaia Salazar.’
The woman looked her up and down.
‘You’re very young. I don’t know, when I think of an inspector, I imagine someone much older.’
Amaia shrugged apologetically. ‘I’d like to have a word with you, if that’s all right?’
The woman mopped her sweaty brow with her hand, brushing aside her fringe, which remained plastered to her temple. She nodded.
‘I think we’d better go down, don’t you?’ suggested Amaia.
The woman began a slow, lumbering descent, slipping several times on the long grass, though without falling over this time. Amaia offered the woman her hand, which she accepted, and together they went down to the car.
‘Did they call you?’ the woman asked when they reached the road.
‘You mean the owners of the house?’ said Amaia, pointing towards the property. ‘No, I happened to be driving by, when I saw you taking photographs.’
The woman took off her top and used the sleeves to tie it around her bulky hips. The underarms of her T-shirt were drenched with sweat.
‘This wouldn’t be the first time they’ve “asked” me to leave. But I’m not breaking the law.’
‘I’m not suggesting you are, I’d simply like to know why you’re so interested in that house. Are you planning to buy it?’ Amaia said, drawing the woman out.
‘Buy it? I’d rather live on a rubbish dump. I’m not interested in the house, only in what those murderers are doing in there.’
Amaia felt her body tense, then, collecting herself, she asked:
‘What makes you think they are murderers?’
‘I don’t think – I know. They killed my children, and now they refuse to give me their bodies, so I have nowhere to go to mourn them.’
The indictment couldn’t have been clearer. Not only was the woman accusing the couple of having murdered her children, but of having stolen their bodies. Amaia was about to suggest they go somewhere else to continue the conversation when she realised there was something missing.
‘Where’s your car? How did you get here?’
‘I walked … Well, my father drops me off at a nearby shepherd’s hut, then picks me up at lunchtime. Since I’ve been ill, the doctors say it’s good for me to walk every day,’ she added. ‘I’m not allowed to drive because of the medication I’m on.’
‘May I invite you for a coffee? I’d like to talk to you, but not here,’ she said.
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