At this point his mother interrupted.
‘You can’t imagine the torment my son has been through, losing his sons and his wife within such a short space of time. We persuaded him to have her sectioned after her second suicide attempt.’
Amaia had been listening dejectedly to the ex-husband’s tale of woe, hardly daring to look at Markina, though she could feel his eyes on her. She couldn’t help seeing the similarities between this and Markina’s own story.
‘Inspector,’ he said, addressing her. ‘Lisa Tremond is also head paediatrician at the hospital where the children died. If you have any questions, now is the time.’
She hadn’t expected this. Markina was inviting her to interrogate the babies’ doctor, the person who had signed their death certificates, having elected not to perform the obligatory autopsy. She’d had no idea that this person was also the babies’ paternal grandmother. If Markina thought that would put her off, he was mistaken.
‘Why was no autopsy carried out on the bodies, as I believe is the usual practice in cases of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome?’
Amaia noticed the woman exchange a quick glance with her son.
‘As head of paediatrics, I treated the children from birth. I was with them when they died in hospital, and the cause of death wasn’t SIDS but pulmonary insufficiency, which they presented with from birth. However, that wasn’t the reason why there was no autopsy; it was to protect whatever remained of Yolanda’s sanity. “Don’t let them cut open my babies,” she begged me. “Don’t add to their suffering.” I’m aware that I was breaking the rules by not performing an autopsy, but you must understand that I was also their grandmother. I take full responsibility for my actions, whilst insisting I made the right decision.’
‘Yolanda claims that the boys died of SIDS.’
‘The woman is confused,’ Marcel Tremond’s father cut in angrily. ‘She gets things mixed up because of the medication she’s on. She can’t be sure if something happened today or yesterday – that’s what we’re trying to explain.’ His wife placed a hand on his shoulder in a restraining gesture.
Amaia sighed, which earned her a disapproving look from Markina. Sensing that he was about to end the interview, she hurriedly posed another question:
‘What is the nature of your relationship with the legal firm Lejarreta & Andía?’ she asked, addressing Marcel Tremond once more.
‘They specialise in commercial law and are based in Pamplona. They advise me on my various businesses, and we’re also good friends.’
Amaia was taken by surprise; it was one thing for him to admit to knowing them and using their services, but she hadn’t expected him to own up to being their friend. She carefully considered how to phrase the next question.
‘Am I to assume that they introduced you to the Martínez-Bayóns?’
‘Yes, that’s correct,’ he replied, his manner cagey now.
She had hoped he would deny it so that she could confront him with the evidence of his car parked outside their property.
‘So, there’s nothing unusual about you visiting their house in Baztán,’ she went on. He nodded, undermining her strategy. ‘I understand that the couple hold meetings, which were attended by Dr Berasategui, an eminent psychiatrist, now deceased, who has been accused of serious crimes. A witness has placed you at the house on several occasions when Dr Berasategui was there. Given the accusations against him, you’ll understand our interest in knowing the nature of those meetings.’
‘First let me say that we were shocked to discover the charges against Dr Berasategui. But, as you yourself said, he was a distinguished psychiatrist who led various support groups. And that was how we came to know him: he led our parents’ bereavement support group.’
Amaia fidgeted in her seat; she hadn’t seen this coming either.
‘Perhaps you’re unaware that my lawyers also lost a baby girl, as did the Martínez-Bayóns, and all the others who attend those meetings. The truth is, it never occurred to me to join such a group until after Yolanda was admitted to hospital. I realised that, while devoting myself body and soul to looking after her, I had failed to deal with my own grief. This group allowed me to work through the different stages, to look with renewed hope towards the future. I don’t know what would have become of me without Dr Berasategui’s help. Notwithstanding his double life, I can assure you that, where the group was concerned, his behaviour was exemplary and his support invaluable.’
Markina rose to his feet, extending his hand to signal that the meeting was at an end. He saw them out, and, finally, closing the door behind him, turned to look at Amaia.
‘Your honour …’ she hesitated, unsure what to say. She was determined to stick to her guns, to try to convince him that her suspicions weren’t groundless. But she knew she’d made a mistake, and she should admit it.
‘Be quiet, Inspector, and listen for once.’ He paused for what seemed like an eternity, and she realised that even behind closed doors he was addressing her formally again. ‘Since I took up this post, I’ve respected the way you work, your unorthodox approach. I’ve put up with your methods for the same reason as the commissioner, the prison governor, the pathologist and his assistants: results. You solve cases – strange, bizarre cases –using methods that show scant regard for rules and regulations, and although that jars with us, we respect you because you’re exceptional. However, this time you’ve overstepped the mark, Inspector Salazar,’ She lowered her gaze, deflated. ‘I backed you up, yet you went over my head, you made me look ridiculous in front of one of my French colleagues. I’d recently authorised a warrant for you to search Dr Hidalgo’s files, and the next thing I know, you are in France opening up a grave.’
‘Your honour, it’s under a different jurisdiction, it’s a different country …’
‘I’m perfectly aware of that, but why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You made your attitude towards exhumations very clear. I knew you wouldn’t give me permission.’
‘And in view of what happened, would I have been right?’ Amaia bit her lip, reluctant to admit it. ‘Would I?’ he insisted. She nodded. ‘Have you any idea how much suffering your irresponsible actions have caused this family, forcing them to relive the horror of losing those children? Not to mention that poor wretched woman. For God’s sake, she’s lost several fingers and the sight in one eye. I warned you about how grief and pain can affect bereaved mothers, I explained in detail,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘from my own experience,’ he added, sitting down on the chair facing her so that she was forced to look him in the eye. ‘I spoke to you about my family, Amaia,’ he said, addressing her informally once more, simply, she was sure, to make his reprimand more stinging. ‘I spoke to you about my life, but instead of listening, instead of accepting that my experience gave me a deeper understanding of the matter, you thought it undermined my ability to take decisions, you thought it weakened me—’
‘My decision to go to Judge De Gouvenain without telling you was a mistake, but I didn’t do it because I thought that your experiences in any way weakened you. I hoped to open up a different line of inquiry, to bring you the substantial evidence you asked me for. I admit that I was hasty, and I made a mistake. But those two children dying at the same time, and no autopsy being performed on them; the father linked to Berasategui, to that house, those same lawyers, and his wife telling a story identical to others I know about—’
‘Amaia, the woman is crazy,’ he snapped. ‘I tried to tell you what happens, I tried to explain that they see what they want to see, they will do anything to square the circle.’
She studied him in silence for a few seconds.
‘So, am I Amaia again?’ she asked in a conciliatory tone.
‘I don’t know, I don’t know. I keep asking myself, why didn’t you come to me, damn it, I give you what you need, I give you everything you ask for … Incidentally, how did the search at Fina Hidalgo’s go?’
‘Badly, very badly. By the time we go
t there, she’d made a bonfire out of the files. I suspect someone tipped her off. All that remained were ashes. She said she was having a clean out, starting with the files – just the files.’
‘Do you suspect someone at the police station?’
She hesitated, then said, ‘Yes.’
‘In that case, Inspector, think again. If you’re as convinced as you were about that other matter, you’re liable to accuse someone unfairly,’ he said, rising from his seat to open the door.
Jonan was sitting waiting for her in a chair opposite Inma Herranz’s desk. It was clear from their faces that they had overheard some of her conversation with Markina, and, of course, his parting shot.
Etxaide stood up to open the outer door for her, murmured a goodbye to Inma Herranz, who hadn’t stopped smirking and staring at Amaia since she left Markina’s office. He saw his boss look daggers at the other woman, who responded with a sneer. On any other occasion, Amaia would have confronted her. This time, she simply ignored her as she left the office.
Jonan drove in silence. Every now and then, he cast a sidelong glance at Inspector Salazar, as though waiting for the opportunity to give vent to something pent up inside him. But Amaia didn’t seem willing, hiding behind dark glasses, leaning back in her seat, pensive, with an expression on her face he didn’t like. Jonan had seen his boss in many different situations, more or less afraid, more or less confused, and yet there always seemed to be a hidden purpose, an invisible light guiding her along the rocky paths of an investigation. But now she looked lost. Or what was worse, defeated.
‘Inspector Iriarte told me that your authorisation to attend the seminars at Quantico has arrived.’
‘Yes,’ she replied wearily.
‘Will you go?’
‘They start in a fortnight, I may stay on a bit longer to visit James’s parents.’
Jonan shook his head; if she noticed, she said nothing.
‘Shall I drop you off at the station or at home?’ he asked, as they arrived in Elizondo.
‘Drop me at the church. If I hurry, I’ll make it in time,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘Today is Rosario’s funeral service.’
He parked in the square, outside the cake shop, next to the zebra crossing, where they could see the entrance to the Church of Santiago.
As Amaia made to get out, Jonan asked: ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously, what?’
‘Are you seriously giving in to this too?’
‘What are you talking about, Jonan?’
‘About why you’re going to the funeral of someone you know is still alive.’
Amaia gave a loud sigh as she turned towards him.
‘What do I know? I know nothing, Jonan. I’m probably as wrong about that as I am about everything else.’
‘Oh, please! I don’t recognise you; it’s one thing to make a mistake, to put your foot in it, but it’s not like you to quit, and it seems that’s what you’re doing. Are you calling off the investigation?’
‘What do you want me to do? The evidence is overwhelming, Jonan. And I didn’t just put my foot in it, I made a huge mistake, which could have cost someone their life, and has left them mutilated forever.’
‘Yolanda Berrueta is crazy. She was bound to end up doing something like that sooner or later. Judge Markina can’t blame you – you’ve made all the right moves in this investigation. No autopsy was performed on Yolanda’s children, her husband had dealings with Lejarreta & Andía, as well as with Berasategui and therefore Esparza; your actions were justified. De Gouvenain thought so, otherwise she wouldn’t have authorised the exhumation, even though now she wants to wash her hands of it. If Markina had backed you up, you wouldn’t have needed to go to her in the first place.’
‘No, Jonan, Markina is right. I went too far.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re making a mistake.’
She was so stunned, for a few seconds all she could do was stare at him in astonishment.
‘What did you say?’
He swallowed hard, rubbing his chin nervously with his hand. Saying this was difficult for him, but he gathered himself and looked her straight in the eye.
‘I said, you aren’t being objective. Your personal involvement is clouding your judgement.’
Hearing this remark coming, she felt a mixture of astonishment and annoyance, which was instantly replaced by curiosity. She studied him, wondering how much he knew, how much he sensed, aware that in a way he was right.
‘Forgive me, boss, but I learned from you that instinct is indispensable for a detective; knowing when to listen to that other language, that other way of processing information. An investigation is all about making mistakes, following a trail, shoring up your discoveries, making more mistakes, opening up a line of inquiry … And yet here you are, contradicting everything you taught me, everything you believe in.’
She shook her head wearily.
‘I can’t think straight, today,’ she said, her gaze drifting towards Calle Santiago. ‘I’m afraid of making another mistake.’
‘And it’s better to go with the flow,’ he said sarcastically.
She reached for the door handle.
‘I don’t believe your mother is dead. She left the coat as a decoy, and both the Guardia Civil and Markina leapt to conclusions.’
She turned and looked at him in silence.
‘As for the screw-up at Fina Hidalgo’s house, I think you’re right: someone tipped her off,’ he added.
‘There’s no way of knowing who, Jonan. Suspicions aren’t enough to—’
‘It wasn’t necessarily one of ours.’
‘What are you insinuating?’
‘Markina’s secretary hates your guts.’
She shook her head. ‘Why would she do something like that?’
‘As for Judge Markina—’
‘Be careful, Jonan,’ she warned him.
‘Your personal involvement with him is clouding your judgement.’
Her eyes widened at his audacity, but this time anger got the better of her.
‘How dare you!’
‘I dare because I care about you.’
She wanted to give a harsh, cutting reply, but she realised that nothing she could say would be as irrefutable as what he had just said. Reining in her anger, she told him:
‘I have never allowed my personal life to affect the decisions I make during an investigation, regardless of the implications.’
‘Then don’t start now.’
She glanced at the church, hesitating, then came to a decision.
‘I have to do this, Jonan,’ she replied as she stepped out of the car. Even as she said it, she was aware of how absurd it sounded. She shut the door, pulled up the hood of her Puffa jacket and crossed the street. Conscious of Etxaide’s eyes on her, she marched across the cobblestones and walked up the steps to the church doors.
As Jonan sat in the car with the window down, watching her through the sleet that had started to fall, she pushed open the door. Although heavy, it yielded softly and silently on its hinges. Immediately she was assailed by the raucous strains of the organ and the smell of musty old bookshops emerging from that place, which for her was a place of funerals.
She stepped back, letting the door close on itself, as she rested her head on the wood rubbed smooth by a thousand hands.
‘Damn it,’ she murmured.
She retraced her steps, passing Jonan’s car. He was looking at her, grinning broadly, with the window still down.
‘Get out of here!’ she hissed, as she walked past. His smile broadened even more, and as he started the engine, he raised his hand in a gesture of peace.
She hurried across the square and down Calle Jaime Urrutia, the sleet lashing her face, already smarting from the cold. Only when she reached the bridge did she slacken her pace, slowing almost to a halt to look at the weir through the icy raindrops, which solidified the air, making it difficult to see. Beneath the arched entrance to the house, she shook the
moisture off her coat before entering. Engrasi was standing at the foot of the stairs; she had on the grey dress she only wore to funerals, and a pearl necklace that gave her the air of an English lady.
‘Auntie! What are you doing here? I thought … Aren’t you …?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I got up this morning, put on this dress, and these pearls, which make me look like the Queen Mother, and I must admit that I felt quite convinced. But as the time drew near, I began to have my doubts. I said to myself: What are you doing, Engrasi? You can’t attend someone’s funeral if you believe they are still alive!’
‘Oh, Auntie!’ said Amaia. She was so relieved she flung herself into Engrasi’s arms. ‘Thank God!’
Engrasi clasped her niece to her chest for a few seconds, then held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes.
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