They had made love as soon as she arrived at his house. He had just returned from the courthouse, and was still dressed in one of the dark, elegant suits he wore to hearings. Amaia kissed him, taking her time to enjoy his mouth as she began to undress him. She had discovered the sheer delight of stripping him slowly, letting his clothes fall in a heap on the floor. She had carefully unbuttoned his shirt, running her lips over his skin, tracing a map of desire, which her hands would follow. Then she had led him over to the sofa, where she sat astride him, abandoning herself to pleasure.
Exhausted and satisfied, she stretched out, turning to watch him as he strolled naked about the house, picking up his discarded garments, pulling on some clothes, donning an apron to start making dinner.
‘I love watching you cook,’ she said, when he brought her over a glass of wine.
‘And I love seeing you sprawled on my sofa,’ he replied, running his fingers down her neck and back.
She smiled as she acknowledged that Jonan was right. Markina muddied her thinking, clouded her judgement. And she didn’t care. Ever since she entered his house, ever since she went back there that morning, she had avoided having that thought: she was done with thinking, done with fighting. Never in a million years would she have imagined that something like this could happen to her, but it had; he had forced her to decide, to make a choice. She’d made it and she had no regrets.
‘I’d better stick to water, I have work to do.’
He frowned.
‘I haven’t seen you all day, I thought you’d spend the night with me.’
‘I can’t …’
‘What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?’
‘I’d forgotten that you met her in Aínsa … Dr Takchenko has been in a car accident, she was quite badly hurt.’
‘Oh, the Russian doctor! I’m so sorry, Amaia. I hope she recovers, she seemed like an amazing woman.’
‘She will, she suffered mainly fractures, no organ damage. But it’s the Esparza case that’s bothering me most. Although the disappearance of the girl’s body seems significant, it hasn’t given us any new leads. We’ve spoken to his relatives and friends, but no one knows anything, no one saw anything, and there are no witnesses.’
‘You shouldn’t let yourself to be so affected by something that isn’t going anywhere.’
‘It’s not just about the Esparza girl. My own sister’s body was taken from her tomb, so for me this is like reliving the same nightmare over and over,’ she said, avoiding any mention of the discoveries she had made based on the information Jonan had sent her.
He looked at her, smiling.
‘Do you know what I think? I think one of the father’s relatives or friends took the girl with the intention of burying her in the resting place he had chosen for her; the motive here is clearly an emotional one. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d moved her to his family tomb, or to another ancestral burial plot. Remember, the mother wanted her remains cremated, which some people still consider a sacrilege. Disputes among relatives over where the deceased’s remains should be buried, the order of service, who attends the funeral and who doesn’t, are more common than you might think. I recall one case that came to court because the family couldn’t agree on whether to bury a man in his parents’ family plot or the one his wife had bought them; in the end they held separate funeral services, bankrupting themselves as they competed over who could place the biggest death announcement in the newspaper.’
‘To the point of stealing a corpse from a coffin in the dead of night?’
He clicked his tongue in disgust.
‘You know how I feel about that: it leads nowhere, Amaia. It only causes more pain and suffering. I realise you have to investigate this, but I doubt you’ll ever recover the girl’s body, and I hope you aren’t thinking of asking my permission to open the Esparza family’s tombs. I thought the incident with Yolanda Berrueta had taught you a lesson.’
She was stung by his comment.
‘I told you it had. I’m not planning to do anything that might endanger lives. Speaking of which, a witness told me they saw Yolanda speaking with your secretary in a café near the courthouse.’
‘With a clerk of the court?’
‘No, with your personal assistant, Inma Herranz.’
‘I know nothing about that, but I can ask her, if you think it’s important.’
‘I do,’ she said, irritated, putting down her knife and fork.
He sighed in dismay at the untouched fillet of fish on her plate.
‘You’re never going to stop, are you, Amaia?’ She looked at him, puzzled. ‘What is the true reason for your obsession with this case? The case of some wretched fool who steals his daughter’s body because he wants to bury it somewhere else, or whatever you want to read into this? Can’t you see the harm you’re doing? You have to let this go. You have to stop it now. I love you, Amaia, I love having you in my house, I want you to be with me, but things won’t work out if you continue to obsess about the past, if you insist on chasing ghosts.’
She was so taken aback by this onslaught that she could barely gather her thoughts.
‘I can’t. I can’t do what you’re asking. I won’t be at peace while she’s still at large. Obsession, did you say? Rosario killed my baby sister, she tried to kill my son, she has been planning to kill me all my life. This is about survival. I won’t rest until she’s back behind bars. I cannot rest while my nemesis is still out there. If you have never ever experienced something like this, you can’t imagine what it’s like.’
He shook his head, extending his hand imploringly towards hers. She folded her arms defensively.
‘She’s dead, Amaia, the river took her; her coat was found snagged on a branch several miles downriver. How could a woman in her state survive that? And assuming she did, then where is she?’
Amaia rose to her feet, grabbing her coat and bag.
‘I don’t want to continue this conversation; it’s a repeat of one I’ve had with other people, and I don’t want to have it with you. If you really love me, you must accept me as I am; I’m a warrior, a seeker of truth. This is who I am, and, no, I’m not going to stop. I think I should leave now.’
He stepped between her and the door.
‘Please don’t go. I couldn’t bear it if you left now.’
Raising her hand, she pressed it to his lips and then kissed him.
‘I have work to do. I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.’
Markina pressed his forehead against the window, fogged with his breath. He could feel the cold night through the glass. He had watched her climb into her car and drive off, and now he felt like he was dying inside. He couldn’t help it, without her by his side, he felt a strange hollowness, as though one of his vital organs were missing. If only he could bring her some peace. He topped up his glass with wine, and sat down on the sofa where they had made love earlier, reaching out his hand to touch the space she had occupied. For hours he pondered the question.
45
The instant she inserted the key in the lock she knew something was wrong. She always double-locked the door, but with one turn of the key it opened. She stepped back, looked up and down the deserted street, took out her gun, then stepped forward again, listening for any sounds inside the house. Nothing. Gingerly, she pushed open the door, scanned the hallway, where everything appeared in order, and glanced up the dark stairwell. Then she entered, switching on lights as she went, ears pricked. She opened the door to James’s studio on the ground floor, then began to climb the stairs. She checked the kitchen, the spare room, the sitting room, the bathroom, the nursery kitted out by James’s mother, their bedroom and bathroom, inside the empty wardrobes; there was no one. She retraced her steps, switching out lights, unable to shrug off the impression that someone had been in the house while she wasn’t there. Still holding her gun, she carefully examined every surface, every object, still on the alert. She went back into the sitting room. Everything there appeared to be i
n order, but as she looked at the maps stuck to the bookcase, the feeling that someone had been in there was so overwhelming that she could have traced in the air the contaminated space they had occupied. She felt her gorge rise at the thought of an intruder in her house. Relieved she’d had the foresight to erase all the files on her computer, she noticed that the unused memory stick had vanished. Picking up her bag again, she went downstairs, and, as before turned the key twice in the lock as she left the house. Then she called Montes.
‘I need you to do me a favour.’
‘Of course.’
‘Drive to my aunt’s house and wait outside until I get there. I’ll explain later.’
As she turned into Calle Braulio Iriarte, she saw Inspector Montes flash his headlights at her. She parked and slipped into the passenger seat beside him.
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, but now you have to tell me what this is all about,’ he replied.
‘Yesterday, Jonan’s family asked me to go to his apartment. While I was waiting for the specialist cleaners, I found some fibres. I gave a sample of them to Dr Takchenko, who runs the parallel tests for us in Aínsa. On her way home, someone forced her off the road and then searched her car; thankfully, she’s all right. Then earlier tonight, when I stopped off at my house in Pamplona, I noticed someone had been in there. They took an unused memory stick. That’s why I asked you to keep an eye on my aunt’s place, in case whoever it was thought of looking here.’
‘Right,’ said Montes, pensive. ‘You say you found fibres at Jonan’s apartment.’
She nodded.
‘And, naturally, you gave a sample to our friend Inspector Clemos.’
‘I delivered it to the Beloso police station in person. But Clemos thinks he has the case sewn up: Eastern European mafias, drug trafficking. When I reminded him he hasn’t a shred of evidence, he assured me something would turn up sooner or later.’
‘Did they steal the sample from Dr Takchenko?’
‘No, she’s one smart lady: she had already sent it express delivery to herself.’
‘Someone wants those fibres badly, what I don’t understand is why they would break into your house looking for fibre samples and end up taking a memory stick.’
Amaia sighed. ‘Jonan sent me a message.’
‘When?’
‘Well, I’m not sure. It was sent the day of his funeral, but you know what these IT nerds are like: Zabalza says it was a programmed message.’
‘Yes, he told me. He also said he thinks Jonan sent you more stuff.’
‘He told you that?’ Amaia was surprised.
‘Why wouldn’t he, he tells me everything, we’re friends. As I keep telling you, he’s a good guy. Anyhow, it must have been a shock, getting a message from Etxaide, days after he died. Sonofabitch!’ he said, chuckling. ‘If it was me, I’d have had a heart attack!’
They laughed together.
‘The problem is, Iriarte isn’t going to like this one little bit,’ Montes commented.
‘I know, that’s why we’re not telling him.’
‘Fuck, no, of course not, boss. After all, if someone sends you a message from beyond the grave, you have the right not to keep silent about it. Like someone’s last will and testament. And don’t worry about Zabalza, he won’t say a word. As for the guy who gave us the name, so far we haven’t been able to find a Xavier, Xabier or Javier Tabese.’
‘Did you take into account his age?’
‘Yes, seventy-five or thereabouts. He could be dead, of course. We’ll keep searching tomorrow. There is some news, about cot deaths in Guipúzcoa; four cases of baby girls who died close to the River Bidasoa, in Hondarribia. We’re still looking into the parents, but I can tell you now that they’re all well off: entrepreneurs, bankers, doctors. The girls’ autopsies were performed at the Forensic Institute in San Sebastián, and in all four cases, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome was given as the official cause of death. You’ll need to tell us where to go from here; we have no jurisdiction in Guipúzcoa, so, unless you can convince Markina to forward a request to his opposite number in Irún, we’re stuck.’
‘It’s too soon for that. Gather all the information, and we’ll see. Oh, and remember to rule out any girls who were baptised.’
‘That’s not going to be easy. They don’t specify on the death certificates, which will mean having to call up every church, parish by parish,’ he said irritably.
Amaia got out of the car and said goodnight.
‘Ah, I forgot, they’re finally allowing Yolanda to have visitors. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning at Saint Collete Hospital.’
46
Yolanda Berrueta wasn’t in her room. Amaia checked the door to make sure she’d been told the right number. She was on her way back to the nurses’ station when she saw Yolanda taking baby steps along the corridor, aided by a nurse who was supporting her round the waist. She was shocked by her appearance. She had a few superficial grazes on her face, and a piece of gauze covered her left eye stretching back to her ear. Her hand appeared to have come off worst; her arm was heavily bandaged in a sling and grotesquely swollen. Where the hospital gown didn’t quite cover her elbow, Amaia could see Yolanda’s flesh poking out, the skin taut.
‘Sorry about the mix-up,’ said the nurse. ‘We took her downstairs to change her dressings.’
Yolanda didn’t want to get into bed, so the nurse helped her into a chair.
Amaia waited until they were alone, then said, ‘Yolanda, I want you to know that I deeply regret what happened.’
‘You weren’t to blame.’
‘I made a mistake, and because of that Judge De Gouvenain revoked the order; otherwise, you’d have been able to see that your sons were in the tomb, you would have had peace of mind, without coming to any harm.’
‘It was nobody’s fault, Inspector, I take full responsibility for what I did. And if things had happened as you say, then, yes, I would have seen that my sons were in there, but I’d never have known that my baby girl was missing. Everyone would have gone on thinking that I’m crazy, and they might never have listened to that poor woman in Elizondo, whose daughter has also been taken.’
She should have told Berrueta not to mention any of this to his daughter, although in his place she would doubtless have done the same. Apart from her physical injuries, Yolanda seemed vastly improved: all the muddle-headedness and lethargy had vanished, and she gave the impression of being grounded, lucid, in control.
‘I was confused, you see, because of the medication. I got the coffins mixed up, but I was right, they did steal my baby. Now I have to concentrate on getting out of here, so that I can try to find her.’
Amaia looked at her, alarmed. Once again she had misjudged the woman; all that apparent self-control was merely a steely determination to continue her quest.
‘What you need to do now is concentrate on getting better, and let the police do their job. I promise you that we won’t stop looking for your daughter.’ The woman responded with a cynical smile. ‘Yolanda, my main reason for coming here was to ask you about this.’ She retrieved from her bag the photograph of Yolanda and Inma Herranz, and showed it to her.
‘She’s a secretary to one of the magistrates at the courthouse. What is it you want to know?’
‘I know who she is. I’m interested in how you came to meet her, and what you spoke about.’
‘I told you I wrote to several magistrates, as well as to the ombudsman, and the President of Navarre. I wrote to everyone, begging them to let me open my boys’ tomb. That woman called me and we arranged to meet at a café. I told her the whole story. She seemed genuinely interested, and set up a meeting with the magistrate.’
Amaia opened her eyes wide with astonishment.
‘Which magistrate?’
‘Judge Markina. He was very kind, but said he couldn’t help me. He advised me to get in touch with you, he told me you were an excellent detective, and that if you thought I had a case, you’d look into
it.’
Amaia listened in shock.
‘He advised me to be discreet, he said to make it look like we’d met by chance, otherwise you wouldn’t take an interest in the case.’
Amaia stared at Yolanda as she remembered their first meeting outside Argi Beltz. Yolanda had seemed surprised that she was so young, and said she had imagined her differently. It was a while before she was able to speak.
‘Let me get this right: Judge Markina advised you to approach me as if we’d met by chance, otherwise I wouldn’t take an interest in the case.’
‘Yes. He told me you were very good at your job. He also asked me not to tell you that he’d recommended you, but I don’t suppose that matters now. Besides, you have a right to know.’
Amaia took a stroll around the hospital gardens then returned to her car, still grappling with what Yolanda had told her, and trying to make sense of it. Markina had sent Yolanda Berrueta to her, but if he had wanted her to help the woman, why put a stop to the exhumation in Ainhoa? Had he expected her to seek his cooperation, which would have been the normal procedure? But then why, after sending the woman to her, had he dragged her over the coals when she nearly blew herself up? Perhaps because he thought, as she did, that all this suffering could have been avoided if she had gone through the proper channels.
She could make neither head nor tail of it. She climbed into her car and left the hospital grounds. No sooner had she joined the motorway than her mobile rang. It was Markina; she pressed speakerphone.
‘I was just thinking about you,’ she said.
‘And I you,’ he replied softly, ‘but I haven’t much time – I’m about to go into a hearing. I only rang to say that I asked my secretary, and she claims Yolanda approached her in the café one day and spoke to her. She told her about her sons, and asked if she could arrange a meeting with me. Inma listened, but dismissed the woman as crazy.’
After they said goodbye and hung up, Amaia had to pull over in a lay-by to take in the enormity what had just happened. Markina had lied to her.
The phone rang deafeningly inside the parked car.
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