We go up to the halll. A bedroom and bathroom on the left, then we follow Adela down the corridor to the former playroom at the back. There's a desk next to the window and a chest of drawers, a shelf with folders, tapes and CD.
- 'Is Javier into films?'
- 'Well. Depends what kind.'
She fiddles nervously with her necklace, her left hand in the pocket of her dress, pulling the fabric so it emphasizes her hips even more. Martin looks through the folders and tapes seriously, but glances back at her.
- 'Look, boss.' Martin holds up a CD.
- 'Did your husband like this one?'
She shrugs.
- 'He got it a few days ago. It's horrible.'
- 'Do you mind if we take it with us?'
- 'Please, go ahead.'
There are no books in the living room downstairs, and the shelf holds only a scant few, most of them off the kids' school reading lists, from the looks of things. But one catches Malasana's eye. I flip through the pages and the unsettled, nasty buzzing in my brain grows.
- 'Can we take this as well?'
- 'Whatever you like.'
- 'Is this the kind of thing your husband like?' I ask.
- 'Maybe. But he's not really a big reader. Starts snoring the minute he turns the first page.'
- 'Well, it looks like he's read this one quite a few times.'
She shrugs again and then suddenly, as if caught up in her newfound freedom, shoots a mischievous look at Martin, a glint in her eye. She seems about to say something, but stops at the last minute, the words still on her freshly made-up lips.
- 'You flirt,' says Malasana to Martin as soon as we get in the car.
- 'Come on! I was just being nice. She's glad her husband's not bothering her, that's all.'
- 'She was all over you. I dunno about you, boss, but I think we should give Martin the night off. He's so in love I don't think he'll be much help to us.'
- 'Better to take things slowly,' I say, winking in the rearview mirror.
Por primera vez desde que lo conozco, Martín no frivoliza con una relación.
- 'So he likes the film From Hell and he's got a book on Jack the Ripper? Doesn't that make you think, boss?'
- 'He was curious about the story, and I can guess why.'
Javier Macias's fake castle in the middle of nowhere greets us with silence.
Macias is ordering a couple of mechanics about, poking about with some metal scaffolding pieces. He does not look happy to see us. We raise a hand in greeting and go up to his office. Malasana shows the secretary the door and she doesn't need to be told twice. As he comes upstairs, Macias asks her rudely where she thinks she's going. She points at us and we see him pause, wondering whether to carry on upstairs where her may be in for another nasty surprise.
I go out to meet him and jerk my head towards his office. He walks past me warily, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
- 'Commissioner, I already told you...'
He can't finish his sentence because Malasana socks him in the stomach. Not wishing to be outdone, Martin - now with Adela in the back of his mind, no doubt - lands him a mighty kick between groin and sternum. Macias can't shout. He can't speak. He writhes on the floor in agony while we light up and start rooting through his drawers, searching his shelves and clicking through his computer files.
I slam the door shut, grab him by the throat and drag him onto the sofa.
- 'What the fuck is your problem?'
- 'What is it, Commissioner? he says weakly, one hand on his stomach. 'You're going to kill me. I can't take it again! I can't!'
A tear slides down his cheek. In any other circumstances I'd feel pity.
Martin moves to stand in front of him, towering over him.
- 'I'm taking your wife out on a date. If you even think of hurting her, if you call or text her, I'll kill you. And give her the money. She's treating me. When I shag her I'll be thinking of you, you arsehole.'
Macias looks at him slackjawed, drooling slightly.
- 'What do you mean you're taking my w-'
The blow to his chest stops him mid-sentence. His mouth opens even more, but not to go on; he almost looks catatonic. Maybe Martin's gone too far.
Macias slumps and falls to the floor. Malasana gets a glass of water and throws it in his face. He coughs until it sounds like he's drowning. His shirt is soaked with water.
Malasana sits him upright again.
- 'Like that?'
He shows him the film and book we took from his house.
- 'I'm starting to think you're the Ripper, Javier. That's how your cousin knew who it was.'
The accusation is far enough out of left field that Macias stops whimpering.
- 'No! What are you saying? Are you mad? I never...!'
- 'You knew Cristiana Stoicescu.'
- 'I told you, Commissioner.'
- 'No. You told me your cousin had a problem with her and he had to pay off her pimp, which is not the same thing. Not the same thing at all.'
- 'That's how I met her. I gave him the money to pay off her pimp.'
- 'If you lie to me again I'll leave you alone with the pair of them. But in the farmhouse. Not here. You can be sure you won't be holding anything back.'
He brings his hands flat together as if in prayer. He begs me.
- 'No. Please, Commssioner. Not that. I practically shat myself the minute I saw you all come in...'
It's literally true. Under the smell of old dust and grime, stale sweat, the smell of his fear lingers.
- 'We know what you've got out in the hangar.'
He looks at us speechlessly. Rubs his hand over his face, sweating and crying. Then he lifts up his palms, admitting to it.
- 'Okay, okay, Commissioner. I omitted to tell you that. But why would I tell you, for God's sake! It's totally unconnected to what you want to know and...'
- We've seen what's on the laptop. We've seen the videos. You could be accused of raping the girl that was killed.'
- 'No, Commissioner, please. The girl took part voluntarily. We paid her five hundred euros.'
- 'So why is there footage of her fighting you? Why did your cousin have to pay off her pimp?'
He shakes his head back and forth, grimly accepting the mess he's in.
- 'I knew that idiot was going to land me in hot water. I knew it!'
He punches the sofa arm and pounds his thighs with his fists. We've got him cornered and he's scared, looking up at the three of us. He hangs his head.
- 'Why does this shit always happen to me!'
- 'Spit it out, I haven't got all day.'
- 'Can I smoke?'
He takes out a packet of Marlboro. I help myself to one too.
- 'We had a good business going. Small, but it was going ok. Damian was obsessed. He used to film himself with the girls and then watch the tapes. He was telling me about it one day at the pub and I said: Damian, we could make some cash out of this. So we looked for a place and made a few films. It brings money in, believe it or not. And it cost us practically nothing.'
- 'Why didn't you do it here?'
- 'Are you joking? There's people traipsing in and out all day. But we never did anything bad, I swear.'
- 'You don't think this is bad?'
- 'It's just Internet porn.'
- 'Cristiana Stoicescu.'
- 'What? Oh. Damian got her and we filmed a scene. She got violent at the end because she couldn't handle him. With the other girls it was just a bit of fun and making the videos. Ten, fifteen minutes, done. But he was obsessed with her. He couldn't get enough! He wanted more, more, again, again. And he was on this pill to stop him coming too fast and he was taking forever, so she ended up getting sick of it and sais she wanted more money. And he wouldn't give it to her and kept going, so she got all angry. But that's as far as it went, I swear.'
- 'Why did the
pimp beat him up?'
- 'Because the girl complained it had taken too long and we'd been filming.' 'We asked the girls not to say anything about that to their pimps. That way, we paid less, but they earned more. But she had to go and blab. When her pimp, that Bogdan, the Romanian guy - when he found out we were filming he wanted to sell her like she was a celebrity. Son of a bitch.'
- 'What else?'
- 'That's all. I swear.'
He looks at us sadly, faking innocence. We all know he hasn't been innocent since he stopped sucking at his mother's breast.
- ''Why did your cousin go to the hangar just before he was killed?'
He shrugs.
- 'He didn't tell me. Maybe he wanted to hide there.'
- 'How long has it been since you filmed a video there?'
- 'Since the girl was murdered. He left town as soon as she was killed. He was scared they'd join up the dots, connect him to the case.'
- 'How long has it been since you were there?'
- 'A couple of weeks. I go and check in sometimes.'
- 'You're sure there haven't been any other times?'
- 'There haven't been. Why would I? It's safe. No one goes out there. No need to go out and check every day. And if one day we had stop filming there, well,' he shrugs, 'we could find somewhere different to do it.'
- 'Why there?' 'Why an abandoned airfield?'
- 'It was Damian's idea. Since he didn't have a proper house. God knows why he chose that place.'
I shove my phone in his face.
- 'What does this mean?'
He peers at the photo on the screen.
- 'What is it?' he asks, lifting his face and looking me in the eye.
I try to see whether he's lying, but I can't tell. Javier Macias has been telling lies all his life, so it's not like I'm suddenly going to be able to tell the difference between his truth and lies now.
- 'It's a date.' 'What does it mean?'
He shrugs again.
- 'June 13th, 1984,' he says thoughtfully. 'I don't know, Commissioner. Honestly.'
I muster up the hardest look I can. It's worked on others in the past, but he doesn't flinch. And I wonder why. He says:
- 'Where was it?'
- Can you guess what's coming next, Chief?
A message from the monster.
I do know what's coming.
His masterpiece. The murder of Mary Kelly was the cruelest of them all. He killed her in her own rented room, giving him plenty of time and freedom that he hadn't had with the others he murdered out on the streets. I know what he's going to do to his next victim. Just thinking about it makes my hair stand on end.
I'm so desperate I suddenly have a vision of myself banging my head against the wall. Or shooting myself.
The COU team has released Lorenzo Vilar. Geoffrey Hunt is free too. No evidence against either of them.
Javier Macias is being watched. Lorenzo Vilar is being followed.
The Madrid team is watching Mike.
We have nothing.
Nothing!
I order the team to go through the classifieds and find every prostitute offering her services in her own home. We'll have officers stationed with them on the night of November 9th.
I contact every city and town in the province, asking for officers.
We'll have more than four hundred on patrol. No one complains. Every police officer in the area wants to see the son of a bitch in cuffs.
COU and the Madrid team decide to shut down all the brothels, so I speak to them. I try to make them see that that will force many women out on the streets. and then they'll be offering their services at home. Giving the killer a much bigger pool of victims to choose from.
They don't listen.
Lazaro Asuncion tells me all his women will be hiding in the same house. Safety in numbers. None of them will be working. I ask him to ring round the other pimps and get their girls to do the same.
The media is in a collective frenzy. Journos swarming all over the city, on every street, interviewing passersby, prostitutes.
We send out a notice saying there are to be no costume parties on the 9th.
Everyone is tense.
Everyone is afraid.
The wait is the worst part - slow, burdensome, every day crawling by. I've read everything I have on the case over and over again. The reports. The statements. Our notes. I made copies of everything when I was taken off the team.
I suspect them all, all over again: Hunt, Vilar - even Mike. Carlo Teddonio, who we've also investigated.
I'm going mad.
I have a growing suspicion that Robot was the answer to this riddle and we were so incompetent we let the killer get rid of the only man who could lead us to him. The possibility of Macias leading us to him is remote. He's not his cousin. He doesn't know what Robot did, and he's nowhere near as hard as him.
The whole station thrums with tension. I hear voices and phone calls. The Madrid team is all over the place, running around giving orders, shouting, full of the same tension. My officers shoot me a look every time they receive an order.
- 'You can't be hear,' snaps Menendez.
Malasana makes as if to go for him and I have to hold him back. Diaz smooths it over.
- 'The fifth crime should be committed in the northwest of the city,' I say, drawing a circle around the area on the map with a red marker.
Malasana picks up the phone and orders we focus our surveillance efforts there. Galan gets a sour look on her face when she sees we're still around.
- 'Watching the whole city isn't going to be easy, Commissioner. Friday night, everyone's going to be out on the town. The murderer will have the rule of the roost.'
Malasana's right. Some areas are deserted at night, but in the city centre and student areas there are bars and restaurants everywhere and thousands of people will be out.
- 'What if he doesn't commit the crime in the city?' asks Diaz.
- 'It could be anywhere,' someone says.
Time ticks steadily by and no news of any suspicious activity comes in. Just the usual: drunken fights, bar brawls, neighbours complaining about the noise. A domestic.
We drink coffee. We smoke.
- 'Mary Kelly wasn't found until 10 AM the following morning,' I say. 'Our killer will try to do the same.'
We drink more coffee and smoke so much the chamber of horrors is filled with smoke. Inspector Galan doesn't say a word to me, except,
- 'You're supposed to be suspended.'
- 'But not dead.'
We're interrupted by Malasana, like a mournful oracle:
- 'Boss, the COU team has lost track of Lorenzo Vilar.
- The Madrid team has lost track of Mike.' This last sentence is directed at Galan, who bites her lip and swears under her breath.
Then he whispers to me that we've lost Macias.
- 'And I've lost Sisi.' He whispers again, looking straight at me.
So that's that.
At some point in the early morning, we become numb to the horror. We sit with our failure. A few officers are still keeping up the facade, trying to stay cheerful, but it feels empty.
By the time 5 AM chimes, I know he's struck again. I imagine the tens of thousands of ways he could have struck. A prostitute we weren't watching. A prostitute he kidnapped from wherever and who hasn't been reported missing yet. And he could have done it anywhere. An abandoned farmhouse. An empty house. One of the thousands of flats no one goes to outside of summer.
So many imaginings flash through my mind that I feel I'm going mad.
That's when my phone buzzes. I scrabble through my pockets for it desperately.
- Chief. A Ukrainian whore this time! Tee hee
Mad!
My great masterpiece awaits
Inspired by the painting I'll hang above her body
She'll pay as she could never have imagined in her
worst nightmares
The biggest whore of all!
9 November
23
Malasana is the only one who makes it next to me. The others are all screaming from so far off they might as well not exist. Panic shrieks in my every bone. I'm sobbing for her as I drive recklessly through the streets, barely seeing. My tears drive me even crazier and I put my foot down on the accelerator, driving like a madman through these mad streets. Like a clap of thunder in a great storm. I drive straight through all the red lights. Malasana puts the siren on and people barely have time to leap out of the way as we scream through the streets. Malasana doesn't say a word He knows I got a text. A split second later, as I'm flooring through the last few streets to the outskirts of the city, he knows.
- 'No! No!' he mutters through clenched teeth.
He gets out his phone and orders every patrol car in the area to get to where I'm going. He already knows the address. I cross one of the main arteries of the city to deafening honking, shouting and swearing. Then turn ninety degrees to get onto Avenida del Mar. The car skids so badly it only stops when we scrape along the other cars.
- 'Faster!' shouts Malasana.
I take the car over the central reservation, leaving half the chassis behind, our heads bumping off the ceiling. We leave skid marks halfway across the avenue up to where I slam the car to a halt outside Natalia's building. The tyres are smoking. It smells of burning. I kick the glass door and it shatters, glass flying everywhere. Race up the stairs three at a time. Eight floors. When we're in front of her door I'm completely out of breath. I scrabble around for the key in my pocket, taking what feels like an eternity to find it. We hear sirens screaming their approach. Malasana presses the doorbell over and over. Finally, the door opens and I almost fall in. The corridor is dark. Malasana flips the light switch while I throw myself down the hall, smashing into everything and screaming,
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