‘I see you’ve started without me,’ said Iriarte.
‘I’m afraid we’ll have to stop soon, I’ve got something else planned for this afternoon.’
He looked at her in surprise but said nothing and sat down and got to work. Amaia picked up the phone and called Jonan.
‘Have you found a fax machine?’
‘I’ve got one here now.’
‘Good; send the results to me at the police station in Elizondo.’
‘But …’
‘Just do as I say and come back as soon as you can.’
Five minutes later, Deputy Inspector Zabalza appeared at the door.
‘This has just arrived by fax from the Forensic Anatomy Department at San Sebastián.’
Amaia stayed where she was and let Iriarte be the first to read it. When he had finished he looked at her very seriously.
‘Did you request this analysis?’
‘Yes, the scientists who did the analyses in Huesca carried out a second analysis of the samples and found what appeared to be a partial match. They suggested that there might have been a change of flour somewhere which would explain why it appeared mixed in, in very small quantities. Last night Deputy Inspector Etxaide took a sample of the flour that was used at the Salazar workshop until a month ago and I sent it to San Sebastián and called in a favour from a colleague in the Ertzaintza. And these are the results. The twenty employees of Mantecadas Salazar have access to the flour, and there’s a tradition whereby they can help themselves to as much as they need for use at home. They may also have shared it with relatives and friends. It’s something we now need to look into.’
Zabalza left the room and went to his office. Iriarte was unusually silent as he read and re-read the report on the analysis. Amaia closed the door.
‘Have you realised the implications this has for the case, Inspector? It’s the most reliable clue we’ve had so far.’
She nodded firmly.
‘… And it’s connected to your family.’
‘I know what you mean. The Commissioner put you in charge of the case alongside me in case something like this happened, which is why I called you,’ she said, going over to the window and looking out. ‘Now I need you to come here and look at this.’
He went to stand beside her. She looked at her watch.
‘It’s barely a quarter of an hour since the fax arrived and he’s here already,’ she said, pointing to a car that had just parked below the window. Inspector Montes had just climbed out of it and looked up towards where they stood before making for the entrance. They stepped back instinctively.
‘He can’t see us, they’re mirrored windows,’ said Iriarte.
Amaia went over to the door in time to see Fermín Montes go into Zabalza’s office and come out again a few minutes later carrying a rolled up envelope.
They watched from the window as he looked round carefully, got into his car and left the car park.
‘It’s obvious that relations between Inspector Montes and whoever’s in charge, you in this case, leave a lot to be desired; he shouldn’t take information out of the station, and nor should Zabalza let him, but, on the other hand, he is part of the team working on the investigation so it’s not strange that he should want to keep up to date.’
‘And don’t you think he should attend the meetings, which are held for exactly that purpose?’ asked Amaia, fed up with the macho solidarity that men always tried to use to justify behaviour that would be criticised in a woman.
‘I thought he was ill, that’s what Zabalza told me.’
‘Yes, and now you can see with your own eyes just how serious the illness ailing Inspector Montes is,’ she said, visibly angry. ‘Did you manage to get your wife to lend us her car?’
‘It’s parked behind the building,’ he replied, offended. ‘Just as you requested,’ he added, as if to make clear that he was not the enemy.
She felt a bit mean for being so hard on him, the one person who had given her his full support right from the start. Softening her expression, she picked up her bag from the back of the chair.
‘Let’s go.’
The car belonging to Iriarte’s wife was an old maroon four-door Micra with child seats in the back. Iriarte handed her the keys and she took a few seconds to adjust the seat and the mirrors. By the time they left the car park there was no sign of Montes’s car. But that didn’t matter. She knew exactly where he was going. She took her time, driving slowly to give him time to arrive and when Inspector Iriarte started to get impatient she left Elizondo in the direction of Pamplona. After five kilometres she pulled up in the car park of the Hotel Baztán. Iriarte was about to ask what was happening when he recognised Montes’s car parked by the entrance to the restaurant. Amaia parked opposite and remained silent until she saw Flora’s Mercedes arrive and Flora herself look around several times before going inside.
‘That’s why you needed this car, now I understand,’ said Iriarte.
Amaia signalled to him without saying a word and they both got out of the car. It was now completely dark, and although there were not as many cars about as there had been the previous day due to the early hour, they were able to get close enough to see the dining room quite well through the window. Montes was sitting closest to the window and they couldn’t see his face. Flora sat down opposite him and kissed him on the lips. He gave her the rolled-up envelope, which she opened.
The change in the expression on her face was obvious even from a distance. She tried to smile, but she only managed a kind of grimace. She said something as she stood up. Montes got up too, but she put a hand on his chest and made him sit down again. She leant over to kiss him again and quickly left the restaurant.
Flora came down the three steps leading to the exit with the envelope in one hand and her car keys in the other. She went over to her Mercedes and unlocked it.
Amaia approached her, appearing from behind the car.
‘Do you know that acquiring evidence relating to an investigation is a crime?’
Her sister stopped short, putting a hand to her chest and looking upset.
‘What a fright you gave me!’
‘Aren’t you going to answer me, Flora?’
‘What? This?’ she said, holding up the envelope. ‘I just found it on the floor, I haven’t even looked inside, I don’t know what it is. I was going to hand it in to the local police station. You say this is evidence? Inspector Montes must have dropped it. I’m sure he’ll tell you the same.’
‘Flora, you’ve opened it and read it, your finger prints are on every page and I’ve just watched Montes giving it to you.’
Flora smiled, playing down the importance of the situation, and opened the car door.
‘Where are you going, Flora?’ asked Amaia, pushing the car door shut. ‘You already know there’s a match, we need to talk and you’ll have to come with me.’
‘Just what I needed to hear,’ Flora screamed. ‘Are you so desperate that you’re going to arrest your whole family? Freddy, Ros and now me … Are you going to lock me up like Ama?’
Some people going into the cafeteria turned to look at them. Amaia felt her rage towards Montes growing: had that gullible shit given her sister an account of every step of the investigation?
‘I’m not arresting you, but you know from Montes that the flour came from the workshop.’
‘Any of the employees could have taken some home.’
‘You’re right, which is why I need your help. That and an explanation for why you didn’t tell me you’d changed flour.’
‘It happened months ago. I didn’t think it was important; I’d almost forgotten about it.’
‘Not months ago, the flour Ros has at home is a month old and it matches.’
Flora ran her hand nervously across her face, but she recovered her control straight away.
‘This conversation is over: either arrest me or don’t but do not expect me to stay and talk to you.’
‘No, Flora, the conver
sation will finish when I say so. Don’t make me call you in to the police station, because I will.’
‘You’re so wicked!’ spat her older sister.
Amaia was not expecting that.
‘I’m wicked … No, Flora, I’m just doing my job, but you really are wicked. Your existence has no purpose except to do harm, to spread poison, to make people feel guilty and to blame everyone around you. I couldn’t care less about you, because I’ve had it up to here with dealing with riffraff, but there are others who you harm intentionally until you destroy them, undermining their confidence, like you did to Ros, or breaking their hearts like you did to poor Víctor when he saw you with Montes yesterday.’
The cynical smile Flora had kept on her face while she listened to Amaia became a look of surprise at her last words. Amaia knew she had hit the bull’s-eye.
‘He saw you yesterday,’ she repeated.
‘I need to talk to him.’
Flora opened her car door again, determined to go.
‘There’s no need, Flora. Everything was very clear to him when he saw you kissing.’
‘That’s why he’s not answering my calls,’ Flora said to herself.
‘How do you want him to react if one day you’re saying he’s your husband and the next day he sees you kissing someone else?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said, recovering her composure, ‘Montes means nothing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Víctor is the man I married. He is and will always be the only man for me.’
Amaia shook her head incredulously.
‘Flora, I was here with Víctor, I saw you kiss Montes.’
Flora smiled, full of herself.
‘You don’t understand anything …’
Suddenly Amaia saw things clearly. All too clearly.
‘You’ve just been using him, you’ve been using him to get the information he’s been giving you, like he did just now,’ said Amaia, looking at the envelope.
‘A necessary evil,’ replied Flora. There was a hoarse moan from behind her.
His face contorted and haggard, Inspector Montes stopped two metres away and started trembling as the tears poured down his face. His expression was one of absolute desolation and Amaia understood that he had heard, if not everything, at least Flora’s last few words. Flora turned towards him with a look of disgust of the type she might wear when faced with a broken heel or a scratch on her Mercedes.
‘Fermín,’ called Amaia, worried at how Montes seemed to be breaking down.
But he didn’t listen to her, turning instead to meet Flora’s eyes. Amaia saw that he was holding his gun loosely in his hand. Amaia started to shout when he lifted his arm, very slowly, without taking his eyes off Flora, pointed it at her chest for a couple of seconds, then turned it, held it to his own head and started to squeeze the trigger. His eyes were as empty as a dead man’s.
‘Fermín! No!’ shouted Amaia as loudly as she could.
Iriarte grabbed him under his arms, dragging him backwards and snatching his gun, which fell to the floor. Amaia ran over to them to help Iriarte subdue their colleague. Montes didn’t resist, he fell to the floor like a tree struck by lightning and stayed there among the puddles, his face against the floor, crying like a little boy with Amaia kneeling at his side. When he felt strong enough to look up he saw Iriarte’s eyes, which made clear without the need for words that he would have done anything not to have witnessed Montes’s breakdown, and he could see that Flora’s Mercedes was no longer there.
‘Damn your fucking bitch of a mother,’ Amaia said, getting to her feet. ‘Stay with him, please. Don’t leave him alone.’
Iriarte nodded and put a hand on Fermín’s head.
‘Get out of here. And don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,’ he told her.
Amaia bent down to pick up Montes’s gun and tucked it into her belt. She drove to Elizondo like a mad thing, making the wheels of the little Micra squeal, crossing Calle Muniartea and setting off down Calle Braulio Iriarte until she was right outside the workshop door. Just as she was about to get out of the car her phone rang. It was Zabalza.
‘I’ve got news, Inspector Salazar: Ainhoa Elizasu’s brother worked at a plant nursery, Viveros Celayeta, last summer and he still usually goes there at the weekends. I checked the vehicle register and they have white Renault Kangoo vans; I called them and they told me that since the boy got his licence last year he’s often driven them. And, brace yourself: Ainhoa’s family have been doing some work in the garden at home during the last few weeks. The girl who answered the phone let slip that they sometimes lend the vans to trusted clients and Ainhoa’s father recently bought thirty saplings that he took home himself in a van along with some other purchases. She couldn’t say for certain, but she’s sure that he’s taken a vehicle at least twice.’
She listened to what Zabalza was saying as her brain dredged up a distant memory. White vans. She suddenly remembered something that had been going round and round in her head.
‘Zabalza, I’m going to hang up and call you back in a minute.’
She heard him sigh in disappointment. She dialled Ros’s number.
‘Hi Amaia.’
‘Ros, you used to have a white van at the workshop; what happened to it?’
‘Um, that was quite a while ago, I suppose that Flora would have taken it back to the dealer when we bought the new van.’
Amaia hung up and rang the police station.
‘Zabalza, check the vehicle register for all the vehicles listed in the name of Flora Salazar Iturzaeta.’ She waited. She looked at the workshop’s small window, which was always open just below the edge of the roof, while she listened to Zabalza typing at his computer. There didn’t seem to be any lights on inside, although Flora’s office was at the back of the building and she wouldn’t have been able to see those lights even if they were on.
‘Inspector,’ Zabalza’s voice betrayed his discomfort, ‘there are three vehicles in the name of Flora Salazar Iturzaeta. A silver Mercedes from last year, a red 2009 Citroën Berlingo and a white 1996 Renault Terra. What do you want me to do, chief?’
‘Call Inspector Iriarte and Deputy Inspector Etxaide. I need a warrant for the Terra, for Flora’s house and for the Salazar workshop,’ she said, running her hands across her face in the same gesture that Flora had used earlier, which she recognised as expressing deep shame. ‘And all three of you meet me at the workshop. I’m already here.’ When Zabalza had hung up she murmured, ‘At home.’
She got out of the car, went over to the door and listened. Nothing. She took out the key she wore round her neck and instinctively checked for her pistol before opening the door. As she touched it she realised she was carrying Montes’s gun.
‘Shit …’
She remembered the ridiculous promise she had made James not to carry her weapon. Pulling a face, she decided that, when all was said and done, she wasn’t breaking her word. She opened the door and turned on the light. She looked inside, which seemed to be perfectly clean and well ordered, and went in, ignoring the ghosts who called to her from dark corners. She walked past the old kneading trough and the kneading table and made for Flora’s office. She wasn’t there, but the whole place seemed as ordered and correct as Flora herself. Amaia could feel the traces of rage Flora had left behind her. She looked around, searching for the discordant note and found it in the form of a solid wooden wardrobe whose doors had been left ajar rather than fully closed. She opened them and was surprised to find that there was actually an armoury hidden in there. Inside, two large hunting rifles rested in their places, but an obvious gap made it clear that another weapon was missing; at the bottom of the wardrobe were half a dozen overturned boxes of ammunition which suggested that some of the contents were missing.
How typical of Flora, she never would let anyone do anything for her, not even this. She looked around, trying to extract the missing information from the air. Where would Flora go to finish the job? Certai
nly not her house; she would have chosen the workshop or a place that was more connected to her old life. Perhaps the river. She went to the door, and noticed the proofs for her sister’s new book as she walked past the desk. The colour photograph, evidently taken in a studio by an expert photographer, showed a tray decorated with summer fruits on which rested a dozen cakes with a dusting of glinting sugar. The title written above it in capitals said: TXANTXIGORRIS (MADE TO JOSEFA ‘TOLOSA’S’ RECIPE).
She picked up the telephone and dialled a number.
‘Aunt Engrasi, do you know of anyone by the name of Josefa Tolosa?’
‘Yes, although she’s dead now. Josefa Uribe, more commonly known as La Tolosa is your sister’s late mother-in-law, Víctor’s mother. She was a real character … Truth be told, poor Víctor used to be quite downtrodden, and then he went and married another strong woman on top of that. He jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. Poor boy. Víctor’s second surname is Uribe, but that family have always been known as the Tolosas because the grandfather was from there. I didn’t have much to do with her, but my friend Ana María was also friends with her, so I can ask her more about her if you like.’
‘No, Aunt Engrasi, don’t bother, there’s no need,’ she said as she rushed out of the workshop and opened the email programme on her smartphone in search of the response to the question she had asked on the forum, which she knew had been answered: the inside of sheet metal fuel deposits on old motorbikes used to be cleaned with bicarbonate of soda or vinegar, which cleared out the inside and removed all the oxide particles from the outside. Particles of oxide mixed with hydrocarbons and vinegar, which in turn had soaked into the fine goatskin leather. The fine leather of a motorcyclist’s clothes. She could still feel the smoothness and smell the aroma of Víctor’s gloves and jacket when she had hugged him in the rain.
She remembered visiting Víctor’s family’s farm a couple of times when she was little and her sister Flora was recently married. It was a typical farm back then, dedicated to livestock, and Josefa Uribe was still alive and ruling over the running of the house. She didn’t remember much more than that. An elderly woman had offered her a snack and the front of the house had been covered in yellow flower pots full of colourful geraniums. Her relationship with Flora was cold and distant even then, and she had never gone back to visit her there again.
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