“Regarding the victims’ identity,” Eva resumed, as she changed to another sheet of paper, “I’m sure that they all knew each other, even though they didn’t currently maintain contact in the majority of cases. What links them together, and what are they doing on Emma’s list? Well at the moment, we don’t know exactly, but it is something highly embarrassing, or even criminal, that happened about six or seven years ago, and in Ourense. I say embarrassing or criminal because, if it wasn’t, Miguel would not have hidden whilst knowing that his life was in danger, nor would the rest of them have concealed it from the people around them, like Sebas did from his wife. It must have happened in Ourense, as Miguel and Sebas never left here, and the others did not leave often. They certainly never went together. And finally, it must have happened five, six or seven years ago, because that is the time frame in which Javi came to Ourense to study, and Emma suffered her accident and her face was changed. This last detail, combined with the fact that years had passed by, would explain why none of them physically recognised her. That accident that happened in Ourense six or seven years ago, and also during Holy Week, could be the starting point of it all, but we haven’t managed to get hold of the report. They’ve told us that it was a normal accident, but we’re waiting to be able to make sure of that.”
“And how is it you don’t have the report yet?” asked Míguez.
“The date and place are not exact,” clarified Antón. “I’ve just come from meeting with the Guardia Civil and they maintain that they’re looking intensively for it in the archives, but that time period is not on a computer database, and so it’s a slow process. Anyway, they’ve guaranteed that we’ll have it tomorrow.”
“But in any case, I doubt the accident was the cause,” noted Eva, “and I’ll explain why. After thinking about it, what fits the most for me is that the other car crossed paths with them and propelled them off the road. But only five people will fit in a car, not seven, and also if it had been that way, Emma would not have been able to see the number plate to track them down with such precision. And furthermore, my deduction is that there was no paint transferred onto the vehicle, nor tyre marks on the road, because if there had been, then they wouldn’t have archived the accident as a car veering off the road with no apparent cause.”
Eva put the papers away before continuing:
“No, I’ve gone over it many times in my head and, in my opinion, it was something that happened at that time, it could even have happened that night, but not specifically the accident. It’s possible that they are related, but I don’t think that that’s the direct cause. And that’s assuming that Emma and her family made that journey often during those years, in which it’s also possible that it wasn’t specifically that night either,” she concluded.
“Let me know when the report arrives,” Míguez said, taking the hypothesis as settled. “Tell me, how are you going to continue with the investigation?”
“At the moment, we’re going to locate all of the contacts on Miguel’s phone. I’ve been checking the lists from the mobiles belonging to the victims, and Miguel is in Marc’s, and vice versa. That, we do know. But we’re making one mistake: until now, when one died, we checked if the previous victims were on their phone, but not if the more recent ones were on the contacts list of the first ones. I’ve checked today and there is indeed one: Miguel is on Javi’s phone who, by the way, has an enormous contacts list.
“Do you think that the future victims could be on one of the mobiles?”
“I think that we should check all of Miguel’s calls over the last few days; it could be that he’s warned somebody else like he wanted to do with Marc. In case there’s no luck there, we’ll search for all of the twenty-something men in Ourense who were friends with them from seven or eight years ago. Bear in mind that Javi’s parents were not aware of their son’s friends here, and that Sebas and Miguel were orphans. Marc’s parents don’t know his friends by name and even less those he had back then. Only Miguel had a brother, and he’s coming in this afternoon. We’ll question him too and, also, we can’t discard the possibility that he’s also in Emma’s sights. We have no other option than to look on our own trying to think ahead.”
“I wish you luck.”
The two police officers left Míguez’s office in silence, and with their heads down. In the corridor, they shared out the tasks between them. Antón wanted to go and receive Miguel’s brother and give him his condolences. A thankless task. Eva would make phone calls. The rest of the officers, with Emma’s photograph in hand, would search and identify any woman in the street who looked like her.
As soon as everybody got moving, Eva returned to shutting herself up in her office. She picked up Miguel’s phone and looked at the calls made over the last two days: only Marc.
“Damn!” she exclaimed.
She left the phone on the table. She let her hair down, and unhurriedly smoothed it, and then put it back up again with a hairband. She checked the phone again and dialled the first male contact that appeared on the list: Abel.
“Hello?” came a harsh voice from the other end of the line.
“Hello, I would like to speak with Abel.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I work with the police. Do you know a young man called Miguel? Dark complexion, twenty-seven years old, and works on our force?”
Abel did not even take a second before he answered:
“Well no, not off the top of my head.”
“The number I’m calling on is on his contacts list,” Eva said, hoping he might shed some light as to why.
“Well I’m not saying it isn’t, but you’re calling a garage, and this is the garage mobile. I suppose then he’ll be a client. If you can tell me what type of car he has, or better still, if you can give me the number plate, I can look it up on the computer and I’m sure I’ll be able to identify it. But I don’t know who he is by name, just like I don’t ask my clients what they do either.”
“Don’t worry, that won’t be necessary.”
“It’s no trouble. Or if you’d prefer to come around, we’re open until nine, even if the door is closed.”
“No, don’t worry about it, I thought you were somebody else. Thank you for your collaboration.”
As soon as she hung up, Eva picked up the mobile and ran down the contacts list. She did not get to the end. Then she looked at the other three phones. Next, she looked at the clock. It was half past five in the afternoon. She heaved a sigh.
She wouldn’t be able to call anybody after twelve o’clock at night, she thought.
GOOD FRIDAY
20
Between two fickle slats in the blind, the tenuous streetlight lazily worked its way into the bedroom. The sort of misshapen little slats which, in the darkness of our bedrooms, let in a faint light; the kind that we only manage to make out after having been awake for a few minutes. Sandra, however, had spent hours in bed appreciating this light, lying down face up underneath the sheets, thoughtful. She knew by heart the exact position in which the little halos of light reflected, and the figures that they made on the wall. They had been sources of inspiration for her the entire night.
By her side, Javier turned over and blinked in the darkness. He still couldn’t appreciate the light. In silence, he kissed Sandra on the cheek, as his way of saying good morning, and moved over towards her, guided by the warmth of her body beneath the sheets. Then, he reached out his hand and placed it on her stomach, gently caressing it in small circles, to then gradually begin tracing over his wife’s voluminous curves with his fingertips. When he finished, he kissed her, and moved his hand down towards more southern regions. Sandra did not collaborate, but nor did she reject him. She just made a small movement beneath the sheets and sighed.
A short while later, the young man moved his hand away:
“You still worrying?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Javier blinked again and moved back lazily to the other side of the bed.
“I’m not looking forward to today either” he said.
The woman did not answer. Nor did she need to; some customs are only cast aside on very special occasions.
Shortly after she turned on the light, she pulled off the sheet in one firm movement and stood up, making her way to the bathroom.
“I have to get up,” she said, without looking back.
From where he was, Javier contemplated his wife’s naked body. Sandra had never been the most attractive, or the kindest, or even the best person. But for him, he had always been drawn towards such women: he had that mysterious desire particular to certain men whose low self-esteem prevents them from having any higher aspirations. And Javier was not a man of big ambition.
Five minutes later, Sandra returned.
“Aren’t you getting up?” she asked, now freshly showered and already half dressed.
“I’m getting up now.”
“I’m going to wake up Toni,” she said, walking out of the room.
Toni, at five years old, suffered the torment of having parents who worked shifts. On Good Friday, all of the children sleep until mid-morning, have breakfast in bed, and then play with their parents. But for him, his festive morning would take place at nursery, as usual.
When Javier arrived at the dining room to have breakfast, Toni was finishing off his glass of milk and Sandra had already put on her Atendo jacket, as she her job was assisting people at the platform at Renfe Ferrocarril train stations.
“Toni, finish up, now,” she called out to her son from the hall.
He didn’t say anything.
“C’mon, finish quickly,” Javier insisted quietly as he sat down.
“Are you working today as well?” asked Toni, in that cuttingly innocent way that only children can.
“Just for the morning,” he answered. “Come on now, finish your milk.”
The child brought the large glass up to his mouth. Sandra came into the dining room, carrying Toni’s little jacket. This time, her demands were directed towards her husband:
“And what about you, have you still not had breakfast?”
Javi finished off one last biscuit. As soon as he had swallowed it, he drank down his milk in one gulp and declared himself ready:
“Let’s go.”
In just a short moment, he went to the bedroom for a jacket, also picking up his phone, car keys, and wallet, before turning off the light. When he returned, Sandra and Toni were already waiting with the door open and the lift called.
“Will you drop me off at the station first and then take the boy to nursery?” asked Sandra as they went down in the lift. “It takes a little time for me just to get in.”
“Yes.”
The three of them got into the car, which was parked in front of the building. Barely five minutes later, Javier stopped in front of the raised entrance to the Ferrocarril station. Sandra kissed each of them, and then got out. The car continued on its way. In the city centre, Javier helped Toni out of the car, and held his hand. He didn’t even turn off the car engine whilst he accompanied him to the front door to the nursery.
Ten minutes later, the car made its final stop in the car park to the old Hospital Provincial. It was seven thirty in the morning. At eight o’clock, Javier would be starting his shift as emergency porter. This meant that he had half an hour to have a coffee, read the daily newspaper and get dressed into his work scrubs before signing in. Some days, he had arrived there with less time to spare.
He went in through the main door and made his way to the cafeteria. He took a newspaper from one of the tables and stopped at the bar counter whilst the waiter prepared his usual coffee: a little milk and two sugars. Whilst standing there, he eyed the front page:
La Región: ‘Four dead in four days. The police officer Miguel Dacal Santos is officially, since yesterday, the latest victim of the ‘Golf Ball Assassin’ (pp.2-3)’.
Javier lingered thoughtfully over the title for a moment. Then he shook his head several times. He did not want to keep reading, and so he folded the paper and cast it onto the counter. Next, he downed the coffee in one and walked towards the exit.
“Excuse me,” the waiter called out to him, just as he was about to leave, “you haven’t paid me.”
In the doorway, Javier instantly closed his eyes and arched his brow, with his head bowed. He retraced his steps, took out a coin and placed it on the counter.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d completely forgotten.”
The waiter put the coin into the till, with a smile on his face. He did not ask for any further explanations. Knowing his client, he knew that he wouldn’t lie to him.
21
A lady with broad shoulders and ample bosom was walking down the long corridor. She was arrogant, and tottered along noisily in a pair of high heels that did little to detract from her short stature. The clattering could be heard throughout the entire nursery whenever she moved around in the centre of the building, although she had never stopped to think if this might bother anybody. After all, it was her nursery. She had opened it when she was still almost a child, she had guided it throughout its existence and, of course, everybody there always did as she said. One carer is more than enough to keep order over forty children, she often maintained rigorously, although she would never say no to the regular and altruistic stream of students doing internships. Perhaps that was the reason why that little business had survived over the years: its excellent economic profitability.
In the classroom at the back, there were only twelve children today, although as it was a festive day, nearly all of them were of different ages. Miriam, the permanent carer, had divided them up by age around the little tables, each with a big piece of card in front of them, coloured pencils and even scissors for the older children. Between them, they would be creating a mural that she herself would take home and place on her bedroom wall. Without a doubt, the project had had a great reception amongst the little ones, who were clearly delighted with the idea.
For Alberto, today was the fifth day of his internship. He was helping to cut out the pieces of cardboard and provided a plethora of ideas regarding which colours would be the best to successfully complete the very delicate business of creating a ‘mural’, as he called it. His devotion to the children was sincere, and he never refused the small walk up to any student who raised their hand, in need of his services. Every now and then, he would catch Miriam’s eye, and they would smile. The children were excited about the project, and by the simple fact of being there. The two adults, perhaps even more.
When the short, broad-shouldered woman arrived at the end of the corridor, she opened the door without knocking. The classroom was then quiet. She did not greet anybody. Perhaps she must have thought that those little beings did not yet have the capacity to appreciate the compliment of the formality when it came to good manners. Or perhaps, in her head, they simply did not deserve the privilege of being greeted.
She strode confidently through the classroom and approached Miriam, gesturing for her to come closer. Miriam leaned in, straining to hear what it was she had come to tell her. The murmuring was imperceptible.
Upon finishing, the young woman slowly stood up. As for the other woman, she turned around and went out into the corridor, leaving the door open. She would wait outside.
“Toni,” called Miriam, once she had stood up completely.
Once she had the little boy’s attention, she proceeded:
“Come here, they’ve come looking for you.”
The child then looked nonplussed at why he would have to go. It was just at the point when he was no longer sleepy and, besides, he was starting to have a good time.
Alberto’s expression appeared to imitate that of Toni’s. Miriam approached him and whispered in his ear.
“A policewoman’s come looking for him. It seems that they suspect that her father could be the next target of the ‘Golf Ball Assassin’, and it looks like they want to protect him, so as not to run any
risks.”
Alberto looked fixedly at her, trying to assimilate what he had just heard.
She turned now to Toni, seeing that he was struggling to do up his jacket.
“Come over here so I can help you,” she said.
The little boy let her fasten the jacket.
When she had finished, the girl bent down and combed his hair with her fingers. Then she caressed his cheek, and then ran her fingers through his hair again, this time without the aim of combing it:
“Be good,” she said, as a goodbye, accompanying it with an almost maternal kiss.
It was with some difficulty that Toni nodded. The nearby presence of his carer combined with the little jacket done up to his neck was severely limiting his mobility.
When Miriam finished saying goodbye, Alberto placed his hand on Toni’s back, and together they left the classroom:
“I’ll go down with him,” he told Miriam.
It’s possible that he thought that that small and innocent being was too fragile to go alone with the woman of short stature and appearance of marble.
Once they had left, the woman began to walk ahead in front of them, imperially. Alberto and Toni followed closely behind. The young man guided the child along by the shoulders who, in order to keep up with the adults, needed to take more steps running rather than being afforded the luxury of being able to walk.
When they reached the end of the corridor, they turned to the left. Ahead was another bit of corridor, with three small steps midway, and finally there was the exit to the right. As soon as the woman had descended the steps, she snatched Toni away from Alberto, taking his hand until they reached the door. There waiting for them was a policewoman, with blonde hair and a round face. Alberto observed her from the distance. Toni looked at her, without understanding why she was waiting for him:
“You have to go with this lady, she’s a police officer and is going to treat you very well,” the woman said to the child, without letting go of his hand.
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