Toni now looked at the woman, as if asking for an explanation, but it was the policewoman who spoke to him, trying to get his attention.
“Come with me and we’ll get some ice-cream,” she said with a smile that sweetened her face even more. “Do you like ice-cream?”
“Can I?” asked Toni, bewildered.
“Yes,” the young woman answered in a honeyed tone, now taking control of the situation. “Tell me, how long has it been since you last had ice-cream?”
The boy raised his hand to his head as a response, accompanying it with such an endearing face to say that he didn’t even remember. Even the owner of the nursery understood this, who now let out a smile.
“That’s because we’re in Holy Week now, and the last few months have been winter. Soon the summer will be here and there will be ice-cream everywhere, but I know of one place that’s selling them today,” explained the policewoman, extremely lovingly. “So if you’re well-behaved, you’ll be the first little boy in Ourense to eat ice-cream this year.”
He couldn’t let an opportunity like this pass him by, Toni must have thought, and almost without realising it he was already walking down the street, hand in hand with the policewoman who, as she spoke to the boy, turned back towards the nursery school and waved to the owner:
“Thank you,” she said in the distance.
The woman let out her second faint smile of the day, as her way of saying goodbye, and closed the door from inside. Alberto was waiting at the foot of the stairs:
“That’s girl’s a police officer?” he asked.
“Yes,” the owner answered brusquely (she seemed to have already maxed her quota for smiles for that day).
“Well, I know her from somewhere,” he reasoned. “I don’t know where exactly, but I’m sure I’ve seen her face before.”
“I don’t think that police officers change their faces when they go home,” she said ironically, with a certain level of disdain.
“No, no, I’ve seen her before, and... I don’t know.”
“As you can imagine, before handing over the child, I asked her to identify herself, as the law requires,” said the woman, borderline aggressively, with the intention of dispelling any element of doubt in the student’s head.
Alberto made a gesture of indifference and went off down the corridor.
“Calm down, he’s in good hands,” she called out, in that tone of superiority only attained by one who feels certain of having carried out their duty.
The young man shrugged and continued on his way. The other eleven children were waiting for him in the classroom. But I know her, he repeated in his head.
22
Three girls were engaged in passionate discussion just two tables away from where they had sat down. From their discreet position, and with Toni sitting by her side, Emma could clearly hear the teenagers’ disagreements over teachers, exams, and which of their fellow schoolmates were attractive or not. One of the girls, who was blonde and just a little overweight, was the one with the most decisive voice. She tirelessly shook her long, curly mane, and seemed to insist on casting judgement on any opinion that was expressed around that table. Her two friends demonstrated, through their patience that they had been used to her ways for quite some time. At one moment, the conversation changed and the three girls began to speculate as to what would be the darkest motives that would drive the Golf Ball Assassin to her current activity. That was, without a doubt, the most recurring topic in the city that week. The three unreservedly expressed their opinions and, as one, spoke of Machiavellian vengeance, insane extremes, and evils of all kinds. Finally, the blonde girl declared, with conviction: ‘I would never do anything like that, ever, not for anything in the world’. The others instantly agreed.
Emma observed the girls with curiosity, one by one, and could not avoid letting out a smile. What could those arrogant, trainee women know about life, she thought to herself.
Once she had ascertained the harmlessness of the people there, she looked all around. A café terrace, set out on a patio and composed of white garden tables, along with matching chairs. Over the tables were some large parasols, shielding the customers from both sun and rain, and at the same time impeding the vision of any curious neighbour. It was a discreet place, at this time of morning, with the single company of those inoffensive girls. It was, without a doubt, a perfect choice.
Having done this, she decided to focus her attention on Toni. The little boy was visibly impatient, sitting on the very edge of his chair and nervously moving his legs. They remained in silence, but he was the first to notice the tray in the distance, carried by the young waitress, who approached them with the order that had been previously made at the bar: one large chocolate ice-cream and a decaffeinated coffee from the machine. When she arrived at the table, the girl did not hesitate over who to give what: the ice-cream for the child, and the decaf for the woman who, at first glance, nobody would have a hard time identifying as his young mother.
The little one waited for Emma to take off the lid and, immediately after, he enthusiastically launched himself into eating the ice-cream.
“Did you think I wasn’t going to buy it for you?” she asked, surprised, whilst she stirred her decaf.
Toni shrugged, and gave an expression saying that he did, but didn’t want to own up to it. Finally, he answered:
“Mummy sometimes makes promises that she doesn’t keep,” he said trying to excuse himself, as he continued to eat.
“What has your mother promised you that she’s forgotten to do?” asked Emma, curiously.
“Well, that I wouldn’t have to get up early during this holiday.”
“Don’t you like getting up early?”
The little boy shook his head.
“Well, just think that if you hadn’t got up early today, you wouldn’t be eating such a big ice-cream right now.”
“Yes, today it was fun getting up early,” Toni conceded.
“Are you having fun?”
“Yes.”
Emma caressed him and then focussed on her coffee. She felt that, with her questions, she was interrupting a really special moment for Toni. But when the ice-cream was nearly finished, she resumed conversation:
“How well do you get on with Javier?”
“Well,” he answered, without seeming to give any special importance to that question.
“Does he treat you well?” she insisted.
Toni left the empty little ice-cream tub on the table and leaned against the back of the chair, satisfied. Then he looked at Emma, with his lips covered in chocolate, and moved his head up and down, trying to express great affirmation. She took a serviette and cleaned the chocolate from his mouth. When she finished, she observed him intently for a moment, in silence.
The little one did not miss any details when it came to his surroundings. He alternated between observing the three girls, the tables, the parasols, and even Emma. On one of these occasions, he asked:
“What’s this place called?”
“Bekas,” Emma replied with a smile.
Toni made a gesture of having understood, as if he needed to file away that information in his little head, and then continued to give free rein to his curiosity. But after the course of a few minutes, he had to draw a close to his investigative work:
“We need to go,” Emma told him.
“Can’t we stay a bit longer?”
“No, we can’t.”
“I want...” insisted Toni.
“Darling, I would also like to stay with you a little longer, but it’s time for us to go now.”
Seeing that it was going to be impossible to have his way, the little boy got ready to get up. As he did, Emma wanted to justify her decision:
“When you’re older, you’ll learn that what we should do always takes priority over what we want to do,” she said, “and that sometimes, the decisions that we make, whilst justified, are not the ones that we would most like to make.”
Toni fin
ished getting up without paying too much attention. He didn’t know what she meant and besides, he thought that when he was older, he wouldn’t remember it to understand it anyway. All that really mattered to him at that moment was the fact that the ice-cream was no more, and that the time had come to leave. To go... where, he wondered. If it had been his mother who was with him, he would have insisted until he got an answer. But he did not forget that this woman, even though she was friendly towards him, was, basically, still a policewoman, and as such he did not dare to bother her.
The two of them stopped at the bar for a moment to pay and, once in the street and hand in hand, they made their way to the city centre. From there, they would cross the river via the old Puente Romano to the northern part of the city. Emma had studied it in detail. The walk was sufficiently far from the police station, so as to avoid running any pointless risks. She had calculated that the journey would take them no less than half an hour. In any case, they could do it at leisure.
No sooner had they crossed the bridge than Toni noticed the steep slope awaiting them ahead. His feeling of tiredness was multiplied at that moment.
“Is it much further?” he asked.
“No.”
The little one took a deep breath, to recover some strength, which he was already running out of.
“If you’re a policewoman, why don’t you have a police car?” he insisted, with all the innocence in the world.
“Because we need to walk.”
Toni looked at Emma, and at that moment noticed something that hadn’t even crossed his mind before.
“Why don’t you dress like the rest of the police?” he asked, surprised.
“Because I’m prettier like this than if I wear a uniform,” she said, avoiding answering the question.
The child furrowed his brow as he continued walking hand in hand with the woman. Those answers were not convincing him, and he really was beginning to feel tired now. He did not dare to keep asking questions, and it was also ceasing to be fun.
When the street ended, they stopped at a traffic light, now on a new avenue. Suddenly, Toni recognised where they were, although he kept silent. He did not know the true reason why the policewoman would have brought him here, but the little voice inside him was telling him that this was a place they should not be.
Barely a few minutes later, at exactly five to ten in the morning, Emma and Toni took their first step into the foyer of Empalme de Ourense station. The clock on the information screen did not lie. It never lied. On it were also the coming arrivals: Santiago de Compostela- Avant train- Track 1- 10:08, next arrival.
The station was jam packed, and the Atendos, on these occasions, informed passengers on the platforms. There was nobody to be seen in the foyer.
Emma went to the waiting room and sat at the back, with Toni by her side. From there, she cast a look all around to check that the coast was clear, that nobody had suspected her up to that instant. Basically, a blonde woman with a child in hand would go unnoticed in any part of the city.
Only ten minutes later, Emma stood up and her face, which had been friendly up until that moment, changed immediately. Toni was no longer having fun.
The two of them discreetly crossed the foyer, stopping just at the door to platform one. To the right, a woman with an Atendo jacket passed by some ten metres behind them. Nearby, a man with his hands in his pockets was talking to an elderly passenger. Emma then looked ahead: two adjacent tracks, one and three, and then a new platform. From the platform by the foyer, there was access to track three, and from the following platform, access to track one.
Emma took a golf ball out of her bag and placed it in the child’s hands, as she made her way forward to position herself on the edge of the platform to track three.
“Don’t let it go,” she said, without waiting for a response.
The little boy would not have dared let it go for anything in the world at that moment.
In the middle of the opposite platform, Sandra was giving information to the passengers awaiting the train on track one. It was not long before she noticed her two visitors. For a moment, she did not know what to do. Her first impulse was wanting to call out to Toni, but she froze instantly. The sight of the golf ball in Toni’s hands held her back. And the presence of the woman holding on to his shoulders, on the edge of the platform, more so.
The tears instantly began flowing down Sandra’s face, as she approached the edge of her platform. Emma did not need to say or even signal anything. It was enough to stay there for a few seconds, with the boy beneath her hands, staring at Sandra. At that moment Toni, startled, wanted to mouth the word ‘mummy’, but the second syllable became stifled like an asphyxiated cry. He was also crying, in silence, not wanting to create any trouble.
When she took it that Sandra had understood the situation, Emma bent down slightly, bringing her mouth to the little boy’s ear, who was standing there immobile.
“Darling, I want you to give me the ball and listen carefully to me,” she whispered.
The little one offered her the ball like an automaton. Then he paid attention like never before in his short life.
“Now you need to go to the waiting room, where we were before, and once you’re there, sit down at the back. Do you understand me?”
Toni nodded. Emma proceeded, without taking her eyes off Sandra who, standing on the border to track one, watched the scene powerlessly:
“Once you’re sitting down,” Emma continued, “you should recite the Our Father twenty times. Do you know Our Father?”
The boy continued to nod. He would have said yes to any question, at any moment.
“Not one less,” Emma insisted. “Don’t get up until you’ve finished. Not for anything in the whole world, whatever happens,” she concluded, letting Toni go in the direction of the waiting room.
He obeys, looking once more at his mother, and turning away, disappears into the crowd.
Sandra watches as her son walks away, and for a second she looks at Emma, with a broken expression. Then, she tries to get one last view of Toni, which by now is impossible, whilst her lips silently form the words: I love you.
In the background, the PA announces the imminent arrival of the Avant train from Santiago de Compostela on track one. The growing sound of the train confirms its proximity to the station.
From the edge of track three, Emma throws the golf ball towards track one, unnoticed by everybody but themselves. Sandra watches as it falls at her feet, bounces a couple of times, and stops in front of her. She picks it up. She stares at the small object, breathes in for the last time, and crosses herself. In the path of the approaching train, she allows her body to fall down onto the rails, causing the instinctive, but ultimately useless slamming on of the train’s brakes.
At that moment, two people let out screams of terror. When the last of the carriages had passed, everybody in the station screamed.
Alerted by the tragedy, the waiting room emptied suddenly. Inside, only the little boy remained, in his seat at the back, praying under his breath with his little feet gripping on to the chair legs, and an endless stream of tears running down his face.
23
Isaac: that was his name. It was the name most spoken by the inspectors, the most heard by the officers, and the most investigated throughout the entire course of the very early morning within the central police station in Ourense. Without a doubt, it was the key name.
Antón had quickly returned from O Carballiño, a small town close to the local capital, of which Miguel was a native. It was where his body would be buried, and where Samuel, his only brother, had arrived from the previous night. He was the one who had brought Isaac to their attention, and his maternal uncles had also backed him up. Nobody in the family likes Isaac at all. I don’t know why, but there was something in his eyes that we didn’t like. Luckily, it’s been years since he last called our nephew, some five or six years, Miguel’s uncle had said, a man with a face browned by the sun, and clearl
y a very tough character indeed.
The problem stemmed from the fact that nobody knew what had become of Isaac. The most that Antón had been able to find out was that he had studied Economic Sciences. He used to call Miguel every weekend, but one day his course ended, he got a job, and they both just lost touch.
“And they didn’t know anyone in his family, or any mutual friend?” asked Eva.
“No. His parents had emigrated, and he was brought up by a grandmother. But they suspect that the old lady has already passed away,” provided Antón.
“Don’t they remember the area where he lived then, either?”
“Oh, yes, we know that. He lived in O Vinteún, but we’re not sure of the exact address. I’ve already told the officers over the radio to look into it, although it’s going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“In any case, until we locate him we won’t be able to know for sure if he is one of Emma’s targets,” said Eva.
Eva was still keeping the victims’ phones on top of her desk. One by one, she went through each of their contacts lists in search of the name ‘Isaac’. She had already done it the previous night, but perhaps she thought that there was no harm in checking one more time.
“His name doesn’t appear in any of the contacts,” she said, disheartened.
Then she continued, leaving the phones on the table once more.
“Javi’s is full of Internet chat room friends, Marc’s is full of little girls, Sebas’ is full of clients, and Miguel’s just has people he knows. That man had no friends,” she said, referring to the latter.
“It seems that apart from Miguel and Marc, the others don’t currently stay in touch. It’s strange, because it’s not all that long ago that they were friends,” said Antón.
Eva made a gesture of agreement, and was thoughtful.
“Perhaps the fact that they avoid contact with each other is one of the key clues,” he deduced.
Then they remained in silence. After a while, Eva asked:
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