The White Corpses
Gemma Herrero Virto
Translated by Rachel Christina Hopkinson
“The White Corpses”
Written By Gemma Herrero Virto
Copyright © 2019 Gemma Herrero Virto
All rights reserved
Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.
www.babelcube.com
Translated by Rachel Christina Hopkinson
“Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
To Alfonso, Pepe and Stephen, | my three teachers in this business of telling stories.
INDEX
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PART TWO
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PART THREE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Your Review and Word-of-Mouth Recommendations Will Make a Difference
Are You Looking For Other Great Reads?
To Alfonso, Pepe and Stephen,
my three teachers in this business of telling stories.
INDEX
1- Part One
2- Part Two
3- Part Three
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Natalia looked up from the report she was reading when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching along the corridor. It was only one of the lab technicians. She greeted him with a nod and went back to looking at her papers. She did not know when Aguirre and Salazar would arrive, but she wanted to be prepared.
She reread the report that they had given to her when she came into the station. Unidentified woman between the ages of thirty and forty; Caucasian; one metre seventy in height; sixty kilos in weight. That was all that was known about the victim, and they were going to have their work cut out for them finding out anything more. The killer had made sure of that fact by burning the faces and fingerprints with sulphuric acid. She shuddered upon turning the pages and finding herself looking at the photographs of the crime scene. The body was deposited on top of a flat rock, lying on its back, with the arms positioned in the shape of a cross, like an offering on an altar. The woman had been left in an abandoned quarry in the Gallarta area, and had been there for a couple of days before being found by some hikers. All of the rest of the scene was strange: the white paint, the blindfolds, the mask... It had the look of a complex ritual which, at least so far, only made sense in the unhinged mind of the killer.
The ensuing pages corresponded to the post-mortem report carried out by Dr Salazar. According to his conclusions, the victim had been strangled to death with a cord. Then, afterwards, the body had been carefully washed. There was no sign of the killer: not a single biological trace nor footprint. Besides, the victim had not been raped, nor did she appear to have defended herself, as they had not been able to find any remains of skin, semen, or blood that could belong to the killer.
She closed the report and sat looking at the opposite wall, lost in her thoughts. She did not want to acknowledge it, but the whole ritual surrounding the murder was screaming out “serial killer”. She imagined Carlos in front of her, with his sarcastic smile, asking her whether she had not had enough with the arrest of one serial killer in her career: if she was ever going to stop in her search for glory. She could almost hear him saying, “A single murder is not exactly a very long series.” She would have liked to have phoned him up to discuss the case, but he would kill her if she woke him up at four o’clock in the morning. She would have to wait until breakfast time, if she had managed to leave headquarters by then.
Some new footsteps were making their way down the corridor. Aguirre and Dr Salazar were approaching her. Natalia stood up from the chair and shook hands with the two men, waiting for them to begin speaking and explain to her why they had called her.
‘Good morning, Miss Egaña,’ greeted Aguirre, whilst he looked at the dossier Natalia had left on the seat. ‘Have you had time to read the report I asked them to hand you?’
‘Yes, I’ve already read it,’ replied Natalia. ‘What is it you need from me? Do you want me to repeat the post-mortem to see if I can find anything else?’
‘I don’t think there is anything that has escaped my attention, but thank you for the offer,’ intervened Dr Salazar.
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Natalia hurried to apologise. ‘I think you have done a great job, and that all of your details are correct. I simply wanted to know why you called me with such urgency.’
‘Another body has appeared under very similar circumstances,’ said Aguirre, confirming her worst fears. ‘It could be a copycat, but, given that we filtered very little information about the previous crime to the press, we’re thinking it could be the same killer.’
‘A serial killer?’ asked Natalia.
‘Yes; that is why we called you,’ explained Aguirre. ‘You are our best expert on serial killers.’
‘Well, having helped to capture one doesn’t make me an expert,’ admitted Natalia, shrugging her shoulders to diminish its importance.
‘You’re the best we have,’ Aguirre smiled to soothe her. ‘Salazar is going to carry out the post-mortem of the new victim now, and we want you to go with him.’
‘Are you all right with that?’ Natalia asked Salazar.
‘Of course; it will be an honour.’ Salazar made a gesture, inviting her to pass in front of him. ‘In fact, I am the one who asked Aguirre for your collaboration.’
The sergeant bade farewell, and the two of them walked towards the post-mortem area. After putting on their smock and gloves, they went into the room. The corpse was already there, covered with a sheet. Salazar went up to it and lifted it on one side.
‘Are you ready?’ He waited for Natalia to nod, and he uncovered the body completely.
Natalia forced herself to leave her feelings to one side and look at it in a professional manner. In that moment, she must not think that this body had belonged to a woman with a life, with family and friends, with memories and dreams... She had to view it as a book in which the killer, unwittingly, had written their story. On this body were the killer’s fears, obsessions, and delusions, encoded in a foreign language that only made sense to him. It was her job to try to understand that code: to find the thread that would lead her to understanding the killer and to catch him. She took a couple of steps closer until she was right alongside the gurney, and waited for Salazar to begin. He turned on a voice recorder and began to speak.
‘Unknown victim: woman. The head and hands are bandaged. Over the face is a white mask with the symbols “1C” on the right cheek, and the symbols “or” on the left cheek. I will proceed to take off the mask.’ The doctor stopped talking whilst he very carefully removed it a
nd deposited it into an evidence bag. Then he went along removing the bandages that were covering the head, revealing a long, wavy black mane. Natalia had to contain an exclamation when the face of the woman, utterly disfigured, appeared before her. ‘The face has been burnt with some type of acid. I suspect that it could be sulphuric acid, as used on the victim from file BI-1034-17. I am taking a tissue sample to send to the laboratory, with the aim of them confirming this point.’
The doctor continued with the procedure of the visual inspection. Natalia limited herself to watching his work whilst he searched for any hair or fibre that could have belonged to the killer. After a long while, Salazar looked up, turned off the recorder, and shook his head:
‘He’s good. I can’t find anything.’
‘Do you think he could have used gloves throughout the entire procedure?’ asked Natalia.
‘I think he has worn gloves, a hat, and it’s even possible he could have worn safety clothes and a mask. There is absolutely nothing.’ He shook his head once more. ‘Before, killers used to be far less careful. CSI has done us a lot of harm. Well, let’s continue.’ He turned on the recorder again. ‘There are no personal belongings of the victim, except for a watch with a white strap.’
The doctor took the watch off the woman and inserted it into another evidence bag. Natalia picked up the bag and examined it. It was a small watch, with hands, with a strap and dial that were an immaculate white. She was no connoisseur of watches, but it did not strike her as being of good quality.
‘The other victim was also wearing a watch, right?’ she asked Salazar.
‘Yes: one exactly the same as this. I think the killer puts them on, but I don’t know why.’
Natalia put the watch back in its place and continued observing Salazar until he finished with the preliminary examination of the body.
‘Would you be able to bring me a sponge and a bowl of water?’ asked Salazar. ‘I have to remove all of the white body paint.’ Natalia handed him what he had asked for, and he smiled in thanks. ‘With the previous victim, it took me almost an hour to take off all of the paint. I hope you’re not in a hurry.’
‘No. Don’t worry,’ replied Natalia. ‘If you like, I can help you. That way we’d finish sooner.’
‘I hope you don’t take offence, but I don’t like anybody touching my bodies.’
‘I understand. I feel the same way,’ replied Natalia, smiling.
The doctor began by cleaning the neck area of the victim, revealing a slim dark bruise that went all the way around it.
‘What I suspected,’ remarked Salazar. ‘It’s the same as the mark on the previous victim’s neck.’
‘It looks like a cord or a wire,’ Natalia brought her hand up to the mark and waited for the doctor to nod that she could touch it it. ‘It wasn’t anything sharp, as it has not caused any wound or cut.’
‘Yes. I would put my money on it being a cord,’ confirmed Salazar.
‘Additionally, judging by the way in which the mark curves upwards, the killer must have been someone tall.’
‘Or the victim was seated,’ Salazar interrupted her. ‘Although I would bet more on your hypothesis. There’s no way of keeping a person seated whilst you strangle them, unless they are tied up, and there are no ligature marks on the wrists.’
Natalia nodded and continued in silence whilst he carried on cleaning the body. He had now almost completely finished cleaning the upper part. Natalia leaned over to examine it better, searching for any other marks, but did not find anything. There were no more injuries or bruises, only the purple line around her neck.
All of a sudden, Salazar jumped backwards, as if he had been attacked by a snake. Natalia looked at him, wondering what could have happened to him, and she stayed quiet. His face had lost all colour. His eyes were open so wide that they looked as though they were going to pop out of their sockets, and his entire body was trembling.
‘Salazar, what’s wrong?’ asked Natalia, walking around the gurney in order to go up to him.
He did not reply. He was limited to just continuing to stare at the body with a look of terror, whilst still trembling. Natalia helped him backwards into a chair to sit down, fearing that he would not be able to remain standing by himself for much longer.
‘Salazar, answer me,’ Natalia shouted at him. ‘What’s going on?’
He shook his head without taking his eyes off the body. He was struggling to breathe, in rapid and shallow breaths. Natalia shook him by the shoulders, trying to get him to respond. That action seemed to have the desired effect, as he took his eyes off the body to fixate them on Natalia’s.
‘Aguirre,’ he whispered to her. ‘Call Aguirre.’
Natalia ran towards the telephone and dialled the extension for Aguirre, praying for him not to be busy. After two dial tones that felt eternal to her, Aguirre answered.
‘Aguirre, it’s Natalia Egaña.’
‘Have you discovered anything yet?’ he asked on the other end of the line.
‘Something’s wrong with Dr Salazar. I need you to come right away. We’re in post-mortem room three.’
Natalia’s tone must have conveyed her urgency, because Aguirre hung up without even saying goodbye. She returned alongside Salazar, who had hidden his face in his hands whilst his body continued trembling uncontrollably. Natalia turned her head towards the body, trying to find out what it was that had startled her colleague so much. The last thing that he had cleaned had been the victim’s left hip. There was something black on the skin. She left Salazar for a moment and went over to see what it was.
She crouched down to bring her eyes to the level of the woman’s hip. The black stain was a small tattoo: two dark butterflies. On the body of the larger one, an A had been drawn, and on the other a C. Was that what had startled Salazar to the point of madness? It did not make sense.
In that moment, the door to the post-mortem room burst open. Aguirre was in the threshold, flanked by two officers. Upon seeing Salazar, who was rocking backwards and forwards with his head in his hands, Aguirre went up to him and crouched down.
‘Salazar,’ he called him. ‘What’s going on?’
The man did not react. The only thing that could be heard through his hands was his breathing, growing ever more rapid. Aguirre grabbed hold of his hands and pulled on them to uncover his face.
‘Alberto,’ he said to him, calling him by his name. ‘We’re here; nothing bad is going to happen. What’s going on?’
The doctor appeared to come back down to earth. He fixated his gaze on Aguirre and, within a second, his eyes filled with tears. Then he went back to looking at the gurney and shook his head, as if the image was about to disappear if he did not admit it as true. Finally, he took a breath, turned his gaze back to Aguirre, and spoke, his voice intermittent through the sobs:
‘I think I was performing the post-mortem on my wife.’
CHAPTER TWO
Natalia entered her home and, before she could take off her coat, an enormous ball of fur jumped on her, covering her face with saliva. Natalia crouched down and let the dog cover her with licks, without caring about her makeup. She stroked his neck and, once he was calmer, she hugged him tightly, burying her nose in his fur. She thought that it was about time for her to give Art a bath but, even so, she did not move her face away. He smelled of home and of safety, and he helped her leave behind all of the horrors seen that morning.
With the dog hot on her heels, she headed for the bedroom. She turned on the light, causing the bulk in the bed to groan and cover its head.
‘Good morning, sleepyhead,’ she greeted, smiling. ‘Have you taken Art out to pee yet?’
From underneath the covers appeared a hand that felt around on the bedside table before finding the mobile phone, and brought it back under. She heard another groan before Carlos brought his head back out and looked at her, angry.
‘Natalia, please. It’s Sunday, and it’s eight o’clock in the morning.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Do you thi
nk it’s time to have taken the dog out yet?’
‘Okay, I’ll take him out myself in exchange for you getting the breakfast sorted out.’ Carlos went back to lying down and covering his head with the sheets. ‘You didn’t want to sleep any more, right?’
‘No: you’re not going to let me,’ he replied. ‘I’m getting up now.’
Natalia left the bedroom, leaving the light on, and went out to the street with Art. In spite of the fact that it was cold and raining, the dog dedicated himself to sniffing each and every one of the trees in the park. Natalia let him, in order to give Carlos time to get up and prepare the breakfast. She knew that she ought to let him sleep more, but she had so many things to tell him about the new case...
When she got back, Carlos was already up. On the kitchen table were two cups of coffee. That was the all he understood by getting the breakfast ready. Natalia smiled, opened a cupboard, and took out a few biscuits. She knew that he was not the sort who prepared pancakes or toast, nor the kind who went to wake you up in bed with a red rose. But by contrast, he had other qualities like, for example, his smile and his amused gaze, which both expressed how well he knew her.
‘Come on then, tell me about it,’ he said to her, pointing out her chair to her with a nod. ‘Why did Aguirre call you?’
Natalia told him everything: the report on the first victim, Aguirre’s request for her collaboration, Salazar’s panic attack...
‘We have confirmed that it is Salazar’s wife, so they’ve had to take the case off him,’ said Natalia. ‘To be honest, he was very affected. He needed psychological aid, and a whole heap of sedatives for him to regain control.’
‘Poor man, it must be horrible... I can’t even imagine how he must be feeling.’
‘Me neither,’ said Natalia, shaking her head whilst keeping her gaze firmly on her cup of coffee. ‘If anything like that ever happened to me, I’d go mad.’
She raised her head and encountered Carlos’s concerned expression. He reached his arm out over the table and took hold of her hand, squeezing it in an effort to comfort her.
The White Corpses Page 1