The White Corpses

by Gemma Herrero Virto

  ‘Great. I don’t want to be the one who has to tell Salazar this. Poor man,’ Carlos turned his head for a second to look at Sebas. ‘Not a word about this at headquarters. Agreed?’

  ‘Not a word about what?’ replied Sebas, winking at him.

  ‘Good lad. You’re in the lead for being my first partner with his nose intact.’

  A few minutes later they arrived at the motel. It was a detached building, with the façade painted a dull cinnamon colour. Carlos was surprised at its austerity. He had been expecting something pinker and with hearts. He casually drove around the building before finding the entrance to the car park. There was nobody guarding the place, although, as soon as they got out of the car, Carlos spotted several security cameras.

  ‘It’s not as discreet as they promise,’ he said to Sebas, pointing one of the cameras out to him.

  ‘Luckily for us, no. I hope they don’t ask us for a warrant to access the recordings.’

  They went up in the lift to the first floor. As soon as they got out, they encountered a coquettish reception, behind which there waited a young man in a tight shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms, and a pink tie. On the wall situated behind him was an enormous heart in the same tone in which the name of the hotel appeared.

  ‘Good day, gentlemen. How may I help you? Do you wish for a suite?’

  ‘No, no, no...’ answered Carlos, hurriedly, awakening a snicker in Sebas. ‘That’s not what we’re here for. I’m Carlos Vega, homicide inspector, and this is my colleague, Sebastián Casado. We’re here over an investigation.’

  ‘Homicide? An investigation?’ All of the colour drained from the receptionist’s face. ‘The manager won’t be here until the afternoon. Couldn’t you come back another time?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure that you will be able to do a marvellous job of helping us. What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Javi.’

  ‘Very well, Javi.’ Carlos made a signal to him, to invite him to come out from behind the counter. Once the young man did so, he placed an arm around his shoulders, as if they were the greatest friends in the world. ‘The victim reserved a room in this hotel for two days ago. All we want to know is whether she ever occupied the room, and whether she was coming with someone.’

  ‘We can’t give out any information,’ replied the receptionist, taking a step backwards, as if the contact with Carlos’s arm was burning him. ‘Discretion is our number one rule.’

  ‘That’s why I’m questioning you in an “unofficial” way. I could come here with a search warrant, take you and your manager down to the station for questioning... That would be much less discreet. I’m certain that this case is going to be very high-profile, and that your manager would not like it if the name of the hotel ended up coming out in the press in connection with a murder. Don’t you think the same thing?’

  The young man went back behind the counter whilst he reflected. Carlos allowed him to take his time, and returned to Sebas to let him know with a smile that they already had him eating out of his hand.

  ‘All right. What do you need to know?’

  Carlos took out a photograph from his pocket and placed it on the counter. On it could be seen a dark complexioned, wavy-haired woman, of around forty years old.

  ‘This woman made a reservation for this hotel two days ago. Her name is Carmen Ortega. Did you see her?’

  ‘We don’t see our clients. When they make the reservation, we email them the room number and the code that opens the door. That way they don’t have to pass through reception, and can go up directly from the car park without crossing paths with anyone.’

  ‘How practical! And is there any way of knowing whether Mrs Ortega came here and occupied her room?’

  ‘Give me a minute, please.’ The receptionist went back over to his computer and began typing. ‘Yes... I see the reservation here... The code to the door was used twice. Once at seven thirty, and then at ten past eight, so two people must have gone in.’

  ‘Could we see the recordings from the security cameras in the car park for that day?’

  The receptionist hesitated for a few seconds. Carlos leaned on the counter and gave him a friendly smile with which he tried to express that he was a good guy and that the man could trust him.

  ‘Do you both promise me total discretion?’

  ‘Of course. Nothing will leave here.’ Carlos brought a hand to his chest in sign of oath.

  The young man turned the computer monitor so that they could see it, and in a couple of clicks he found the recording they needed, and played it on the screen, on fast-forward. Once they got to five past eight, Carlos made a signal for him to pause the recording.

  ‘I think that black Audi is the victim’s car,’ said Carlos. ‘Please, continue at normal speed.’

  The receptionist nodded and resumed playing of the video. The Audi parked, and out of it stepped a slim, dark-haired woman. In spite of the poor quality of the image, Carlos was certain that this was the victim. The woman opened the boot, took out a small wheelie-bag, and headed for the lift.

  ‘Just a moment,’ interrupted Sebas. ‘If the woman arrived on her own at five past eight, who opened the door at seven thirty?’

  ‘The killer, obviously,’ replied Carlos. ‘Would you be able to rewind back to that moment?’

  The young man obeyed, but, in spite of the fact that they watched the recording from seven in the evening, nobody else entered the car park at that time.

  ‘Wow, we have an invisible killer,’ remarked Sebas.

  ‘Wait,’ the receptionist pointed out, carrying out some new clicks on the screen. ‘We have another security camera that shows the car park from another angle. Look.’

  After moving forward on the new recording to twenty-five past seven, they saw a dark figure walking into the car park. The receptionist reduced the speed and Carlos and Sebas leaned towards the screen in order to get a better look. There was a tall and strong man in the image, dressed in a black hoodie, with the hood up. The camera was focussing on him from behind, which meant they could not see his face. The suspect crossed the car park before arriving at a door.

  ‘Where does that door lead?’ asked Sebas.

  ‘To the emergency stairwell. You can get to all the floors from there.’

  ‘And are there security cameras on the stairs or in the corridors?’

  ‘No. I’ve already told you that our main virtue is discretion. Clients must not feel like they’re being monitored.’

  ‘So then we have a mysterious guest who enters without a car, so that the cameras can’t catch its number-plate, through a door in which the security camera is going to be recording him the entire time from behind, and uses a set of stairs on which there is no security. Sounds like he knew this place very well, don’t you think?’ Carlos asked Sebas.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to say with that,’ interrupted the receptionist.

  ‘Well what we’re trying to say is that we’re going to need a list of all the employees at this establishment,’ replied Carlos. ‘Another question... The price you charged to Mrs Ortega’s account adds up to over two hundred euros. Isn’t that a little expensive for a room for a few hours?’

  ‘Let me check... Yes, here it is. She requested room service. A bottle of Moët & Chandon Imperial Brut, which adds up to one hundred and twenty euros.’

  ‘Wow, they had expensive taste. What time did she order that bottle?’

  ‘At twenty to eight.’

  ‘So he ordered it, but then charged it to the victim’s account. In addition to murder, we should arrest him for cheek,’ joked Carlos. ‘Well, we found Mrs Ortega’s car a long way from here, so at some point they had to leave, and maybe they did so together. Could we carry on watching the recordings?’

  The receptionist nodded and went back and selected the recording from the first camera, in which Carmen’s parked car could be seen. Over the course of the ensuing half an hour of recording they did not
see anything interesting, aside from two cars coming into the car park and two very lovey-dovey couples.

  ‘Stop it. There they are,’ said Sebas, pointing to the screen.

  The lift had opened. The hooded man took out the wheelie-bag that Carmen had brought and left it in the lift door to prevent it from closing again. He went back into the lift and came out a few seconds later carrying Carmen over his shoulder. The woman’s head and arms swung with every step, as if she were a doll. The man went up to Carmen’s car, opened the boot, and tried to put her inside. She moved a little, shaking her head, but did not put up any further resistance.

  ‘She’s virtually unconscious. The man must have hit her or drugged her whilst they were in the room,’ commented Sebas.

  ‘I’d wager on drugs. I think that bottle of Moët & Chandon contained a little more than champagne when she drank it,’ said Carlos, getting even closer to the screen. ‘Damn it, the guy’s wearing something on his face: a handkerchief or a scarf. Would you be able to give us a copy of these recordings? Maybe our technicians could improve the image...’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ protested the receptionist.

  ‘Yes, you can,’ Carlos cut him off. ‘Start preparing the list of people who have ever worked in this place since it opened, along with a copy of the recordings from both cameras. Don’t worry; your boss won’t be able to say anything to you. You’ll have a warrant in less than an hour.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  As soon as Carlos opened the door to the flat, Art pounced on him, threatening to knock him over. He got down on his knees to stroke the dog and try to calm him, whilst the latter wagged his tail and licked his face, as excited as if he had never seen anything so beautiful.

  ‘Hello, Art. How’s your day been?’ asked Carlos, receiving, by way of a response, a lick that soaked his face. ‘Is Natalia not back yet?’

  The home was dark and silent. Carlos checked the rooms, with the dog trying to walk in between his legs. There was nobody there. He was surprised. Natalia had told him that she would be finishing her shift a couple of hours before him. He decided to take the dog out and begin preparing the dinner for when she got back.

  He was already finishing turning the potato tortilla when he heard the sound of Art barking and racing, and the front door opening.

  ‘Art, let me through. You’re going to have me over.’

  Carlos heard how she laughed, whilst the echo of her heels advanced along the hallway. Natalia came into the kitchen, with the dog glued to her skirts, and a whole load of bags in her hands.’

  ‘What have you got there?’ asked Carlos.

  ‘Well, the other day my shoes got wrecked, so I’ve had to go out to buy some more.’

  ‘And was there a ten-for-one offer?’

  ‘No...’ She lowered her head and looked at them in embarrassment. ‘I think it got a little out of hand.’

  Carlos decided not to press the subject. He knew that Natalia became a compulsive shopper whenever she was nervous or angry, and he was certain that he knew the reason for her state of mind: the reunion with her father.

  ‘I hope you’ve at least bought yourself a pair of wellington boots for crime scenes.’

  ‘Well, no. You know that only high-heels catch my attention.’

  ‘You’ll wake up the day you crack your head open. Come on, sit down, this is ready now.’

  ‘Tortilla again?’ she protested.

  ‘You know it’s the only thing I know how to cook, but it still scares me,’ Carlos placed one arm behind his back whilst holding the plate with the other, and performed a theatrical bow. ‘Miss, your dinner.’

  Natalia gave him a sincere smile and, after putting the bags far out of reach of Art, who was trying to get his muzzle into all of them in order to inspect the contents, sat down at the table.

  ‘How’s the investigation going?’

  ‘Very well. We went to a hotel where the victim was on the day of her death, and we saw the killer on the security cameras.’

  ‘Seriously? So we have him, then?’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking. The image quality of those cameras is lousy, and the guy was wearing something to keep his face covered. All we know is that he’s a tall man, like 5’11”, and that he looks strong.’

  ‘Did they arrive together? Did she know him? Did he kill her right there?’

  ‘Calm down, one question at a time,’ said Carlos whilst he served the food. ‘He arrived half an hour earlier, but he must have known her, because he knew the security number that opened the room she had reserved. He ordered a bottle of champagne and waited for her. Then he returned to the car park, carrying her unconscious body, and put her in the boot.’

  ‘That would explain the dosage of alcohol and phenobarbital we found in her blood.’

  ‘Pheno-what?’

  ‘Phenobarbital. It’s not that difficult,’ replied Natalia, laughing. ‘The commercial name for it is Luminal, which will be easier for you.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll remember that one, either. I don’t even remember what I’ve eaten today... What’s that medication used for?’

  ‘It’s a barbiturate used for treating epilepsy, anxiety and insomnia. In high doses it can cause deep sleep, coma, and even death by respiratory depression.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how you make me feel when you talk all professionally like that.’

  ‘You’re so silly...’ Natalia’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red. ‘Nobody can speak seriously with you.’

  ‘Come on, I promise to be good.’ Carlos winked at her. ‘Have you discovered anything else in the post-mortem? Do you think she could have died from that drug?’

  ‘No. She died from strangulation, just as we thought, but the fact that she was drugged could explain why there are no defensive wounds, or hair or skin remains from the killer under her nails. I imagine she was not able to put up a fight. I have not managed to find anything else: no marks, or DNA remains, or semen that could belong to the killer.’

  ‘There’s no semen? Wow, taking into account the place they met and the fact they were half an hour before coming down, I thought they had done something more than talk in that room.’

  ‘Well, no. It seems our murderer is not a sexual predator.’

  ‘So you see how it wasn’t a serial killer?’

  ‘The fact he doesn’t have any sexual motivation doesn’t mean he isn’t a serial killer,’ explained Natalia. ‘He could have many other motivations: it could be that killing makes him feel powerful; that he’s trying to exorcise some guilt; that he has some kind of religious or moral obsession...’

  ‘You’re not going to give up, are you?’

  ‘You know I’m not. I would love for there not to be any more victims, but such an elaborate ritual is indication of very mentally disturbed behaviour. If we don’t want there to be any further deaths, we’re going to have to get our skates on.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The door to Carlos’s office opened. Natalia entered without greeting, with a sullen look on her face. Without saying anything, she sat down opposite him and crossed her arms. Carlos decided to remain silent, fearing that he was the cause of this outburst of bad temper.

  ‘Aguirre’s ordered us to go to him. It seems Dr Egaña has obtained results and wants to share them with us.’

  ‘Natalia, please... Don’t call him Dr Egaña. He’s your father.’

  ‘Let me handle this in my own way. It isn’t easy for me knowing that he’s walking around here.’

  ‘The man hasn’t done anything to you; he just wanted to talk to you. Shouldn’t you give him a chance? Maybe he’s changed.’

  ‘People like him don’t change. It caused me a lot of suffering to cut him out of my life, and I’m not going to allow him to come back.’

  ‘As you wish, but you’re acting like a baby.’ Natalia’s ice-cold look caused his body temperature to go down by a couple of degrees. He decided it would be better to change the subject. ‘By the way, I’ve spe
nt the whole morning searching for information about that Luminal, and it’s not going to serve as a lead for us.’

  ‘Why is that? Knowing that the suspect could be epileptic ought to reduce the field a lot.’

  ‘Yes, considerably so...’ replied Carlos, sarcastically. ‘We’ve only got some 15,000 epileptics in the Basque Country. Let’s see which judge will sign me a warrant to access their 15,000 medical records to be able to investigate them...’

  ‘Wow, so that doesn’t help much.’ Natalia got up from the chair and shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s okay; we’ll find a better lead in time. Let’s go and see what “my father” wants.’

  Carlos stood up and followed her to Aguirre’s office. After knocking on the door and being invited inside, they were met with Aguirre and Dr Egaña. Natalia picked the chair furthest away from her father and, without even greeting him, sat looking at her boss. Carlos sat down between the two of them, trying to pass by unnoticed, and riveted his eyes on Aguirre, hoping that he would begin speaking and break that uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Good morning. I’ve summoned you here because Dr Egaña has managed to finish the facial construction of the first victim, and we now have a photofit portrait of the woman.’

  Aguirre passed a copy of the image to each of them. On it could be seen a woman of around thirty years old, with a round face, thin lips, and snub nose. In spite of the fact the image lacked expression, one could see that she had been an attractive woman.

  ‘We’ve passed this image on to the press in order to ask them to distribute it,’ Aguirre continued explaining. ‘In a few hours’ time, it’ll be on the Internet and in the news, so we hope that her family gets in contact with us soon. As soon as we know anything, we will inform you.’

  ‘Thank you very much, sir. Do you need anything else from us?’ asked Natalia, getting up.

  ‘No, nothing else.’

  Natalia said goodbye and left the room with as much urgency as if the air in there was unbreathable. Before Carlos could even react, the doctor got up and left after her.