The White Corpses

by Gemma Herrero Virto

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll check it,’ said Gus, as he read. ‘I’m going to need to access the station’s IP registers.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll walk with you to the IT room,’ Aguirre got up with effort, as if he had just aged twenty years in a single morning.

  Gus picked up one of the laptops and left after Aguirre. Carlos and Natalia followed them. Carlos sped up until he drew level with Gus, and caught hold of his arm to catch his attention.

  ‘I know you’re going to tell me that now’s not the time, but I need you to explain to me what we’re supposed to be doing.’

  ‘God damn it, Carlos... Now? If you’re not going to understand it...’ complained Gus.

  ‘You explain it to me, nice and simply, slowly, and in words fit for human beings, and you’ll see how I’ll understand you,’ insisted Carlos.

  ‘Okay, I’ll try... The IP they’ve provided us with is from the station’s router.’ Carlos shook his head to express that he had already become lost. ‘God, we’re on fire... Imagine that there’s a big box, like a switchboard, which is the thing that provides the Internet to all the computers in headquarters.’

  ‘And all the mobiles,’ interrupted Aguirre. ‘I know how you all spend the day connected to the station’s WIFI.’

  ‘Fine, all the computers and all the mobiles... The IP they’ve supplied us with from QuickLove corresponds to the number of that switchboard. Because of that, we know that the connections were made from here. But, in addition to that, on the register of that switchboard they keep other numbers, which are the exact IPs that those connections were made from.’

  ‘You’ve lost me again,’ moaned Carlos.

  ‘Let’s see... The switchboard is a kind of mother computer. All the other computers that are connected to it are its children. They share the beginning of the IP, as if it were a surname, and then you have other specific digits at the end that indicate exactly which computer established the connections with QuickLove. Do you understand it now?’

  ‘But you said exact IPs,’ said Natalia, confused. ‘Have there been connections made from different computers? Do we have more than one killer?’

  ‘No, but IPs are dynamic.’ Gus made a gesture, asking them to wait while he finished explaining. ‘That means that they change every time the computer is turned off, or the router.’

  ‘So then, how are we going to know which computer they belong to?’

  ‘From the registers. All the IPs that access the router are registered, together with the time that said computer was connected. We know the times at which Azkar spoke with his victims and, by looking at the register, we’ll be able to find out the IPs that logged into QuickLove.’ Gus showed them the laptop that he was carrying under his arm. ‘All I have to do is compare the details, and I’ll tell you who it is.’

  *****

  Whilst Gus typed on the computer, consulting his notes in addition to making new ones, Carlos paced up and down. He felt as if an electrical current had invaded his entire body and he was not able to keep still. He was going to have to arrest one of his colleagues. Whilst they were investigating, somebody with whom he had possibly been crossing paths with every day was planning those murders. Whilst they were trying to find leads and put all of the pieces of that puzzle together, that man had been speaking with his next victims barely a few metres away. He could not believe it.

  He heard Gus puffing out, and he turned towards him. Aguirre and Natalia looked over his shoulder, waiting for him to say something to them.

  ‘Do you have it? Do you know who it is?’ asked Carlos, unable to contain his anxiety.

  ‘Yes, I’ve checked it several times, and I think there’s no possible mistake,’ Gus puffed out again. ‘The killer’s computer is in the homicide department.’

  ‘It’s one of the inspectors?’ asked Aguirre, collapsing into a nearby chair.

  ‘Yes, it is. I too was hoping to be able to tell you that it was someone in maintenance or some external consultant, but all of the connections have been made from that computer. And on top of that, there’s the whole thing with the name...’

  ‘What name? Tell us who it is already, for God’s sake,’ shouted Carlos.

  ‘Your old colleague: Roberto Azkarraga.’ Faced with the silence of the others, Gus felt obliged to continue explaining. ‘Azkar... Azkarraga... You get it?’

  ‘It can’t be him. He’s an arriviste and a real son of a bitch, but he’s not a killer,’ said Carlos.

  ‘Well, that’s not what this says. There’s no way it could be a mistake.’

  ‘I don’t want to believe it either, but the best way of verifying it is to talk with him in person and have him tell us his version of the events.’ Aguirre took his mobile out of his pocket and dialled a number. ‘Maite, would you be able to tell me whether Inspector Azkarraga is on duty? No? All right. Send me his address, please.’

  Aguirre hung up and went over to Carlos. He placed a hand on his shoulder and led him towards the door.

  ‘Come on, we have to arrest him.’

  ‘You’re going to come as well?’

  ‘Yes. I think I should be present. I’m going to go and organise everything, and then I’ll be waiting for you at the main door in two minutes.’

  The sergeant went out of the room and left them alone. Carlos turned towards Gus and Natalia and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I’m sorry you can’t come, but this could be dangerous. It’s highly likely that he’ll be armed.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be waiting here for you. Let us know about everything,’ replied Natalia.

  ‘Yes, don’t worry. I prefer to finish a case without having to pay a visit to the hospital.’ Gus winked at him. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘And be careful,’ Natalia told him before he walked out through the door.

  Carlos turned around in the threshold, nodded, and gave her a soothing smile. When he disappeared, Natalia flopped into a chair with a vacant gaze.

  ‘So is that it?’ said Gus, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Do we have to stay here waiting for the warriors to return?’

  ‘Seems that way,’ replied Natalia. ‘Or we could always go to the bar across the road and have a cocktail to celebrate.’

  ‘And what is there to celebrate?’ asked Gus. ‘I’ve been left jobless through having solved it too quickly, and I’m not even close to being able to afford a car. This is shit. You’re going to have to lend me the Mercedes a few more times.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, getting up, ‘but come with me for that drink. I think we’ve earned it.’

  *****

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  They spent the first few minutes in the van putting on their bulletproof vests. After doing that, everybody sat down in silence, staring resolutely at the floor, as if the space between their feet was the most interesting thing in the world.

  The rumour had already spread amongst all of the men, but not one of them dared to say anything whilst in the presence of the sergeant. They were about to arrest one of their colleagues for the brutal murder of three women. Every so often, one of the men would raise his head and look around, focussing on all of the details, in a futile attempt to find any indication that the whole thing was not real.

  In less than ten minutes, they arrived at the indicated address. When the back doors to the van were opened, Carlos was the first to jump out. Several other backup patrol cars had already arrived and were surrounding the building. They had not turned on the sirens, but they did have the flashing lights. If Roberto had taken a look out of the window at any point during the last few minutes, he would already be forewarned that it was game over for him; that they were coming for him. Carlos felt uncomfortable and worried. If Roberto was feeling cornered, that could make things very dangerous. Carlos would have put himself on the line for one any of his colleagues if he had been told that they were at risk of being shot, but it seemed that recent events insisted on saying that he was wrong. Roberto had killed those women; he had burnt their h
ands and faces in order to hinder the investigation; he had left those secret messages that proved how crazy he was... They had been partners, but he did not know him at all.

  Carlos positioned himself in front of a detachment of four men and, with their weapons in their hands, they headed towards the building whilst the rest of their colleagues covered them. During the course of that journey, he felt all of his nerves bristle. At any moment, a window on the third floor could open and a rain of bullets could begin to fall over them.

  When he arrived at the main door to the building, he allowed himself to breathe again. An officer was standing guard over it, and keeping it open. They went in one by one, aiming all around them. They began climbing the stairs, trying to make the least amount of noise possible. To Carlos, it felt as though each one of their footsteps created echoes in the stairwell; that their breathing could be heard several floors up from where they were...

  Upon arriving on the third floor, he positioned himself in front of the door whilst his colleagues situated themselves behind him with their weapons at the ready. Carlos swallowed with difficulty, rang the doorbell several times, and then banged hard on the door twice.

  ‘Roberto Azkarraga,’ he called out loud. ‘Ertzaintza homicide department! We’ve come to arrest you. Open the door and come out with your hands up.’

  They waited a few seconds, not lowering their handguns. Carlos felt as though that wait went on for eternity. He focused all of his senses on trying to perceive any noise or movement that could come out of the dwelling, but he got nothing. When he could no longer take it anymore, he went back to banging on the door.

  ‘Roberto! We know you’re there. Don’t make this more difficult for us. Open the door.’

  They went back to waiting in silence. Carlos heard a couple of coughs behind him, the movement of feet, murmurs... The three men were beginning to get nervous. The longer Roberto drew out that tension, the greater the possibility he would have of ending up with a bullet between the eyes. Carlos turned towards the waiting men and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Well, he asked for it. We’re going in. Have you brought the battering ram?’

  A couple of men stepped forward and struck the door, which gave way on the third attack. Before them, they could make out a dark and deserted hallway. Carlos signalled with his head, and the men went in and proceeded to spread out through the rooms.

  ‘Kitchen clear,’ he heard one of the men call out.

  ‘Room clear.’

  ‘Room clear.’

  He went inside and down the hallway, his pistol in front of him and his finger on the trigger. At the end of the corridor he could make out a living room. The morning light was coming in through the half-open windows, illuminating the room. Even so, he could not discern anybody. When he arrived at the door, he froze. There was Roberto, sitting at a desk. He was leaning forwards, with his head resting on it, as if he had fallen asleep as he was writing. Carlos waited a few seconds, aiming at him with the gun, but did not detect the slightest movement. He then advanced towards him and, very carefully, and not taking his aim off him, he placed two fingers on the side of his neck. The skin was cold, and he did not detect any sign of a pulse.

  ‘He’s here,’ he called out in order to alert his colleagues.

  He heard hurried footsteps down the hallway. In less than three seconds, they were all in the living room, aiming their weapons at Roberto’s body.

  ‘Don’t worry. There’s no danger.’

  Without saying anything more, he took his mobile out of his pocket, unlocked it, and searched for Aguirre’s number. The sergeant answered before the first ring had even ended.

  ‘Aguirre, you can come up... Yes, we’ve found him. Send for a forensics team. He’s dead.’

  *****

  Half an hour later, Natalia arrived at Roberto’s building. There were more police cars with the lights flashing, and a police cordon that encircled the area, behind which there was starting to be a growing jumble of journalists and curious neighbours.

  She got out of the car, picked up her workbag, and, after showing her ID, she crossed the cordon. An officer accompanied her up to the third floor. Upon reaching the landing, she found Carlos speaking with a woman who was dressed in a plush dressing gown and rabbit-shaped slippers.

  ‘I don’t care whether you got on really well with your neighbour. I’m telling you that you can’t go into the flat. We’re in the middle of a police investigation,’ Carlos was saying, trying to keep a calm tone.

  ‘But I used to go in many times. I’d bring him croquettes and rice pudding, which he loved. I know exactly how all the things in that flat are arranged. If you let me in, I’ll be able to tell you whether anyone’s moved anything,’ insisted the woman.

  ‘I really do appreciate your cooperation, madam, but nobody can go inside until a medical examiner verifies the death and the external examination is carried out.’ Carlos turned towards Natalia and smiled, as if she were an angel sent from heaven to save him. ‘And speaking of the medical examiner, here she is. We have to allow her to do her job, madam.’

  ‘She’s the one who’s going to verify whether he’s dead? I could do that myself, too.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that, madam, but I have a license that allows me to do it, and you don’t,’ replied Natalia, sharply. ‘If you will allow me.’

  Natalia went inside the flat, and Carlos followed her. As they proceeded down the hallway, they continued to hear the neighbour’s complaints.

  ‘That was pretty damn harsh how you spoke to that poor woman,’ laughed Carlos. ‘Are you in a bad mood?’

  ‘Although it may seem strange for my profession, it never puts me in a good mood having to go to a crime scene.’

  ‘I understand. Nobody likes extra work.’

  ‘Don’t be moronic. Besides, he was a colleague. I knew him.’

  ‘Yes, but not one of us liked him,’ Carlos pointed out.

  ‘It’s a shame there’s no Nobel Prize for insensitivity, because you’d win it hands down.’ Natalia shook her head, hopelessly. ‘Where is the body?’

  ‘In the living room, at the end of the hall.’

  They went into the living room, and the police officers present moved aside so that they could get to the desk. Roberto was still in the same position. It seemed that nobody had touched him. Natalia opened her workbag, took out a pair of gloves and some evidence bags, and went up to the body.

  Next to Roberto’s head, she found a white and green box with an empty blister pack alongside a glass of water. She picked up the packet and showed it to Carlos.

  ‘Luminal. It seems he’s taken all of them.’

  ‘Could it be the cause of death?’

  ‘I would wager yes. Are there signs of a struggle or violence in any part of the flat?

  ‘No, everything’s in order and the door wasn’t forced. Everything points to it being a suicide.’

  ‘Natalia nodded and went closer to the body. After checking his pulse again, she turned towards Carlos.

  ‘There’s something on the desk, underneath his head.’ Natalia pointed towards a piece of paper that poked out on one side. ‘Will you help me move him a little?’

  Carlos nodded, went over to her, and, taking hold of Roberto by the shoulders, pulled on him so that his head lifted. Natalia extracted the piece of paper and signalled to him that he could put the body back in the same position.

  ‘What’s on it?’ asked Carlos.

  Natalia showed it to him. The letters were very large and took up the entire page. There was only one note: Dt 22:22.

  ‘Damn, one of his little messages,’ commented Carlos.

  ‘Yes, let’s see what it means.’

  Natalia left the piece of paper on the desk, took out her mobile phone, and, after opening the browser, typed in the message. After a few seconds, the result appeared:

  ‘It pertains to Deuteronomy.’

  ‘To what?’ asked Carlos.

  ‘It’s one of the boo
ks from The Old Testament,’ explained Natalia. ‘Let’s see what the verse says: “If a man is found lying with the wife of another man, both of them shall die, the man who lay with the woman, and the woman. So you shall purge the evil from Israel.”’

  ‘Wow, I think we can consider this as a confession.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Natalia, ‘and as his suicide note.’

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER ONE

  The streets of Sestao were empty and silent. The city seemed even greyer that February morning, illuminated by the weak and sickly clarity of the first rays of sun that were straining through the dark clouds, in addition to the final few streetlights resisting turning off. It was a bleak day, with a cold wind that played with the dry leaves and the papers that were scattered along the pavements, stirring up little whirlwinds.

  Carlos went back to thinking about how he should not be there, but rather asleep in his bed, tucked up to his ears, and feeling Natalia’s warm body beside him. He decided not to think about it any further and to get out of the car. He had promised Gus that he would help him with this, and now he could not go back. At least he could be thankful that it was not raining.

  Before getting out of the car, he pressed the horn twice in order to let Gus know that he had already arrived and was waiting for him. A couple of minutes later, the young man came out through the entrance door to his part of the building with a stern face.

  ‘Are you crazy, or something?’ he said to him, by way of a greeting. ‘Who thinks to blow their horn at this hour?’

  ‘I had to let you know I’d arrived...’

  ‘That’s what the mobiles are for. You drop call me, and I come out. Don’t you know that the horn should only be used in emergency situations? It blows my mind that I have to explain that to you, given that you’re a policeman.’

  ‘Yeah, but not traffic: I’m from homicide.’

  ‘Well, what with the bad temper my neighbours have, I’m surprised there isn’t one here.’ Gus checked that his trainers were properly tied before he carried on talking. ‘Shall we go?’