The White Corpses

by Gemma Herrero Virto

  ‘Not that I’m all that keen, but okay.’

  They began gently running, side-by-side. After some two hundred metres, Carlos began to feel out of breath. In the end he was going to have to admit that Natalia was right when she said that he was very out of shape and that it would do him good to go out running with Gus. He forced himself not to complain, and to carry on running at a constant rhythm. In a few short minutes, they had left the narrow streets of Gus’s neighbourhood and had begun running along a wide pavement, adorned with trees and benches situated every few metres. Carlos was tempted to ask Gus if they could sit down for a little while, but he thought that the young man would laugh at him if he flagged so soon. He tried to distract himself by looking at the river, which ran parallel to them many metres below.

  ‘It’s not bad, this running in the mornings,’ said Gus, smiling. ‘And to think I’d never tried it, and laughed at people who did...’

  ‘I still think that running for the sake of running is stupid. I’m only doing this because you and Natalia had asked me to. And if in the end you don’t sit the entrance exams and all of this was for nothing, it won’t matter how much you trained, because I’ll chase you down and kill you.’

  ‘Well I’m not all that sure I am going to sit them.’ Faced with the look of profound hatred that Carlos gave him, Gus hurried to explain. ‘I’ve been having a look at the theory part, and it’s extensive. And I have to pass the University exams and do the end of course project, and the internships.’

  ‘The internships don’t qualify as an excuse. Aguirre has kept you on at the station even though we’ve solved the case, and I know you do nothing other than loaf around.’

  ‘Okay, but I have to be there... And I work more than you think. We’re planning a new criminal database...’

  ‘I’ve seen you all, Gus. You and the other geeks from the IT department spend all day sitting down, eating sweets, and drinking Coca-Colas.’

  ‘That’s because we’re in the theoretical phase. We need a lot of sugar in order for the brain to work.’

  ‘Yes, of course. That’s what it’ll be.’

  Whilst they spoke, they arrived at an overlook with a small group of trees. Their branches were connected and they provided a natural shelter under which a couple of benches had been placed. To Carlos, it seemed like the perfect place to make the first stop.

  ‘Let’s sit down here for a bit.’

  ‘But we’ve not been running even five minutes...’

  ‘Yes, but the thing is we started quickly, without warming up or anything,’ said Carlos, collapsing down onto one of the benches.

  ‘Well you are out of shape. If your level of fitness is what they ask in order to be an ertzaina, I’m well in.’

  ‘I already passed the tests in my day, son. Now I can relax and be in whatever physical shape I fancy.’

  ‘If you carry on like this, the shape you’ll be in will be round,’ joked Gus.

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense. I’ve got the body of a teenager,’ replied Carlos, as he took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. ‘Ciggy?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve brought cigarettes for going out on a run.’

  ‘Of course. I don’t go anywhere without cigarettes. Do you want one or not?’

  Gus nodded, and Carlos passed him one. For a couple of minutes, the smoked in silence, contemplating the scenery: the Saint María Basilica close up; the Suspension Bridge lording over the estuary; the point in which the latter opened out and met the sea... The sun was now somewhat higher up in the sky and the clouds were dispelling, revealing large pieces of blue sky.

  ‘It’s great, this,’ commented Gus, thoughtful. ‘And deceptive. It seems so peaceful... Nobody would say that bad things could happen in this place, but, if such things didn’t, neither you nor your colleagues would have a job.’

  ‘Evil can hide itself anywhere, even amongst ourselves. Remember about Roberto.’

  ‘It’s been a long time since I asked you about that. Have you closed the case yet?’

  ‘Not yet, but there are only small details left.’ Carlos leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees, whilst he continued contemplating the view with a vacant gaze. ‘Natalia’s father finished the facial reconstruction of the latest victim, and her family got in contact with us to identify her. Estefanía Allende, from Barakaldo. A brilliant psychologist, only thirty-one years old. She was married, although her marriage was not going very well. She had her whole life ahead of her, until a madman got in her way...’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself. We couldn’t have solved it any sooner...’

  ‘I know. We didn’t have the necessary pieces to solve it... It’s just that I think about the number of times I crossed paths with Roberto over the course of those weeks. He knew that I was investigating those murders. I’m sure that inside he was laughing at me. And I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see anything... It’s strange. I’ve always had a kind of sixth sense, and this time it didn’t activate.’

  ‘You couldn’t suspect a colleague. It’s normal. Are you going to be able to prove that he did it?’

  ‘Of course. We found several locks of hair in a box. He kept them as a kind of trophy. The laboratory has confirmed that they belonged to the murdered woman. We also found a roll of cord, the pattern of which corresponds to the marks on the victims’ necks. And in a wardrobe he kept the pots of white body paint, along with the masks, and the watches... There were loads of them.’

  ‘I don’t understand. That means he was planning on killing many more women...’

  ‘Maybe he realised that we were close to catching him, and he decided to end it all.’

  ‘Well, in that case we’ve saved a ton of women. There’s no reason for you to be so disheartened. Come on: let’s get back to running, you’re getting yourself down!’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. This whole case is giving me a very bad feeling. I don’t understand why, but I don’t feel good upon having solved it.’ Carlos shook his head, as if wanting to free himself of his bad thoughts. ‘Let’s go past the church, then we’ll go down through Casco Viejo and set off towards the Suspension Bridge. The last one there pays for the coffee and snacks.’

  ‘Coffee and a snack? You’re never going to get in shape like that.’

  ‘I’ve already told you that I’m only doing this to help you. If I’m not even going to be getting a breakfast as recompense, you can start forgetting about me.’

  The two of them resumed running. They had not even reached the Basilica when Carlos had to stop again. His lungs were burning, and his side was hurting as though it had been pierced by a lance. Gus turned around for a moment, made fun of him, and continued running. Carlos let him carry on, and sat down on a bench. It would be better to go at a slower pace. The Suspension Bridge was not going anywhere.

  *****

  Carlos found himself walking along a wide, white corridor. He did not know exactly where he was or how he had got there. There were no windows or turns in it. Just a white corridor that seemed to stretch out to infinity. He reached out his hand to touch one of the walls and, when he brought it back, it was covered in paint. It did not look like wall paint. It was smooth and oily, and blended into his skin when he rubbed his hands together. It seemed like makeup, but that made no sense.

  Every few metres, a piece of graffiti would break up the uniformity of the walls. It appeared to have been painted in brushstrokes, without any care taken at all. Carlos was not able to pinpoint why, but it seemed to him that whoever had painted them was full of rage, and that those hurried markings were their way of expressing it. They were only letters and numbers: Ts 4:7, Pr 6:23, 1Co 7:2, Jr 3:8... He did not know what they meant, but upon looking at them he felt a black sense of foreboding growing inside him. He did not want to continue down that corridor. He was feeling watched, in danger...

  He began to run, but the corridor continued. There was no change at all in it, no diversion. Only metres and metres of white walls adorned with
those inscriptions. He was feeling increasingly more worried all the time. He was beginning to fear that he would never be able to get out of there; that he would be condemned to forever roam that infinite corridor.

  Then he saw it. The corridor broadened out a little further ahead, to lead on to a large room. He ran up to it and went inside. The door slammed behind him, making the walls resound. Carlos stood frozen, not knowing how to escape.

  The room was very different from the corridor he had just left behind. The walls were metallic, in a very dark steel grey, reflecting the glow of the fluorescent lights which flickered continuously and made him nervous. There was no furniture in the room, only four metallic gurneys covered with sheets. Beneath the pieces of fabric, he discerned the shapes of four bodies.

  Carlos felt his breathing become unsteady. He did not want to look beneath those sheets, but he knew that doing so was his only chance for getting out of that place. He tried to control the trembling in his hand, and he removed the sheet covering the closest gurney. On top of it lay the naked body of Andrea Martínez, the first victim. She was not disfigured. She was resting, with a smile on her face, and an expression of peace. Her skin did not have the pallid quality of corpses. It even looked as though her cheeks were rosy.

  He went up to the second gurney and lifted the fabric. He found a woman with dark, wavy hair and tanned skin. It was Carmen, the second victim, the wife of Salazar the medical examiner. Her skin was also unblemished, and she looked so well that Carlos wondered whether she could be alive.

  At an unsteady pace, he went over to the third gurney and removed the sheet. Just as he had expected, it was Estefanía who was resting there, as beautiful and healthy as she had appeared in the photographs from when she was alive.

  What did all of this mean? And who was resting on the fourth gurney? There had only been three victims. Once more, he felt a weight in the pit of his stomach, and his breathing sped up. He did not know why, but he did not want to uncover that final gurney. He did not want to know what it was hiding.

  The shape on the fourth gurney began to shake and tremble. Carlos took a couple of steps backwards and collided into Carmen’s gurney. The woman was now no longer resting peacefully on the metal surface. She had sat up, and was reaching her arms out towards him as if trying to capture him, whilst she let out a howl of pain that echoed against the walls of the room.

  The other two women had also sat up. Their faces were no longer beautiful and calm. They were melting before his eyes. The skin became liquid and pale, and it dripped onto the floor in big, thick droplets of white makeup. They began to cry out, in high pitched and hysterical screams that hammered into his soul. Carlos took a few steps backwards before bumping into the door to the room. He tried to open it, but the handle would not budge. The women tried to get down from the gurneys and get to him, holding their arms out in front of them as they continued screaming.

  The figure on the final gurney managed to sit up. The sheet slid down to his waist, revealing his face. It was Roberto. For a few seconds, he remained still, with his eyes closed, as if he were meditating. Suddenly, he opened them and riveted them on Carlos’s face. He shook his head very slowly, whilst from his eyes fell thick, white tears. He opened his mouth and uttered only five words:

  You know it wasn’t me.

  *****

  Carlos sat up in the bed, crying out. His body was covered in cold sweat, and his heart was beating so hard it seemed to want to escape through his mouth. He sensed movement beside him, and Natalia’s bedside lamp came on. The dim light managed to reduce the terror. He was not in that corridor. He was not in that room. He had escaped. It had all been a dream.

  ‘Carlos, what’s wrong? Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes... No... I don’t know.’ He sat forward and rubbed his eyes with his hands, to try and dispel those images from his consciousness. ‘It was a nightmare.’

  ‘What did you see?’ she asked, worried.

  ‘I’m not sure... The victims... And Roberto... Roberto was another victim...’

  ‘I’m not understanding you. Roberto was the one who killed them.’

  ‘Not in my dream. He was saying that he wasn’t the one responsible. I think he was trying to tell me that we’ve been mistaken.’

  She put an arm around his shoulders and drew him close to embrace him. She gave him a gentle kiss on the head, and brushed aside a rebellious lock of hair from his forehead.

  ‘It was only a dream, Carlos. The case is solved. We’ll be closing it in a couple of days,’ she told him in the gentle tone one uses to calm children. ‘We solved it, and we did a good job. You don’t have to go over it in your head anymore.’

  ‘I know, darling.’ Carlos exhaled forcefully a couple of times in order to drive out the anxiety that had been settling inside his chest. ‘Go back to sleep and don’t worry. I’m going to get up and have a cup of hot milk, and I’ll be right back.

  Natalia lay back down again and turned off the bedside lamp. Carlos got out of bed, taking care not to step on Art so as not to wake him. His precautions were useless. The dog had already been awake for some time, and he followed him to the kitchen, looking at him as if he were worried about him. Carlos could not help but smile. He opened the biscuit container and gave him one.

  ‘You’re a great guard dog. Thanks for taking care of me.’

  Art lay down on the kitchen floor with his head between his paws, ready to continue watching over him. Carlos opened the fridge, took out a bottle of milk, and then put it back again. A cup of hot milk was not the thing he needed to exorcise his demons. He opened a small cupboard, took out a bottle of vodka, served himself half a glass, and finished it off in a single gulp. The liquid burned as it descended down his oesophagus, and continued warming his stomach as if someone had set up a little campfire there. Carlos rested both his hands on the counter and enjoyed the sensation. That warmth eliminated the coldness of the post-mortem room from his dream, and made him feel a little more alive and safe.

  He filled another glass and took it into the living room in order to sit in front of the large window. It was still night, and Bilbao looked like a collection of samples of small precious stones sparkling against black velvet. He searched for a cigarette and smoked as he enjoyed the view, the sharp taste of the vodka on his tongue, the silent company of Art... He just had to calm down, and then he would be able to forget that damn dream and go back to bed.

  Dawn caught him by surprise, sitting in the same place, unable to have stopped his thoughts. Something was not right about that case, and he had to find out what it was.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was past three in the afternoon, but the place was still filled to capacity. From one corner, a waiter was staring at Carlos with a sullen expression. He pretended not to realise, and to be very busy checking his mobile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw as the waiter was approaching. The man came alongside the table with his hands placed behind his back, and softly cleared his throat in order to catch his attention. Carlos looked up and gave him a friendly smile.

  ‘Do you need anything?’ he asked, caringly.

  ‘Yes. Your reservation was for two-thirty, and we have many people waiting. If you are not going to order anything, I am going to have to ask you to vacate the table.’

  ‘As you will know, my reservation was for three people. My companions have been held up a little, but they must be here any minute.’ Carlos smiled again by way of apology. ‘You don’t need to worry. We’ll leave a tip that’ll make up for all the trouble we may be causing you.’

  The waiter furrowed his brow, but left with his head held high and an offended expression on his face, without saying anything else, as if he were upset by the mere fact of having to debase himself by talking to him. Carlos went back to looking at his phone, whilst thinking that he was not going to be leaving a single euro as a tip for that snooty man. In that moment, the door opened and Natalia and Gus came into the restaurant. He raised his hand so that they wo
uld see him, and they headed for the table.

  ‘You certainly took your damn time,’ he protested as they took their seats.

  ‘It was Natalia’s fault. I was all ready to leave, but Natalia got caught up gutting people. You know how she likes those things...’

  ‘It was an important post-mortem. I couldn’t leave it halfway through,’ Natalia explained by way of apology. ‘If you had let me know about this invitation to eat further in advance, I would have been able to have organised my schedule better. I had planned on doing the post-mortem until three, and then going and getting a sandwich out of the machine...’

  ‘And eating it right there, amongst the dead,’ interrupted Gus. ‘Dude, that’s quite a stomach you have!’

  ‘It’s a job. It’s a matter of getting used to it.’ Natalia shrugged her shoulders in order to downplay it, and turned towards Carlos. ‘Can you tell us now what this invitation is about?’

  The waiter came over in that moment to take their orders. He seemed very annoyed upon seeing that they still had not decided what to eat, so he remained standing, alongside the table, piling on the pressure. When they finally ordered and he left, Carlos resumed the conversation:

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about the case of Azkar and Quicklove...’

  ‘No, Carlos, please...’ Natalia covered her face with her hands as she shook her head. ‘You’re still going over that?’

  ‘Going over what?’ asked Gus, intrigued.’

  ‘Carlos had a dream the other night and now he thinks that Roberto wasn’t the one responsible, but rather that he was another victim, and that we have to carry on investigating in order to do him justice.’

  ‘I’ve tried forgetting it, but I’ve been going over and over it for days, and every time I find more things that don’t tally,’ Carlos explained.