The White Corpses

by Gemma Herrero Virto

  ‘Don’t worry. What is it that doesn’t seem right to you, madam? Why do you think that Daniel’s death was not due to an accident?’

  ‘They say he lost control because he was drunk. My son didn’t drink: he detested alcohol. He never had a single glass in his life.’

  Carlos gave her a timid smile and noted down her words in his notebook, although he did not believe they were going to be of any use to him. When he finished writing, he did a couple of little taps with the ballpoint pen on the pad, and decided to share his doubts with her.

  ‘Madam, I have no intention of offending you, but parents don’t know everything about their children. We always think they are perfect and that they would not do anything risky or stupid, but it could be that your son did drink, even if he never told either of you about it.’

  ‘No, that’s not it.’ The woman pursed her lips and gave him a cold look. ‘I know that my son was no angel. I know that he had a few vices, but alcohol was not one of them.’

  ‘What vices?’ asked Carlos, interested.

  ‘Do you not know how it was that David came to work for the Ertzaintza?’

  ‘By passing a public examination, I imagine...’

  ‘Well, no. My son was always good with computers. Too good...’ the father recounted, with his gaze lost on infinity. ‘When he was seventeen years old, the police turned up at our home to arrest him.’

  ‘What was he being accused of?’

  ‘Hacking large companies: insurance companies, banks, some official bodies... He never took anything. He could have stolen whatever he wanted, but he limited himself to entering, erasing a few files, putting in some virus... They were only pranks, a kind of challenge for him. He wasn’t looking for any gain apart from the adrenaline, of knowing that he was doing something forbidden, of proving that he was smarter... Until they caught him, of course.’

  ‘And what happened? Did he go to prison?’

  ‘No, he never came to set foot in prison. Before the judge, they offered us a deal. If Daniel agreed to work for the Ertzaintza, they would withdraw the charges. If he did not agree, he would risk going to prison, or an immense fine we’d never be able to pay in our lives.’

  ‘So he agreed?’

  ‘Yes, and he was very happy with his work,’ intervened the mother. ‘For a few years, we thought that he had learnt his lesson and that he had grown up... Until we found out about the other thing.’

  ‘What is the other thing?’ asked Carlos, interested.

  ‘Gambling...’ The woman hung her head, as if embarrassed for the sins of her son. ‘It started with sports betting. He said that he did not trust in chance; that he studied all of the variables; that his method was secure, but he began losing money and had to ask for loans from his friends, his family... Every time, he was betting more to try and recoup what he had lost. We had to tell him that the loans were over and that he had to seek help.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘Yes. We were seeing a psychologist who was an expert in addiction. He explained to us that the money was not important to him. He was seeking out the adrenaline, to prove that he was smarter than whoever he was against... Exactly the same as when he was seventeen years old and entertaining himself by going into other people’s computers. He had not changed one bit.’

  ‘And what happened? Did he manage to overcome the addiction?’

  ‘For a time we thought he had,’ intervened the father. ‘He no longer asked for money from family or friends, so we supposed he had put it behind him. What was actually happening was that he was asking for money from loan sharks and getting further and further into debt. I imagine you know the kinds of idiots. It’s not the same thing being late paying a friend as it is with those scumbags.’

  ‘Yes, they tend to have very little patience,’ remarked Carlos. ‘What happened?’

  ‘They gave him a beating that put him in hospital,’ the father continued to recount. ‘He had to confess to us what had happened.’

  ‘How much money did he owe?’

  ‘About six thousand euros,’ replied the mother, shaking her head in dejection. ‘He told us not to worry about anything; that he had found the way to pay back the money, and that he was totally confident, and somebody was going to pay him very well for a job.’

  ‘Did he mention to you who that person was, or what kind of job he had to do?’

  ‘No, we didn’t manage to get any more information out of him. Just that it was a colleague from the police station.’ The woman’s voice broke with the emotion. ‘We believed that everything would be fine. He worked for the police, for God’s sake. How could one of his colleagues get him in trouble?’

  ‘Calm down, Miren.’ The man placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders to comfort her. ‘We don’t know whether what he was doing for that colleague was illegal or not. Maybe he didn’t manage to gather the money together in time for his moneylender, and this time they decided that a beating wasn’t enough.’

  ‘Whatever it was, what I can guarantee is that Daniel did not drink and drive. My son did not drink, and he would never have done something stupid like that.’

  ‘Do you know the name of the loan shark?’ The couple shook their heads. ‘What about the place where he would go to make the bets?’

  ‘That, we do,’ replied the man. ‘If you’ll let me have your notepad, I’ll write down the address.’

  Carlos did so, and waited for the man to finish writing. In the meantime, the woman kept her gaze fixated on him. Carlos did not know how to interpret what those eyes were expressing. Hope? Trust? This woman was thinking that he could do justice and find out what had really happened to her son. Without saying anything, Carlos smiled at her and nodded, signing a kind of contract that he intended to fulfil.

  When he left their home, he looked at the address that Daniel’s father had written. It was a bar on Siete Calles, right in Casco Viejo, the historical centre of Bilbao. He thought about whether he ought to go over there. His hypotheses pointed towards it being that mysterious colleague who had ended David’s life, so it was very likely that his moneylender had not had anything to do with it. Those people wanted to collect their debts above all else. Putting a person in a car and sending them off down a ravine was not a good way of recouping the money.

  He decided that, even so, he would call in there to ask some questions. Perhaps the loan shark could give him some interesting piece of information. He would have loved to bring Sebas along with him so that he could cover his back. It could be dangerous going into a place like that alone, but he did not want to get Sebas into any further mess. He had to try to get it so that, in the case that Aguirre did end up finding out about this, it was only his head that would fall.

  *****

  When Lorena came out the vestibule area of her building, his breath was momentarily taken away, like it was every time he saw her. She had a way of walking, and wiggling her hips, that drove him crazy. Her long blonde hair fluttered behind her as if the breeze blew for her alone. When she saw him, leaning against the car, smoking a cigarette whilst he waited for her, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, coquettish, and smiled at him in the way that only she knew how to smile. Gus noticed that his heart was beating hard in his chest, and he had to contain a sigh so as not to come across as an enamoured idiot.

  Lorena stopped in front of him, rested her hands against the car as if imprisoning him, and brought her mouth to his. She nibbled his lower lip, playfully, before forging her way with her tongue. Gus chucked the cigarette aside and pressed her hard against his body.

  ‘Where are we going today?’ she asked, once they separated.

  ‘I don’t know... Shall we go up to Artxanda?’ he suggested, feeling that the blood was not getting to his brain because it was highly busy in other areas of his body.

  ‘Let’s leave that for later.’ Lorena placed her index finger on Gus’s chest and slid it meanderingly down until it reached his belt. ‘All good things come to those who wait.
’

  ‘Okay, whatever you say.’ Gus swallowed and tried to think about something that would make him forget about the pulsating throbbing coming from his crotch. ‘Do you want to go and have a coffee at some place on the beach?’

  ‘My friends are at the Fever. We could go there.’

  ‘Fever? Bloody hell, Lorena... I don’t remotely feel like going to a nightclub to listen to that shitty excuse for music and have them charge me even for just breathing. It’s the end of the month and I’m broke...’

  ‘Well next week we’ll have to put down the money for the Easter week holiday. I hope you’ll have been paid by then.’

  ‘What holiday? What money?’ asked Gus, confused.

  ‘Gus, sweetie, you don’t notice anything,’ she said, annoyed. ‘We were talking about it last Sunday in Puerto Viejo.’

  Gus tried to jog his memory, but did not manage to recall a thing. He did not want to confess to Lorena that the conversations with her friends tended to bore him so much that he would off and start thinking about any other thing, whilst smiling and nodding to everything they said to him.

  ‘I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind,’ he apologised. ‘Where are we supposed to be going?’

  ‘Skiing in Baqueira Beret.’

  ‘I’m not going to go skiing,’ protested Gus. ‘I don’t know how to ski, and I don’t have the equipment or the money to go to that place. I would suppose that on top of that we’d be going with your friends, right?’

  ‘Of course. Is it that you don’t like them, or something?’ Lorena seemed as horrified as if he had just confessed to her that he killed children for fun.

  ‘Let’s see... I don’t dislike them... Not completely... But imagining myself spending several days with them... I’d prefer to do something else, you and me alone.’

  ‘Something else like what?’ Lorena looked at him through half-closed eyes, whilst she shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know... Go to the cinema, walk through parks, go to the beach, have a coffee while we chat about stuff... What normal couples do.’

  ‘That’s boring, Gus. I’m going to go skiing with my friends like I do every year.’

  ‘Perfect. What does it matter what I want? I’m just the bloody wimp you go out with,’ said Gus under his breath.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing, just that I’ll think about it.’ Gus opened the car door and got in. ‘Come on, we’re going to Fever.’

  Lorena smiled, satisfied. Before she could get into the car, Gus set the music on at top volume. He did not feel like speaking with her at that moment. Nor did he feel like thinking. He knew that, if he applied himself to reflecting about their relationship, the night would end badly. He looked at Lorena in the rear-view mirror. Why did she have to be so pretty? Why did he have to like her so much? He knew that she was selfish, that she did not treat him well, that perhaps she did not make him entirely as happy as he deserved, but she made him happier than he would have ever imagined he could be. He would have to reluctantly accept that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  After leaving the car in the car park, Carlos went into Siete Calles. The area was pedestrianized and, during the day, it was a part of the city that had a lot of charm, filled with shops and cafés where the Bilbao locals and the tourists mixed together. At that time of night, it was virtually deserted and silent, although a few streets away could be heard the music from the bars, and the shouting of the people who were out on a binge.

  He went into a narrow street with stone paving. The buildings, old and greyish, were very close together, producing a slight sense of claustrophobia. Bilbao had changed a lot in recent years. It had turned into a tourist city, clean, open and luminous. Nevertheless, those advancements had not reached this part of the city, which still appeared dark, grey and melancholy. To increase that sensation, a fine drizzle began to fall, and became golden by the light of the streetlights. A cold wind travelled down the streets, pushing against him every time he tried to go around a corner. Carlos fastened up his coat and raised the collar. Such a sad atmosphere stirred up ill-fated omens for him. Something in the pit of his stomach was telling him that it was not a good idea to go to that place alone, that it would be better to turn right back round and go home, but, on the other hand, he knew that he had to carry on ahead; that the culprit was nearby, and he would be able to find him.

  After two minutes had gone by, he realised that he had become lost. The same thing always happened to him. It seemed impossible that, after spending his whole life in Bilbao, he would still be getting lost in Casco Viejo. He stopped on a corner and looked all around. Nothing; he did not have a clue where he was. One of these days he would have of ask Gus to show him how to use that mobile phone application that served to get one’s bearings, but for now he would have to fend for himself. He paused for a couple of minutes on that corner, hoping that somebody would pass by who could guide him. Only a couple of groups of young people passed through there, but, judging by the meandering paths they wove as they walked, Carlos thought that they would not be capable of even getting their own bearings.

  He resumed walking, choosing streets by chance. If he managed to get so that he could see the estuary, he would be able to know where he was and start fresh. All of a sudden, he found himself at the back part of the Santiago Cathedral. That allowed him to orientate himself, thus he went around the cathedral, walking alongside the wrought-iron gates that closed access to the portico, and took a side street. In just a few more minutes, he found himself at the address that Daniel’s father had provided him with.

  Just as he had expected, the place was a hovel: grey, dirty, and depressing, with old furniture and little in the way of lighting. The feeling in the pit of his stomach increased. He decided to ignore it and go in. The heat inside the place took him by surprise, causing him to feel a pleasant shiver. He undid his coat whilst taking a look at the establishment. In the entrance, one could see a few slot machines, fed continuously by grey, vacant-eyed men. The tables and chairs of the bar were taken up by people absorbed in the football match that was being broadcast on a gigantic television screen that filled one of the walls and seemed to be the only object in the place that was new and in good condition.

  Further beyond the slot machines, he made out a narrow corridor that led to a games room. A poster advertised that one could play roulette and cards. Carlos went up to the bar and called the barman’s attention.

  ‘Good evening. Could I have a beer?’

  The barman nodded and served him. Once he placed the beer in front of him, Carlos decided that it was time to get the ball rolling.

  ‘Excuse me. I’m looking for a person. His name is Daniel Gómez. He’s a young man, curly hair and glasses. Do you know him?’

  The barman shrugged his shoulders and, without saying a word, took the ten-euro note that Carlos had left on top of the bar. When he brought him his change, Carlos decided to persevere.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve been told that he comes to this place a lot, and it’s very important that I find him.’

  ‘Well you’re going to have a bloody tough time doing that, because I heard he died.’

  ‘He died? That can’t be,’ said Carlos, feigning an expression of astonishment.

  ‘Yes, I think he was killed in a car accident.’ The barman pointed to one of the men at the slot machines. ‘That guy was a friend of his. Maybe he can give you more information.’

  Carlos thanked him with a smile and, with his bear in hand, went over to the young man the barman had just pointed out to him. He did not react when Carlos positioned himself alongside him, but rather carried on putting coins into the machine in a methodical way, as if carrying out his eight-hour shift in an assembly line. Carlos wondered what they could possibly see in such a monotonous and repetitive activity, as he looked around at the faces of the men at the machines. Not one of them appeared to be enjoying themselves: it was rather more like they were serving out a strange, self-imposed sentence.
He decided to leave that reflection for another time and touch the shoulder of the young man whom he wanted to speak with. The lad was so focussed that he jumped and turned towards Carlos with a vacant gaze and an expression of confusion on his face, as if he had just come out of a trance.

  ‘Good evening. I apologise for disturbing you, but the barman told me that you were a friend of Daniel Gómez.’

  ‘Well, we’d happen to meet each other here many nights, but you couldn’t say we were friends.’ The young man turned back round to his machine, incapable of leaving it inactive for very long, and put another coin in.

  ‘I really am sorry to interrupt you, but I need to ask you some questions.’

  ‘I already told you I didn’t know him very much,’ replied the young man in a mechanical way, his gaze hypnotised by those flickering lights.

  Carlos breathed in hard, in an attempt to contain himself. He could attract the man’s full attention by taking out his badge, but he preferred not to identify himself in such a place. He did not know the kind of people who frequented it, nor whether they would be all that happy about the presence of a policeman. A good punch also seemed like a solution for making the young man pay him his full attention, but he preferred to leave that as a last resort. He limited himself to placing the palm of his hand over the coin slot. The man froze stock still, with his hand in the air holding a one-euro coin, and the stupid gaze of someone who did not know how to act.

  ‘Listen, do you want to leave me in peace, or am I going to have to call the barman and have him throw you out of here? I’ve already told you I didn’t know Daniel much.’

  ‘You didn’t know him much, but you knew him, so you’re going to talk to me whether you want to or not.’ Carlos came closer until his face was only a few centimetres away. ‘You can make them throw me out of here, but I can wait for you outside. And I assure you that, if I have to spend a couple of hours waiting in the rain, I’m going to be in a much worse mood.’