7

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When, at four o’clock that morning, Eva’s Citroën C4 pulled up in the exact centre of Plaza del Corregidor, a line of young people were standing waiting to the side of the pub’s entrance, watched over by a uniformed officer. Amongst them stood out a blonde girl who had her head in her hands, sitting in the entrance to the old adjacent building. To her side, another officer was guarding the entryway to keep out any of the few curious bystanders who had gathered in the square. There were only a few of them, because, at the end of the day, not that many people stay out that late on a Monday night.

It was with a certain amount of apathy that Eva got out of her car, and made her way directly towards the pub. Not one of the people present had noticed her arrival, except for the constable at the entrance, who did not bother to ask to see her badge. Her curly red mane constituted, for any member of the police force, a far more evident identification than any regulation badge.

“Good morning Inspector Santiago,” the policeman greeted. “Your partner is inside.”

“Thank you officer, and good morning.”

Inside, all of the lights were on, no longer giving it the appearance of a pub, but rather a breakfast cafeteria.

“In the ladies’ toilet,” Sergeant Cruz, initially in charge of the case, called out to her from the back. “They’ve purposely slashed his throat, from one side to the other. It’s incredible: only a little more, and they would have decapitated him.

Eva approached, stopping in front of him.

“The station called me and have put me in charge of this case,” she wanted to clarify before anything else. “You know what Míguez is like. He told me in his lively voice, ‘Santiago, go forth. It is a murder, and all the clues point towards the culprit being female. You are of the female persuasion, so you will know how a woman thinks’.”

Sergeant Cruz, first name Antón, smiled. She continued:

“Sometimes I get the feeling that people believe that women are a subspecies within the human race and operate through secret codes. I am allergic to the night-time, and am not exactly thrilled at having to be here. But above all, I don’t want you to think that I wanted to take the case off you. This has not been my doing.”

“Don’t worry about it, you know I trust you. Besides, I think that if he’s called you, it’s simply because what at first glance seemed like a homicide is now beginning to get more complicated.”

“What do we know?” asked Eva, taking it for certain that she was now in charge.

Antón opened up his notepad:

“Well, the victim is Javier Fernández Martínez, twenty-five years of age, officially resident in Lugo. He had his wallet on him: ID card, debit card, and a small amount of money. Therefore, from how it looks, we can discard the possibility of robbery. He was also carrying keys, some tobacco and a mobile phone, with a couple of messages on it that may be of interest to us. He was found with his throat slit and a golf ball inside his mouth.”

“Any background on him?” Eva interrupted.

“No, none. It’s possible that he was a student, but it isn’t confirmed.”

“And we’re suspecting a woman...”

“Yes. From what we do know, Javier arrived and spent the entire time with a girl. But the problem is that nobody saw her afterwards. What’s more, one of the female clients assures me that she crossed paths with her when she was waiting to go into the toilet; that when the girl walked out she told her quite calmly that her boyfriend was still inside. As she found the situation rather strange, she called out to the supposed boyfriend and, upon forcing the door, it opened and that was when the deceased was discovered. The poor girl’s in pieces.”

Antón caught his breath, and then continued, now in a lower tone:

“I think that this mysterious woman’s attitude, combined with the fact that there was a golf ball present in the body’s mouth, clearly makes her a suspect in the murder,” he reasoned, seeking the approval of his colleague.

But Eva was not one to jump to conclusions, and did not endorse it, even though she did think that her companion seemed to be on to a viable track.

“And the waiter: what does he say?” she asked.

“He’s identified him. The young man’s face was familiar to him, but not as a regular customer. He remembers serving him a rum and coke, and a glass of water. This is the rum and coke,” he said, pointing to the counter on the back wall.

“And the water?”

Antón shrugged his shoulders. Eva focussed on the glass. Then she looked at those around it; the bar; the floor. Nothing. Finally, she took a walk around, and went back towards the toilet, in front of her colleague.

“Take a deep breath before you go in... it’s not very nice,” he said, and followed after her.

The inspector did not respond. She pushed open the door carefully and saw the vomit in the entryway. She dodged it, taking a couple of steps forward and focussed her attention on the pallid and blood-soaked corpse of Javi, lying on his right side. She observed the entire scene thoroughly, taking her time.

“This?” she asked Antón, pointing at the vomit with a certain level of disdain.

“Nothing important. It’s from the girl who found him. I already told you that it made one hell of an impression on her.”

“Are you sure that it’s all hers?”

“Yes, I’m positive. I asked her and she confirmed that this area of the toilet was clean when she opened the door. The youngsters are all friends,” he continued talking, whilst Eva remained silent, as she seemed to be concentrating entirely on the body. “They were celebrating one of their birthdays. I think they’ve had quite a bit to drink.”

“A home-made device,” said Eva abruptly, out loud, “or a Stanley knife, or something similar. Notice the middle of the neck. The cut is much less clean than it is on the sides,” she said, pointing to the body. “His trousers are undone, almost pulled down, but he was not engaged in sexual relations. If he had been, they would have been down completely.”

Then she took a walk around, looked at Antón, then at the door, and began to stage the action:

“If he’s urinating, and someone opens the door, it is impossible for somebody to slit his throat then, because inevitably the young man would turn around to see who was entering. And if the motive were sexual, he would try to force himself upon her and she would defend herself, and he would never have his back to her. In conclusion: they came in together, he pulled his trousers down to urinate, and she slit his throat him from behind. The ball was placed once he was dead,” she concluded. “Nobody in their right mind would place a golf ball in their mouth to pee.”

She then turned to concentrate on the young man’s corpse and declared:

“They came in together, and she killed him suddenly, taking him by surprise. Now we need to find out how they arrived at this situation. What do the messages you told me about say?” she asked Antón without looking at him.

“They’re a couple of texts from an unknown number, I would bet from a Vodafone. In theory, they are from an old friend wanting to meet up with him. But, judging by his replies, he didn’t know who she was.”

“Right.” Eva seemed to wake up suddenly, as she walked out of the toilet. “We need to move.”

She walked into the centre of the pub and began to give orders. Antón followed her.

“Someone go around the bars and pubs in the area. We still don’t know if they were a couple, if they were friends... or if they hated each other to death. The family also needs to be informed. Apart from giving them the news, we need to know where this man lived and what he was doing here. As such, we’ll also be able to find out the circles in which he moved. And another officer needs to call Vodafone. With a little luck, the operator will inform us who owns that phone without having to wait for it to arrive in writing. I believe its owner has some explaining to do.”

Anton took note of all of the assignments.

“And then, we’ll see if we’re in luck, and if the post-mortem can tell us anything else that we don’t already know,” she concluded.

“And what about fingerprints? They’re bound to have left some...” reasoned Antón.

“Yes, they must be dusted for. But don’t forget; it is a pub, there will be thousands.”

That said, she continued:

“Get started on that, and then we will reconvene at the station.” Antón nodded. “I’ll stay here for a while and interview the witnesses, and then bring the girl in to do a photo ID,” she took a breath. “That is, if it’s possible.”

She walked up to the main entrance.

“I hate having to deal with drunk kids,” she murmured on the way.

Three hours later, Eva was already in the station. Sitting in front of her desk, the young witness was straining to recognise, amongst hundreds of photographs, the mysterious woman she had crossed paths with merely hours ago.

“Another coffee?” asked Eva.

“No, thanks, but I am rather tired.”

In any case, she ought to continue looking at the photos. Eva had already spoken with the young man’s parents, who had recently arrived from Lugo, and had, through their tears, identified the body. Also between sobs, they had assured her that Javi had no links with the drug world, nor did he have a known girlfriend. They had no idea as to why anybody would want to see him dead. They only spoke of an unknown woman who, that same morning, had called to ask if Javi would be in Lugo or Ourense.

Again, everything was pointing towards the same mysterious woman. Eva sat in her armchair, waiting for the arrival of her loyal partner, confident that he would bring good news.

He did not. Antón’s head poked timidly around the door, and he made a gesture to Eva to come out into the corridor. The conversation took no longer than half a minute. Then the two of them entered together, and Eva directed her attention towards the girl, with a worried face.

“Sara, go home sweetheart,” she told her.

“I can carry on, I don’t mind,” she answered, looking up from the photos.

“No, it doesn’t mater, I don’t think she’s there,” she continued. “Go home and rest. If we need anything, I’ll call you. Thank you for your cooperation, and I’m really sorry for the night you’ve had to go through.”

The girl stood up, and Antón took her place in front of Eva, who picked up the telephone thoughtfully:

“This is Santiago. I need an officer to take home the girl who is just leaving.”

Then she hung up, and flopped down into the armchair, and focussed her attention onto Antón. It was time to change shifts, hand over the information of the case, and go home. And also to do an evaluation:

“So the phone that sent those messages to Javier is in the name of a lady living in Vigo?” asked Eva.

“Yes. A ‘pay and go’ phone, bought almost four years ago, and registered in the name of Aurora Santiso Varela, 61 years old, no criminal record, and resident in the street Marqués de Valterra in Vigo. They’ve not made any calls with it recently, but they have taken the care to keep topping it up periodically so that the company doesn’t unregister it.”

“That’s what I’m finding strange. It makes me feel that the murderer has registered this phone in the name of somebody with whom we can’t establish any link, and as such has kept it active this whole time. And the worst thing of it all: if this is true, we need to think that she has spent years planning this murder.”

“Anyway, given the gravity of this case, our colleagues in Vigo went immediately to her apartment, but she wasn’t there, or didn’t want to open the door. I imagine they’ll return at a more reasonable hour and ask around the neighbourhood. I don’t think it will be too long before they find her.”

“Yes, but it won’t be the woman we’re looking for. So whilst it could be a viable course to follow, it’s looking more like a dead end.”

Antón bowed his head. The case was becoming more complicated by the minute, and the possible lines of investigation were running out, along with that night’s shift. Eva began to type up the police report, but did not stop mentally processing all of the information that they had been able to gather over the course of the night. Once she had finished, she clicked ‘print’, got up to collect the sheet of paper that was now leaving the printer, and gave it to Antón for him to sign. Then she would sign it.

“The way I see it,” she reasoned as she returned to her seat, “is that everything is pointing towards a settling of scores, or a job carried out by a hired assassin who will have definitely already left the city. It all points to that, except that we don’t know of a single hitman who acts alone, and much less one who leaves a golf ball as his calling card. Besides, there’s perhaps another, more definitive piece of information which means we can discard that possibility,” she said, leaning back in her armchair.

Antón made an appropriate gesture of waiting for Eva to clarify, whilst he handed back the report:

“I’ve been talking with the young man’s parents, and it turns out that our friend Javier Fernández Martínez was an absolute nobody. It’s quite a task to imagine why anybody would be interested in paying even a single euro for his death.”

They both stood up and left the station together, leaving the report on top of the desk. Outside, there was an even covering of mist over the nearby river Miño, attempting to defy the first rays of light that could already be made out over the horizon. Soon, a new day would begin.

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Contents of the Report:

Incident: Murder in the toilet at the pub ‘Corregidor Cuatro’.

Victim: Javier Fernández Martínez, 25 years old, student.

Method: Gash on the neck with an unknown object (most likely a Stanley knife). The body was found with a golf ball inside the mouth.

Suspect: Identity unknown.

Approximate description: Caucasian female, 30 years old, 1.60m tall, 50kg, white skin, and soft features. Arrest and question.

Relation between them: Strangers, or occasional friends.

Witnesses: Sara Rodríguez Rodríguez (eye-witness).

Motive: Unknown.

Clues: Text messages from the mobile belonging to Aurora Santiso Varela, 61 years old, resident in Vigo. Awaiting location and interrogation at the police station in Vigo (they will carry out the report).

Immediate actions: Check the victim’s surrounding environment.

Awaiting post-mortem report.