––––––––
Just minutes before two in the morning, and when the two policemen were already waiting for the turnover of shift, the radio sounded from on top of the patrol car’s dashboard. The corporal picked it up unenthusiastically and responded.
“Has the idiot said anything else?” asked Eva on the other end.
“No. In the end, he didn’t come down. And nor do I think he’s planning to, because he’s now closed the blind.”
“Well we need to put pressure on him,” she asserted, “nobody knows anything about Rodrigo.”
The two policemen gestured to each other. Perhaps the time had come to break their end of the agreement with Isaac.
“When we spoke with him,” the corporal said, “he assured us that if anyone bothered him, he would track down the priest himself and place him right within the murderer’s reach. But in any case, it really just sounds like a bluff.”
“As if the police had to ask his permission to speak with him...”
“Should we go up ourselves, or will you be calling him directly?”
“I’ll call him myself,” declared Eva. “I’m sure that bastard knows something else,” they heard her murmur as she hung up.
Five minutes later, she was back on the patrol car radio.
“What’s this guy playing at?” barked Eva, visibly nervous. “I’m calling him and he’s not answering.”
“He’ll be sleeping,” answered the corporal.
“Sleeping? And that stops him hearing his phone?”
“Well, it’s over an hour now since he lowered the blind.”
For a moment, Eva said nothing. Then she resumed conversation:
“Boys; we’re definite that nobody’s entered the building now, aren’t we?”
The policemen looked at each other instinctively, for a few brief seconds.
“Yes, of course,” replied the corporal.
“Okay, I’m coming round and he’ll have to open up, whether he wants to or not,” she announced.
The communication ended, and once more the two policemen looked at each other. This time, feeding into each other’s increasing sense of insecurity that was now threatening to eat them up inside. They didn’t need to say anything. The two of them immediately got out of the car and pressed the intercom. Three times, consecutively. After the fourth attempt, they opened the door with a plastic card and ran up the stairs. Upstairs, they only knocked once, listened for five seconds, sniffed for another five seconds, then opened the door with one kick, not bothering with the card this time.
Inside the flat, all the lights were on, and the smell of burning was unbearable. They followed the smell, through the hallway, the bedroom, back into hallway again and, at the end, the bathroom. From the door, they could see in the bath a black mass submerged in the water. Some last remnants of foam were floating on the surface.
As soon as they had processed the image through their brains, they ran out of the flat: both of them hunching over, and covering their mouths with their hands, fleeing from the macabre stench of burning. Bathroom, hallway, more hallway, then door, ignoring the bedroom. Once outside, they threw up: the corporal on the stairs, and the constable on the landing.
They had barely finished when they went back on the street. Eva had just arrived, but Antón had not yet.
“He’s dead,” the corporal blurted out.
“What?”
“The priest’s name was given in exchange for us letting a prostitute visit him,” the constable confessed, still not recovered. “He said that he trusted her, but go and see for yourself...”
“How?”
At that moment, they became completely aware of the situation. Eva continued to ask questions, without believing what she was hearing back:
“And you let her go up without stopping her?”
“We stopped her when she was leaving,” the constable tried to explain. “We even spoke to her. She was normal, she just seemed like a normal prostitute...”
“You idiots!” she shouted, cutting them off. “She’s slipped in right under your noses! Right under them!” she repeated, louder.
Eva ascended the stairs at a run, the two policemen following her. In the doorway, she turned around. They stopped in their tracks.
“Get out of here, I can’t risk you messing this up any more than you already have,” she growled.
The two men bowed their heads and turned around. They would wait in the street.
Inside the flat, Eva also followed the smell of burning. She went straight to the bathroom. There, she arched her eyebrows when faced with the vision of what inevitably had to be Isaac. In the water, she noticed a golf ball.
“Shit!”
Then, she turned on her heel and made her way to the bedroom. In the hallway, she unconsciously tilted her head, and murmured to herself:
“Well, young man, she got you.”
She entered the bedroom. There were clothes on the floor, the bed was made and the dimmer lights were on medium. She went towards the little writing desk and tried to restore the suspended session on the computer there. She didn’t need to put in a password. There instantly appeared a web page that had been blocked. She read the advertisement on it: ‘Submissive Spanish girl, petite, young, and very attractive. Will carry out any services and perversions you desire. This week only.’ Appearing below the text was a telephone contact number. The same one they had investigated in Vigo, without a doubt. She didn’t need to check it. Then, she picked up the mobile that was next to the computer. She murmured again:
“That arrogant, moronic... idiot,” she said, emphatically.
When Antón arrived, he went straight into the bedroom. Before saying hello, he took a moment trying to work out what the smell was.
“He’s in the bathroom,” said Eva, without giving it too much importance. “But don’t go in there, he’s burnt to a crisp. Spare yourself the sight.”
Then she added, as she went up to him and, with her hand, softly guided him out through the door:
“Let’s go.”
“Aren’t we covering the murder?” asked Antón.
“No, we can’t do anything for him now, but we can for Rodrigo. Finding him is the only thing that matters now. The rest can wait.”
Out in the street, the policemen were waiting nervously, their faces illuminated by the police lights. Eva walked up to them:
“Boys, I’m sorry, I know it’s not pleasant, but it’s down to you now to cover the murder,” she told them, without paying any attention to their reaction. “That way you’ll learn to keep your eyes wide open the next time. When the other patrol comes to relieve you of your shift, give them a hand if they need it.”
They both stood petrified in the darkness, one in front of the other, in the light of the police cars. Before entering her own car, Eva turned back towards them:
“Didn’t it bother you that it was only this street that didn’t have any light?”
The two policemen looked at each other, surprised, and didn’t respond.
“That at the very least,” she muttered inside the car.
They looked at each other again, this time embarrassed. In spite of the warning from the previous shift, they hadn’t been worried about that particular detail.
Eva and Antón’s C4 patrolled the entire little neighbourhood of Covadonga. For ten minutes, through streets, squares, and even a pedestrian zone that was little frequented at that time of night. Then they called an end to their reconnaissance and headed towards the city centre.
“What are we on the lookout for?” asked Antón, still shaken by Isaac’s death.
“His car.”
“Where is it?”
“It isn’t. That’s the problem. There’s one ball left. Emma needs something from Isaac, like she did with the others. If the car isn’t around, perhaps it’s because she took it. I didn’t see the keys in the flat either.”
Antón processed the information.
“The meeting with Rodrigo isn’t in the city?” he then asked, in a tone that sounded rather more like a statement than a question.
“It could be that they’ve met somewhere else, or that Rodrigo is working in some rural parish, or even some other possibility that’s eluding us. But we need to get information about him as soon as possible.”
“Where are we going?” asked Antón.
“To ask for that information. We’re looking for a priest, or perhaps even a seminarian. And the seminarians are in the Seminary. Someone there will know something.”
From the city centre, Eva set off towards Mount Ervedelo, in the western part. That was where the Great Seminary in Ourense was located, permanently illuminated, and presiding over the city for almost seventy years.
As soon as they arrived, Eva stopped the car in front of the main entrance, got out without wasting any time, and knocked on the heavy wooden door. Up to three times, with the corresponding wait. Then, a little spy door opened at eye-level, and an elderly man observed them through it. Eva approached the opening. Before Antón could do the same, the man opened the door.
“We need to speak with the highest authority in the establishment,” she said.
“What’s happened?” the man asked, startled.
But he didn’t await the inspector’s reply. Instead, he turned around to see another man, rather younger, who had been approaching him from behind. Eva tilted her head to see the new man. The first man immediately ceded his position in front of the two police officers and disappeared off down the corridor.
“Good morning,” the newly arrived man said. “I’m the Rector of the Seminary. Has something happened?”
“Good morning,” answered Eva decisively. “This is my colleague, Sergeant Cruz, and I’m Inspector Santiago.” The two showed their badges simultaneously, but the man did not pay much attention to them. “We’re not here about anything to do with the establishment; but we do want your immediate collaboration for some information. I know that it’s not the official means, and even less the right hour, but we wouldn’t have come unless it was strictly necessary,” she then added.
“That’s right,” replied the rector. “It is not the hour, nor the procedure, and even less the appropriate date. We are celebrating the resurrection of Our Lord. You ought to be aware of that. These are highly symbolic days for us.”
Eva took a step forward, albeit a small one, as the man was using his body to block any possibility of their entering the building.
“I’m sorry to just turn up like this, but I’ve come from certifying the death of a man who’s own mother would not be able to recognise him. I’ve been doing so every day this Holy Week, and tomorrow I will definitely be doing so again, somewhere in Ourense. Only this time, the victim will be a priest; he could even be a student or ex-student of this very establishment.”
“Honestly, I don’t understand what these murders you’re taking about have to do with the Church, or this establishment.” The rector seemed offended by Eva’s statement.
“Believe me, up until an hour ago, we were convinced that a priest would be victim number six. But we’ve come to you now simply because the sixth victim turned out to be another man. At this moment, he’s shaking hands with the devil. But the question is: in twenty-four hours, do you want your priest to be shaking hands with God? Without your help, there’ll be no possibility of saving his life.”
“The Golf Ball Assassin?” The rector’s hard expression dissipated as he progressively put two and two together in his mind. “But how can a woman like that have any ties with a priest? Besides, as I had understood it, her victims are not good people...”
Eva tried again, unwavering:
“That’s not important now. The only important thing is that we find him as soon as possible. If not, I’m afraid it will be his death sentence.”
The rector bowed his head. After a moment of doubt, he let them pass and gestured for them to follow him. Midway down the corridor, he took a key out of his pocket and opened an old door. After turning on the light, he spoke:
“Come in and sit down.”
He went in with them. When the three of them were seated, he looked directly at the two police officers:
“We’re looking for...?”
“Rodrigo. He was in the seminary some six years ago now. Although it’s possible that he’s finished by now.”
The rector absorbed the information, trying to jog his memory.
“I don’t remember any Rodrigo,” he then said, “not for ten years, at least.”
“Are you sure?”
He smiled for the first time, obligingly. Then, he said:
“The vocations are not at their peak at these days. Twenty years ago, we could have had forty students, but today we only have eleven. So you see, I remember each one.”
“Do you have access to other seminaries?” Eva inquired.
“Not officially.”
“And unofficially?”
The man thought about his response for a second. Then, he scratched the back of his neck, and took a deep breath just before replying:
“Which one would you need?”
“Vigo. From the information we already have, it’s the most probable.”
“Tui-Vigo?” he repeated, just to confirm. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He got up out of his chair and left the room, saying quietly to them from the door:
“Give me about ten minutes.”
They waited.
Barely fifteen minutes later, the rector returned with a mobile phone to his ear. He sat down in front of the two as he continued speaking to the person on the other end:
“I have here next to me the two inspectors who’re in charge of the case,” he said into the phone. “It’s best you speak with them and explain to them the same thing you explained to me. I believe this is a very grave and urgent situation.”
He then tapped the little mouthpiece and offered the phone to Eva. Before letting it go, he told her:
“Rodrigo was a student at the San Xosé seminary, in the diocese of Tui-Vigo, up until almost two years ago. Now he is a priest in the parish of Santa María, in the centre of Vigo. His parish priest is on the phone:
Eva took the phone and did not bother with introductions:
“Can I speak with Rodrigo,” she asked, as a means of a greeting.
“No, that won’t be possible at the moment,” he replied an old, male voice on the other end of the line. “Miss, Rodrigo is one of the priests who works in the parish, of which I am the head priest. Tonight, he participated in the Mass for Holy Saturday, then he prayed in silence for a long time and, when he finished, he asked permission to go out. He left here an hour ago.”
“Do you have any idea where he was planning on going?” asked Eva.
“No, he didn’t want to say. He left in his car, but didn’t say any more.”
“What car does he drive?”
“It’s a Renault Clio, grey, very new. I don’t know the number plate though; I’m no good at that sort of thing.”
“Is there anything that could give us any leads on where he could be now?” she insisted.
The parish priest paused. The whole situation had come as a surprise to him and, combined with the inspector’s urgency, he was finding it all rather difficult to understand and absorb.
“Rodrigo is a very reserved and introverted person,” he explained, “but he’s also a model priest, tremendously devoted to his vocation, completely self-sacrificing, and unwavering in his commitment. As such, his going out tonight struck me as strange, but he didn’t want to give any explanations as to his reasons.”
“And you’ve no way of communicating with him?”
“No, he didn’t take his phone. He doesn’t normally use it much, but he still always takes it with him when he goes out anywhere. Not today though, although I supposed that was because he wasn’t going far.”
“Or he didn’t want to be located,” Eva cut in.
“Yes, perhaps,” conceded the priest. “He’s been much quieter than usual lately. He’s also been dedicating long hours to prayer and seclusion, which is what he always does, but this week he did it more than he normally does. I was sure that something was bothering him, but he didn’t want to share it with anybody. He’s like that.”
The man heaved a great sigh over the phone. Then, he added, in a heavy tone:
“I’m sorry I could not have been of more help.”
“Thank you for your collaboration, Father.”
“Has something bad happened? Is he in danger?” the priest asked before hanging up.
“I’m afraid that he’s got caught up in quite a big mess. Thank you for your collaboration.”
“Please, don’t let anything bad happen to him,” he said.
Eva hung up the phone, left it on the table, then made her way out, alongside Antón. The rector accompanied them. When they were already in the car, the rector came up to the window:
“Find him,” he told Eva.
He then handed her a small paper cutting, adding:
“This is my telephone number. I’ll have it on all night. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.”
––––––––
On the way back to the station, everybody was up to date with the situation. Eva did not greet anyone as she entered. She simply made her way to her office, thoughtful. Antón followed her, and the rest of the officers followed Antón.
Eva turned on the light and stood in front of her desk. On top of it was an endless pile of papers, reports, and diagrams...
“It has to be here,” she murmured to herself.
She stirred the papers and notes with her finger, along with the diagrams she had made over the course of the last week, but without moving them too much, as if she didn’t want to alter the order of each document in her own head.
“Seven days, seven golf balls. At first, all of them in Ourense,” she reasoned quietly. “Six in the city. There’s only one golf ball left; Rodrigo’s.”
She remained in silence for a moment. Then, without raising her head, she asked:
“Antón, before, in Covadonga, did you see Isaac’s A5?”
“No.”
“Me neither,” she confirmed. “That means that she needs a car to get to the next victim. But I don’t think she’s going far because, up until now, she’s wanted to meet up with them here to kill them.”
She now tied her hair back into an improvised bun, without taking her eyes off the documents for a second. No sooner had she finished, she continued with her rationale:
“Something’s eluding us,” she muttered between her teeth. “Let’s see: today, he left Vigo to come to Ourense, for definite. The question is: how’s Emma going to bring Rodrigo to Ourense?”
She paused and looked at the rest of the police officers, who were waiting, grouped together in the middle of the office, standing close to her:
“Here’s the question: how does she get Rodrigo to come to Ourense?” she repeated, now to everyone.
Nobody answered. She stirred the papers again.
“Emma also left from Vigo, but last Sunday afternoon; Palm Sunday. That’s when Alberto tells us he met her on the train.”
She raised her head again:
“Isn’t Palm Sunday when the palm branches are blessed, and the people confess so they can begin Holy Week without sin?” she asked out loud.
Some looked at their colleagues, others were thinking. One person timidly nodded their head. That was enough for Eva, who turned her focus back on to her desk. She picked up one of the reports that had been half covered up on the top left corner of the desk. She looked at Inspector Lago’s report on Aurora. The activity in her mind was frenetic:
“She’s already spoken with him,” she concluded, raising her voice slightly. “In Vigo, last Sunday. Lago says that in his report: they left Mass, returned home separately and then they went out again with a suitcase. After this, and only after, Aurora went back alone and killed herself. Or rather, her mother knew Emma’s intentions; she knew what she was coming to Ourense to do. That means that she had surely begun her plan. Antón,” she said, pointing her finger at her colleague, “think: what is it that links Isaac with Ourense?”
“Nothing...” he answered.
“Yes, there’s one thing that links him.”
“What?”
“The accident itself,” she said, convinced. “That’s the only thing that links him.”
“And...?”
“Don’t you realise? He’s tremendously devoted to his vocation, completely self-sacrificing in his commitment, according to his own parish priest. He was there, and did nothing to stop it. I don’t think that he’s ever been able to forget it. He’ll be purging his own guilt by handing himself over heart and soul to priesthood. Emma knew it, and spoke with him in the confessional booth. The confidentiality of confession prevented him from telling anyone, and it’s his conscience that’s bringing him here,” she concluded.
Eva dropped the report onto the table, accompanying it with a ‘let’s go!”, and a decided gesture of setting off. But as the she dropped the sheet of paper back on the table, her eyes settled on another of the documents; the report from the Guardia Civil. Something on it was calling out to her, to the point of stopping her in her tracks. She read for a few seconds, and then she stared blankly off to one side.
“But this is what’s been eluding us,” she whispered, slowly.
She now held up the piece of paper up to eye-level, for the others to see.
“The report,” she announced. “Because it confirmed Lago’s version about the accident, we didn’t read it objectively, and one tiny detail escaped us.”
She addressed Antón again.
“Look, we both made the same mistake,” she told him. “They were found the following morning; she was injured, but conscious, and her husband and son were dead. But the thing we missed before is that they tried to revive the baby.”
Everyone in the room was listening with wrapt attention.
“That implies,” she continued, “that Emma spent the entire night trapped in the wreckage as her baby died by her side. Without being able to do anything, perhaps not even being able to hold him. That’s more than sufficient,” she declared.
“Sufficient for what?” asked one of the officers.
“For a mother to spend years plotting against those responsible for the accident, and also sufficient motivation for her to round off her macabre circle in the very same place. Let’s go,” she ordered, with decision.
“To the place of the accident?” asked Antón, wanting to confirm.
“Yes, that’s where the meeting will take place,” she insisted, handing him the report. “What’s more, it’ll have to be at the very time of the accident. All it says in there is that it took place at dawn. It can’t be far off that now.”
Eva walked out of the police station looking at her watch: ten past three in the morning. She got into her car. From inside it, she motioned to Antón, who came up to her:
“I’ll go on ahead, taking the road from Cea to A Barrela. You go and find a constable and go via the road from Lugo, to come at it from the opposite direction, from A Barrela towards Cea,” she explained. “We’ll meet at the exact place of the accident. Keep your eyes wide open: we’re looking for a grey Clio and a white A5. We’ll stop either one if we come across them.”
Antón nodded.
Eva turned on the siren and set off immediately, at high speed. Antón waited a few seconds until he found a constable, and the two of them shared a patrol car.
There was no time to lose.