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Natalia entered her home and, before she could take off her coat, an enormous ball of fur jumped on her, covering her face with saliva. Natalia crouched down and let the dog cover her with licks, without caring about her makeup. She stroked his neck and, once he was calmer, she hugged him tightly, burying her nose in his fur. She thought that it was about time for her to give Art a bath but, even so, she did not move her face away. He smelled of home and of safety, and he helped her leave behind all of the horrors seen that morning.
With the dog hot on her heels, she headed for the bedroom. She turned on the light, causing the bulk in the bed to groan and cover its head.
‘Good morning, sleepyhead,’ she greeted, smiling. ‘Have you taken Art out to pee yet?’
From underneath the covers appeared a hand that felt around on the bedside table before finding the mobile phone, and brought it back under. She heard another groan before Carlos brought his head back out and looked at her, angry.
‘Natalia, please. It’s Sunday, and it’s eight o’clock in the morning.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Do you think it’s time to have taken the dog out yet?’
‘Okay, I’ll take him out myself in exchange for you getting the breakfast sorted out.’ Carlos went back to lying down and covering his head with the sheets. ‘You didn’t want to sleep any more, right?’
‘No: you’re not going to let me,’ he replied. ‘I’m getting up now.’
Natalia left the bedroom, leaving the light on, and went out to the street with Art. In spite of the fact that it was cold and raining, the dog dedicated himself to sniffing each and every one of the trees in the park. Natalia let him, in order to give Carlos time to get up and prepare the breakfast. She knew that she ought to let him sleep more, but she had so many things to tell him about the new case...
When she got back, Carlos was already up. On the kitchen table were two cups of coffee. That was the all he understood by getting the breakfast ready. Natalia smiled, opened a cupboard, and took out a few biscuits. She knew that he was not the sort who prepared pancakes or toast, nor the kind who went to wake you up in bed with a red rose. But by contrast, he had other qualities like, for example, his smile and his amused gaze, which both expressed how well he knew her.
‘Come on then, tell me about it,’ he said to her, pointing out her chair to her with a nod. ‘Why did Aguirre call you?’
Natalia told him everything: the report on the first victim, Aguirre’s request for her collaboration, Salazar’s panic attack...
‘We have confirmed that it is Salazar’s wife, so they’ve had to take the case off him,’ said Natalia. ‘To be honest, he was very affected. He needed psychological aid, and a whole heap of sedatives for him to regain control.’
‘Poor man, it must be horrible... I can’t even imagine how he must be feeling.’
‘Me neither,’ said Natalia, shaking her head whilst keeping her gaze firmly on her cup of coffee. ‘If anything like that ever happened to me, I’d go mad.’
She raised her head and encountered Carlos’s concerned expression. He reached his arm out over the table and took hold of her hand, squeezing it in an effort to comfort her.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to let myself get killed.’ He smiled and winked. ‘And, if anyone is going to kill me, I’ll ask them to please leave a note saying for them to assign my case to another medical examiner.’
‘That’s not funny, Carlos,’ she said to him, pulling her hand away. ‘This whole case stinks, and they’ve just assigned it to me.’
‘And what is this case supposed to stink of?’
‘It stinks of a serial killer.’ Just as she had feared, a sarcastic smile appeared on Carlos’s lips. ‘I’m being serious: the crime scene, the preparation of the bodies, the characteristics the victims have in common... Everything points towards a serial killer.’
‘Natalia, all cases stink of serial killers to you.’
‘I was right about Charon,’ she protested.
‘But you messed up about the girls in that sect who killed themselves.’
‘At least I was right about them not being suicides...’
‘Yes, but they were not serial killings. How many more have you been wrong about since then? Five? Six?’ Natalia hung her head and went back to looking at her cup of coffee with interest. ‘How many serial killer cases does a detective investigate throughout their life? I’m going to tell you myself: normally, none. We’ve already had one and, sincerely, at least for my part, I’ve already met the quota.’
‘But the thing is that we already have two women killed in the same way...’ protested Natalia.
‘Let’s be professionals, just how you like it,’ he said sarcastically. ‘How man victims do there have to be, according to the FBI, for someone to be considered a serial killer?’
‘Three,’ whispered Natalia begrudgingly.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you properly. How many did you say?’ Carlos waited for Natalia to repeat the number in a louder voice. ‘Well so far we only have two, so we’re going to treat the case as a normal murder with strange obsessions at the time of murder.’
‘Have I told you yet that sometimes you’re the most unbearable person ever?’ Carlos nodded whilst he took a sip of his coffee. ‘Besides, what difference does it make to you how I consider the killer in my case?’
‘Because it isn’t just your case. It’s my case too.’ In the face of Natalia’s look of amazement, Carlos smiled. ‘You’ve asked Aguirre for us to work together again; you’ve said that, since we could be dealing with a serial killer here, we ought to work together like we did with Charon.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Natalia.
‘I’m a great detective,’ Carlos leant back in the chair, with a smile of superiority on his face. ‘And, besides, Aguirre called me to tell me about it whilst you were taking Art out.’
‘Cheat,’ Natalia scolded him. ‘Have you accepted it?’
‘I’ve not been left with any other option. To Aguirre, I could have said no, but to you... I live with you; you were going to be acting bitterly towards me all day.’ Carlos took one final sip of his coffee and stood up. ‘As such, now that I have finished breakfast, my stomach is now prepared. Pass me the post-mortem reports.’
*****
Natalia waited nervously whilst Carlos read through the reports. In spite of the fact that she was feigning being superlatively busy with reading emails on her mobile, it was already the third time now that he had looked up from the papers and caught her watching him.
‘Don’t you have anything else to do?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Honestly, no,’ confessed Natalia. ‘What do you think? He’s a textbook serial killer.’
‘What had we discussed about that?’ Carlos scolded her.
‘But it’s clear to see that there’s a ritual in the way the victims are prepared: the masks, the white body paint...’
‘Maybe he’s a theatre enthusiast who had material left over.’ Carlos shrugged his shoulders and closed the reports. ‘Until we know any more about the victims, we can’t know whether the murderer had a personal motive for killing them.’
‘Well, we know the details for Salazar’s wife.’ Natalia reached her arm across the table, grabbed the report she was after, and began reading out loud. ‘Carmen Ortega, thirty-eight years old, lawyer and resident in Bilbao.’
‘They’ve already questioned Salazar? When was the last time he saw her?’
‘According to what he says, she left home yesterday evening at five o’clock, in the direction of the airport in order to attend a convention on behalf of her firm.’
‘Has her car been found?’ asked Carlos.
‘No, but they are looking for it. They’ll let you know as soon as they have anything,’ replied Natalia.
‘So, from what we know, she never got to the airport. Most likely along the way she met with somebody who turned out to be her killer...’
‘Or a killer who she didn’t know attacked her whilst she was on her way there,’ ventured Natalia.
‘That would fit with your hypothesis of a serial killer, but, as you already know, the majority of victims are killed by people close to them so, for the moment, I’m going to follow that line of investigation. Tomorrow I’ll call in at her place of work to see how many people knew she was going to be making that journey, and whether she arranged to meet with anybody that afternoon. What do we know about the first victim?’
‘Nothing.’ Natalia shook her head. ‘She has no tattoos, marks, or scars that we could crosscheck with recent missing persons reports. The only thing we have are the initials that the killer wrote on the mask.’
‘You think they’re initials?’ asked Carlos, interested.
‘They must be.’ Natalia proceeded to through the pages of the reports before finding the photographs of the masks. ‘Look, this is the mask that Carmen Ortega, Salazar’s wife, was wearing. As you can see, on one side of the mask appears “1C”, which must mean Carmen, and on the other side “or”, which must mean “Ortega”. On the mask of the first victim, we have an E on one cheek, and an X on the other, so I presume that those are her initials.’
‘That’s good. There aren’t many surnames that begin with X, so we already have a starting point. I’ll ask Sebas to cross-check all recent disappearances in order to find any match.’ Carlos looked back at the photos, in interest. ‘What do you think the number 1 means, that appears on Carmen’s mask? She’s the second victim, not the first.’
‘I know, I just can’t make sense of that one...’ Natalia hesitated a few seconds before she carried on speaking. ‘I’ve already mentioned to you at some point that a serial killer’s first murder tends to be different. It’s the real murder; the one that the killer wanted to commit. The rest are merely recreations. So the first woman could be his “murder 0”, his real victim, and the number 1 would indicate the beginning of the series.’
‘We’re already back on serial killers again...’
‘Damn it, Carlos,’ she protested. ‘I’m not going to rule out that hypothesis simply because you don’t like the idea.’
‘As you wish, but I hope you’re wrong. I think we’ve got enough with two victims.’ Carlos went back to looking over the photographs. ‘Well, whatever it is, it seems the most important thing now is to identify this first woman.’
‘Exactly. If he’s a murderer with personal reasons for killing, like you believe, it’ll be somebody who knew both women. And if, like I believe, it’s a serial killer, the first victim tends to be the root of everything. She needs to be identified.’
*****
After circulating several times around the nearby streets, Carlos finally found a place to park. Only he would come up with the idea of driving into Bilbao at rush hour. It would have been much easier to have used a patrol car instead and left it parked on the double line, but he had decided to be more discreet and take his own. Given that the person he was about to investigate was the deceased wife of a colleague, he preferred not to be the centre of attention.
Just before getting out of the car, his mobile phone began to ring. The name of Sebas, his partner, appeared on the screen. Carlos sighed before answering. He didn’t entirely dislike the young man. He was very hardworking, and got incredibly involved in the investigations. In fact, the problem was that he got too involved. He always had questions to ask, details to clarify, ideas to discuss... Sometimes, Carlos wondered how it was possible that the young man ever even went to the toilet without telling him about it beforehand.
‘Hi. What’s up?’ asked Carlos.
‘Hi, Carlos. I hope I’m not bothering you...’
‘To tell the truth, I’m in a bit of a hurry,’ replied Carlos, hoping to be able to end the conversation as soon as possible.
‘I’ve been searching for any matches between the reports on missing women in Biscay with the initials “E.X.” and I haven’t found anything,’ Sebas began to explain. ‘All I’ve found is a woman called Esther Sánchez, but it’s with an S and not an X. Do you think the murderer could have made a mistake?’
‘Well, I don’t think someone who kills people cares all that much about making a spelling mistake, so look into it.’
‘And what if it isn’t her?’ asked Sebas, in a worried voice.
‘Then if it isn’t her, we’ll carry on looking.’
‘But there’s nobody else with those initials in the whole of Biscay,’ Carlos could almost feel it as the nerves started building up inside Sebas like in a pressure cooker.
‘Then we’ll broaden the range of the search,’ Carlos tried to reassure him. ‘We can compare with the bordering provinces.’
‘Bordering provinces?’
‘Yes, you know... Provinces that are close to Biscay: Guipúzcoa, Álava, Cantabria...’
‘But how close?’ Sebas’s voice became more high-pitched, as if he were on the verge of a panic attack.
‘For the moment, just investigate this “Esther,”’ Carlos cut him short. ‘When I get back, we’ll have a think about what to do.’
Carlos hung up the telephone without giving him time to protest. He knew that the lad had just left the academy and was feeling under a lot of pressure to try to do a good job. He also understood that, upon having been partnered with him, one of the most experienced detectives at headquarters, the young man would be feeling intimidated, but, even so, his behaviour was madness. And he was going to drive him crazy too.
He decided to leave his phone in the car so as not to receive any more ill timed calls. He looked at the office building where Carmen Ortega had worked. It already looked impressive from the front door: gigantic mirrors, a lot of marble and shining brass... Even the doorman was considerably better dressed than him. He put on his coat neatly and shook out the sleeves a couple of times, trying to get rid of the hundreds of dog hairs that Art had left on him upon saying goodbye.
After showing his badge to the doorman, he went up to the tenth floor, where the law firm that Carmen had worked at was located. According to what they had told him at headquarters, it was one of the most expensive and renowned law firms in Biscay. Carlos knocked on the door and, a few seconds later, he was attended to by a stunning secretary who took him through to a waiting room that looked as though it had been taken right out of a décor magazine. Upon seeing the white leather sofas, Carlos decided to wait on foot. He had no desire to give explanations if he left loose dog hairs on them.
After a few minutes, the secretary came back for him and led him to an office. As soon as he entered, a man in a suit stood up from his chair and held out his hand, whilst indicating to a chair in front of him.
‘Good morning. How can I help you?’
‘As you will have been told, I am inspector Vega, and I’m investigating the murder of Carmen Ortega.’
‘We’re still in shock. She was a great professional and a great woman.’
‘I am so sorry for your loss.’ Carlos brought a notebook out of his pocket in order to start taking notes. ‘How long had Mrs Ortega been working for you?’
‘Twelve years. She was one of our most experienced lawyers.’
‘And in all those years had she made any enemies? You know... Unsatisfied clients, envious colleagues...’
‘No, like I told you, she was a great professional.’
‘Yes, I already know that. We’re all good as gold when we die.’ The lawyer opened his eyes very wide and threw himself back in his seat, as if Carlos had slapped him. ‘I know I’m a little abrupt, but I have to solve this crime, and I don’t have time for delicacy. Try to jog your memory: any fight with any colleague, any threat from any client...’
‘I already told you I don’t remember anything like that...’ The man furrowed his brow, as if he were making a genuine effort to jog his memory. ‘At some point there were arguments over who was taking one case or another, but nothing important enough to kill over.’
‘Okay. In any case, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to provide me with a list of all the people who work at the law firm, along with the impression each one of them had about their relationship with the victim.’
‘Of course. I’ll have it this very morning.’
‘If it could be this afternoon, that would be better.’ Carlos got up out of his seat, winked, and held out his card to him. ‘If you remember any piece of information that could be useful to us, don’t hesitate to get in contact with me.’
‘Of course. You can count on it.’
Carlos headed towards the door, containing a smile. He knew that he should be more polite in his questionings, but he loved throwing off people like that lawyer, who were accustomed to intimidating others with their designer furniture and expensive clothes. Just when he was about to open the door, one final question occurred to him.
‘One more thing... Carmen Ortega was murdered whilst on her way to the airport, when she was heading to a convention in Barcelona as a representative of your firm. Could you tell me what that convention was about, and whether anybody else from your firm was going to accompany her?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The expression of confusion on the lawyer’s face was sincere. ‘Carmen had asked us for three days off due to personal matters. We hadn’t asked her to attend any convention.’