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Once Natalia had calmed down and returned to her post, Carlos decided that it was a good time to carry on with the case and do a bit of fieldwork. In reality, he was suffocating in there and fancied being somewhere else in order to keep his mind far away from all of those thoughts that were making him consider that Natalia deserved to be with someone better than him.
He spent a few minutes re-examining the case reports, picked up his coat, and left the office. He was already on the verge of reaching the lift when he remembered that he had a partner, and that it would be advisable that he included him in the investigation if he did not want to have any trouble with Aguirre.
He went to look for him at his office, but he was not there, so he carried on down the corridor towards the coffee machine. Sebas was there, with his back to him, chatting animatedly with two colleagues:
‘How do you know when the coffee’s going to be ready?’ asked Sebas. ‘Sooner or latte.’
‘Bloody hell, Sebas... That’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard.’
‘It’s not bad, man. Okay, here’s another one. Do you know why I like submariners?’ Sebas waited a few seconds in order to create expectation. ‘Because they’re good people deep down. You get it? Deep down, submariners... My God, guys, you’ve got no sense of humour.’
‘The problem is that you’re not flaming funny,’ intervened Carlos. ‘Now, since you’re not going to be able to earn a living down at the Comedy Club, will you come with me to some questionings?’
Sebas’s smile disappeared instantaneously. He lowered his head, said goodbye to his colleagues, and followed Carlos as if he were a criminal walking the green mile. Carlos was surprised by such a change in attitude. He had just seen that Sebas was an amenable guy, with a sense of humour, enough self-confidence to tell those awful jokes... Why did he not behave that way around him?’
When they arrived at the car, Carlos waited for Sebas to put on his seatbelt. Once he was sure that the young man would not be able to escape easily, he sprung his question on him.
‘Can I ask you why you behave this way around me?’
‘How do you mean? Have I done something to bother you?’ Sebas’s eyes grew large in an expression of panic.
‘You’ve not done anything. Calm down, nothing’s going to happen to you.’ Carlos leant back in his seat, in order to leave the most amount of space possible between their bodies and for the young man to relax. ‘I’ve simply just seen how you behave around other people. You talk, you joke... When you’re with me, you’re not like that. You’re always nervous and insecure. Is there something about me?’
‘Well, I’ve heard things at headquarters...’
‘What things?’
‘They say you broke the nose of Adrian Álvarez, your last partner. And it’s rumoured that you also had a problem with Roberto Azkarraga, your partner before that.’
‘Yes, I broke his nose too, but Roberto didn’t say anything because he knew I had more than enough reasons for doing so. Is that what’s worrying you? You think that at any moment I’m going to give you a whopping great big punch?’
‘Well, it’s not that, but I do try not to cause problems...’
‘Don’t let it get to you, man. I’m not a monster or a madman. As long as you don’t try to steal my girlfriend from me or leave me in the hands of a psychopathic murderer, you’re safe.’
Sebas nodded and gave a timid smile. Carlos clucked his tongue whilst shaking his head, and he started up the car. He could not do any more to make Sebas stop feeling afraid. He would get over it in time.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Sebas in the faintest possible voice after several minutes had gone by.
‘I’ve been given the list of charges that were made to the credit card belonging to Carmen Ortega, the second victim in the case. Just like they told me at her place of work, there’s no ticket to Barcelona, but what I have found is a reservation for a room at a nearby motel.’
‘What’s the name of this motel?’
‘Hotel Cupid. It doesn’t sound like the kind of name for a hotel where you’d have a work meeting, does it?’
‘No. Give me a minute, I’m going to search for the information online.’ Sebas began typing on his mobile phone. ‘As I suspected: it’s a love motel.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Carlos.
‘They’re hotels for the purpose of having sexual encounters. You can hire a room by the hour, and they promise total discretion. Look what they’re offering: “All bedrooms have climate-control, adjustable lighting, remote-controlled tilting mirrors, adult television channels, sensual music... Our staff will bring whatever you desire to your bedroom door, always protective of your intimacy: food, high quality beverages, erotic kits and accessories by top brands in order for you to enjoy to the fullest ...’
‘Great. I don’t want to be the one who has to tell Salazar this. Poor man,’ Carlos turned his head for a second to look at Sebas. ‘Not a word about this at headquarters. Agreed?’
‘Not a word about what?’ replied Sebas, winking at him.
‘Good lad. You’re in the lead for being my first partner with his nose intact.’
A few minutes later they arrived at the motel. It was a detached building, with the façade painted a dull cinnamon colour. Carlos was surprised at its austerity. He had been expecting something pinker and with hearts. He casually drove around the building before finding the entrance to the car park. There was nobody guarding the place, although, as soon as they got out of the car, Carlos spotted several security cameras.
‘It’s not as discreet as they promise,’ he said to Sebas, pointing one of the cameras out to him.
‘Luckily for us, no. I hope they don’t ask us for a warrant to access the recordings.’
They went up in the lift to the first floor. As soon as they got out, they encountered a coquettish reception, behind which there waited a young man in a tight shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms, and a pink tie. On the wall situated behind him was an enormous heart in the same tone in which the name of the hotel appeared.
‘Good day, gentlemen. How may I help you? Do you wish for a suite?’
‘No, no, no...’ answered Carlos, hurriedly, awakening a snicker in Sebas. ‘That’s not what we’re here for. I’m Carlos Vega, homicide inspector, and this is my colleague, Sebastián Casado. We’re here over an investigation.’
‘Homicide? An investigation?’ All of the colour drained from the receptionist’s face. ‘The manager won’t be here until the afternoon. Couldn’t you come back another time?’
‘Don’t worry. I’m sure that you will be able to do a marvellous job of helping us. What did you say your name was?’
‘Javi.’
‘Very well, Javi.’ Carlos made a signal to him, to invite him to come out from behind the counter. Once the young man did so, he placed an arm around his shoulders, as if they were the greatest friends in the world. ‘The victim reserved a room in this hotel for two days ago. All we want to know is whether she ever occupied the room, and whether she was coming with someone.’
‘We can’t give out any information,’ replied the receptionist, taking a step backwards, as if the contact with Carlos’s arm was burning him. ‘Discretion is our number one rule.’
‘That’s why I’m questioning you in an “unofficial” way. I could come here with a search warrant, take you and your manager down to the station for questioning... That would be much less discreet. I’m certain that this case is going to be very high-profile, and that your manager would not like it if the name of the hotel ended up coming out in the press in connection with a murder. Don’t you think the same thing?’
The young man went back behind the counter whilst he reflected. Carlos allowed him to take his time, and returned to Sebas to let him know with a smile that they already had him eating out of his hand.
‘All right. What do you need to know?’
Carlos took out a photograph from his pocket and placed it on the counter. On it could be seen a dark complexioned, wavy-haired woman, of around forty years old.
‘This woman made a reservation for this hotel two days ago. Her name is Carmen Ortega. Did you see her?’
‘We don’t see our clients. When they make the reservation, we email them the room number and the code that opens the door. That way they don’t have to pass through reception, and can go up directly from the car park without crossing paths with anyone.’
‘How practical! And is there any way of knowing whether Mrs Ortega came here and occupied her room?’
‘Give me a minute, please.’ The receptionist went back over to his computer and began typing. ‘Yes... I see the reservation here... The code to the door was used twice. Once at seven thirty, and then at ten past eight, so two people must have gone in.’
‘Could we see the recordings from the security cameras in the car park for that day?’
The receptionist hesitated for a few seconds. Carlos leaned on the counter and gave him a friendly smile with which he tried to express that he was a good guy and that the man could trust him.
‘Do you both promise me total discretion?’
‘Of course. Nothing will leave here.’ Carlos brought a hand to his chest in sign of oath.
The young man turned the computer monitor so that they could see it, and in a couple of clicks he found the recording they needed, and played it on the screen, on fast-forward. Once they got to five past eight, Carlos made a signal for him to pause the recording.
‘I think that black Audi is the victim’s car,’ said Carlos. ‘Please, continue at normal speed.’
The receptionist nodded and resumed playing of the video. The Audi parked, and out of it stepped a slim, dark-haired woman. In spite of the poor quality of the image, Carlos was certain that this was the victim. The woman opened the boot, took out a small wheelie-bag, and headed for the lift.
‘Just a moment,’ interrupted Sebas. ‘If the woman arrived on her own at five past eight, who opened the door at seven thirty?’
‘The killer, obviously,’ replied Carlos. ‘Would you be able to rewind back to that moment?’
The young man obeyed, but, in spite of the fact that they watched the recording from seven in the evening, nobody else entered the car park at that time.
‘Wow, we have an invisible killer,’ remarked Sebas.
‘Wait,’ the receptionist pointed out, carrying out some new clicks on the screen. ‘We have another security camera that shows the car park from another angle. Look.’
After moving forward on the new recording to twenty-five past seven, they saw a dark figure walking into the car park. The receptionist reduced the speed and Carlos and Sebas leaned towards the screen in order to get a better look. There was a tall and strong man in the image, dressed in a black hoodie, with the hood up. The camera was focussing on him from behind, which meant they could not see his face. The suspect crossed the car park before arriving at a door.
‘Where does that door lead?’ asked Sebas.
‘To the emergency stairwell. You can get to all the floors from there.’
‘And are there security cameras on the stairs or in the corridors?’
‘No. I’ve already told you that our main virtue is discretion. Clients must not feel like they’re being monitored.’
‘So then we have a mysterious guest who enters without a car, so that the cameras can’t catch its number-plate, through a door in which the security camera is going to be recording him the entire time from behind, and uses a set of stairs on which there is no security. Sounds like he knew this place very well, don’t you think?’ Carlos asked Sebas.
‘I don’t know what you’re trying to say with that,’ interrupted the receptionist.
‘Well what we’re trying to say is that we’re going to need a list of all the employees at this establishment,’ replied Carlos. ‘Another question... The price you charged to Mrs Ortega’s account adds up to over two hundred euros. Isn’t that a little expensive for a room for a few hours?’
‘Let me check... Yes, here it is. She requested room service. A bottle of Moët & Chandon Imperial Brut, which adds up to one hundred and twenty euros.’
‘Wow, they had expensive taste. What time did she order that bottle?’
‘At twenty to eight.’
‘So he ordered it, but then charged it to the victim’s account. In addition to murder, we should arrest him for cheek,’ joked Carlos. ‘Well, we found Mrs Ortega’s car a long way from here, so at some point they had to leave, and maybe they did so together. Could we carry on watching the recordings?’
The receptionist nodded and went back and selected the recording from the first camera, in which Carmen’s parked car could be seen. Over the course of the ensuing half an hour of recording they did not see anything interesting, aside from two cars coming into the car park and two very lovey-dovey couples.
‘Stop it. There they are,’ said Sebas, pointing to the screen.
The lift had opened. The hooded man took out the wheelie-bag that Carmen had brought and left it in the lift door to prevent it from closing again. He went back into the lift and came out a few seconds later carrying Carmen over his shoulder. The woman’s head and arms swung with every step, as if she were a doll. The man went up to Carmen’s car, opened the boot, and tried to put her inside. She moved a little, shaking her head, but did not put up any further resistance.
‘She’s virtually unconscious. The man must have hit her or drugged her whilst they were in the room,’ commented Sebas.
‘I’d wager on drugs. I think that bottle of Moët & Chandon contained a little more than champagne when she drank it,’ said Carlos, getting even closer to the screen. ‘Damn it, the guy’s wearing something on his face: a handkerchief or a scarf. Would you be able to give us a copy of these recordings? Maybe our technicians could improve the image...’
‘I can’t do that,’ protested the receptionist.
‘Yes, you can,’ Carlos cut him off. ‘Start preparing the list of people who have ever worked in this place since it opened, along with a copy of the recordings from both cameras. Don’t worry; your boss won’t be able to say anything to you. You’ll have a warrant in less than an hour.’