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As soon as Carlos opened the door to the flat, Art pounced on him, threatening to knock him over. He got down on his knees to stroke the dog and try to calm him, whilst the latter wagged his tail and licked his face, as excited as if he had never seen anything so beautiful.
‘Hello, Art. How’s your day been?’ asked Carlos, receiving, by way of a response, a lick that soaked his face. ‘Is Natalia not back yet?’
The home was dark and silent. Carlos checked the rooms, with the dog trying to walk in between his legs. There was nobody there. He was surprised. Natalia had told him that she would be finishing her shift a couple of hours before him. He decided to take the dog out and begin preparing the dinner for when she got back.
He was already finishing turning the potato tortilla when he heard the sound of Art barking and racing, and the front door opening.
‘Art, let me through. You’re going to have me over.’
Carlos heard how she laughed, whilst the echo of her heels advanced along the hallway. Natalia came into the kitchen, with the dog glued to her skirts, and a whole load of bags in her hands.’
‘What have you got there?’ asked Carlos.
‘Well, the other day my shoes got wrecked, so I’ve had to go out to buy some more.’
‘And was there a ten-for-one offer?’
‘No...’ She lowered her head and looked at them in embarrassment. ‘I think it got a little out of hand.’
Carlos decided not to press the subject. He knew that Natalia became a compulsive shopper whenever she was nervous or angry, and he was certain that he knew the reason for her state of mind: the reunion with her father.
‘I hope you’ve at least bought yourself a pair of wellington boots for crime scenes.’
‘Well, no. You know that only high-heels catch my attention.’
‘You’ll wake up the day you crack your head open. Come on, sit down, this is ready now.’
‘Tortilla again?’ she protested.
‘You know it’s the only thing I know how to cook, but it still scares me,’ Carlos placed one arm behind his back whilst holding the plate with the other, and performed a theatrical bow. ‘Miss, your dinner.’
Natalia gave him a sincere smile and, after putting the bags far out of reach of Art, who was trying to get his muzzle into all of them in order to inspect the contents, sat down at the table.
‘How’s the investigation going?’
‘Very well. We went to a hotel where the victim was on the day of her death, and we saw the killer on the security cameras.’
‘Seriously? So we have him, then?’
‘You’ve got to be joking. The image quality of those cameras is lousy, and the guy was wearing something to keep his face covered. All we know is that he’s a tall man, like 5’11”, and that he looks strong.’
‘Did they arrive together? Did she know him? Did he kill her right there?’
‘Calm down, one question at a time,’ said Carlos whilst he served the food. ‘He arrived half an hour earlier, but he must have known her, because he knew the security number that opened the room she had reserved. He ordered a bottle of champagne and waited for her. Then he returned to the car park, carrying her unconscious body, and put her in the boot.’
‘That would explain the dosage of alcohol and phenobarbital we found in her blood.’
‘Pheno-what?’
‘Phenobarbital. It’s not that difficult,’ replied Natalia, laughing. ‘The commercial name for it is Luminal, which will be easier for you.’
‘I don’t think I’ll remember that one, either. I don’t even remember what I’ve eaten today... What’s that medication used for?’
‘It’s a barbiturate used for treating epilepsy, anxiety and insomnia. In high doses it can cause deep sleep, coma, and even death by respiratory depression.’
‘You’ve no idea how you make me feel when you talk all professionally like that.’
‘You’re so silly...’ Natalia’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red. ‘Nobody can speak seriously with you.’
‘Come on, I promise to be good.’ Carlos winked at her. ‘Have you discovered anything else in the post-mortem? Do you think she could have died from that drug?’
‘No. She died from strangulation, just as we thought, but the fact that she was drugged could explain why there are no defensive wounds, or hair or skin remains from the killer under her nails. I imagine she was not able to put up a fight. I have not managed to find anything else: no marks, or DNA remains, or semen that could belong to the killer.’
‘There’s no semen? Wow, taking into account the place they met and the fact they were half an hour before coming down, I thought they had done something more than talk in that room.’
‘Well, no. It seems our murderer is not a sexual predator.’
‘So you see how it wasn’t a serial killer?’
‘The fact he doesn’t have any sexual motivation doesn’t mean he isn’t a serial killer,’ explained Natalia. ‘He could have many other motivations: it could be that killing makes him feel powerful; that he’s trying to exorcise some guilt; that he has some kind of religious or moral obsession...’
‘You’re not going to give up, are you?’
‘You know I’m not. I would love for there not to be any more victims, but such an elaborate ritual is indication of very mentally disturbed behaviour. If we don’t want there to be any further deaths, we’re going to have to get our skates on.’