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After leaving the car in the car park, Carlos went into Siete Calles. The area was pedestrianized and, during the day, it was a part of the city that had a lot of charm, filled with shops and cafés where the Bilbao locals and the tourists mixed together. At that time of night, it was virtually deserted and silent, although a few streets away could be heard the music from the bars, and the shouting of the people who were out on a binge.
He went into a narrow street with stone paving. The buildings, old and greyish, were very close together, producing a slight sense of claustrophobia. Bilbao had changed a lot in recent years. It had turned into a tourist city, clean, open and luminous. Nevertheless, those advancements had not reached this part of the city, which still appeared dark, grey and melancholy. To increase that sensation, a fine drizzle began to fall, and became golden by the light of the streetlights. A cold wind travelled down the streets, pushing against him every time he tried to go around a corner. Carlos fastened up his coat and raised the collar. Such a sad atmosphere stirred up ill-fated omens for him. Something in the pit of his stomach was telling him that it was not a good idea to go to that place alone, that it would be better to turn right back round and go home, but, on the other hand, he knew that he had to carry on ahead; that the culprit was nearby, and he would be able to find him.
After two minutes had gone by, he realised that he had become lost. The same thing always happened to him. It seemed impossible that, after spending his whole life in Bilbao, he would still be getting lost in Casco Viejo. He stopped on a corner and looked all around. Nothing; he did not have a clue where he was. One of these days he would have of ask Gus to show him how to use that mobile phone application that served to get one’s bearings, but for now he would have to fend for himself. He paused for a couple of minutes on that corner, hoping that somebody would pass by who could guide him. Only a couple of groups of young people passed through there, but, judging by the meandering paths they wove as they walked, Carlos thought that they would not be capable of even getting their own bearings.
He resumed walking, choosing streets by chance. If he managed to get so that he could see the estuary, he would be able to know where he was and start fresh. All of a sudden, he found himself at the back part of the Santiago Cathedral. That allowed him to orientate himself, thus he went around the cathedral, walking alongside the wrought-iron gates that closed access to the portico, and took a side street. In just a few more minutes, he found himself at the address that Daniel’s father had provided him with.
Just as he had expected, the place was a hovel: grey, dirty, and depressing, with old furniture and little in the way of lighting. The feeling in the pit of his stomach increased. He decided to ignore it and go in. The heat inside the place took him by surprise, causing him to feel a pleasant shiver. He undid his coat whilst taking a look at the establishment. In the entrance, one could see a few slot machines, fed continuously by grey, vacant-eyed men. The tables and chairs of the bar were taken up by people absorbed in the football match that was being broadcast on a gigantic television screen that filled one of the walls and seemed to be the only object in the place that was new and in good condition.
Further beyond the slot machines, he made out a narrow corridor that led to a games room. A poster advertised that one could play roulette and cards. Carlos went up to the bar and called the barman’s attention.
‘Good evening. Could I have a beer?’
The barman nodded and served him. Once he placed the beer in front of him, Carlos decided that it was time to get the ball rolling.
‘Excuse me. I’m looking for a person. His name is Daniel Gómez. He’s a young man, curly hair and glasses. Do you know him?’
The barman shrugged his shoulders and, without saying a word, took the ten-euro note that Carlos had left on top of the bar. When he brought him his change, Carlos decided to persevere.
‘I’m sorry, but I’ve been told that he comes to this place a lot, and it’s very important that I find him.’
‘Well you’re going to have a bloody tough time doing that, because I heard he died.’
‘He died? That can’t be,’ said Carlos, feigning an expression of astonishment.
‘Yes, I think he was killed in a car accident.’ The barman pointed to one of the men at the slot machines. ‘That guy was a friend of his. Maybe he can give you more information.’
Carlos thanked him with a smile and, with his bear in hand, went over to the young man the barman had just pointed out to him. He did not react when Carlos positioned himself alongside him, but rather carried on putting coins into the machine in a methodical way, as if carrying out his eight-hour shift in an assembly line. Carlos wondered what they could possibly see in such a monotonous and repetitive activity, as he looked around at the faces of the men at the machines. Not one of them appeared to be enjoying themselves: it was rather more like they were serving out a strange, self-imposed sentence. He decided to leave that reflection for another time and touch the shoulder of the young man whom he wanted to speak with. The lad was so focussed that he jumped and turned towards Carlos with a vacant gaze and an expression of confusion on his face, as if he had just come out of a trance.
‘Good evening. I apologise for disturbing you, but the barman told me that you were a friend of Daniel Gómez.’
‘Well, we’d happen to meet each other here many nights, but you couldn’t say we were friends.’ The young man turned back round to his machine, incapable of leaving it inactive for very long, and put another coin in.
‘I really am sorry to interrupt you, but I need to ask you some questions.’
‘I already told you I didn’t know him very much,’ replied the young man in a mechanical way, his gaze hypnotised by those flickering lights.
Carlos breathed in hard, in an attempt to contain himself. He could attract the man’s full attention by taking out his badge, but he preferred not to identify himself in such a place. He did not know the kind of people who frequented it, nor whether they would be all that happy about the presence of a policeman. A good punch also seemed like a solution for making the young man pay him his full attention, but he preferred to leave that as a last resort. He limited himself to placing the palm of his hand over the coin slot. The man froze stock still, with his hand in the air holding a one-euro coin, and the stupid gaze of someone who did not know how to act.
‘Listen, do you want to leave me in peace, or am I going to have to call the barman and have him throw you out of here? I’ve already told you I didn’t know Daniel much.’
‘You didn’t know him much, but you knew him, so you’re going to talk to me whether you want to or not.’ Carlos came closer until his face was only a few centimetres away. ‘You can make them throw me out of here, but I can wait for you outside. And I assure you that, if I have to spend a couple of hours waiting in the rain, I’m going to be in a much worse mood.’
‘Fine.’ The young man folded his arms across his chest, insolently. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’ve heard that Daniel had a lot of gambling debts. Do you know anything about that?’
‘How should I know...? That was Daniel’s problem.’
‘Stop being a pain in the arse and answer me, or I’m going to start being much less friendly. I’m sure you have the same money problems as Daniel. Who did you both ask for money from?’
‘Well, it’s possible I might know something, but right now I don’t remember all that well.’ An impish spark had lit up in his eyes. ‘Perhaps a small subsidy would help me recall.’
‘You’re even more stupid than I thought if you think I’m going to let go of a single damn euro just so that you can carry on feeding your bad habit.’ Carlos puffed out and looked at a point situated several metres behind the young man, as if the latter were invisible. ‘You’re getting me angry with your nonsense, and I don’t know how much longer I am going to be able to contain myself.’
‘You can’t hit me here. They’ll kick you out.’
‘Yes, of course. But the four of five thumps that I’m going to give you before they kick me out are going to stay with you. Are you going to answer me or not?’
‘Okay, okay... God, what a temper. You wouldn’t happen to be police would you?’
Carlos decided not to answer. He limited himself to raising an eyebrow and letting out a cynical half-smile, and looking back at the young man as if deciding where he would begin dismembering him.
‘He’s called Ricky, and you can find him at the back of the bar, at one of the poker tables. He’s a son of a bitch with a really bad temper, so go away and annoy him and leave me in peace.’
‘That attitude’s not going to get you anywhere,’ Carlos said to him, dedicating to him a goodbye smile.
He went into the corridor, still holding the beer in his left hand. With his right, he checked that his gun was still in its place. He had no desire to use it. He would get into massive trouble with Aguirre just by taking it out, but its weight and its familiar shape beneath the fabric of his coat made him feel more secure. He was just coming to the end of the corridor when he noticed that his mobile was vibrating. He took it out of his pocket and checked who was calling. It was Natalia. For a second, he thought about hanging up and calling her when he finished there, but that would worry her, and it was never a bad idea to tell somebody where you were just in case things turned ugly.
‘Hi. What do you want?’
‘Hi. I was going to make the dinner, but I don’t even have a clue when you’ll be back. What are you doing?’
‘Well right now I’m at a dive in Barrencalle in Casco Viejo, on the verge of interrogating a dangerous loan shark who I’m certain belongs to some local mafia.’
‘Are you being serious?’
‘No, calm down. The place isn’t that bad, and surely the loan shark is a loser. Don’t worry.’
‘And what are you going to interrogate a loan shark for?’
‘I’ve been talking with Daniel Gómez’s parents. They insist it’s impossible that their son would have got drunk and had a car accident, because he didn’t drink. What they did tell me is that he had a serious addiction to gambling and that he owed a lot of money to the guy I’m about to talk to.’
‘Interesting, although I don’t see how it could be related to our case.’
‘To tell the truth, me neither, but I’m so desperate that I have to give it a shot. By the way, have you seen the report on Daniel’s post-mortem?’
‘No, I wasn’t the one to do it, and don’t know who could have been entrusted with it. Why? Do you want me to have a look at it?’
‘Yes. If her parents are right, it wasn’t an accident, but rather another murder. Maybe the person who did the post-mortem thought that he was just another drunk in a car crash and didn’t pay too much attention to the details. I would like you to check it as soon as you can.’
‘I will. Don’t worry.’
‘Thank you. I don’t know how long this is going to take me. You go ahead and eat and I’ll whip up something for myself when I get back.’
‘All right. Don’t be too late... And be careful.’
‘I always am. I love you.’
Carlos hung up, looked both ways to make sure that nobody had heard his latest demonstration of affection, which would strip him of many points he had as a hard and dangerous guy, and resumed walking towards the room at the end of the corridor.
The place was very dim, almost in semi-darkness. Only a couple of lights on each wall were giving off a yellow and sickly light. Carlos wondered how those people managed to see the cards without losing their eyesight in the attempt. The roulette wheel was still, and there was nobody around it. There was not even anybody attending to it. It seemed to be more an object of decoration than anything that was actually used. On the contrary, the tables used for playing cards were full. Carlos went over to the one that was occupied by the worst looking people. When he was a few steps away, all of its occupants turned towards him. His well-trained eye warned him that the shapes showing under the jackets of two of them were pistols. These people did not take any nonsense. He put his most inoffensive and friendly smile on his face, and continued with his approach.
‘Good evening. Is one of you gentlemen Ricky?’
Nobody answered, but the eyes of all of them riveted on one of the occupants at the table, who was pretending to be highly busy organising the cards in his hand. Carlos decided to remain silent whilst he observed the man, trying to calculate whether he was a dangerous guy or not. He had a dark complexion, his hair was gelled, and he had a goatee that was so fine and perfect that it looked as though it had been drawn on with a ruling pen. His left cheek was decorated with a thick scar that looked old. He was wearing more or less one and a half kilos of gold chain around his neck, which stood out against a tight-fitting black shirt with several buttons undone. On his fingers, which were also adorned with enormous gold rings, he had various letters tattooed. Carlos took his time to discern what it read: “HATE” on the right hand; “SICK” on the left hand. That calmed him down. The guy was a fool who made the utmost effort to appear tough. The real dodgy guys did not feel the need to announce it to the four winds.
‘You’re Ricky, right?’ he persisted, upon noticing that nobody was answering.
‘Depends on why you’re looking for me,’ replied the man, without deigning to look at him.
‘I’d like to speak with you alone. Could you lend me a few minutes of your time?’
‘I don’t lend time and, if I did, I’d have to charge you interest.’ The response was provided with a chorus of stupid laughter from his friends at the table. ‘I’m busy now. Come back in half an hour.’
Carlos shot him a murderous look to make it clear to him that that had not gone down well at all with him. Just as he had suspected, this moron needed to continuously prove his power, to dominate the others, to subject them to his whims... Well tonight he had met the wrong man. Carlos was about to come out with a clever comment and deliver a blow to the tabletop when a jab in his side made him stop. A man had come up close behind him and was pinning something against him. It felt like a penknife or something a little bigger. He was not pressing hard with it, jus enough to go through his clothing and prick his skin slightly.
‘Be careful, Ricky,’ said the guy behind him. ‘I know this guy. He’s a pig.’
‘A copper?’ In a single second, Ricky lost his mask of coolness and self-possession. ‘How do you know?’
Carlos shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, trying to express that he did not know what that guy was talking about, and that he was very likely crazy.
‘We had the pleasure of meeting about eight years ago. This guy is a homicide inspector.’
‘I think you’re confusing me with someone else,’ intervened Carlos.
‘I’m not mistaken. I have your face well ingrained on my memory. I’ve spent the last eight years in a cell, remembering it.’ The man came closer to his ear to whisper to him. ‘I remember you perfectly, Inspector Vega.’
‘Shit. What’s a copper doing here? And what the hell do you want with me?’ Ricky shouted at him.
‘Doesn’t matter what he wants. We need to take him to a quiet place and do him in,’ suggested the guy behind Carlos.
‘That’s a very intelligent decision,’ said Carlos, riveting his gaze on Ricky and ignoring the guy who was still poking him. ‘As you will all imagine, I have not come unarmed. If you try do to kill me, I guarantee you that I’ll be taking a couple of sons of bitches upfront to keep me company on the journey.’
‘We’ve got weapons too,’ replied Ricky, standing up and puffing out his chest like a pigeon.
‘Great. Let’s imagine for a second that you did manage to kill me. In addition to the dozens of people who’ve seen me come in here, my colleagues down at the station know where I went and who I wanted to speak with.’ Carlos allowed himself a smile of superiority. ‘I don’t know what scams you’re involved in, Ricky, but I very much doubt that you want to complicate your life even more by adding onto them the death of a cop. Am I right?’
‘Don’t listen to him, Ricky,’ shouted the guy behind him, driving the knifepoint a little further in.
‘I don’t want any commotion, Rabbit,’ said Ricky. ‘Don’t you go getting me mixed up in your business.’
‘So you’re going to let a bloody pig step into our territory and give you orders? He’s laughing at you. You’re going to end up looking like a loser in front of your men.’
Carlos could not continue to contain himself upon the next jab from the guy nicknamed Rabbit. Without his brain even having processed the order, his right fist shot out backwards. He heard the crunching of a nose breaking and a groan of pain, and he felt the sharp poking in his side disappear. The knife fell to the floor and clattered against the floor tiles, whilst “Rabbit” threw both hands up to his face, trying to contain the river of blood that was flowing from his nose.
‘You’ve broken my nose, you son of a bitch,’ yelled the man, shooting him a look of hatred.
‘Now you have three options: to go and take care of that, to continue interrupting a police investigation and have me call for backup and then have them take care of you down at the station, or to go back to pissing me off and have me break more things of yours.’
‘You won’t forget this,’ threatened the man, before turning towards the door.
‘I very much doubt that. I’m supposed to have arrested you, and I don’t even have a bloody clue who you are,’ replied Carlos as the other man moved away. Once he left the room, Carlos turned back towards the games table. ‘Well, now that we’ve finished with that bothersome interruption, we can carry on with our business. Since the party’s over, would you now mind lending me a couple of minutes of your time?’
Ricky remained silent for a few seconds, and finally nodded and gave a signal to his friends for them to leave. They all shot him looks that were loaded with hatred, which must have been a warning that they would be nearby, watching over every move he made. Carlos ignored them, collapsed into the nearest chair, and took his packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.
‘You’re not allowed to smoke here,’ Ricky notified him.
‘Really?’ Carlos let out a sarcastic giggle, took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long puff on it and sat watching as the wisps of smoke rose up towards the ceiling. ‘Well, I’m sure that half the people in this room don’t have permission to be carrying the weapons they’re carrying, and that you don’t have a license for your moneylender activities. Let’s all be a little flexible. All right?’
Ricky nodded, swallowed a couple of times, and began turning one of his gigantic rings around on his finger whilst he waited for the first question with the same guilty expression as that of a little boy who has been called into the headmaster’s office. Carlos allowed himself a smile. Just as he had expected, beneath that tough-guy disguise there was only a coward, one of those guys who feels brave surrounded by his mates, and who comes crumbling down as soon as the screws get tightened. He was going to sing like a canary.
‘Well to tell the truth, the thing is I’d invented a wonderful story about how I was a friend of Daniel Gómez’s parents, and how they’d entrusted me with inquiring about their son’s debts so as to be able to pay them off, but, as your friend the Rabbit has just exposed me, there’s no longer any need to pretend.’ Carlos leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. ‘Let’s get straight to the point. Did you have anything to do with Daniel’s death?’
‘Me? I’ve never killed anyone in my life. Why would I have killed him?’
‘Perhaps he owed you a lot of money, and you didn’t think he was able to pay it back.’
‘I don’t kill my clients. Once they’re dead, it makes it very difficult for them to pay you what they owe.’
‘Yes, of course... I suppose you’re right, but maybe you decided to sacrifice that money in exchange for teaching your other debtors.’
‘No, I honestly don’t work like that. I’m not going to deny to you that on occasion we may go and frighten someone a bit, but we’ve never taken anyone down. Those kinds of things scare away potential clientele.’ Ricky threw himself backwards in his seat and shook his head. ‘Besides, I didn’t have any reason to hurt Daniel. He didn’t owe me anything.’
‘Are you certain about that? His parents have told me he owed you about six thousand euros.’
‘Do you think I’d disown a debt like that? Fuck, that would have been an absolute shit load of money to lose; a real hit on my business. Luckily, Daniel paid me down to the very last euro before he was killed.’
‘And do you have any idea how he was able to gather so much money?’
‘Yeah. He told me.’ Ricky leant forwards and lowered his voice. ‘The truth is that Daniel was somewhat late on his payments, so my boys and I decided to go and give him a reminder.’
‘How courteous of you! I’m sure that people are delighted with your client-focussed service,’ remarked Carlos, sarcastically.
‘Do you want me to tell you or not?’ asked Ricky, feeling annoyed. When Carlos nodded, he continued talking. ‘The fact is that the guy swore he was going to pay me: he told me he was doing a job for a colleague, who was a guy that was rolling in it, and that he was going to pay him really well and that he’d give back everything he owed me in less than three months.’
‘And did he?’
‘Yes. You have it right here,’ Ricky took out a little leather bound notebook from the back pocket of his trousers and proceeded to go through the pages until he found what he was looking for. ‘These are my notes about Daniel. As you can see, he owed me six thousand euros, and he paid it all back in three instalments of two thousand: two in September, and one in October.’
Carlos signalled to him to ask him for a bit of time, took out his own notebook, and jotted down the dates of the payments. He would have to verify it upon returning to the station, but he was certain that each one of the payments had been made two or three days after each victim’s death.
‘When he had finished paying, I told him that, as he had proven himself to be a good client, I could go back to opening a credit line again, but he answered me saying that the whole gambling thing was over for him and that, besides, he was no longer going to be receiving any more money, as the gravy train had now finished for him.’
‘How so?’
‘From what I seemed to understand, the guy who had hired him only wanted him for a very specific job, and that job was now done.’
‘Did he ever say anything to you about this guy’s name, or where he knew him from?’
‘No, only that he worked with him. I think that Daniel was a cop, so maybe he worked with you. Perhaps you know him.’
Carlos did not reply. He limited himself to smiling in sign of appreciation and getting up from the table. Ricky’s friends, who had been waiting a few metres away, leaning against the wall with their arms folded in front of their chests and sullen faces, immediately went over to the table. Carlos said goodbye with a nod and left the room. Before leaving the bar, he went into the toilets. Facing the mirror, he took off his coat and saw that his shirt was soaked with blood. He lifted it up and took a look at the wound. It was not deep, but it looked highly scandalous. It would give Natalia a fainting spell if she saw him like that. Upon thinking about her, he sat down for a while on the toilet bowl, took his mobile out of his pocket, and called her.
‘Hi, Natalia.’
‘Hi. You’re on your way back here and you want me to prepare you something for dinner, right?’
‘Actually, no. I’m going to stay here for a while to see if I can find anyone else who knew Daniel.’
‘Have you found anything?’
‘Yes, many things. I’ve spoken with Daniel’s moneylender. He came to owe him six thousand euros, but between September and October he paid it all back in three payments of two thousand euros, which I believe all coincide with the dates of our three victims’ deaths.’
‘So somebody paid him generously for changing the records. What I don’t understand is why they killed him.’
‘According to what the loan shark just told me, the guy who paid Daniel had told him he didn’t need him anymore, as his job was now done.’
‘That can’t be.’
‘Why not?’
‘A serial killer’s work is never done. He doesn’t have to kill three victims, or five, or twelve, and then stop. Those kinds of people can’t stop, and much less plan out when they’re going to stop.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘That maybe I’ve made a mistake and we’re not pursuing a serial killer.’
‘Will you let me just set the phone to record, and can you repeat that sentence, please?’
‘Don’t be stupid. This is important. If it isn’t a serial killer, the victims can’t have been chosen by chance. The murderer would have reasons for killing at least one of them.’
‘How just one? He has to have reasons for killing all three of them.’
‘No... Don’t you see it? He’s made us believe that he was a serial killer. He’s killed several women of similar age, created a set of crime scenes that simulate those of a ritualistic murderer with religious delusions... It was all a simulation. This guy knows us, works with us, and knew that they were going to assign us the case and that I’d fall into the trap of their mind game...’
‘Seriously, I ought to have recorded this conversation, to play it back to you again and again.’
‘God damn it, Carlos. Listen to me. If he isn’t a serial killer, he has to be someone who’s has a connection with the environment of one of the victims. Their husband, some past boyfriend, some resentful suitor... We have to start from the beginning.’
‘Okay, calm down. We will do, but there’s no need for it to be tonight. I’m going to go around here a couple more times, and then I’ll head off home and we’ll talk about it. All right?’
‘All right.’
Carlos hung up, put his phone away in his pocket, and looked at his coat before putting it on. Just as he had feared, that scumbag nicknamed Rabbit had poked a hole in it with the knife. He was going to be right after all: Carlos was going to remember him, at least enough to break his nose again the next time he saw him. His phone rang again. Carlos sighed and answered it once more.
‘Hello, Natalia. I already told you not to worry, and that I’ll be making tracks right away.’
‘This isn’t Natalia. It’s Aguirre.’
Carlos was so caught by surprise upon hearing the sergeant’s voice that he very nearly dropped the mobile. He had to remind himself that Aguirre did not know where he was, nor what he was doing, and he had to seem calm.
‘Aguirre, what’s up? What do you need?’
‘Subordinates who don’t get on my nerves as much as you. That’s what I need.’
Even though he knew that he was only messing around, Carlos ran his eyes all over the walls of the toilet, fearing he would find a microphone or a security camera.
‘I don’t understand, Aguirre. What have I done now?’
‘I’ve just received a phone call from Daniel Gómez’s parents saying that a very friendly officer went to their home this afternoon, interested in the death of their son. They are very cooperative people, and have promised not to pose any impediment to the exhumation of their son’s body if that will help solve his murder. Do you know anything about this madness?’
‘Honestly, no...’ Carlos lied.
‘Carlos, God damn it... Do you think I’m an idiot? The description they gave me of the friendly officer who visited them is a match for you. What the bloody hell are you doing?’
Carlos remained silent, trying to come up with some story, or hoping that the floor of the toilet would open up and the ground would swallow him. He took advantage of those seconds to take out a fresh cigarette and light it. In the end, he was just asking for them to kick him right out of that bar, but in that very moment, that was the least of his problems.
‘Carlos, are you still there?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m here... Look, Aguirre, I know you’re going to be pissed off, but I believe that Daniel’s death was no accident and that, somehow, it’s related to Roberto’s case.’
‘Are you pulling my leg? Are you still carrying on with that?’
‘Well, the case is closed, exactly as you asked, but you can’t prevent me from investigating in my free time.’
‘Of course I can prevent you from doing it. I told you to forget about all of that.’
‘But I can’t forget about it. The case has holes in it left right and centre, and I’m finding clues that could prove that Roberto was innocent...’
‘I’m going to explain it to you just one more time to try to get you to see reason. I’m going to do so because I don’t want to sack you, but I need you to stop.’ Carlos heard Aguirre take a breath on the other end of the line. ‘Do you realise the damage you’re doing; the amount of vain hopes you’re creating? You have told Roberto’s parents that their son could well be innocent; Daniel’s parents that their son might not have been an idiot who drank and was killed in a car accident... There are many people who have suffered because of this. Roberto had friends in the station who thought highly of him, and for whom all of this has been a very hard blow... Have you not thought about Salazar for a single moment? His wife was murdered by one of his work colleagues. Can you imagine what this must be like for him?’
‘I’m sorry. I was only trying to uncover the truth...’
‘But the thing is we already have the truth. Think for a moment about what all of this has had to mean for Salazar. He was on the verge of performing the post-mortem on his wife. He did not want to even take a single day off. He was here, suffering, every day, and trying to help in every way possible to ensure that the investigation went ahead and that the death of his wife would not go unpunished. And in the end he found out that he crossed paths every day with the man who had killed her. Can you stop for a moment to think about the hell that poor man will have gone through?’
‘I understand.’
‘I hope so.’ Aguirre went back to letting out long sigh. ‘You have to allow the wounds to heal, Carlos. This is the last time I’m asking you.’
The sergeant hung up without even saying goodbye. Carlos sat still in the middle of that toilet cubicle looking at his mobile phone. The previous conversation with Natalia returned to his mind. The killer had to be linked with one of the three women. They had investigated the environment of both Estefanía and Andrea, and had questioned their husbands without getting anything, but they had not questioned Salazar, because they had respected his pain. Perhaps he might have some lead: perhaps he would be able to tell him something about Carmen’s past that could put him on the right track.
For a few seconds, he thought about whether he ought to listen to Aguirre and stop, but he immediately discarded that. He had known Salazar for years. He had worked with him on a multitude of cases. In fact, until Natalia arrived, he had been his “go to medical examiner”. He had always been a methodical man, a tireless worker who did not give up until he found the truth. As much as it may hurt him to remember the death of his wife, he would be prepared to help him. He unblocked his mobile and dialled the number for headquarters.
‘Administration. How can I help you?’
Carlos remained silent for a couple of seconds, trying to remember the name of the man who had answered the phone.’
‘Is this Iñaki?’
‘Yes. Who’s speaking?’
‘It’s Carlos Vega. Listen, could you do me a favour? I need the address of Dr Salazar, the medical examiner. You wouldn’t have it to hand, would you?’