Долорес Редондо – Offering to the Storm (страница 11)

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I’m referring to the fact that Rosario didn’t change at your father’s house, or in your car. The fact that there’s a period of time unaccounted for between you leaving the hospital and stopping off at my aunt’s house. While we were busy rooting around among the souvenirs in your apartment, you stopped off somewhere else. Do you expect me to believe that a man like you wouldn’t have covered such a contingency? Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending to make me believe you acted like a blundering fool …’

This time Berasategui covered his mouth with both hands to stifle the urge to respond.

‘Where’s the house? Where did you take Rosario? She’s alive, isn’t she?’

‘What do you think?’ he blurted unexpectedly.

‘I believe you devised an escape plan, and that she followed it.’

‘I like you, Inspector. You’re an intelligent woman – you have to be, to appreciate other people’s intelligence. And you’re right, there are things I miss in here – for example, holding an interesting conversation with someone who has an IQ above 85,’ he said, gesturing disdainfully towards the guards at the door. ‘And for that reason alone, I’m going to make you a gift.’ He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. Amaia remained calm, although she was surprised when the guards made no effort to restrain him. ‘Listen carefully, Inspector, because this is a message from your mother.’

This time she recoiled, but it was too late, she could already smell Berasategui’s shaving lotion. He gripped her tightly about the throat as she felt his lips brush her ear: ‘Sleep with one eye open, little bitch, because sooner or later Ama is coming to eat you.’ Amaia grabbed his wrist, forcing him to release her, then stumbled backwards, knocking over her chair. Berasategui leaned back, rubbing his wrist.

‘Don’t kill the messenger, Inspector,’ he said with a grin.

She continued to back away until she reached the door, looking with alarm at the guards, who remained impassive.

‘Open the door!’

The two men stood staring at her in silence.

‘Are you deaf? Open the door. The prisoner has assaulted me!’

Seized with panic, she approached the man nearest to her, spitting her words so close to his face that her saliva landed on his cheek:

‘Open the door, you sonofabitch! Open the door, or I swear I’ll …’ The guard ignored her, looking towards Berasategui, who with a condescending nod gave his permission. The guards opened the door, smiling at Amaia as she went out.

8

She hurried along the corridor, fighting the impulse to break into a run, acknowledged the guard manning the next security gate, and continued to the main entrance, where she had recognised one of the guards when she arrived. Still, she waited to retrieve her bag and gun before asking to see the prison governor.

‘He’s not here. He’s in Barcelona, at a conference on prison security, but you can speak to his deputy if you want,’ said the man, reaching for the phone.

Amaia reflected for an instant.

‘No, don’t bother. It’s not important.’

She climbed into her car and took out her mobile, glancing suspiciously at the CCTV cameras dotted about the prison. She put the phone down and drove off, found a parking space several streets away, then dialled a number she had never used before.

Judge Markina’s calm voice answered at the other end of the line.

‘Inspector, this is the first time you’ve ever called me on this—’

‘This is official business, your honour. I’ve just left the prison in Pamplona after interviewing Berasategui …’ Conscious of the tremor in her voice, she broke off and took a deep breath to compose herself.

‘Berasategui? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to see him?’

‘I’m sorry, your honour, this was an informal visit, I wanted to ask him about … Rosario.’

She heard him click his tongue in disapproval.

‘All the information we have points to him and Rosario stopping off somewhere that night, at a safe house where she was able to change her clothes, somewhere they could hide in case things didn’t go according to plan … I refuse to believe that a man as organised as Berasategui wouldn’t have factored in a contingency like that.’

Markina was silent at the other end of the line.

‘But that isn’t why I called. The interview went well, until I asked him if Rosario was still alive … Then he gave me a message from her.’

‘What! Amaia, the man’s playing with you, he’s an arch manipulator!’ he burst out, abandoning his usual restraint. ‘He hasn’t any message from your mother – you gave him an opening, he recognised your weakness, and he pounced.’

She heaved a sigh, starting to regret having mentioned it to him.

‘What exactly did he say?’

‘That’s not important, it’s what happened next that worries me. While he was passing on the so-called message, he grabbed me by the throat.’

‘Did he hurt you?’ Markina broke in, alarmed.

‘The two guards who were in the room with us didn’t move a muscle,’ she went on. ‘No, he didn’t hurt me, I freed myself and retreated to the door, but the guards wouldn’t budge, even when I yelled at them to open the door. They waited until Berasategui authorised them to do so.’

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ If he hurt you—’

‘I’m fine,’ she interrupted. ‘The point is, they acted like a pair of trained monkeys. He even joked about how stupid they were, and they remained completely submissive.’

‘Where are you? I want to see you. Tell me where you are, I’ll come straight away.’

She glanced about, disoriented.

‘The prison governor is at a conference, and I don’t know his deputy, but we need to act now. Who knows how many other guards he has under his thumb.’

‘I’ll see to it. I have the director’s mobile number right here. I’ll call to recommend Berasategui be moved to a maximum-security unit and placed in an isolation cell. The problem will be solved in ten minutes. But right now I need to see you. I need to know you’re okay.’

Amaia leaned her head against the steering wheel, trying to order her thoughts. Markina’s response had unnerved her; he appeared genuinely concerned, and she found his reaction to the possibility of any harm coming to her at once infuriating and flattering.

‘Have you received the pathologist’s report about the Esparza case?’

‘No. I want to see you now.’

‘My sister told me you’d called her.’

‘Yes. She left a message with my secretary, and I returned her call out of politeness. She wanted to know whether I considered it appropriate to hold a funeral service for your mother. I told her I saw no objection. And now, can I see you?’

She smiled at his insistence; she should have known Flora’s version would be somewhat doctored.

‘I’m fine, honestly. Anyway, I need to go back to the police station to see the pathologist’s report, which should be arriving any minute.’

‘So, when?’

‘When what?’

‘When can I see you?’

‘I have another call,’ she lied. ‘I need to hang up.’

‘All right, but promise me: no more visits to Berasategui on your own. If anything happened to you …’

She ended the call, staring at the blank screen for a while without moving.

9

The leaden skies that had inspired Pamplona’s inhabitants to rename it Mordor, gave way in Baztán to a hazier, more luminous atmosphere – a shimmering mist that dazzled the eye, shrouding the landscape in an eerie light and blurring the horizon. The police station at Elizondo seemed strangely calm compared to yesterday, and getting out of the car, Amaia noticed that this silence had descended like a blanket over the entire valley, so that even from up there she could hear the murmur of the River Txokoto, barely visible behind the old stone edifices. She turned her gaze back to the office: half a dozen photographs of the cot, the white bear, the corpse in the rucksack, the empty coffin from which Valentín Esparza had snatched his daughter’s body, and finally the pathologist’s report, open on top of her desk. San Martín had confirmed asphyxia as the cause of death. The shape and size of the bear’s nose perfectly matched the pressure mark on the baby’s forehead, and the white fibres found in the folds of her mouth came from the toy. The saliva traces on her face and on the toy belonged to the child and to Valentín Esparza; the foul odour coming from the toy was related to a third saliva trace, the source of which hadn’t yet been verified.

‘This proves nothing,’ remarked Montes. ‘The father could have kissed the baby goodbye when he left her at his mother-in-law’s house.’

‘Except that when San Martín confirmed there were saliva traces, I asked the grandmother if she’d bathed the girl before putting her to bed, and she said she had. So, any traces of saliva from the parents would have been washed away,’ explained Amaia.

‘A lawyer could argue that at some point he kissed the toy with which the baby was suffocated, thus transferring his saliva to her skin,’ said Iriarte.

Zabalza arched an eyebrow sceptically.

‘That’s perfectly feasible,’ protested Iriarte, looking to Amaia for support. ‘When my kids were small, they often asked me to kiss their toys.’