Cards on the table, the declaration of war spelled out.
“You think we’re hiding something from you?”
“I was only speaking of you, but I see you move quickly from the first person to the plural.” Héctor had the satisfaction of seeing her grow pale. “Does this ‘we’ refer to the others? César Calvo, Brais Arjona, Octavi Pujades and Manel Caballero? Or only some of them?”
“Inspector, you’re in my office, so I request you don’t raise your voice to me.”
“And you’re before a police inspector, and I request you stop lying to me.”
“The truth has to be discovered to prove a lie, Inspector Salgado. Until then, lies don’t exist.”
He smiled. He quite liked having a worthy adversary.
“Do you have a meetings room here? Then call the others and tell them to come immediately.”
“I repeat, I will not take orders from you. I’m a solicitor, Inspector, and although I don’t practice as such, I will not permit you to treat me or my employees as mere criminals.”
“Get rid of the ‘mere,’ Certainly not that. Whether criminals or not remains to be seen.” He paused briefly and softened his tone a little. “Listen, it would be much more intelligent on your part to cooperate. The way you’re behaving, it’s easy to come to the conclusion that you all have something to do with the deaths of your colleagues.”
Sílvia was still pale. Maybe it was true she’d been sick all weekend. In any case, she didn’t seem very well.
“I repeat: can you do me the favor of gathering the others in the room? I think it’s better to bring them together there than go and interview them in front of the whole company, don’t you agree?”
She didn’t answer. She lifted the receiver to let them know.
The room was between the offices of the Alemany siblings and Héctor noticed Víctor’s was still empty. Bosses never turn up before ten, he told himself, thinking of Savall.
He asked them to sit down, but Sílvia Alemany remained standing beside him, as he explained his reasonings point by point. Octavi Pujades wasn’t there, of course, and Héctor would have to send Fort to interview him at his home if he couldn’t go himself. The faces of the three men expressed different emotions, though one stood out among the rest: surprise on Brais Arjona and Manel Caballero, the latter almost on the verge of panic; on the other hand, César Calvo seemed to have accepted Amanda’s death with more composure.
“So that’s how things stand, gentlemen. Of the eight people who spent that weekend of team-building together,” he said, looking at Sílvia out of the corner of his eye, “three have died in suspicious circumstances. On September 5, Gaspar Ródenas shot himself after killing his wife and child; exactly four months later, in the early hours of January 6, Sara Mahler jumped onto the tracks of the metro. And last night, scarcely ten days later, Amanda Bonet allegedly took a whole bottle of sleeping pills. Three suicides. No apparent motive. No notes explaining their reasons. No warnings or previous attempts. And now I ask you: are you sure you have nothing to tell me?”
Manel Caballero’s hands were shaking. He was the only one showing anything other than concern. However, it was not he who spoke, but Brais Arjona.
“I understand all this is strange, Inspector. I must admit it’s beginning to worry me too. But I don’t know how we can help you. At least I don’t know how I can.”
“Where were you last night, between eight and half past nine?”
“At home, with David. Well, I don’t know what time I got back.” He turned to Manel Caballero, who looked at him with the same fear with which he watched the inspector. “What time did we say goodnight? Must have been around eight, right?”
Héctor almost smiled. So that’s what it was about now: shared alibis. He didn’t wait for Caballero to answer but turned to César Calvo, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“And I suppose you were with your fiancée, right? All very convenient.”
“Even if it seems like a lie to you, that’s correct.”
“I was in bed,” interrupted Sílvia. “I’ve already told you I didn’t feel well. I don’t know what time César left, but my daughter could tell you. And spare us the sarcasm, Inspector. We’re doing all we can to cooperate.”
Héctor hated her just then. He took a deep breath and remained calm. The only thing he’d got from the conversation with Saúl Duque was Amanda’s fleeting encounter with someone in the wood. Best not to mention it, he thought. Hold on to that card until you know where to place it, Salgado.
“If you wish to speak to Octavi Pujades, my assistant will give you his number. You are aware that Señor Pujades has taken a leave of absence, due to his wife’s illness.”
Héctor smiled. Here, at least, he could score a point.
“When you speak of your assistant, are you referring to Saúl Duque?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you didn’t like the term.” He stopped smiling and put on a worried expression. “I’m afraid Señor Duque won’t be coming to work for a few days. He’s very upset, disturbed frankly, after finding his partner dead in her bed.”
The ceiling of the room could have caved in and no one would have even screamed. The expression on every face in the room was a mixture of shock and fear in which Héctor took pleasure. Sadism is contagious, he said inwardly.
“Perhaps you didn’t know that Saúl and Amanda were in a relationship?” He didn’t want to go into detail-there was no need. “Well, life is full of surprises for everyone, don’t you think? Surprises and secrets. But it’s only a matter of time: little by little the truth rises to the surface … That’s what my work consists of. Bringing the truth to light, exposing it for everyone to see. And I assure you, I enjoy it.”
The forty minutes had already been sixty and felt like two hundred. Héctor was no longer capable of thought; his brain was beginning to run down, wanting to disconnect. And then, when fatigue was about to send his consciousness to hell, the doors began to vomit people out. Stressed travelers with bags under their eyes, looking at the clock, wishing to end a day already longer than expected.
There she was. He saw her walk toward him and smiled, although it was difficult to keep his eyes open.
Lola.
Seven years and many minutes later.
29
No doubt about it, the best remedy for insomnia wasn’t the tablets the therapist had recommended, but skipping a night altogether, tiring the body until it was exhausted and went out like a cell phone with a dead battery. Although Héctor hadn’t slept more than six hours, he awoke more refreshed than he’d felt for some time. Alert enough to face the case at hand: this mystery of suicides and strangled dogs.
So that Tuesday morning, as he had breakfast with Guillermo-an hour in which his son’s silence was a blessing-Héctor contemplated with satisfaction a page of the paper he’d gone down to buy even before filling the French press. There it was, the article agreed with Lola by telephone, which she’d written with the scant information he’d emailed her the previous afternoon. Héctor smiled at the headline: “Young, free and … dead. Strange wave of suicides among the workers of a single company.” Lola had been carefuclass="underline" she hadn’t referred to Alemany Cosmetics at any point, but the slogan was unmistakable. The photos of Gaspar, Sara and Amanda completed a text that implied more than it explained.
That was the deal, or perhaps, if he were honest with himself, the bait to lure her to the city: he was giving her information on a case that seemed to be becoming far-reaching; she was writing for a national newspaper. And between us, Héctor was thinking, we put Alemany Cosmetics in the eye of the hurricane, to see if the current of air clarifies their thinking or makes them more loquacious. He was sure that the concepts of their new campaign wouldn’t mesh well with a text talking about three dead employees.