“If you say so.” He leaned back and stretched his legs out a little. “In answer to your previous question, I will say yes. We separated less than a year ago. And before you continue, no, I don’t feel an uncontrollable hatred or wild anger toward my wife,” he added.
The psychologist allowed himself a smile.
“Your ex-wife.”
“Pardon. It was subconscious. . you know. .”
“Then I take it that it was a mutual separation.”
It was Héctor who laughed this time.
“With respect, what you just described is practically nonexistent. There’s always someone who leaves someone. The mutual aspect consists of the other person accepting it and shutting up.”
“And in your case?”
“In my case, it was Ruth who left me. Don’t you have that information in your papers?”
“No.” He looked at the clock. “We have very little time left, Inspector. But for the next session, I’d like you to do something.”
“Are you giving me homework?”
“Something like that. I want you to think about the rage you felt the day of the assault, and try to remember other times you experienced a similar emotion. As a child, as an adolescent, as an adult.”
“Fine. Can I go now?”
“We have a few minutes. Is there anything you want to ask me? Any query?”
“Yes.” He looked him directly in the eyes. “Do you not think there are occasions when rage is the appropriate reaction? That feeling something else would be unnatural when facing a. . demon?” Even he was surprised by the word and his questioner seemed interested in it.
“I’ll answer you in a moment, but let me ask you something first. Do you believe in God?”
“The truth is, no. But I do believe in evil. I’ve seen a lot of bad people. Like all police officers, I suppose. Would you mind answering my question?”
The “kid” thought for a few moments.
“That would lead us to a lengthy debate. But in short, yes, there are times when the natural response to a stimulus is rage. Equally fear. Or aversion. It’s about managing that emotion, containing it so as not to provoke a greater evil. Fury can be acceptable in this society; to act motivated by it is more arguable. We’d end up justifying anything, don’t you think?”
There was no way of rebutting that argument, so Héctor got up, said good-bye and left. While he was going down in the lift, cigarette packet in hand, he told himself that the shrink might be young and read comics, but he wasn’t a complete fool. Which, truly, at that moment seemed to him more inconvenient than helpful.
7
“I believe we’re boring Agent Castro.” It was Superintendent Savall’s tone of voice, dry and ironic, accompanied by a direct gaze, that made Leire Castro aware he was speaking to her. More accurately, it got her attention. “I’m very sorry to pull you away from your passionate inner life for a matter so irrelevant as the one we’re discussing, but we need your opinion. Whenever you think it convenient, of course.”
Leire blushed up to her hairline and tried to find an apology. It would be difficult to come up with a coherent answer to a question she hadn’t heard because she was immersed in her worries.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was, I was thinking. .”
Savall realized, as did Salgado and Andreu, that his question, still hanging in the air, had gone unnoticed by Agent Castro. All four were in the superintendent’s office, behind closed doors, with the Marc Castells case file on the desk. Leire desperately forced herself to find something adequate to say. The super had described the autopsy report, which she knew well. Alcohol levels slightly over the limit; the guy wouldn’t have passed a breathalyzer test, but he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t stand upright. The medical analysis hadn’t shown the smallest trace of any drugs in his blood which would allow them to deduce a delirium that might have made him fall into the void. The phrase “medical analysis” had thrown up a whirl of resolved doubts which led to others more difficult to resolve, a mental storm from which she awoke abruptly.
“We were discussing the matter of the broken door,” said Inspector Salgado, and she turned toward him brimming with gratitude.
“Yes,” she breathed, relieved. There she was on safe ground: her voice took on a concise, formal tone. “The problem is that no one was very clear on when it broke. The cleaner thought she’d seen it already broken when she left that evening, but she wasn’t sure. In any case, there were numerous fireworks in the rear part of the house, in all probability originating in the neighboring garden. Its owners have four sons, and the boys admitted they’d been throwing them part of the evening and the night.”
“Yeah. At the end of the day, it was San Juan,” interjected the superintendent. “God! I hate that night. At one time it used to be fun, but now those little monsters throw small bombs.”
Leire continued, “What is certain is that nothing in the house was missing and there was no meaningful sign that might indicate anyone having entered there. What’s more-”
“What’s more, the supposed burglar would’ve had to go up to the attic to push the boy. And for what? No, it doesn’t make sense.” The super made an irritated gesture.
“With all due respect,” said Andreu, who’d kept quiet until then, “this boy fell. Or at worst, he jumped. Alcohol affects people differently.”
“Is there something that makes you think suicide?” asked Héctor.
“Nothing significant,” answered Leire instantly. Then she realized the question wasn’t directed at her. “Pardon.” “Since you’re so sure, explain why,” barked the super. “Well,” she took a few seconds to organize her thoughts,“Marc Castells had come home a while ago after spending six months in Dublin, learning English. According to his father, the trip had done him good. Before leaving, he’d had problems at schooclass="underline" not attending, negative attitude, even a threeday suspension from the centre. He managed to pass Second Baccalaureate, but he didn’t obtain the necessary marks to study what he wanted. It seems he wasn’t very sure of what he wanted to study really, so he deferred beginning a degree for a year.”
“Yeah. And he was sent to Ireland to study English. In my time, he would’ve been put to work.” The superintendent couldn’t help a sarcastic tone. He closed the file. “That’s enough. This is like a school board. Go and talk to the parents and the girl who slept in the house that night, and close the case. If necessary, question the other boy, but watch it with the Roviras. Dr. Rovira made it very clear that, given that his son had left before the tragedy happened, he wasn’t inclined to have anyone disrupt his life. And taking into account that he attended the births of various ministers’ children, including our own minister’s, it’s best not to get up his nose. In fact, I don’t think any of them are hugely interested, I’m telling you now. Enric Castells made it clear that if the investigation has finished, he wants us to leave them in peace, and in a way I can’t blame him for it.” His attention focused for an instant on the photo of his daughters. “It must be hard enough to bury a son, and then on top of that to have to put up with the press and the police poking their noses in every minute. I’ll see Joana next week and try to placate her. Anything else to add, Castro?”
Leire started. She had certainly been thinking of contributing a detail he hadn’t mentioned.
“I’m not sure,” she said, although her tone suggested otherwise. “Maybe it’s just my impression, but the reaction of the girl, Gina Martí, was. . unexpected.”
“Unexpected? She’s eighteen, she goes to bed a bit drunk and on waking up she finds out her boyfriend has killed himself. I think ‘on the verge of hysteria,’ as you describe her in your report, is a more than expected reaction.”
“Of course. But. .” She recovered her assuredness when she found the right words. “The hysteria was logical, sir. But Gina Martí wasn’t sad. She seemed more frightened.” The superintendent remained silent for a few moments. “All right,” he said finally. “Go to see her this afternoon, Héctor. Unofficially-not too much pressure. I don’t want problems with the Castells and their friends,” he stressed. “Agent Castro will accompany you. The girl already knows her and adolescents tend to confide more in women. Castro, call the Martís and tell them you’re coming.”