Once seated in the lounge, Salgado looked at Gina Martí and for the first time all afternoon Leire saw a glimmer of empathy in the inspector’s eyes. While he explained in a calming voice that they were just there to ask some questions and Aleix was nodding, standing at Gina’s side with a hand on her shoulder, Leire contemplated the Martís’ lounge and decided she didn’t like it at all. The walls were lined with bookshelves crammed with books, the table and the rest of the furniture were dark wood and the armchairs were upholstered in a deep green. The whole place-finished off by dense still lifes in huge gilt frames and walls painted in a clear ochre-gave off a slightly antiquated, claustrophobic air. Dusty, although she was sure that if she ran her finger across the table she wouldn’t pick up even a speck of dirt. The curtains, thick and the same green as the chairs, were drawn, which added to the feeling of semi-darkness and lack of air. Just then she heard the inspector’s last words.
“We’ll wait for your mother if you’d prefer.”
Gina shrugged her shoulders. She avoided looking directly at her questioner. Might be simply shyness, Leire said to herself, or the desire to hide something.
“You both knew Marc for a long time, didn’t you?” Aleix spoke before Gina could do so.
“Gina most of all. We were just talking about that. This
summer’s been so strange without him. And also, I can’t get it out of my head that we parted half angry. I went home earlier than I meant to, and I didn’t see him again.”
“Why did you argue?”
Aleix shrugged.
“Something stupid. I can barely remember how it started.”
He looked at his friend seeking confirmation, but she didn’t open her mouth. “Marc came back from Dublin different, much more serious, irritable. He’d get angry over anything, and that night I was sick of it. It was San Juan and I didn’t feel like putting up with it. It sounds awful now, doesn’t it?”
“According to your previous statement, you went straight home.”
“Yes. My brother was awake and he’s confirmed it. I was in a bad mood because of the argument, and a bit drunk as well, so I went to bed straight away.”
Salgado nodded and waited for the girl to say something, but she didn’t. Her eyes were fixed on a point on the floor and were only raised when she heard the key turning in the lock and someone calling from the hall.
“Gina, angel. . Are they already here?” Rapid footsteps preceded Regina Ballester’s entrance. “God, what are you doing here in the dark? This young lady wants us to live in a tomb.” Not paying them the least attention, the blonde apparition walked rapidly toward the curtains and pulled them. Light streamed into the room. “Now it’s completely different.”
And it was, but not only because of the light. There are people who fill spaces, people whose presence changes the atmosphere. Regina Ballester, in less than a minute, had transformed a stale library into a light-filled catwalk, on which she was the principal-and only-model.
Salgado had risen to extend his hand to Señora Ballester, and in her eyes Leire saw an appreciative yet cautious expression. “I believe you already know Agent Castro.”
Regina gave a quick nod, indifferent. Agent Castro, it was clear, didn’t hold much interest for her. However, her coldest greeting was without doubt for the visitor she hadn’t expected to see. Aleix was still beside Gina, whispering something in her ear.
“Well, then, I’ll go. I only came to see Gina.”
“Thanks, Aleix.” It was clear that the boy’s departure didn’t upset Regina Ballester in the slightest.
“We’ll talk, OK?” he said to his friend. He went toward the door, but before leaving he turned. “Inspector, I don’t know if I can help you in anything, but if so. . I’m at your disposal.” From any other boy the phrase would have sounded hollow, excessively formal. But from him it was respectful, friendly without being obliging.
“I don’t think it will be necessary, but thank you,” replied Salgado.
As Professor Esteve had said, Aleix Rovira could be a charming boy.
10
The lights of a parked car swept over him when he turned the corner of his street on his bike. Old, with a dent in its side, the car attracted attention in this peaceful neighborhood of houses with gardens and private garages. For a moment he was tempted to turn around or to speed past, but he knew that only meant postponing the inevitable. Also, it wouldn’t do at all for someone from home to see him with a chav like Rubén. So, trying to appear calm, he approached the window and got off his bike.
“Hey, you appear at last, man,” said the guy in the driver’s seat. “I was about to go looking for you at home.”
Aleix forced a smile.
“I was thinking of calling you just now. Listen, I need-”
The other shook his head.
“We have to talk. Get into the car.”
“I’m going in to leave my bike. I’ll be back in a second.”
He didn’t wait for him to answer: he crossed the street, opened the white garden gate and pushed the bicycle inside. In less than a minute he was sitting in the car: he turned to check if anyone at home had seen him going in and out.
“Hit it,” he said.
The other didn’t say anything. He started the car and moved slowly along the road.
Aleix fastened his seatbelt and inhaled deeply. It didn’t help much; when he spoke his voice still sounded nervous.
“Listen, you have to give me more time. . Fuck, Rubén, I’m doing what I can.”
Rubén remained silent. Strangely quiet. Like a driver instead of a colleague. He wasn’t much older than Aleix, and in fact his thinness made him seem even younger. Despite the tattoo descending his arm and the sunglasses, he had a childish air, accentuated by his tracksuit bottoms and white t-shirt. No one would have said he’d been grafting for years, first as a waiter then on a building site, until first the bar closed and then so did the scaffolding. He didn’t turn to his companion until he had to stop at a traffic light.
“You fucked it up, man.”
“Fuck it, I know. What do you want me to do now? Do you think I can get the dough just like that, in a couple of days?”
The other shook his head again, glum.
“By the way, where are we going?” asked Aleix.
Again, Rubén didn’t answer.
In the Martís’ salon, Héctor attentively observed the little girl in front of him. Despite her eighteen years, Gina had the air of a defenseless child. And for a while now, uneasy. He told himself the best thing to do was ask her direct questions, at least at the beginning; direct the questioning with neutral inquiries until she felt more comfortable.
“Listen,” he repeated, aiming to reassure her, “we’re only
here to talk to you. I know you don’t feel like remembering what happened that night, so we’ll try to be brief. Just answer my questions, OK?”
She nodded.
“What time did you arrive at Marc’s house?”
“Around eight. Well,” she rectified, “I arrived at eight. Aleix
came later. I don’t know what time it was. Nine or something like that. .”
“OK.” He kept his friendly expression as he looked at her. “And what was the plan?”
She shrugged.
“Nothing in particular. .”
“But you planned to stay the night, yes?”
The question made her nervous. She looked at her mother, who until then had remained silent, attentive to the questions and answers.
“Yes.”
“And what happened then? You drank, put on music? Had some food?”
Gina half-closed her eyes. Her knee began to tremble.
“Inspector, please,” Regina intervened. “She was already asked all this the day after.” She looked at Agent Castro, seeking confirmation of her words. “It’s been really horrible for her. Marc and Gina knew each other for years; they were like brother and sister.”