“You know something, Inspector?” continued Castells, in an even lower voice. “When we got the call first thing in the morning on San Juan, I knew something terrible had happened. I think it’s what every father fears: the call in the middle of the night that splits your life in two. And in one way or another I’d been expecting this to happen, praying that it wouldn’t.” Héctor could barely hear him by then, but suddenly his interlocutor returned to his normal tone. “Now I must decide what to do with this new half of my life. I have a wonderful wife and a daughter I must care for and protect. So it is time to reconsider many things.”
“Are you going into politics?” asked Salgado, remembering what Savall had said to him.
“Possibly. I don’t like this world we’re living in, Inspector. People may consider certain values outdated, but what is definite is we haven’t managed to replace them with others. Perhaps they’re not so bad after all. Are you religious?”
“I’m afraid not. Although you know what they say: “ ‘In the trenches there are no atheists.’ ”
“It’s a good saying. Very descriptive. Atheists think we never doubt, that faith is like a helmet that prevents us seeing further. They’re deluded. But it’s at moments like these that believing acquires its true meaning, the feeling that there is a plank to cling to so as to keep swimming instead of giving up and being carried by the current. That would be easier. But I don’t expect you to understand.”
His last phrase held a note of contempt which Héctor decided to overlook. He hadn’t the least intention of arguing about religion with a resolute believer who had just lost his son. Enric Castells waited for a moment, and seeing that the inspector wasn’t saying anything moved on.
“Can you tell me why you wish to take Marc’s belongings? Is there something that might be useful?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, Señor Castells.” He elaborated a little about the bloodstained T-shirt and his hunch that something had occurred between the boys that night. He didn’t want to place too much importance on it, but at the same time he knew the victim’s father had a right to be informed. “With regard to the laptop, mobile and other things. . I don’t think we’ll get anything useful out of them but it will help us complete the investigation. They are diaries nowadays: emails, messages, calls. I doubt they’ll clarify what happened but it’s worth giving them a look.”
“I’m afraid you won’t get much information from his laptop. It looked broken.”
“Broken?”
“Yes. I suppose it might have been dropped. I didn’t notice until four or five days afterward.”
Somehow, Enric Castells suddenly felt uncomfortable, so he rose from his chair, signalling that the interview was over. Already at the door, however, he came back to the inspector.
“Take my son’s things if you want. I doubt they’ll give you any answers, but take them.”
“We’ll return them to you as soon as possible. I give you my word.”
Castells’ expression was slightly indignant.
“They’re just things, Inspector,” he said coldly. “In any case, I ask that if you need anything else you contact me at my office. Glòria is very worried about the little one. Natàlia is small, but she notices everything: she’s been asking for her brother and it’s very hard to explain what has happened in a way she can understand.”
Héctor made a gesture of assent and followed him to the corridor. Castells was moving forward, shoulders upright and back ramrod straight. Any trace of weakness had evaporated on crossing the threshold. He was back to being the man of the house: firm, balanced, self-assured. A role, Héctor was certain, that had to be exhausting.
Meanwhile, Leire had remained seated in the lounge, watching how Natàlia finished drawing after drawing before her mother’s tireless admiration. Father Castells had left shortly after Enric and the inspector had shut themselves in his study, and once she’d confiscated the bloodstained T-shirt, she’d sat down on a chair, waiting for them to emerge. For a moment she imagined herself like this, stuck at home on a summer afternoon, contemplating the artistic progress of a little boy or girl, and the idea horrified her. For the umpteenth time since the night before she did the fateful test, she tried to imagine herself with a baby in her arms, but her brain didn’t succeed in forming the image. No. People like her didn’t have children. That-and financial independence-was the basis of her life, of how she conceived it. How she liked it. And now her whole future was tottering because of one careless slip-up. At least, she told herself with a certain satisfaction, the guy had been worth it. . Unfortunately, he wasn’t one of the hot-chocolate boys and he valued his freedom as much as she did. Relative freedom, she thought, since he was a slave to a job that took him all over the continent.
“Look.” The little girl had come over to her and was showing her latest drawing, an indecipherable smudge, to Leire. “It’s you,” she explained.
“Ah. Is it for me?”
Then Natàlia hesitated and her mother spoke for her. “Of course. You are giving it to her, aren’t you?” Leire put out her hand, but the little girl hadn’t decided to give up the drawing.
“No,” she said at last. “A different one.” And she ran to the table in search of another of her works of art. “This one.” “Thank you. And what is it?” asked Leire, although in this one it was more obvious.
“A window. Bad dodo.”
Glòria Vergès went to her daughter. She looked deeply worried.
“She’s taken to calling upstairs that now,” she whispered, turning to the agent. “I suppose she feels it’s bad because he’s not there.”
“Bad,” repeated Natàlia. “Bad dodo.”
“OK, sweetheart.” Her mother crouched down and stroked her straight, shiny hair. “Why don’t you fetch your doll? I’m sure that. .”
“Leire.”
“. . Leire would love to see her.” She threw Agent Castro an apologetic smile and the little girl hastened to obey. “I’m sorry,” said the agent. “I suppose it’s very complicated for her. For everyone.”
“It’s horrible. And the worst is you don’t really know how to explain it. Enric is in favor of telling her the truth, but I can’t. .”
“Was she very attached to her brother?”
Glòria hesitated.
“I would like to say yes, but I’m afraid the age gap was toowide. Marc basically ignored her, and I suppose that’s normal.
But lately, since he came back from Dublin, he seemed to have more affection for her. And now she misses-”
Before she could finish, Natàlia came running in. Somehow that childish noise, so normal in any other house where a child lives, sounded strange. As if the perfect set was tottering. “Natàlia, sweetheart. .”
But the little girl didn’t pay her the least attention, and turned to the table where she was drawing to pick up the bits of paper.
“How tidy!” commented Leire.
“Don’t you believe it. . Now she’ll put them all over my studio.” She smiled. “Since I also ‘go to school,’ as she says, she likes to leave her things on my desk. I’ll go and see what she’s doing before it’s too late.”
Leire, for whom that scene of devout motherhood was becoming unbearable, decided to get up from her chair and wait for the inspector in the car.
There Héctor found her, when he came out weighed down with the box containing Marc’s belongings. Oblivious to his appearance, lost in thought, she was looking at the screen of her mobile as if it were a foreign object, something that had just fallen into her power by magic and was completely indecipherable. He had to attract her attention so she would open the boot. The girl stammered an apology, unnecessary apart from anything else, and put her phone in her pocket.
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked her.
“Of course. I see you managed to convince Castells.” The desire to change the subject was so obvious Héctor