“Yes,” answered Martina. Taking the kids to the zoo in the park so much had its advantages.
“I’ll wait for you there, within the next half-hour. Be punctual, I don’t have much time. .”
The sergeant was going to say something, but the call wasended before she could do so. She grabbed her bag and left the station. With a bit of luck, she’d at least get to pick up the kids.
The afternoon was also proving fruitful for Leire Castro. Before her, she had a record of Aleix Rovira’s telephone activity for the last two months, and the list was interesting, not solely because of the extremely high number of calls. With the list on the table she was noting the numbers that occurred most often, which, given the intensity of this mobile’s communications, was no easy task. The most curious were those at the weekend: throughout the day, and for a large part of the night, Aleix’s mobile received brief calls, barely seconds long. There were other numbers that occurred quite frequently. Leire wrote them down, ready to find out to whom they belonged. One of them had called various times, ten to be exact, on the night of 23 June. Aleix hadn’t answered any of them, but he did contact that number the following day. A four-minute conversation. It was the only call he bothered to return, after leaving numerous others unanswered. She counted: six different numbers had called repeatedly, and Aleix had answered the first. No more.
She tried to put the scattered data in order while she mentally went over the story Gina and Aleix himself had given in previous statements. A story that wasn’t wholly true. Why had he and Marc Castells argued? An argument bad enough to leave Marc’s t-shirt bloodstained. To whom did the number that had persistently called that night, and that Aleix had bothered to answer the next day, belong? That, at least, would be easy to discover. In fact, after some quick checks, she obtained the user’s name: Rubén Ramos García. She sighed. The name meant nothing to her. She then entered another of the numbers that appeared most in the list. Regina Ballester. Gina Martí’s mother. . They were certainly going to have things to ask Aleix on Monday.
She looked at her watch. Yes, she still had time. She put the name Rubén Ramos García into the computer. Seconds later, thanks to the magic of information technology, a photo of a young, sallow man appeared on the screen. Leire, completely bewildered, read the details. What the hell was a young guy from a good family, as the superintendent would say, doing mixing with this kid who clearly didn’t belong in his social circle? Rubén Ramos García, twenty-four years old, cited in January of the year before and again in November for possession of cocaine. Suspected of drug dealing, unproven. Another note: questioned in relation to a skinhead assault on some immigrants who ended up dropping the charges.
Leire made a quick report of all this and left it on the table, just as she’d agreed with the inspector. Then, not wanting to stop to think about anything, she picked up her helmet and went for her motorbike.
Martina Andreu entered the gates of the Parc de la Ciutadella at exactly twenty past five. Some dark clouds were beginning to appear from the sea and a wind, warm but strong, was shaking the branches of the trees. In the flowerbeds, somewhat dry from the lack of rain, groups of youngsters were playing the guitar or simply enjoying a beer. Summer in the city. She moved with quick steps over the ground until she reached the fountain, and the sound of the water gave her a fleeting sensation of coolness. She walked around it, making her way toward a corner of the park beyond where there were two scattered benches. She looked around the space until she located a short, dark-haired woman with her back to her, playing with a little girl. The woman turned just as she was approaching and gave a slight nod.
“Rosa?”
“Yes.” She was nervous: dark shadows under her eyes revealed a fatigue that was the result of a lifetime. “My love, Mama is going to speak to this lady about work. Play by yourself over there for a minute, OK?”
The little girl looked at the new arrival gravely. She’d inherited her mother’s shadows, but in exchange she had beautiful black eyes.
“We’ll be on that bench,” added Rosa, and pointed to the nearest. “Don’t go too far, my love.”
Martina went toward the bench and Rosa followed her; both sat down. The wind was becoming stronger, boding a night of rain. About time, thought the sergeant.
“It’s going to rain,” said Rosa, who didn’t take her eyes off her daughter, or stop twisting her hands: short, sturdy fingers, hardened from cleaning strangers’ houses.
“How old is she?”
“Six.”
Martina smiled.
“A year younger than mine. They’re twins,” she clarified.
Rosa smiled at her, somewhat less nervous, although her hands were still tense. Complicity between mothers, thought the sergeant.
“What did you have to tell me, Rosa?” She didn’t want to seem impatient, but her time was running out. Seeing the woman wasn’t responding, she persisted. “Something about Dr. Omar?”
“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, Sergeant. I don’t want to get into trouble.” She lowered her head and clutched a medallion she wore around her neck.
“Calm down, Rosa. You thought you should call me, so it must be something important. You can trust me.”
The woman looked around and breathed: “It’s. .”
“Yes?”
“I. .” Finally she found the strength and decided to speak. “Promise me you won’t come looking for me, and I won’t have to make a statement at the station.”
Martina hated making promises she didn’t know she could keep, but this type of lie was part of her work.
“I promise you.”
“Good. . I knew the doctor. He cured my little girl.” Her voice began to tremble. “I. . I know you don’t believe in these things. But I saw it, day after day. The little one was getting worse every day.”
“What did she have?”
Rosa glanced at her sideways and held the medallion tightly.
“I swear by the Virgin, Señora. My little girl was bewitched. My husband didn’t even want to hear about it. He even raised his hand to me when I said so. . but I knew.”
Martina suddenly felt cold, as if the woman by her side had brought it with her.
“And you took her to Dr. Omar’s clinic?”
“Yes. A friend recommended him to me, and we don’t live too far. So I took her and he cured her for me, Señora. He put his holy hands on her chest and banished the evil spirit.”
She crossed herself as she said it. Martina couldn’t help her icy tone when she asked: “Have you brought me here to tell me this?”
“No! No, I wanted you to know the doctor is a good man. A saint, Señora. But there’s something else. I didn’t have the money to pay him all at once and so I had to go back. . I think I saw him the day he disappeared.”
The sergeant became alert.
“At what time?”
“In the evening, Señora, around eight. I went to pay him, and when I came out of the clinic I saw him.”
“Who did you see?”
“A man waiting at the front door, smoking, as if he hadn’t decided to go in.”
“What did he look like?” Martina took out her notepad, completely alert.
“There’s no need to describe him.” The woman almost broke down crying. “You. . you know him. The following day I saw him again, with you, eating in a nearby restaurant.”
“Do you mean Inspector Salgado?”
“I don’t know his name. He was eating with you, like you were friends.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t have called you if I wasn’t, Señora. But promise me no one will come to my house. If my husband finds out I took my daughter to that doctor. .”
“Don’t worry,” whispered Martina. “Don’t say anything about this to anyone. But I need to be able to reach you. Give me a mobile number, or-”
“No! I come here every afternoon with the little one. If you need anything you already know where to find me.”