Leire exhaled. Now. She couldn’t put it off any longer. The rain seemed to have eased off. A storm moving away, she thought.
She inhaled and began.
“Tomás, there’s-”
A telephone interrupted her.
“It’s yours,” he said.
Leire jumped out of bed, relieved by the momentary breathing space. She took a few moments to find her mobile because she didn’t know where she’d left her jacket. She found it on the dining room floor, beside the door, and managed to answer it before they hung up. The call was brief, barely seconds long, but enough to tell her the terrible news.
“Has something happened?” he asked. He was kneeling, naked, in the middle of the bed.
“I have to go,” she answered. “I’m sorry.”
She scooped up her clothes at top speed and ran toward the bathroom, still overwhelmed by what she’d just heard.
“I’ll come back when I can,” she said before leaving. “And we’ll talk, OK?”
20
It had already started raining when Héctor arrived at the station. He went in hope of finding Martina Andreu, but her office was empty. He greeted a couple of acquaintances, feeling very uncomfortable, as if this were no longer his place and, unable to avoid it, he looked sideways at the door of his own office. Although technically he’d been on holiday, everyone knew what had happened. He’d spent many years in stations, and they were like every place of work: a hotbed of rumors and comments. Above all if they were about someone who up to then had distinguished himself with an unblemished record. With decisive steps he went toward Leire Castro’s desk and then he saw the report, placed on the computer keyboard in a file. Leaning against the desk, he looked through the report on Aleix Rovira’s calls. This kid was turning out to be an inexhaustible source of surprises, he thought on seeing the names Rubén Ramos García and Regina Ballester. However, the first name was more a suspicion confirmed than a true surprise, he said to himself, remembering the conversation he’d just had with Óscar Vaquero.
He’d arranged to meet him at the door of a gym in the city centre, and while he waited for him he thought the boy must have taken the idea of losing weight seriously. However, when a young man, not very tall but with broad shoulders, bulging arms threatening to rip his T-shirt sleeves and not fat at all, approached him he had to look twice to recognize him from the description he’d been given of Óscar Vaquero. Of course, two years had passed since that video which ended in Marc Castells’ suspension and Óscar’s changing schools. And judging by the results, he’d made good use of the time. Then, sitting on a street terrace despite the clouds beginning to cover the sky, he could see that the change in Óscar wasn’t only physical. Héctor ordered a black coffee and Óscar, after a little thought, opted for a Diet Coke.
“Did you hear about what happened to Marc Castells?” asked Héctor.
“Yes.” He shrugged slightly. “A shame.”
“Oh? I didn’t think you cared for him too much,” the inspector hinted.
The boy smiled.
“Not for him, or for the majority of people at that school. . But that doesn’t mean them dying makes me happy.” Something in his voice partly contradicted his words. “This isn’t America. Here people on the margins don’t go into the school with a shotgun and top everyone in their class.”
“Through lack of guns or the desire to do it?” asked the inspector, keeping the tone light.
“I don’t think I should have this conversation about homicidal angst with a cop. .”
“We cops were also students once. But, seriously,” he said, changing tone and taking a cigarette from the packet, “it’s clear that this whole video affair must have damaged you.”
“Well, that definitely damages you,” replied the boy and pointed at the tobacco. “The truth is, I don’t really like talking about it. . It’s like another time. Another Óscar. But, yes of course, it fucked me up a bit.” He looked away, as if suddenly fascinated by the manoeuvres of a minibus on the opposite corner trying to get into a parking space that was obviously too narrow. “I was the fatty gay boy.” He had a faint, bitter smile. “Now I’m a gay stud. I try to forget the me of that time, but sometimes he comes back.”
Héctor nodded.
“He comes back when you least expect it, doesn’t he?”
“How’d you know?”
“I told you, we were all boys once.”
“I kept some photos from then, so as not to forget. But tell me, what do you want?”
“I’m just trying to get an idea of what Marc Castells was like. When someone dies, everyone speaks well of them,” and he surprised himself thinking that in this case it wasn’t necessarily true.
“Yeah. . And you’ve come looking for someone who might hate him? But why? Wasn’t it an accident?”
“We’re closing the case, and we can’t rule out other possibilities.”
Óscar nodded.
“Yeah. Well then, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person. I didn’t hate Marc. Not then, not now. He was one of the few people I spoke to.”
“Weren’t you surprised that he put up that video?”
“Inspector, don’t talk rubbish. Marc would never have done that. The truth is, he didn’t do it. Everyone knew that. That’s why he was only suspended for a week.”
“So he took the blame for someone else?”
“Of course. In exchange for academic help. Marc wasn’t very clever, you know? And Aleix had him by the balls. He did all his exams.”
“Hold on, are you telling me that it was Aleix Rovira who made the video and put it on the internet, and Marc took the blame for him?”
“Yes. That’s why I left. That school made me sick. Aleix was number one, the clever boy, the untouchable. Marc as well, but less so.”
“I understand,” said the inspector.
“But in the end that imbecile Aleix did me a favor. And I think things are better for me than for him, going by what I’ve heard.”
“What have you heard?”
“Let’s just say Aleix is taking a walk on the wild side. And he’s enough of an idiot to think he’s a hard ass. You get me?”
“No. Hard in what sense?”
“Look, everyone knows that if you want something for the weekend, something to enjoy yourself, you only have to call Aleix.”
“Are you telling me he’s a dealer?
“He was an amateur but I think recently he’s been taking it more seriously. Dealing and taking. Or that’s what they say. And that he’s hanging out with bad people as well.”
So now, seeing the name of another kid of a similar age and with a history of cocaine possession, Héctor knew that Óscar hadn’t lied to him. He didn’t know if this had anything to do with Marc’s death, but it was clear that Aleix Rovira had a lot of explaining to do: about fights, about drugs, about blame being put on someone else. . He longed to put the pressure on this brat, he thought. And now he had what he needed to do it.
“Inspector?”
The voice startled him. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard anyone come in.
“Señora Vidal. Were you looking for me?”
“Yes. But please call me Joana. Señora Vidal makes me think of my mother.”
She was wearing the same clothes as before and looked tired.
“Would you like to sit down?”
She hesitated.
“I’d prefer. . Would you mind if we went for a drink?”
“No, of course not. I can offer you a coffee if you want.”
“I was thinking a gin and tonic, Inspector, not a coffee.”
He looked at his watch and smiled.
“Héctor. And you’re right. After six coffee gives you insomnia.”
It was bucketing down with rain when they emerged, so they went into the first bar they found, one of those lunchtime places that only survived in the evenings thanks to locals who didn’t move from the bar, where they discussed football and consumed beer after beer. The tables were free, so despite the waiter’s reproachful gaze Héctor directed Joana to the one furthest from the bar, where they could talk in peace. The waiter reluctantly wiped it, more attentive to the conversation continuing at the bar about Barça’s new signings than to the customers. However, he was quick to bring them two strong gin and tonics, more so that they would leave him to his discussion than out of generosity.