“Would the doctor order them in person? Or by phone?”
“At first he came in person. Then by phone.”
Just then a kid of around fifteen, a scaled-down version of the shopkeeper, came out of the warehouse. “My son took the orders to his house, didn’t you, Jordi? We’re a small shop, Señora, you have to look after the customers.”
And clean the windows, thought Martina.
“Who took the call this time? You or your son?”
“I did,” said the kid.
“Do you remember when he called?”
“Two or three days before, I don’t know.” The boy didn’t have the appearance of a genius and he didn’t seem very interested in the conversation. However, suddenly he seemed to remember something. “Although this time he didn’t call.”
“No?” The sergeant tried to disguise the nervousness in her voice. “Who was it?”
The boy shrugged his shoulders. His mouth was half open. Martina was tempted to shake that stupid expression off his face. However, she smiled at him and asked again.
“Was it his assistant?” She didn’t know if Omar had an assistant, but it was all she could think of.
“No idea.” Jordi made a slight effort to remember, which made his mouth hang open a few millimetres more.
“What did they say? It’s important, you know.”
“Just that.”
Martina bit her lip, but something in her gesture must have inspired the junior butcher to keep talking.
“It was a man. He said he was calling on behalf of Dr. Omar for us to bring a pig’s head to his house, last thing Tuesday evening.”
“And you did?”
“Of course. I took it myself.”
“Did you see Omar?”
The boy shook his head.
“No, the same guy told me the doctor was busy. That he had a visit.”
“How do you know it was the same guy?”
Jordi seemed surprised by the question.
“Who else would it be?” He saw that the answer didn’t satisfy this demanding woman and he remembered another detail. “Also, they had the same accent.”
“What accent?”
“South American. Well, not exactly.”
Martina Andreu had to make a superhuman effort not to beat a clear answer out of him.
“Think hard,” she persisted in a soft voice. She tried to find a point of reference this kid might understand. “Did he speak like Ronaldinho? Or more like Messi?”
That completely clarified the apprentice butcher’s memory. He smiled like a happy child.
“Exactly! Like Messi.” He would have shouted “ Visca el Barça” had Sergeant Andreu’s stare not warned him, with no room for doubt, to shut his mouth.
29
A surprised Lluís Savall opened the door of his home, a comfortable flat on Ausiàs March, near Estació del Nord. Receiving inspectors at his home at lunchtime on a Saturday wasn’t exactly the superintendent’s favorite pastime, but Héctor’s tone of voice had awoken not a little curiosity in him. On the other hand, his daughters weren’t at home, for a change, and his wife had gone to the beach with a friend and wouldn’t be back until the evening. So the superintendent had the flat to himself and had spent part of the morning on his five-thousand-piece jigsaw, which still had over a thousand pieces missing. It was his favorite pastime, as innocuous as it was relaxing, and his wife encouraged it as much as his daughters did, giving him one puzzle after another, the more complicated the better. This one would end up forming an image of the Sagrada Família, but at the moment was as unfinished as the temple itself.
“Do you want a drink? A beer?” asked Savall.
“No, thanks. Lluís, I’m truly sorry to bother you today.”
“Well, it’s not as if I have much to do,” replied the super, thinking wistfully of his puzzle. “But sit down, don’t stay standing. I’m going to get a beer for myself. Sure you don’t want one?”
“I’m sure.”
Héctor sat down in one of the armchairs while he thought of how to bring up the subject. Savall came back immediately, with two cans and a glass each. Opposite him, after finally accepting the damned beer, Salgado said to himself that no one in a position of authority should ever wear shorts.
“What brings you here?” asked the super. “Something new in the case of that girl?”
“Gina Martí?” Héctor shook his head. “No news. At least until we get the forensic report.”
“Right. So?”
“I wanted to speak to you today, away from the station.” Héctor got annoyed at himself for beating about the bush and decided to take the bull by the horns. “Why didn’t you tell me you already knew the Castells?”
The question sounded like an accusation. And Savall’s mood changed instantly.
“I told you I was a friend of his mother’s.”
“Yes. But you didn’t mention that you’d been on another case relating to them.” He asked himself whether he needed to say the name or if the super already knew to what he was referring. Just in case, he continued: “Years ago a little girl drowned during camp. The camp director, or whatever you call the role, was Fèlix Castells.”
Savall could have pretended, made believe that he’d forgotten it, that he hadn’t put the two names together, the two deaths separated by almost thirteen years. And perhaps Héctor would have believed him. But his eyes betrayed him, revealing what they both knew: the Iris Alonso case, the girl drowned among dolls, was one of those that persisted in the memory for years.
“I don’t remember that little girl’s name-”
“Iris.”
“Yes. It wasn’t a very common name then.” The super left his glass on the coffee table. “Do you have a cigarette?” “Of course. I thought you didn’t smoke.”
“Only sometimes.”
Héctor passed him a cigarette and offered him a light, lit another for himself and waited. The smoke from the two cigarettes formed a little white cloud.
“I’ll have to open the window afterward,” said Savall. “Or Elena will be telling me off forever.”
“What do you remember about that case?” persisted Salgado. “Not much, Héctor. Not much.” His eyes showed that although they were few, the memories weren’t at all pleasant. “Where is this coming from? Does it have something to do with what happened to Joana’s son?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me.”
“I remember him. Marc. He was just a kid and he was badly affected. Shaken.”
“He found her, didn’t he?”
Savall nodded, not asking how he knew that.
“So they told me.” He shook his head. “Children shouldn’t see things like that.”
“No. They shouldn’t drown either.”
The super gave Héctor a sidelong glance, and his expression, which a few seconds before had been uncomfortable, even apprehensive, was now one of hard impatience.
“I don’t like that tone. Why don’t you ask me what you want to know?”
Because I don’t really know what to ask, thought Héctor.
“Lluís, we’ve known each other for years. You’re not just my boss, you’ve treated me like a friend. But right now I have to know if there was something strange about that girl’s case. Something that could pose a threat to someone now, almost fifteen years later.”
“I don’t think I understand you.” Lluís put out his cigarette.
“You understand me.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. There are details that must have come out in the investigation: Iris wasn’t eating, she’d run away from that house two days before, she was behaving badly, and she’d changed greatly in the last year. Her mother couldn’t control her. Doesn’t all this make you think of something?”
“You’re talking about many years ago, Héctor.”
“Abuse of minors isn’t a new thing, Lluís. It’s always been around. And it’s been covered up for many years.”
“I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you are.”
“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just asking.”
“There was no proof of that.”