Héctor watched Aleix, not saying anything. But it was Agent Castro who caught his attention then, as, in a voice trying to be firm, she asked: “What was on the USB Gina gave you, Aleix?”
“Her Art History notes. What does that matter?”
Leire leaned on the back of the chair. Far away she could hear Héctor continuing to interrogate the witness, although she knew it was pointless. Aleix hadn’t killed Marc, and of course Gina hadn’t either. He was an idiot and he deserved to have his face smashed in by the dealers, but he wasn’t a killer. Neither was his brother, the pious paedophile.
Without saying anything, she left the room and made a call. She didn’t need anything else: just to confirm something with Regina Ballester, Gina Martí’s mother.
40
Sitting on the white sofa of the Castells’ house, while Glòria finished bathing the little one before coming down to join them, Héctor said to himself that in this lounge he was breathing in the same peace he’d noticed the last time they were there. But now, while he contemplated the elegant décor and heard the soft music floating in the air, Héctor knew that all this was nothing more than a set. A false calm.
He and Leire had argued a lot on how to approach the next part of the matter. Salgado had listened to Castro’s reasoning and together they’d joined all the dots to arrive at the same conclusion. But when they got to the end of the process, when the name of the person who had killed Marc, and probably Gina as well, was clear to both of them, Héctor remembered something he’d said to Joana: “It’s possible this case may never be resolved.” Because, even with the truth before them, the proof was minimal. So minimal that he could only trust that the tension and fear combined would be stronger than endurance and cold blood. For that reason he’d imposed his will and gone alone. For what he was going to do, two was a crowd.
Enric Castells was tired, Héctor said to himself. Dark circles cast a shadow over his expression.
“I don’t want to be rude, Inspector, but I hope you have a good excuse for turning up at my home on a Sunday evening. I don’t know if you are aware that this weekend hasn’t been exactly easy for us. . Yesterday we had to give our condolences to good friends whose daughter committed suicide and maybe killed. .” He was quiet for a moment. “And since then I can’t stop going over everything in my mind. Everything. .”
He rubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath.
“I want all this to be over,” he said then. “If Glòria ever comes down. . Can’t we begin without her?”
Héctor was going to repeat what he had said to him as he came in, that he needed both of them to cooperate because new and disturbing evidence had come to light in relation to his son’s death, but just then Glòria came in alone.
“Finally!” exclaimed Enric. “Does it take so long to bathe that little girl?”
The hostility of the question surprised the inspector. “That little girl.” Not “the little one” or “my daughter,” or even “Natàlia.” That little girl.
Glòria didn’t bother to respond and took a seat beside her husband.
“Well, get on with it, Inspector. Are you going to tell us why you’ve come?” asked Castells.
Héctor stared at them. And then, before this couple who seemed to be living in a state of cold war, he said: “I have to tell you a story that goes back years, to the summer when Marc was six years old. The summer a little girl called Iris Alonso died.”
By the expression on Enric’s face, Héctor gathered that he too had read Marc’s blog. He didn’t know how he’d learned of its existence, but it was clear that the name Iris was familiar to him. Salgado continued with his tale: he outlined the story of abuse and death to them, without giving more than the necessary details. He then went on to speak to them about Inés and Marc in Dublin, of his decision to bring the truth to light, and came to the plan devised to coerce Fèlix, who’d refused to reveal to his nephew the name he was demanding. He recounted the perverse trick for which he’d used Natàlia, and graphically described photos he hadn’t seen. Doing so, he watched the Castells’ expressions and saw what he had expected: his was a mixture of apprehension and interest; hers of disgust, hatred and surprise. He finished by telling them of Aleix’s intervention to prevent his brother’s name coming out. It was a succinct but clear summary.
“Inspector,” began Enric, who’d listened to Salgado attentively, “are you telling me my son was trying to blackmail my brother? He wouldn’t have done it. I’m sure of that. In the end he would have backed out.”
Héctor shook his head, with a doubtful air.
“That we’ll never know. Marc and Gina are dead.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out the USB Aleix had given him an hour before. “This is the USB that Gina took from here, the one she then gave to Aleix. But there are no photos on it. In fact, it’s not even Gina’s or Marc’s. It’s yours, isn’t it, Glòria?”
She didn’t answer. Her right hand was clenched on the arm of the sofa.
“It has your notes from university on it. Haven’t you missed it?”
Enric raised his head slowly, not understanding.
“I haven’t had much time for studying lately, Inspector,” replied Glòria.
“I believe you. You’ve been fairly busy with other things.”
“What are you suggesting?” Enric’s voice had recovered some of its characteristic strength, that of the lord who doesn’t allow anyone to attack his family in his own home.
Héctor continued. He spoke in a calm, almost friendly voice.
“I’m suggesting that fate has played a dirty trick on everyone. The USB with the photos was here for a few days before Gina took it. And Natàlia, innocent and playful, did something that’s fun for her these days. You said it yourself to Agent Castro when we were here. Natàlia took the USB with the photos and left it beside her mother’s computer, and took the one you had, with the notes of the correspondencecourse degree you are studying for, to Marc’s room. And he, not wanting to have those photos on the computer again, gave it to Gina without realizing the error. But you. . you opened what you shouldn’t have opened. And saw those photos of Natàlia: photos of your daughter naked, photos suggesting a whole world of horror. You knew Marc had confessed to having posted that video of a schoolmate on the internet. You didn’t trust him, or love him. After all, you weren’t his mother. .”
Glòria went red. She said nothing; she tried her utmost to stay calm. Her hand had become a claw clinging to the arm of the sofa.
“You saw the photos?” asked Enric. “You didn’t tell me-”
“No,” Héctor intervened. “She didn’t tell you anything. She decided to punish Marc on her own, isn’t that right?”
Castells jumped up as if on a spring.
“I won’t tolerate one more word, Inspector!” But his eyes showed doubt. He turned slowly toward his wife, who remained still, like a rabbit in the headlights. “That night you didn’t sleep with me. You went to bed with Natàlia. You said the little one was afraid of the fireworks.”
There was a moment of extreme tension. Glòria took a few seconds to answer, the time needed to stop her voice trembling.
“And that’s how it was. I slept with Natàlia. Nobody can prove otherwise.”
“You know what?” Héctor intervened. “In a way I understand you, Glòria. It must have been terrible. To see those photos without knowing what else they’d done to your daughter, fearing the worst. The same would have happened to any mother. There’s something powerful in a mother’s love. Powerful and implacable. Even less aggressive animals attack to protect their young.”