The Good Suicides (24 page)

The months of imprisonment had made their mark on Damián Fernández, and seeing him, Leire wondered how this man had been capable of doing away with Dr. Omar, that old fox who in all likelihood had faced more threatening adversaries in his life. Perhaps that was his secret: that bland face, that normal appearance. Fernández’s appearance had just one quality—that is, if going unnoticed is something to brag about. The only thing that drew attention to him was a bluish bruise on his right cheek.

“I suppose you don’t remember me, Damián,” Leire began, thinking this was probably the case. “My name is Leire Castro.”

“Yes. I remember you; you’re Inspector Salgado’s colleague, aren’t you?”

They’d only seen each other a couple of times, at the station. Leire suspected once again that a gifted brain lurked within this guy, so she decided to proceed cautiously.

“I suppose you’ve come to see me because of the disappearance of your boss’s ex-wife.”

“You’re very astute.”

“Why else would you come?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders. “All the visits I get are about that. The inspector himself, on various occasions, and even his superior … At the start they were more frequent. It’s been a while now since anyone came to see me. I think little by
little they’re becoming convinced that I have nothing to say. Only what Omar told me.”

“And what was that, exactly?”

Damián seemed bored, sick of having to tell the same story again and again.

“I don’t remember his exact words now. The general sense was that he was planning to strike a harsh blow against Salgado. ‘He will suffer the worst of sentences,’ or something like that. Omar never spoke clearly: he liked ambiguity.”

“And you didn’t feel curious? Weren’t you interested in his plans for revenge?”

“Omar wasn’t a man you could ask questions, Agent Castro. And he liked to be enigmatic. He only added that he’d investigated him thoroughly, and then he began to say his old phrases, about the origin of evil, destiny, chance … His usual litany.”

“He didn’t tell you if Ruth, Salgado’s ex-wife, had come to see him?”

He seemed surprised at that.

“No. He had a photo of her, but he never said anything like that. And I don’t think so. Why would she go?”

That was the question. Why? thought Leire. The only possible answer was that Ruth felt herself responsible for what Héctor had done and wanted to help him, although that meant venturing into the lion’s den.

“Maybe to ask him to stop his efforts to destroy the inspector.”

Damián laughed.

“If she did, she was naive. Omar was determined to finish Salgado. Deep down the inspector should be grateful that the old guy is no longer in this world.”

“I doubt Inspector Salgado would agree,” replied Leire, while she wondered how to proceed. If Damián Fernández couldn’t confirm whether Ruth had gone to see Omar, she’d have to find out some other way. And there was only one way. “Damián, what happened to the tapes? You know the ones I mean: the ones Omar recorded in his clinic of all his visitors.”

“I have nothing to say about those tapes,” said Damián.

“Not even in exchange for my help?”

“Your help?”

“Let’s not kid ourselves, Damián,” Leire pointed to the bruise, “jail’s not going too well for you. And I’ve friends among the wardens here. Good friends, you know. Are you sure a kind of special deal wouldn’t suit you? You’re looking at a long time behind bars.”

“I know those promises, Agent. They’re forgotten so quickly …”

Leire decided to play her last card.

“Look, Damián, to be honest with you I don’t think eliminating Omar from the world was such a terrible deed. But obstructing the investigation into Ruth Valldaura’s disappearance does seem so to me. So I’m going to propose a deal.”

“You’re more intelligent than the others. At least you don’t threaten me.”

“I’m not investigating Dr. Omar’s death. All that interests me is finding out if Ruth went to see him or not. If you tell me where you put those tapes—and we both know you hid them somewhere—I promise you I’ll make sure your life in prison is different. Better. And if in the end I manage to find Ruth thanks to your help, I’m sure Salgado and even the superintendent will be more than willing to intercede for you. Not to free you of your sentence, of course, but it could be shorter … and more comfortable. If not, you’ll continue having it just as bad in here.” She was about to say she could arrange for his stint to be worse than it was, but she didn’t.

“And what would I have to do?”

“Tell me where the tapes are.”

He lowered his voice. “I only have some of them, the ones from the last few months. Since the day Inspector Salgado attacked Omar.”

“Where?”

“In a storage facility in the city, along with other stuff. I didn’t want to keep them at home.”

Leire was surprised. How could they have overlooked this?

“Did you rent it in your name?”

He smiled.

“I’m not that stupid, Agent. I rented it in the name of Héctor Salgado.”

“Will you give me the address and key?”

“Promise not to forget me?”

Leire vowed to be true to her word.

“I’ll do what I can to improve your life here, Damián. I swear.”

And he believed her.

Under normal circumstances, Leire would have gone to the storage locker that same Monday afternoon, but the prospect of crossing the entire city to get there persuaded her otherwise. Also, when she got off the train in Plaça Espanya, she was tired. The station was nearby and for a moment she was tempted to go in and speak to Sergeant Andreu. She decided to wait; it would be more sensible to do so when she had opened the locker than to raise false hopes beforehand.

In front of her, in the Arenas bullring, the grand opening of which as a shopping center was planned for a few months’ time, they were testing the lights. After years of work, those lights reminded her of her elder brother’s Exin Castillos toy sets. Although Leire deeply detested the so-called “national party,” converting that space into another mountain of shops seemed almost disrespectful to the poor animals who had died in the arena. But the word “shop” had given her an idea: she’d drop into a video store she’d seen near her house and rent or, failing that, buy the film Guillermo had been watching at his mother’s house.

She finally arrived home after seven, truly exhausted, determined not to go out again until the next day. She had an appointment with the doctor at ten a.m. and wanted him to find her well rested. Abel seemed tired too and she had to wait a good while for him to move. She smiled when at last he did. “So you’re there, kid? Today Mama did a little too much, but I promise now we’re going to stay at home in peace,
watching TV.” She called María, who accompanied her to her medical appointments as often as she could, and arranged a time for the following morning. We haven’t seen each other in days, she thought, which must mean there is a new boyfriend in her life. After the African adventure, María had come back without her NGO boyfriend, ranting about him but happy to have spent the summer doing something different. Strange, Leire thought. Pregnancy had changed her perspective on life, and her friend’s exploits, which she used to find amusing, were starting to bore her. You’re acting like an old woman, she warned herself. And you’re going to be a mother, not a grandmother.

She had to agree with Guillermo with regard to
Breathless
. Apart from starring Jean-Paul Belmondo, with whom she’d run away without thinking twice, the pace was so slow that Leire fell asleep on the sofa half an hour into the film and awoke at the end when a heartbroken Jean Seberg, hatefully slim, informed on her lover and watched him die from a bullet wound. “She loved him too much,” Ruth had said. “Sometimes that’s scary.” She was so tired that even thinking hurt and she went to bed feeling that, had she been more alert, she’d have understood Ruth and her preference for this film of doomed love a little better.

The following morning, true to her word, María picked her up and accompanied her to Sant Joan de Déu, the hospital where she would give birth to Abel in a few weeks, all being well. According to the doctor, everything was going wonderfully, although he insisted severely that she should rest. There was still the risk of premature labor: Abel might decide to be born before his due date, he warned her. On the other hand, he congratulated her on her weight, which she couldn’t believe and attributed to her walks and to having been restrained with food, and he made her an appointment for the following week. “Not long now,” he encouraged her. “And rest. I know it’s boring, but soon it’ll be over.”

They emerged onto the street and headed toward the parking lot where they’d left the car.

“So,” María said, “I’ll take you home, eh?”

Leire hesitated; she knew her friend would tell her off if she asked her to take her to the storage locker Fernández had rented on the outskirts of Poblenou, Héctor’s
barrio
, instead of obeying the doctor. But on the other hand, someone taking her there by car and then home was difficult to resist.

“You mind taking me somewhere?”

“Don’t tell me you want to go shopping?”

“I have to pick something up.” She didn’t want to seem mysterious, though neither did she feel like explaining further. “Call it … a craving.”

María gave in, unwillingly, nudged as much by the wish to please her friend as by her curiosity. In exchange, Leire brought her up to date on what Tomás had said before leaving.

“Holy shit! So he’s planning to come and live here?” said María when she heard. “He’ll be a model papa in the end. And how do you feel about it?”

“I suppose it’ll be good to have him closer when Abel is born. Above all, for the little one.”

Her friend smiled.

“Why is it so hard for you to admit you’re excited?” But seeing Leire’s serious face, she added, “Okay, I’m shutting up, Miss Daisy. I’ll drive, no more questions.”

But she couldn’t keep her mouth shut when they arrived at the address Leire had given her. They found themselves in front of a new building: an invention to alleviate the fact that the city’s apartments, at least the affordable ones, were so much smaller than people needed.

“Coming here is a craving? Eating strawberries is a craving!” María blurted out.

“Wait for me. It’ll only take a moment.”

And, by one of life’s flukes, it did. Leire opened the door of storage room 12, which in fact was practically empty. It didn’t take long to find a sports bag, full of videotapes, and return to the car.

“See, grouchy? Done!” she said as she got in.

“What do you have there?”

Leire unzipped it and pulled a tape partly out.

“Porn,” she told her. “I have to do something at home, don’t I?”

“Well, it must be vintage porn, sweetheart,” she replied. “Don’t tell me you still have a video player at home?”

She didn’t have a video player at home, but it occurred to her to ask in the same shop where she’d rented the film the day before, and she emerged with one for a reasonable price. She spent a few minutes installing it and then started to go through the tapes. Although there weren’t many, Leire felt a good spell of dark-image, fixed-camera, silent cinema was ahead of her. Before inserting one at random she examined them thoroughly: the tapes had only a number identifying them, and Leire told herself that, had Ruth gone to see Omar, he would have marked the tape recording that visit in a special way. It was logical to think so, even with no proof of it, and when she saw that one of the tapes had an asterisk beside the number she decided to begin with that. If she wasn’t right, she hadn’t lost anything.

The camera had to be situated in a corner of the room, because Leire could see Dr. Omar’s desk, with him in profile, and the person who would enter and take a seat across from him. For twenty minutes she watched the fixed image of that desk and the people sitting opposite the doctor, and couldn’t help wondering how they could trust someone so sinister. As she’d imagined, there was no sound on the tapes, so setting aside the disagreeable feeling of seeing that old man, the contents were rather boring. But suddenly, when she was starting to think the asterisk meant nothing, she straightened up in her chair, openmouthed. For the first time in her life, Leire saw Ruth Valldaura alive and moving.

Her heart rate accelerated. So she
had
gone … “Love creates eternal debts.” And Ruth had loved Héctor Salgado, so it was likely that she would go to see Omar with the intention of helping her ex-husband,
accused of having severely beaten the black witch doctor. She cursed the lack of sound with all her heart, moved closer to the screen and focused on their faces. Ruth, half worried, half surprised, scornful at one point; he indifferent, almost sarcastic and, at the end, extremely serious. Then Ruth rose and left quickly, as if wishing to flee from that room she’d entered of her own will.

She watched the recording again and again, not getting much more from it, until her eyes hurt from fixing them on the screen. Frustrated by not managing to understand what they were saying, she was preparing to switch it off when the intercom buzzed. Leire pressed pause on the remote and went to the door.

“Yes?”

“Leire Castro?”

“Yes. Who is it?”

Leire noticed that the television screen was being reflected in the hall mirror, where Dr. Omar’s image was frozen. Wrinkles from evil, not just old age, she thought. The profile of a black vulture.

“You don’t know me, but I think we should talk.”

A middle-aged man’s voice.

“Who are you?” she repeated.

“My name is Andrés Moreno, but my name won’t mean anything to you. I have reason to believe we’re both interested in the same person.”

“Listen, I don’t know—”

“I can give you information about Ruth Valldaura.”

“What?”

The old man seemed to be smiling; one hand raised, a hand with fingers delicate as wire that looked as if they could cut you with a caress.

“You heard. I think there’s something you should know about her. Let me in, please.”

Leire felt a sudden fear and refused. She didn’t plan on letting a stranger into her home and told him so.