The Good Suicides (26 page)

“What else?”

“We started to play. I told her to move away from the house, I rebuked her, I asked her to …” He stopped himself, suddenly embarrassed once again.

“Go on,” ordered Héctor.

“You don’t know the house, right? It’s an old
masía
in Empordà, converted into an activity center now. It was run as a luxury rural accommodation as well. It’s away from the town and surrounded by woods, although you can reach it by highway with no problems. Amanda had taken the lantern and, so as not to be surprised by any of the others, moved down the access path to go a little way into the trees. She said she didn’t like it, it was dark; I insisted, so she did as she was told. In that and in touching herself. I wanted her to get aroused, touch her breasts in the open air … I wanted to hear her moan and she started to. And then I heard a scream and the call was cut off.”

“Amanda screaming?”

“She called me a few minutes later, very upset. It seemed she thought she saw a man watching her in the darkness. Seeing how she was touching herself. The man did nothing, didn’t follow her or anything like that; anyway, Amanda was frightened and ran back to the path.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. But that was on the Friday. They found those poor animals the following day.”

“And they buried them, everyone has told us so,” confirmed Héctor, annoyed. “Are you sure nothing else happened?”

“Not then, later on—but it was to do with that weekend. After the summer, Amanda said we should be more careful because she suspected Sara Mahler had found out about us. Sara was strange, you know? You never knew what she was thinking.”

Héctor nodded. Her Dutch roommate had also made some comment of the sort. The image of Sara, this unattractive and solitary woman, listening to the secrets of those enjoying a more intense sex life, caused him a moment’s unease.

“Do you know if Amanda confirmed her suspicions or was it just conjecture?”

Saúl Duque shook his head, although before he could add anything further the court secretary, who had appeared mid-conversation and gone toward the room where Amanda had died, ordered the removal of the body. Saúl stood up, as if he wished to pay his respects to that body, covered with a white sheet, being transported on a stretcher toward the door by a retinue of strangers.

Héctor observed the boy’s face and was surprised by the expression of sorrow that appeared. Unmistakable and difficult to fake. And he thought Saúl Duque might have some unusual sexual preferences, enjoy exercising mild power over a victim who offered herself to the game with the same desires, get turned on by whipping her or humiliating her … However, at the same time he was sure that this man had felt something for Amanda that not many would call love, but went further than mere pleasure.

“I’m sorry, Señor Duque, you’ll have to accompany me to the station,” Héctor told him, partly because he couldn’t be discounted as a suspect and partly because, for a moment, he feared Saúl Duque would do something terrible if they left him alone that night. Enough suicides, he thought. Real or fake. Enough deaths. “Fort, do a thorough search of the house. The bedroom above all. Prints, you know, anything …” And
without Duque hearing he added, “Treat this as if it were a homicide. Three suicides is too many. Call it instinct or stubbornness, but I don’t buy it.”

Without the shops and bars that disguised its function as a simple crossroads, the terminal was becoming a silent, calm space. If the seat were more comfortable, he could almost call it cozy. Some travelers were advancing along the moving walkways, effortlessly hastening away from him in the direction of their boarding gates, like automata in a silent film. The sight calmed him after a long stressful day. A Monday that seemed neverending.

“Three suicides is too many.” Héctor repeated the sentence in front of Sílvia Alemany, who, standing in her office, had the decency to look upset.

At eight a.m., after spending the night at the station guarding Saúl Duque, he’d managed to locate a solicitor friend of his, who went through the necessary processes to send the young man home. Héctor drank a quick coffee, not hungry for breakfast, and assuaged the feeling of nausea with two cigarettes. A brief conversation with Fort, who’d already returned from the alleged suicide’s apartment, had thrown some light and further shadows on the case. If any doubt remained about the relationship linking Amanda to Saúl, the accessories found in her apartment had dispelled it completely. One of her wardrobes could have been part of a sex shop, judging by the abundance of toys: a whip, various riding crops, a fine bamboo cane, a number of leather paddles of various sizes and thicknesses, cords, handcuffs, vibrators of differing sizes, Chinese balls, lingerie and other costumes … Each to their own, but Amanda and Saúl certainly hadn’t been bored. The unanswered questions came from a different angle. Amanda’s death could be the suicide
of a young woman whose sex life seemed to indicate some internal conflict. It could also be a homicide, because it was difficult to believe that someone like Amanda wouldn’t know that an entire bottle of sleeping pills would put her to sleep forever. This hypothesis was what led him, for the moment, to Saúl Duque.

Héctor decided he would be the one to bring the news of Amanda Bonet’s death to the company where she worked. He wanted to see Sílvia Alemany’s face when she found out and wanted to take advantage of the shock to catch her with her guard down. To get information out of her once and for all. But Sílvia was a tough nut to crack, as she was showing.

“I can’t believe it, Inspector.” She brought her hands to her face and seemed to sway a little. “Let me sit down. Amanda … But when? Where?”

“Last night, at home. Forensics estimate that she died between eight and nine. They found an empty bottle of sleeping pills beside her.”

Héctor spoke as coldly as possible. If he wanted to break the will of the woman before him he couldn’t pussyfoot around. And to tell the truth, he didn’t feel like being polite.

“Do you want to tell me where you were at that time?”

“At home. I was ill all weekend. But, Inspector … you don’t think that I …? Come on, that’s ridiculous.”

She flushed, more out of fear than because she felt offended, Héctor was sure.

“Right now I’m not thinking, Señora Alemany. I’m just trying to tie up loose ends. And the loose ends bring me to Gaspar Ródenas, Sara Mahler and Amanda Bonet. Three healthy young people, no apparent problems, whose only common link is their work here and this photo. You can say whatever you like; you won’t convince me you’re not hiding something from me. Not this time.”

Cards on the table, the declaration of war spelled out.

“You think we’re hiding something from you?”

“I was only speaking of you, but I see you move quickly from the first person to the plural.” Héctor had the satisfaction of seeing her grow
pale. “Does this ‘we’ refer to the others? César Calvo, Brais Arjona, Octavi Pujades and Manel Caballero? Or only some of them?”

“Inspector, you’re in my office, so I request you don’t raise your voice to me.”

“And you’re before a police inspector, and I request you stop lying to me.”

“The truth has to be discovered to prove a lie, Inspector Salgado. Until then, lies don’t exist.”

He smiled. He quite liked having a worthy adversary.

“Do you have a meetings room here? Then call the others and tell them to come immediately.”

“I repeat, I will not take orders from you. I’m a solicitor, Inspector, and although I don’t practice as such, I will not permit you to treat me or my employees as mere criminals.”

“Get rid of the ‘mere,’ Certainly not that. Whether criminals or not remains to be seen.” He paused briefly and softened his tone a little. “Listen, it would be much more intelligent on your part to cooperate. The way you’re behaving, it’s easy to come to the conclusion that you all have something to do with the deaths of your colleagues.”

Sílvia was still pale. Maybe it was true she’d been sick all weekend. In any case, she didn’t seem very well.

“I repeat: can you do me the favor of gathering the others in the room? I think it’s better to bring them together there than go and interview them in front of the whole company, don’t you agree?”

She didn’t answer. She lifted the receiver to let them know.

The room was between the offices of the Alemany siblings and Héctor noticed Víctor’s was still empty. Bosses never turn up before ten, he told himself, thinking of Savall.

He asked them to sit down, but Sílvia Alemany remained standing beside him, as he explained his reasonings point by point. Octavi Pujades wasn’t there, of course, and Héctor would have to send Fort to
interview him at his home if he couldn’t go himself. The faces of the three men expressed different emotions, though one stood out among the rest: surprise on Brais Arjona and Manel Caballero, the latter almost on the verge of panic; on the other hand, César Calvo seemed to have accepted Amanda’s death with more composure.

“So that’s how things stand, gentlemen. Of the eight people who spent that weekend of team-building together,” he said, looking at Sílvia out of the corner of his eye, “three have died in suspicious circumstances. On September 5, Gaspar Ródenas shot himself after killing his wife and child; exactly four months later, in the early hours of January 6, Sara Mahler jumped onto the tracks of the metro. And last night, scarcely ten days later, Amanda Bonet allegedly took a whole bottle of sleeping pills. Three suicides. No apparent motive. No notes explaining their reasons. No warnings or previous attempts. And now I ask you: are you sure you have nothing to tell me?”

Manel Caballero’s hands were shaking. He was the only one showing anything other than concern. However, it was not he who spoke, but Brais Arjona.

“I understand all this is strange, Inspector. I must admit it’s beginning to worry me too. But I don’t know how we can help you. At least I don’t know how I can.”

“Where were you last night, between eight and half past nine?”

“At home, with David. Well, I don’t know what time I got back.” He turned to Manel Caballero, who looked at him with the same fear with which he watched the inspector. “What time did we say goodnight? Must have been around eight, right?”

Héctor almost smiled. So that’s what it was about now: shared alibis. He didn’t wait for Caballero to answer but turned to César Calvo, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“And I suppose you were with your fiancée, right? All very convenient.”

“Even if it seems like a lie to you, that’s correct.”

“I was in bed,” interrupted Sílvia. “I’ve already told you I didn’t feel
well. I don’t know what time César left, but my daughter could tell you. And spare us the sarcasm, Inspector. We’re doing all we can to cooperate.”

Héctor hated her just then. He took a deep breath and remained calm. The only thing he’d got from the conversation with Saúl Duque was Amanda’s fleeting encounter with someone in the wood. Best not to mention it, he thought. Hold on to that card until you know where to place it, Salgado.

“If you wish to speak to Octavi Pujades, my assistant will give you his number. You are aware that Señor Pujades has taken a leave of absence, due to his wife’s illness.”

Héctor smiled. Here, at least, he could score a point.

“When you speak of your assistant, are you referring to Saúl Duque?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you didn’t like the term.” He stopped smiling and put on a worried expression. “I’m afraid Señor Duque won’t be coming to work for a few days. He’s very upset, disturbed frankly, after finding his partner dead in her bed.”

The ceiling of the room could have caved in and no one would have even screamed. The expression on every face in the room was a mixture of shock and fear in which Héctor took pleasure. Sadism is contagious, he said inwardly.

“Perhaps you didn’t know that Saúl and Amanda were in a relationship?” He didn’t want to go into detail—there was no need. “Well, life is full of surprises for everyone, don’t you think? Surprises and secrets. But it’s only a matter of time: little by little the truth rises to the surface … That’s what my work consists of. Bringing the truth to light, exposing it for everyone to see. And I assure you, I enjoy it.”

The forty minutes had already been sixty and felt like two hundred. Héctor was no longer capable of thought; his brain was beginning to run down, wanting to disconnect. And then, when fatigue was about
to send his consciousness to hell, the doors began to vomit people out. Stressed travelers with bags under their eyes, looking at the clock, wishing to end a day already longer than expected.

There she was. He saw her walk toward him and smiled, although it was difficult to keep his eyes open.

Lola.

Seven years and many minutes later.

No doubt about it, the best remedy for insomnia wasn’t the tablets the therapist had recommended, but skipping a night altogether, tiring the body until it was exhausted and went out like a cell phone with a dead battery. Although Héctor hadn’t slept more than six hours, he awoke more refreshed than he’d felt for some time. Alert enough to face the case at hand: this mystery of suicides and strangled dogs.

So that Tuesday morning, as he had breakfast with Guillermo—an hour in which his son’s silence was a blessing—Héctor contemplated with satisfaction a page of the paper he’d gone down to buy even before filling the French press. There it was, the article agreed with Lola by telephone, which she’d written with the scant information he’d emailed her the previous afternoon. Héctor smiled at the headline: “Young, free and … dead. Strange wave of suicides among the workers of a single company.” Lola had been careful: she hadn’t referred to Alemany Cosmetics at any point, but the slogan was unmistakable. The photos of Gaspar, Sara and Amanda completed a text that implied more than it explained.

That was the deal, or perhaps, if he were honest with himself, the bait to lure her to the city: he was giving her information on a case that seemed to be becoming far-reaching; she was writing for a national newspaper. And between us, Héctor was thinking, we put Alemany Cosmetics in the eye of the hurricane, to see if the current of air clarifies
their thinking or makes them more loquacious. He was sure that the concepts of their new campaign wouldn’t mesh well with a text talking about three dead employees.