The Good Suicides (34 page)

“Maybe. You did the right thing in telling me.”

“Do you think he could have done something to her? I wasn’t at home that whole week. I went to Calafell, to a friend’s house …”

He looked so upset that Leire hastened to console him.

“I don’t know, Guillermo, but I don’t think so.” She didn’t know why, but she doubted such a complex case could suddenly be solved by the reappearance of a small-time crook. “They would have found his fingerprints—he must have a record. Also, your mother didn’t usually make mistakes, did she? Maybe Charly isn’t such a bad guy.”

A grateful smile appeared on Guillermo’s face.

“In any case, you have to tell your father.” Remembering she had things to tell Inspector Salgado, she added, “I have things to tell him too.”

“Really?”

Leire left the glass on the table. She didn’t want to discuss it with this boy. And as she couldn’t find Ruth, she told herself the least she could do for her was give her son something for dinner.

Not only did Guillermo accept her invitation, he offered to make dinner, which to Leire’s surprise turned out rather good. She forced herself to be cheerful and try to eat the pasta the boy had boiled while making a tomato sauce seasoned with black pepper and a little mince he found in the fridge. She couldn’t eat much; the nausea kept coming in waves.

He was clearing the plates from the table when a sudden, violent, stabbing pain left her breathless, and pale as new linen. It was only a few seconds and then the feeling disappeared, but a cold sweat and the constant vertigo remained.

“Are you all right?”

Leire was about to answer when the pain returned. No, no, you can’t be born yet, she thought.

“I think …” It hurt so much she almost couldn’t speak. “I think we need to call the doctor.”

The arrest of Manel Caballero occurred at half past nine in the morning on Thursday, January 20. An offended and frightened Manel, protesting vehemently, was approached at his place of work by Roger Fort and another agent, in front of his astonished colleagues: he had to accompany them to the station for questioning. They handcuffed him without the least compassion. Simultaneously, Héctor Salgado was doing the same with Sílvia Alemany, who, to the inspector’s surprise, left her office with her head held high and without saying a single word.

The two were put in separate police cars and transferred to the station. They saw each other then, at the door, though they didn’t have a chance to talk. He, handcuffed and almost pushed toward the building’s interior; she walking with dignity with the inspector at her side. Two very different interrogation rooms awaited them.

Frightened is nothing, thought Héctor as soon as he entered one of them, ready to get everything he could out of that slippery young man. Since the previous afternoon, when he got back from the house in Garrigàs, he had been setting the pieces of this puzzle in order: the dogs, the bicycles, the spade, the shift in attitude of the participants, Amanda’s shock the night before. And although he didn’t know for certain how
things had happened, he did have at least a vague idea of what could have happened. An idea he didn’t like at all.

He sat down opposite Caballero in silence and left a file on the table. He was going to open it when the other man belligerently spat out, “May I know what this is about? Why the hell have you brought me here?”

“I was just going to explain, don’t you worry.”

“You can’t treat people like this! You don’t fool me, I know my rights—”

“You’ve seen too many TV series, Manel,” Héctor replied with a condescending smile. “In any case, since you’re so up to speed with your rights, I’m going to recap mine. You’re a suspect in a multiple homicide case and you’re here to be questioned.”

Manel’s expression showed the hit, and Héctor continued, “I can’t force you to talk, although I promise you it wouldn’t bother me to do so. On the other hand, I can hold you for seventy-two hours for you to reflect and decide to cooperate.”

“Handcuffing and mistreating me up to now isn’t the best way of asking me to cooperate, Inspector! At least tell me what you’re talking about, because if you think I killed Amanda and Sara, you’re completely mad.”

Héctor smiled again.

“Madmen sometimes guess the truth. Or so they say—haven’t you ever heard that?” His tone changed as he added, “I don’t want to talk about Sara, or Amanda. Or even Gaspar. I want us to talk about what happened at the house in Garrigàs.”

He managed to rattle him, though just for a moment. Manel mustered all his strength and replied, “I have nothing to say about that.”

“Sure? Nothing to tell me about some stolen bicycles? A missing spade?”

Manel flushed, but managed to stay calm and feign a fairly convincing incredulous tone.

“I think you don’t know anything, Inspector. You only guess things. So hold me as long as you wish. I’ll wait for my solicitor.”

“Of course. No problem.” Héctor rested both hands on the table, rose and leaned toward an astonished Manel. When he spoke it was in a quiet, firm voice. “But you won’t wait here.”

“What do you mean?” stammered Manel.

The inspector didn’t answer. He left the room slowly, and shortly afterward came back in accompanied by two agents. Without a word, they lifted Manel Caballero from the chair.

“What’s this? Where the fuck are you taking me?”

“As I said, I have seventy-two hours to get you to cooperate.” He looked at his watch. “But you’re not going to spend them here. You’ll be in one of the cells. I need this room to talk with someone more important than you. It wouldn’t be wise on my part to send Señora Alemany to a cell, would it? I could get into real trouble.”

The look of rage Manel cast him was the first of his victories. The agents carried him away, oblivious to his shouts of protest, to one of the small station cells, already occupied by a couple of junkies.

“No! No! You can’t do this to me …”

Héctor slowly exhaled. Manel’s screams faded. It was only a matter of time, he was sure. Anyone who wanted to sleep alone wouldn’t last too long in those cells.

“How’s it going?” Roger Fort asked from the door.

“It will be fine,” answered Héctor. “Any news?”

“Víctor Alemany called. Not me, Superintendent Savall. From what I understand he’s coming here with his solicitor. Well, more accurately, with Señor Pujades. Inspector, I know you’re in a hurry, but there’s something I’d like to show you. It’ll only take a moment. Come with me.”

Fort walked ahead of him and they went toward a room equipped with a screen. On it Héctor saw the frozen image of that damned metro platform.

“I was wondering how someone could have entered after Sara without
being caught on the turnstile cameras. And suddenly it occurred to me that there was only one possibility: that they arrived on the metro going in the opposite direction and crossed from one platform to the other, like someone getting off at the wrong station.”

Héctor looked at him and nodded.

“Of course—as simple as that.”

“They didn’t come down onto the platform, of course. They must have stayed on the stairs. Sara Mahler didn’t move much, so, supposing someone pushed her, they could have waited there, sitting on a step, and emerged only when they saw the train was about to arrive.”

Yes, thought Héctor. A risky, almost suicidal act, but possible. The camera hadn’t captured that moment.

“But Sara must have seen them get out. She did pass those steps,” he responded.

“Yeah, I thought that too. But she looked worried. If she’d seen a guy sitting on the steps she wouldn’t have looked twice. She’d have thought they were drunk. Maybe …”

“Good work, Fort. I mean it. Have you requested the tapes from the other platform?”

“They’ve gone for them, sir. I’ll look at them as soon as they arrive.”

“I leave it in your hands,” said Salgado, smiling. “I’m going to talk to Sílvia Alemany before her troops arrive. Make sure no one interrupts me while I’m with her. Not the superintendent, not Alemany, not the Pope of Rome, is that clear?

“And another thing. If Manel decides to cooperate, lock him in one of the rooms and call the other two. César Calvo and Brais Arjona. I want them all nearby.”

This time I’m playing at home, thought Héctor when he found himself in the presence of Sílvia Alemany, who still had the bearing and composure given by intelligence united with a kind of class. She appeared indifferent, sitting in the interview room where they had brought her on
arrival, but she couldn’t help a sidelong glance on seeing the inspector enter.

“Do you wish to talk about the dead dogs again, Inspector?” she asked. “If I’d known it was going to cause so many explanations, I’d never have agreed to carry it out.”

“You know something, Señora Alemany? I think that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me since we met.”

“I’m also getting tired of your veiled insinuations, Inspector. If you have something to charge me with, do it. And if not, let me go. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Making sure the others don’t talk? I’m afraid it’s too late. Manel doesn’t have your mettle, that’s obvious. It was all the same to him as long as he felt safe. But when he found himself caught between a rock and a hard place—”

“Don’t deceive me, Inspector Salgado. When he sees himself between a rock and a hard place, Manel chooses the hard place. Never the rock.”

Héctor laughed.

“You’re right. The good thing about proverbs is that they’re symbolic, so you never really know what the rock or the hard place mean. I assure you poor Manel Caballero faced a very sharp, treacherous rock.”

She grew pale.

“Why don’t you tell me your version of what happened? You’re tired, you must be—is such a burden really worth it?”

Sílvia hesitated. He could see the doubt clouding her eyes and the temptation to talk begin to grow within her. But pride got the better of her.

“I’m sure my brother must be on his way here. And not alone. So, Inspector, I think soon I’ll be able to leave this room and relax.”

“Oh yes? When you lie down will you forget Gaspar’s face? Or Sara’s? Amanda’s? Three dead people, Sílvia, not counting Gaspar’s poor wife and child. You’re a mother.”

“One of the subjects that annoys me nowadays is the general opinion
that being a mother makes you a better person, Inspector. There are good and bad mothers. Good and bad daughters.”

Héctor didn’t know what she was talking about, but it was clear he’d just hit a nerve in the woman in front of him.

“And don’t try to put the blame on me for what Gaspar did to his family. I have enough trying to understand my own.”

Finally he’d made an impression on Sílvia Alemany. The bitter tone couldn’t be ignored. And Héctor understood the moment had come to bet, albeit cautiously, so that she didn’t guess how low the cards in his hand were.

“Returning the bicycles was a mistake, Sílvia. A silly mistake. Not like you.”

She seemed absorbed in thoughts that had nothing to do with that, and everything to do with her family.

“The bicycles were intact. There were no si—” Sílvia went quiet, but it was already too late and Héctor finished her sentence for her.

“There were no signs of the accident, were there?”

“What accident?” she asked in a voice much less sure.

“The accident that happened when you were returning from burying the dogs.” The bluff was working, Héctor could feel it. “I think you came back in a good mood, self-satisfied, from the completed task. I don’t think you expected destiny to play a dirty trick on you. And to tell the truth, I honestly think the first act of this farce was a genuine accident. Am I right?”

Sílvia Alemany no longer had the courage to continue denying it. She closed her eyes, inhaled very slowly and began talking.

The eight of them contemplate their work with the satisfaction that comes from having done something real, with their hands, based on real physical effort and sweat. A feeling to which they are in fact unaccustomed because their jobs have little to do with that.

“Done,” says Brais with a sigh, as he rubs his hand. He is the one who has dug the most and he knows that the following day he’ll have blisters all over his hands from the hoe, but the physical effort seems healthy. Invigorating.

The only trace of those mercilessly sacrificed animals is the newly turned earth a hundred meters from the tree. Without them, the branches of the cork tree revert to being inoffensive, vulgar. Dusk bathes the landscape in a comforting, placid light.

“Are we going now, or do you expect us to say a prayer?” asks César. He’s the only one who appears immune to the general feeling of well-being. In fact, he agreed to dirty his hands only reluctantly, when he saw the vote was lost anyway. Only Manel had objected to the idea and César didn’t like to associate with losers.

Octavi smiles and Sílvia looks sideways at her fiancé. César shuts up.

“Why don’t we get going?” Manel intervenes. “It’s almost night.”

“Why don’t we wait a moment?” suggests Sara. “There aren’t many opportunities to enjoy a sunset like this one.”