Antonio Hill - The Good Suicides

It will take that poor girl a long time to forget what she saw, thought Héctor. It pained him to have to remind her of it, yet there was no other way. If he wanted to understand Gaspar Ródenas, know what he was like, work out what had led him to commit such an atrocious act, he had to speak to his family. He’d thought of doing it the day before, but Savall had once again brought him into a meeting with Andreu and Calderón all afternoon. So he’d finally arranged a meeting with María del Mar at five precisely, in a café close to the town hall of the area where she lived. She wasn’t Gaspar’s mother; nevertheless, for the moment she’d have to do.

It was a big noisy place, and the clientele at that hour, made up largely of businesspeople of the area, gathered around the bar. Or, with the anti-tobacco law having recently come into force, in the street, smoking while retaining the flavor of coffee in their mouths.

Héctor had gone alone, leaving Fort two tasks: to establish what Sara Mahler was doing at Urquinaona metro at that time and, while he was at it, to gather information about Alemany Cosmetics. He’d planned to approach the company the following day, Friday, to see Sílvia Alemany and, if possible, the other colleagues who appeared in the photo. In some way, that image of eight people in hiking gear was connected to that other disagreeable one Sara Mahler had received on her cell. Two pieces that could form part of the same puzzle or not, thought Héctor. And the analogy made him think of Superintendent Savall-a huge fan of jigsaw puzzles-with whom he’d have to discuss the case sooner or later. Tomorrow, he thought. Before or after going to the cosmetics lab.

María del Mar was waiting for him at the door. They entered the bar and looked for an empty table at the back. Luckily for them, there was more than one, and they chose one in the corner that ensured them at least some privacy.

Héctor waited until the waitress had served them their drinks and spent a few minutes breaking the ice. María del Mar-“Please call me Mar”-had studied education and for a few months had been a cashier in some big department stores in the area. She’d been unemployed since November. According to what she told him, so was her fiancé. He was named Iván and had worked in construction until the previous year; all he’d been able to find since then were “a couple of odd jobs with his cousin.” Minor work, pay that was a thousand euro if he was lucky … At twenty-seven, both were still living at the homes of their respective parents, since, just as they were preparing to rent an apartment, Iván was out on the street.

“I don’t know if we’ll get to marry one day,” Mar said sadly. “But you haven’t come to hear my troubles, Inspector. Is there something new in the case of my brother?” She asked nervously, as if within her she was nursing the suspicion that Gaspar Ródenas was still hiding sins yet to be uncovered.

Héctor decided to be as honest as possible; the last thing he wanted was to raise hopes in a case officially closed.

“In all honesty, no.” He chose not to mention Sara’s death. “I’m just trying to find out a bit more about your brother. To close the case with a better explanation than ‘fit of temporary insanity,’ if possible …”

It was a fairly implausible explanation, but Mar seemed trusting by nature, so she said nothing and waited for the inspector to continue speaking.

“There were a few years between you and Gaspar-”

“Ten.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t know his friends …”

“Well, I knew the ones from the barrio , but Gaspar left them aside as soon as he started going out with Susana.” She smiled faintly. “She and I didn’t get on very well.”

Héctor had guessed something of the sort on reading Mar’s statement, and he told himself that a good way of getting to know Gaspar’s personality through his sister was by delving into these differences and the relationship between the couple.

“How long were they together?”

“I don’t know … five or six years. Wait …” She did a mental tally. “Yes, five years. They married the year I finished studying; they’d only been going out a few months.” She smiled. “They decided quickly.”

“And they got on well?”

“Yes, she organized things and he went along with it. It’s one way of getting on well, I suppose.”

“Was Susana a bossy woman?”

“More than bossy, she was one of those who sulked when things weren’t done her way. So Gaspar tried not to contradict her. In the end, he’d convinced himself that the only correct way to do everything was exactly as Susana said.”

“And you didn’t get on with her?”

She looked around her. It was a fleeting, almost invisible move.

“It’s horrible to speak ill of the dead. And even more so in this case … The truth is, no: I didn’t get on with Susana. I didn’t care that she bossed my brother around, that was her business, but the way she treated my parents made me really angry. Especially after Alba was born.”

“Did you see the little one often?”

“Often?” Mar shook her head. “My mother almost had to request an audience to see her granddaughter. It was never the right time. I feel awful saying that …”

Héctor knew. It was a common reaction; but in an investigation there was no room for consideration toward those no longer here. On the contrary, their secrets had to be brought to light, their faults unraveled, their mistakes aired. The victims had lost their lives and with them the right to privacy.

“What do you think happened?” asked Héctor.

“I don’t know. When I went in …” She trembled and lowered her eyes, as if she had that scene before her once again. “When I went in I thought it was the work of a thief. You know, one of those gangs of Romanians that rob apartments.”

She looked on the verge of tears, so Héctor asked if she wanted to stop for a minute. She shook her head. She had lovely dark hair and a tense expression, but it was precisely that expression which rendered her neutral features, too correct to be beautiful, attractive. Mar Ródenas, like her brother, belonged to that immense group of people neither handsome nor ugly. They lack intensity, Ruth always used to say about that type of person. However, in circumstances like these, repressed emotion gave them strength and something resembling beauty.

“I knew you were coming to talk about this, Inspector,” she added, looking at him. “You know something? My home is like a cemetery and my parents dead people walking. My parents … God, graffiti appeared on the door of my father’s workshop a week ago. ‘Killer. Son of a bitch’ it said. As if he was the killer! My father, poor man, who never even raised his voice to us …”

Héctor’s expression darkened. Yes, this was another consequence in these cases: incomprehension, indiscriminate insults.

“Don’t they realize we’ve lost a son, a brother? A grandchild?”

Mar couldn’t hold back anymore and burst out crying. The sobbing wasn’t restorative, but bitter. Furious.

Héctor suddenly felt bad. He hated this part of his job, torturing souls even without wanting to.

“We’ll leave it at that,” he murmured.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Mar grabbed a paper napkin and dabbed at her face. “Where were we? Oh yes. What I saw.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “My brother was in the dining room, with his head on the table. The pistol was on the floor, beside him. I thought he was alone because I couldn’t hear the little one. It’s ridiculous, but that’s what I thought. I went running toward Alba’s bedroom, and passing the bathroom I saw the door was open: Susana was lying on the floor, on her back, with a bloodstain on her nightdress. And then I knew Alba had to be at home as well.”