Antonio Hill - The Good Suicides

“True. On the other hand, Amanda Bonet-”

“Died a few days after Sara Mahler.”

Superintendent Savall’s appearance expressed a mixture of irritation and fatigue.

“And the others say nothing?”

“That’s the worst of all. They seem upset,” said Héctor, musing as he spoke, “shocked, even. Whatever they’re hiding, the fear of it being discovered is greater than what they feel about the deaths of their colleagues.”

“And you’re sure they’re hiding something?” asked the superintendent.

“Yes.” Salgado’s reply was unequivocal. “It’s intuition: something happened that weekend, something grave enough for them to hide it, keep quiet … And for some of them to be dying for it.”

“One more thing in relation to Amanda Bonet,” said Savall. “Did anyone know a key could be found underneath the doormat? Anyone apart from her lover, this Saúl …”

“Saúl Duque. According to him, Amanda suspected that Sara Mahler knew about their relationship. If that’s true, Sara could have told someone.”

“Who?”

“Víctor Alemany, for example. She was his secretary, and throughout the company they say Sara was very loyal to her boss.”

“Were they lovers?” said Savall, half smiling.

“I don’t think so,” Salgado answered firmly. “What’s more, Víctor wasn’t with them that weekend-”

“True,” Fort interjected, daring to do so spontaneously for the first time, “but if Sara told him everything, perhaps she explained what happened in that house as well.”

“Good point,” said Héctor. “Even so, we continue as we are and keep going until we establish the root of all this.”

“Exactly.” Savall was starting to show signs of impatience, gestures Héctor recognized easily. “What are your plans, Héctor?”

“Tomorrow I’m going to Garrigàs, to the house where they spent those days, to see if I can find anything.” Héctor turned to Fort and added, “On the other hand, dismissing the possibility of identifying the person responsible for the message, we have to keep investigating what Sara Mahler did on the night of her death.”

“Sir, it still seems strange that there is no data on her cell phone. It’s on the factory settings, but she hadn’t bought it that day.”

“Get on those two matters. There are too many loose ends in Sara’s death.”

Roger Fort nodded and, sensing that this order implied leaving the office, he went out rapidly.

“Héctor,” said Savall when they were alone, “I’m not against using the press on this occasion. But be careful. It could cause us problems.”

“I know, but I think this time we needn’t worry.”

“Fine, I trust you.” Savall seemed to consider the meeting finished; however, as the inspector was preparing to leave, he added, “I’m glad to see you back on form, Salgado.”

Already at the door, Héctor stopped. The superintendent went on in a tone grave yet tinted with something akin to affection. “I’m aware that you felt bad about my taking you off Ruth’s case. Believe me, I’m sorry, but I had no choice. I couldn’t allow one of my best men to become obsessed in that way.” He waited for a reply from Salgado, then seeing there was none forthcoming, went on: “Sometimes you have to turn a page, however hard it is. Doing it was very difficult for me. You know I’ve always supported you, even at the worst times, and both my wife and I care a lot about you both … You and Ruth.”

Hearing her name then, Héctor realized he hadn’t thought about her for hours, maybe days. He knew it was absurd, but he couldn’t help a strange feeling: he’d promised not to forget her. He didn’t know what answer to give the superintendent. He left without saying anything and walked toward Fort’s desk. Speaking to the agent with her back to him, he made out a feminine figure who from a distance he confused with Lola. Then the woman turned and he saw it was Mar Ródenas.

Mar seemed so out of place in the station that Héctor decided to talk to her somewhere else. He invited her for a coffee in a nearby bar. He also needed to smoke and could have a cigarette en route.

Once inside, two coffees in front of them, hers decaf, Mar Ródenas took from her bag the newspaper in which the article about her brother had appeared. I should have seen this coming, thought Héctor. Despite the article speaking of suicides, the coincidence of three in a few months had to arouse unease in their loved ones, and Mar Ródenas’s appearance faithfully reflected that emotion.

“What does this mean, Inspector?” she asked, straight to the point though in a faint voice.

“I wish I could tell you,” he replied, “but at this time we know little more than what’s in the article.”

“But … but the text seems to imply that …”

Hope, thought Héctor. That was what was in that glance. The hope that what she’d accepted until then as a fact was actually an illusion. The hope that her brother wasn’t a parricide, but a victim in the end. Salgado didn’t want to raise her hopes and yet neither could he deny the truth.

“The case has been reopened. That’s all I can tell you.”

He considered that for Mar, that was enough. It was at least an open door, a road toward a reality different from the painful one with which it was her lot to live.

“Do you have siblings, Inspector?”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate: he was certain that an elder brother who chose to look away when your father gave you a beating wasn’t the example Mar was hoping for.

“Gaspar was a few years older than me.” She smiled. “Sometimes he was worse than my parents: he didn’t let me out of his sight.”

Héctor prepared to listen to her. It was clear this girl needed to talk about her brother, that boy who protected her in school and bickered with her at home; the boy who in her mind had little to do with the man who’d died from a bullet in that domestic tragedy. Mar continued talking for a while, ever more animated, as if for the first time in months she could enjoy these memories, spoiled by Gaspar’s sad end. And without meaning to, Héctor also ended up relating anecdotes from his childhood in Buenos Aires.

“I’m sorry,” said Mar. “I’m sure you have better things to do than exchange family stories.”

“Don’t worry.” He looked at his watch. “Although I must be going now.”

“Of course.”

She protested mildly when he paid for the two coffees, but the inspector took no heed. They walked in the same direction, he toward the station and she the metro.

“Inspector,” Mar said to him, “I know my opinion isn’t very objective when I tell you Gaspar was essentially a good person. He was incapable of anything so horrible.”

“When it’s about people, no opinion can be objective,” he said, affectionately. “Mar, let me ask you something.” He’d just remembered; it wasn’t an important detail, but it couldn’t hurt to clear it up. “Did Gaspar belong to an animal rights group or anything like that? You know, environmental groups …”

Mar seemed taken aback.

“Not that I know of. Although maybe … Are you asking for any reason in particular?”

Salgado shook his head.

“Someone told us so, but it’s not important. Don’t worry about it.”

When he returned to his office, Fort had already left and he couldn’t see Martina Andreu at her desk either, so Héctor thought of calling Lola and suggesting she come with him to the house in Garrigàs the next day. Although it wasn’t following procedure, he was sure she’d like to, and he trusted her discretion. He had to leave the suggestion recorded in her voicemail, since Lola didn’t pick up the call. However, shortly afterward he received a text with a succinct: “Okay. See you tomorrow.”