Antonio Hill - The Good Suicides

“Inspector Salgado did as much as he could, but, let’s not kid ourselves, the superintendent was right in one thing: Héctor was, still is, too involved in the case to be objective. And Bellver-”

“Don’t go there,” Martina Andreu interrupted her. “As you’ve said, Bellver and his people are overburdened with work. Like everyone.”

“Exactly,” insisted Leire. She’d perceived a shift in her superior’s tone, so she was careful not to lose ground already conquered. “It would be six weeks, maybe less. If the baby comes early, it’s over. But I believe I can cast a fresh pair of eyes on the case. I didn’t know Ruth Valldaura. While we were investigating I always had the impression that, given the victim’s identity, everyone took a series of things for granted. And Inspector Salgado couldn’t see it either, however much he wanted to.”

“I know.”

Leire smiled. She sensed that she was about to win the game.

“Listen,” Martina went on. “I don’t know what this will come to, or why you’re getting me into this mess. However, I know you well enough to understand that you’ll do whatever you feel like, with or without my approval. No, Leire, don’t lie to me. You came to me because I can facilitate certain things for you, not because you plan to listen to me if I forbid it. At the end of the day, it’s your free time and you can use it as you wish.”

“If you say no, I’ll abandon the matter. I don’t want to get you in any trouble, and I promise if I discover anything, I’ll inform you directly. You can decide how to proceed with Bellver from there.”

Agent Castro knew she was treading on dangerous ground. The sergeant’s ill-will toward Bellver had been public since he snatched the role of inspector from her with merits more personal than professional. But Leire suspected that the most insignificant allusion to the affair would make Martina Andreu dig in her heels.

“Fine. Come and pick me up at seven, at the end of my shift, and you’ll have a copy of the file. Oh, and not a word to Inspector Salgado if you come across him.”

It was unlikely, and the sergeant knew it: Savall had summoned him to his office, along with others, to discuss something with a National Police guy, some Calderón. After only half an hour, it looked as if it would go on for a while.

“Leire, if you want to work during leave, the same rules apply as if you were on duty, so, for your own good, I want to be kept informed. Keep me up to date on every move and every detail. Don’t do anything off your own back or I assure you when you return your life here will be very difficult. Is that clear?”

The grateful look that Leire Castro gave her convinced the sergeant for a moment that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. As the agent had said herself, they lost nothing by trying and, deep down, Martina was almost sure that the Ruth Valldaura case was doomed never to be resolved. At the same time, and not without a certain professional envy, she was sure that if there was anyone in that station capable of tackling an apparently unsolvable mystery, that person was Agent Castro.

So, that same night, file already in hand, Leire did what her mind and body were crying out for. She needed activity, a focus, and the file she had in front of her, although mostly familiar, represented a challenge that, among other things, made her feel alive. And useful. With a discipline she’d learned to appreciate, she read it slowly, as if she were facing it for the first time, convinced that on occasion the most insignificant details could culminate in the answer.

Then, after a good while of intense concentration, she did something that had helped her internalize things since she was small. Sitting at the dining-room table, she wrote down the most relevant details. It was a somewhat tiresome task now that practically nothing was written by hand, but Leire was aware that this forced her to slow down. She didn’t follow a precise order, but rather allowed her hand to outline what for her was a first approximation of the facts.

Ruth Valldaura Martorell. 39. Designer/illustrator of considerable success due to a line of home accessories very popular recently. Separated and mother of one son, Guillermo, who lived with her. Disappeared from her home, a loft-type apartment she also used as her studio, located on Llull, on July 7, 2010, although it wasn’t reported until two days later. There were no signs of violence in her home and the door hadn’t been forced. According to her partner, Carolina Mestre, a suitcase and four garments were missing, which tallied with the last she knew of Ruth, who had declared her intention of going away to spend the weekend at the apartment owned by her parents, which they still own, in the coastal area of Sitges. Her car was found parked close to her home, which led us to believe that probably its owner had never come to take it on the morning of July 7, when she told her parents, her ex-husband and her new partner that she wouldn’t be back until Sunday night. Her messages had been succinct. Seemingly, Ruth wanted to spend a couple of days alone near the beach.

On Sunday night, her son Guillermo, whom she was meant to collect from a friend’s house where he was spending a few days’ vacation, called his father, Inspector Héctor Salgado, asking about Ruth. This raised the alarm.

The primary investigations focused on the threats uttered against Inspector Salgado’s family by Dr. Omar, a witch doctor of African origin linked to a woman-trafficking network which had been dismantled around the middle of the previous year. The pimps were detained and although it was suspected that Omar used voodoo to terrify the young Nigerian prostitutes, only one agreed to testify against him. This girl’s violent death led Inspector Salgado to turn up at Omar’s clinic in an alley near the Post Office and give him a beating, which was the source of the threats to Salgado and those around him. Later, the doctor was murdered by his accomplices.

However, according to what Damián Fernández, Omar’s lawyer and killer, confessed, before dying Omar carried out a ritual curse against Ruth Valldaura. The aim was, obviously, to revenge himself on Inspector Salgado. This witness affirmed that Omar was certain that Ruth would disappear without leaving the least trace. As it happened in the end.

Leire paused. The objective facts were as simple as that. It made no difference that she didn’t believe the quack’s claims; the astonishing reality was that due to the curse or not, Ruth’s destiny had been as the bastard Omar had predicted. And although for a time it was thought that the doctor himself had contracted someone to carry out his threat, Leire had never been convinced by this hypothesis. If anything became clear from studying a character as dark as the quack’s, it was the faith he had in his own power: despite it appearing like a cock-and-bull story, Omar was sure the ritual curse would work.

For the first time in months, Leire missed having a cigarette, but she resisted. She’d given up smoking at the end of the summer and had no intention of starting again. To calm herself, she went to the kitchen, grabbed a couple of biscuits, also forbidden by the doctor, and returned to the table. It was late, but she could sleep as long as she liked. She took up her pen once again and returned to her task.

Ruth Valldaura was a reserved person, with few friends and no known enemies. The general opinion held that she was a balanced, attractive and friendly woman, with a pronounced tendency to be introspective. She maintained a cordial relationship with her ex-husband, and in her subsequent involvement with Carol Mestre didn’t seem to have any problems more serious than the usual tensions of any couple. Ruth had accepted her lesbianism, or bisexuality, openly. She hadn’t attempted to hide it from her parents or her son. Her work, although well paid, didn’t make her rich, or well known outside her professional circle. She worked alone, although she collaborated with her partner and associate in marketing her designs. In fact, it was in the professional sphere that they fell in love.