Antonio Hill - The Summer of Dead Toys

The “kid” thought for a few moments.

“That would lead us to a lengthy debate. But in short, yes, there are times when the natural response to a stimulus is rage. Equally fear. Or aversion. It’s about managing that emotion, containing it so as not to provoke a greater evil. Fury can be acceptable in this society; to act motivated by it is more arguable. We’d end up justifying anything, don’t you think?”

There was no way of rebutting that argument, so Héctor got up, said good-bye and left. While he was going down in the lift, cigarette packet in hand, he told himself that the shrink might be young and read comics, but he wasn’t a complete fool. Which, truly, at that moment seemed to him more inconvenient than helpful.

“I believe we’re boring Agent Castro.” It was Superintendent Savall’s tone of voice, dry and ironic, accompanied by a direct gaze, that made Leire Castro aware he was speaking to her. More accurately, it got her attention. “I’m very sorry to pull you away from your passionate inner life for a matter so irrelevant as the one we’re discussing, but we need your opinion. Whenever you think it convenient, of course.”

Leire blushed up to her hairline and tried to find an apology. It would be difficult to come up with a coherent answer to a question she hadn’t heard because she was immersed in her worries.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was, I was thinking. .”

Savall realized, as did Salgado and Andreu, that his question, still hanging in the air, had gone unnoticed by Agent Castro. All four were in the superintendent’s office, behind closed doors, with the Marc Castells case file on the desk. Leire desperately forced herself to find something adequate to say. The super had described the autopsy report, which she knew well. Alcohol levels slightly over the limit; the guy wouldn’t have passed a breathalyzer test, but he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t stand upright. The medical analysis hadn’t shown the smallest trace of any drugs in his blood which would allow them to deduce a delirium that might have made him fall into the void. The phrase “medical analysis” had thrown up a whirl of resolved doubts which led to others more difficult to resolve, a mental storm from which she awoke abruptly.

“We were discussing the matter of the broken door,” said Inspector Salgado, and she turned toward him brimming with gratitude.

“Yes,” she breathed, relieved. There she was on safe ground: her voice took on a concise, formal tone. “The problem is that no one was very clear on when it broke. The cleaner thought she’d seen it already broken when she left that evening, but she wasn’t sure. In any case, there were numerous fireworks in the rear part of the house, in all probability originating in the neighboring garden. Its owners have four sons, and the boys admitted they’d been throwing them part of the evening and the night.”

“Yeah. At the end of the day, it was San Juan,” interjected the superintendent. “God! I hate that night. At one time it used to be fun, but now those little monsters throw small bombs.”

Leire continued, “What is certain is that nothing in the house was missing and there was no meaningful sign that might indicate anyone having entered there. What’s more-”

“What’s more, the supposed burglar would’ve had to go up to the attic to push the boy. And for what? No, it doesn’t make sense.” The super made an irritated gesture.

“With all due respect,” said Andreu, who’d kept quiet until then, “this boy fell. Or at worst, he jumped. Alcohol affects people differently.”

“Is there something that makes you think suicide?” asked Héctor.

“Nothing significant,” answered Leire instantly. Then she realized the question wasn’t directed at her. “Pardon.” “Since you’re so sure, explain why,” barked the super. “Well,” she took a few seconds to organize her thoughts,“Marc Castells had come home a while ago after spending six months in Dublin, learning English. According to his father, the trip had done him good. Before leaving, he’d had problems at school: not attending, negative attitude, even a threeday suspension from the centre. He managed to pass Second Baccalaureate, but he didn’t obtain the necessary marks to study what he wanted. It seems he wasn’t very sure of what he wanted to study really, so he deferred beginning a degree for a year.”

“Yeah. And he was sent to Ireland to study English. In my time, he would’ve been put to work.” The superintendent couldn’t help a sarcastic tone. He closed the file. “That’s enough. This is like a school board. Go and talk to the parents and the girl who slept in the house that night, and close the case. If necessary, question the other boy, but watch it with the Roviras. Dr. Rovira made it very clear that, given that his son had left before the tragedy happened, he wasn’t inclined to have anyone disrupt his life. And taking into account that he attended the births of various ministers’ children, including our own minister’s, it’s best not to get up his nose. In fact, I don’t think any of them are hugely interested, I’m telling you now. Enric Castells made it clear that if the investigation has finished, he wants us to leave them in peace, and in a way I can’t blame him for it.” His attention focused for an instant on the photo of his daughters. “It must be hard enough to bury a son, and then on top of that to have to put up with the press and the police poking their noses in every minute. I’ll see Joana next week and try to placate her. Anything else to add, Castro?”

Leire started. She had certainly been thinking of contributing a detail he hadn’t mentioned.

“I’m not sure,” she said, although her tone suggested otherwise. “Maybe it’s just my impression, but the reaction of the girl, Gina Martí, was. . unexpected.”

“Unexpected? She’s eighteen, she goes to bed a bit drunk and on waking up she finds out her boyfriend has killed himself. I think ‘on the verge of hysteria,’ as you describe her in your report, is a more than expected reaction.”

“Of course. But. .” She recovered her assuredness when she found the right words. “The hysteria was logical, sir. But Gina Martí wasn’t sad. She seemed more frightened.” The superintendent remained silent for a few moments. “All right,” he said finally. “Go to see her this afternoon, Héctor. Unofficially-not too much pressure. I don’t want problems with the Castells and their friends,” he stressed. “Agent Castro will accompany you. The girl already knows her and adolescents tend to confide more in women. Castro, call the Martís and tell them you’re coming.”

The commissioner turned to Andreu. “Wait a minute. We have to talk about these selfdefense courses for women at risk of domestic violence. I already know that they’re delighted, but can you really continue giving them?”

Salgado and Castro looked at each other before leaving: they had no doubt that Martina Andreu not only could but wanted to continue teaching these courses.

You there?

Aleix, man, you there?

The little screen of the computer indicated that ‹Aleix is offline and may not answer your messages›. The girl bit her lower lip, nervous; she already had her mobile in her hand when the other person’s status changed from absent to busy. Gina dropped her phone and went to the keyboard.

I have to talk to you! answer.

Finally the answer appeared. A hello, accompanied by a smiley face winking at her. The sound of the door handle startled her. She just had time to minimize the screen before the scent of her mother’s perfume filled the air.

“Gina, sweetheart, I’m off.” The woman didn’t cross the threshold. She was carrying an open white bag, in which she was rummaging as she continued speaking. “Where the hell is the damn remote car key? Could they make them any smaller?” Finally she found it and flashed a triumphant smile. “Angel, are you sure you don’t want to come?” Her smile faded a little on seeing the rings under Gina’s eyes. “You can’t shut yourself up in here all summer, angel. It’s not good. Look what a lovely day it is! You need fresh air.”