Antonio Hill - The Summer of Dead Toys

“Did you hear about what happened to Marc Castells?” asked Héctor.

“Yes.” He shrugged slightly. “A shame.”

“Oh? I didn’t think you cared for him too much,” the inspector hinted.

The boy smiled.

“Not for him, or for the majority of people at that school. . But that doesn’t mean them dying makes me happy.” Something in his voice partly contradicted his words. “This isn’t America. Here people on the margins don’t go into the school with a shotgun and top everyone in their class.”

“Through lack of guns or the desire to do it?” asked the inspector, keeping the tone light.

“I don’t think I should have this conversation about homicidal angst with a cop. .”

“We cops were also students once. But, seriously,” he said, changing tone and taking a cigarette from the packet, “it’s clear that this whole video affair must have damaged you.”

“Well, that definitely damages you,” replied the boy and pointed at the tobacco. “The truth is, I don’t really like talking about it. . It’s like another time. Another Óscar. But, yes of course, it fucked me up a bit.” He looked away, as if suddenly fascinated by the manoeuvres of a minibus on the opposite corner trying to get into a parking space that was obviously too narrow. “I was the fatty gay boy.” He had a faint, bitter smile. “Now I’m a gay stud. I try to forget the me of that time, but sometimes he comes back.”

Héctor nodded.

“He comes back when you least expect it, doesn’t he?”

“How’d you know?”

“I told you, we were all boys once.”

“I kept some photos from then, so as not to forget. But tell me, what do you want?”

“I’m just trying to get an idea of what Marc Castells was like. When someone dies, everyone speaks well of them,” and he surprised himself thinking that in this case it wasn’t necessarily true.

“Yeah. . And you’ve come looking for someone who might hate him? But why? Wasn’t it an accident?”

“We’re closing the case, and we can’t rule out other possibilities.”

Óscar nodded.

“Yeah. Well then, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong person. I didn’t hate Marc. Not then, not now. He was one of the few people I spoke to.”

“Weren’t you surprised that he put up that video?”

“Inspector, don’t talk rubbish. Marc would never have done that. The truth is, he didn’t do it. Everyone knew that. That’s why he was only suspended for a week.”

“So he took the blame for someone else?”

“Of course. In exchange for academic help. Marc wasn’t very clever, you know? And Aleix had him by the balls. He did all his exams.”

“Hold on, are you telling me that it was Aleix Rovira who made the video and put it on the internet, and Marc took the blame for him?”

“Yes. That’s why I left. That school made me sick. Aleix was number one, the clever boy, the untouchable. Marc as well, but less so.”

“I understand,” said the inspector.

“But in the end that imbecile Aleix did me a favor. And I think things are better for me than for him, going by what I’ve heard.”

“What have you heard?”

“Let’s just say Aleix is taking a walk on the wild side. And he’s enough of an idiot to think he’s a hard ass. You get me?”

“No. Hard in what sense?”

“Look, everyone knows that if you want something for the weekend, something to enjoy yourself, you only have to call Aleix.”

“Are you telling me he’s a dealer?

“He was an amateur but I think recently he’s been taking it more seriously. Dealing and taking. Or that’s what they say. And that he’s hanging out with bad people as well.”

So now, seeing the name of another kid of a similar age and with a history of cocaine possession, Héctor knew that Óscar hadn’t lied to him. He didn’t know if this had anything to do with Marc’s death, but it was clear that Aleix Rovira had a lot of explaining to do: about fights, about drugs, about blame being put on someone else. . He longed to put the pressure on this brat, he thought. And now he had what he needed to do it.

“Inspector?”

The voice startled him. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard anyone come in.

“Señora Vidal. Were you looking for me?”

“Yes. But please call me Joana. Señora Vidal makes me think of my mother.”

She was wearing the same clothes as before and looked tired.

“Would you like to sit down?”

She hesitated.

“I’d prefer. . Would you mind if we went for a drink?”

“No, of course not. I can offer you a coffee if you want.”

“I was thinking a gin and tonic, Inspector, not a coffee.”

He looked at his watch and smiled.

“Héctor. And you’re right. After six coffee gives you insomnia.”

It was bucketing down with rain when they emerged, so they went into the first bar they found, one of those lunchtime places that only survived in the evenings thanks to locals who didn’t move from the bar, where they discussed football and consumed beer after beer. The tables were free, so despite the waiter’s reproachful gaze Héctor directed Joana to the one furthest from the bar, where they could talk in peace. The waiter reluctantly wiped it, more attentive to the conversation continuing at the bar about Barça’s new signings than to the customers. However, he was quick to bring them two strong gin and tonics, more so that they would leave him to his discussion than out of generosity.

“Do you smoke?” said Héctor.

She shook her head.

“I gave up years ago. In Paris you can’t smoke anywhere.” “Well, it won’t be long here. But for the moment we’re resisting. Does it bother you?”

“Not at all. I like it actually.”

Suddenly they both felt uncomfortable, like a couple of strangers who kiss in a seedy bar and ask themselves what the hell they are doing. Héctor cleared his throat and drank a gulp of gin and tonic. He couldn’t help a grimace of disgust.

“That is terrible.”

“It won’t kill us,” she replied. And she took a long and brave gulp.

“Why did you come to the station? There’s something you didn’t tell us before, isn’t there?”

“I knew you’d noticed.”

“Look. .” He felt uncomfortable talking to her in such a familiar way, but he continued. “I’m going to be completely honest with you, although it may seem cruel: this may be one of those cases that is never resolved. I haven’t had many in my career, but in all of them doubt remains, hovering in the air. Did he fall? Did he jump? Was he pushed? Without witnesses, and with very little evidence suggesting a crime has been committed, they end up being classified as ‘accidental death,’ through lack of evidence. And the doubt is always there.”

“I know. That’s exactly what I want to avoid. I have to know the truth. I already know that it may seem contradictory to you, and as my ex delights in reminding me every time he sees me, it’s a belated interest. But I’m not going to leave without knowing what happened.”

“Maybe it was an accident. You should count on that.”

“When you can assure me that it was an accident, I’ll believe you. Really.”

They both drank at the same time. The ice was melting, and the gin and tonic flowed better, as did the conversation. Joana inhaled and decided to trust in this inspector with the melancholy expression and kindly eyes.

“The other day I received another email.” She searched in her bag and took out the printed piece of paper. “Read it.”

From: alwaysiris@hotmail.com

To:joanavidal@gmail.net

Subject:

Hello. . I’m sorry to email you, but I didn’t know who to turn to. I heard about what happened and I think we should see each other. It’s important that you don’t say anything to anyone until you and I speak in person. Please, do it for Marc, I know you’d begun to write to each other and I hope I’ll be able to trust you.