Antonio Hill - The Summer of Dead Toys

“Not even to save yourself?”

“Not even for that.”

For an instant they were immersed in their own thoughts. Héctor knew he had to get rid of Agent Castro and speak to Savall. However, Leire’s mind was far away from the case just then. Distant father, the love between children and their parents. . All this was starting to affect her too much and she felt a sudden need to see Tomás.

“Now I need to take care of a few personal matters,” said Héctor and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Perfect. Me too,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“There’s something I’d like you to do this afternoon.” And, lowering his voice a little, Héctor explained his plan. Sergeant Andreu wasn’t enjoying this bright summer Saturday afternoon in the least. In fact, she’d already woken up in bad form after spending half the night going over her meeting with that jumpy woman in the Ciutadella. But her doubts hadn’t dissipated, and on waking they assaulted her even more vigorously. In the end she’d argued with her husband, something she detested and which usually didn’t occur, and, despite the pouts, she decided she had to resolve these questions as soon as possible. Although she was more fond of Héctor than of any other colleague, or perhaps precisely because of that, she needed to get to the bottom of the matter.

She had only one lead to follow before confronting her friend and asking point-blank if he’d seen Omar the afternoon of his disappearance, as this Rosa was alleging. It was a shot in the dark, but it was worth a try. The damned pig’s head had been delivered by a nearby butcher’s which usually supplied similar delights to the sinister doctor. Maybe in this case he’d ordered it himself, as usual. Or maybe not. . And when she pushed the door of the establishment, not far from the doctor’s clinic, she hoped with all her heart that on this occasion it had been Omar himself who had placed the repugnant order.

The shop was empty, and Martina wasn’t surprised. Saturday noon, too hot to go shopping, and the type of place her mother would judge second-rate without the slightest hesitation. On the other side of the counter a fat guy, equipped with an apron that would never again be white, looked at her with a smile on his lips, a gesture of welcome which faded as soon as she revealed that the reason for her visit wasn’t exactly to stock up her fridge with chops.

“They already came to see me about this,” replied the shopkeeper, ill-tempered. “What do you want me to say? If they ask me for a pig’s head, I sell them one. It’s none of my business what they do with it afterward.”

“Of course. But you’re not asked for them a lot, are you? I mean you wouldn’t usually have them in the shop, for sale. .”

“Not the whole head, of course. Although you know, we make use of the whole pig,” the man pointed out proudly.

“Would the doctor order them in person? Or by phone?”

“At first he came in person. Then by phone.”

Just then a kid of around fifteen, a scaled-down version of the shopkeeper, came out of the warehouse. “My son took the orders to his house, didn’t you, Jordi? We’re a small shop, Señora, you have to look after the customers.”

And clean the windows, thought Martina.

“Who took the call this time? You or your son?”

“I did,” said the kid.

“Do you remember when he called?”

“Two or three days before, I don’t know.” The boy didn’t have the appearance of a genius and he didn’t seem very interested in the conversation. However, suddenly he seemed to remember something. “Although this time he didn’t call.”

“No?” The sergeant tried to disguise the nervousness in her voice. “Who was it?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders. His mouth was half open. Martina was tempted to shake that stupid expression off his face. However, she smiled at him and asked again.

“Was it his assistant?” She didn’t know if Omar had an assistant, but it was all she could think of.

“No idea.” Jordi made a slight effort to remember, which made his mouth hang open a few millimetres more.

“What did they say? It’s important, you know.”

“Just that.”

Martina bit her lip, but something in her gesture must have inspired the junior butcher to keep talking.

“It was a man. He said he was calling on behalf of Dr. Omar for us to bring a pig’s head to his house, last thing Tuesday evening.”

“And you did?”

“Of course. I took it myself.”

“Did you see Omar?”

The boy shook his head.

“No, the same guy told me the doctor was busy. That he had a visit.”

“How do you know it was the same guy?”

Jordi seemed surprised by the question.

“Who else would it be?” He saw that the answer didn’t satisfy this demanding woman and he remembered another detail. “Also, they had the same accent.”

“What accent?”

“South American. Well, not exactly.”

Martina Andreu had to make a superhuman effort not to beat a clear answer out of him.

“Think hard,” she persisted in a soft voice. She tried to find a point of reference this kid might understand. “Did he speak like Ronaldinho? Or more like Messi?”

That completely clarified the apprentice butcher’s memory. He smiled like a happy child.

“Exactly! Like Messi.” He would have shouted “ Visca el Barça” had Sergeant Andreu’s stare not warned him, with no room for doubt, to shut his mouth.

A surprised Lluís Savall opened the door of his home, a comfortable flat on Ausiàs March, near Estació del Nord. Receiving inspectors at his home at lunchtime on a Saturday wasn’t exactly the superintendent’s favorite pastime, but Héctor’s tone of voice had awoken not a little curiosity in him. On the other hand, his daughters weren’t at home, for a change, and his wife had gone to the beach with a friend and wouldn’t be back until the evening. So the superintendent had the flat to himself and had spent part of the morning on his five-thousand-piece jigsaw, which still had over a thousand pieces missing. It was his favorite pastime, as innocuous as it was relaxing, and his wife encouraged it as much as his daughters did, giving him one puzzle after another, the more complicated the better. This one would end up forming an image of the Sagrada Família, but at the moment was as unfinished as the temple itself.

“Do you want a drink? A beer?” asked Savall.

“No, thanks. Lluís, I’m truly sorry to bother you today.”

“Well, it’s not as if I have much to do,” replied the super, thinking wistfully of his puzzle. “But sit down, don’t stay standing. I’m going to get a beer for myself. Sure you don’t want one?”

“I’m sure.”

Héctor sat down in one of the armchairs while he thought of how to bring up the subject. Savall came back immediately, with two cans and a glass each. Opposite him, after finally accepting the damned beer, Salgado said to himself that no one in a position of authority should ever wear shorts.

“What brings you here?” asked the super. “Something new in the case of that girl?”

“Gina Martí?” Héctor shook his head. “No news. At least until we get the forensic report.”

“Right. So?”

“I wanted to speak to you today, away from the station.” Héctor got annoyed at himself for beating about the bush and decided to take the bull by the horns. “Why didn’t you tell me you already knew the Castells?”

The question sounded like an accusation. And Savall’s mood changed instantly.

“I told you I was a friend of his mother’s.”

“Yes. But you didn’t mention that you’d been on another case relating to them.” He asked himself whether he needed to say the name or if the super already knew to what he was referring. Just in case, he continued: “Years ago a little girl drowned during camp. The camp director, or whatever you call the role, was Fèlix Castells.”