Antonio Hill - The Summer of Dead Toys

Savall could have pretended, made believe that he’d forgotten it, that he hadn’t put the two names together, the two deaths separated by almost thirteen years. And perhaps Héctor would have believed him. But his eyes betrayed him, revealing what they both knew: the Iris Alonso case, the girl drowned among dolls, was one of those that persisted in the memory for years.

“I don’t remember that little girl’s name-”

“Iris.”

“Yes. It wasn’t a very common name then.” The super left his glass on the coffee table. “Do you have a cigarette?” “Of course. I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“Only sometimes.”

Héctor passed him a cigarette and offered him a light, lit another for himself and waited. The smoke from the two cigarettes formed a little white cloud.

“I’ll have to open the window afterward,” said Savall. “Or Elena will be telling me off forever.”

“What do you remember about that case?” persisted Salgado. “Not much, Héctor. Not much.” His eyes showed that although they were few, the memories weren’t at all pleasant. “Where is this coming from? Does it have something to do with what happened to Joana’s son?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me.”

“I remember him. Marc. He was just a kid and he was badly affected. Shaken.”

“He found her, didn’t he?”

Savall nodded, not asking how he knew that.

“So they told me.” He shook his head. “Children shouldn’t see things like that.”

“No. They shouldn’t drown either.”

The super gave Héctor a sidelong glance, and his expression, which a few seconds before had been uncomfortable, even apprehensive, was now one of hard impatience.

“I don’t like that tone. Why don’t you ask me what you want to know?”

Because I don’t really know what to ask, thought Héctor.

“Lluís, we’ve known each other for years. You’re not just my boss, you’ve treated me like a friend. But right now I have to know if there was something strange about that girl’s case. Something that could pose a threat to someone now, almost fifteen years later.”

“I don’t think I understand you.” Lluís put out his cigarette.

“You understand me.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. There are details that must have come out in the investigation: Iris wasn’t eating, she’d run away from that house two days before, she was behaving badly, and she’d changed greatly in the last year. Her mother couldn’t control her. Doesn’t all this make you think of something?”

“You’re talking about many years ago, Héctor.”

“Abuse of minors isn’t a new thing, Lluís. It’s always been around. And it’s been covered up for many years.”

“I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you are.”

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just asking.”

“There was no proof of that.”

“Oh no? His behavior wasn’t proof enough? Or is it that you trusted what Father Castells told you? A priest from a good family, why doubt someone like that?”

“That’s enough! I won’t tolerate you speaking to me like this.”

“I’ll say it another way, then. Was the death of Iris Alonso an accident?”

“Believe it or not, yes.” Savall looked him in the eyes, trying to inject the assertion with all his authority.

Héctor had no choice but to accept it, but he wasn’t going to give up easily:

“And the dolls? What were those dolls doing floating in the water?”

“I said enough!” There was a pause, loaded with as many threats as questions. “If you want to look over the case, you can find the file. There’s nothing to hide.”

“I’d like to believe you.”

Savall looked at him severely.

“I don’t have to give you an explanation. That little girl drowned in the pool. It was an accident. It’s terrible, but it happens every summer.”

“Do you really have nothing else to say?”

Savall shook his head and Héctor rose from the armchair. He was about to say good-bye, but the super spoke first.

“Héctor. You said we’re friends. As such, can I ask you to accept my word on this case? I could order you to leave it alone, but I prefer to trust in your friendship. I’ve shown my affection for you. Perhaps it’s time you do the same.”

“Are you asking me for a favor? If you are just say so. Say it, and then I’ll know what I should do.”

Savall kept his eyes on the floor.

“Justice is a two-way mirror.” He raised his head slowly and kept speaking. “On one side it reflects the dead and on the other the living. Which of the two seems more important to you?”

Héctor shook his head. Standing there, facing his superior, he looked at this man who had helped him at times of need, and searched within himself for the gratitude he owed him, the trust he’d always inspired in him.

“Justice is a vague concept, Lluís, we agree on that. I prefer to talk of truth because of that. There’s only one truth, for the living and the dead. And that’s all I came looking for, but I see I’m not going to get it.”

Standing in front of the lift, Héctor realized he’d left that house with a bad taste in his mouth and he seriously considered knocking on the door, entering and starting the conversation all over again. His hand was on the doorbell when his mobile rang and his priorities changed immediately. It was Martina Andreu and she was ringing to inform him that his landlady, Carmen, had been assaulted in her home. The lift had come, but he hadn’t waited for it: he ran downstairs and took a taxi to Hospital del Mar.

If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, it was clear that the four ready-made dishes Leire had bought from a deli weren’t going to make Tomás fall at her feet in devotion. While she watched him chew the reheated croquettes half-heartedly, Leire almost took pity on him. He’d answered the phone with a deep voice that indicated that the drinks with colleagues had lasted until the early hours, and he’d reluctantly agreed to come to her house to eat. Now he was forcing himself to appear awake and hungry, not realizing that the dessert awaiting him was going to be more difficult to swallow than anything that had gone before.

“How was last night?” asked Tomás, while he wavered between taking another croquette or an empanadilla glistening with oil. He opted to drink some water.

“Rather hard. A dead girl. In the bathtub of her house.” “Suicide?”

“We don’t know yet,” she said in a tone that hoped to close the subject. “Listen, I’m sorry to have woken you before. . but we have to talk.”

“OK, this sounds ominous.” He smiled at her. He moved the plate off the table with a face of disgust. “I’m not very hungry.”

She was, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite until she had got the weight oppressing her off her chest. For the last time she recalled María’s advice. What would she gain by telling him? She could end it with him, here and now, tell him she’d met someone else, and this guy would happily get on with his life, not knowing that she was carrying his child. He’d find someone to take on a cruise and he’d soon forget those half-dozen wild fucks. Maybe he’d call her again some day, but she wouldn’t answer. She let out a sigh. Why the hell did she need to be so honest? She’d never been able to lie, not to herself, nor anyone. Lies came to her, but when the moment to speak them arrived, something inside her turned them back into the truth.

And after all, she told herself, she wasn’t asking anything of him: no money or responsibility. The baby had been created by both of them, but it was she, and only she, who had decided that the pregnancy should continue. He could leave and never come looking for her again. That idea, the feasibility that this might happen, pained her a little more than she was willing to admit. Then she realized he was saying something to her, and she came back to reality.