Antonio Hill - The Summer of Dead Toys

“She was as evil as him,” replied Glòria with hatred.

“No, Glòria, they weren’t evil. They might have been young, mistaken, spoiled, but they weren’t evil. The only evil person here is you. And your biggest punishment won’t be jail but being separated from your daughter. But believe me, Natàlia deserves a better mother.”

Enric Castells watched the scene dumbfounded. He couldn’t even say a word when Héctor arrested his wife, read her her rights and steered her toward the door. If his heart could have moved at will, it would have stopped that very instant.

Héctor left the station at around half past ten that night and knew that, although he didn’t feel like it at all, he should return to his flat. He’d gone more than thirty-six hours without sleep; he was conscious of the nicotine filling his lungs, his empty stomach and fuzzy head. He needed to wake up a little, then take a long shower: get rid of tension, regain strength.

The city seemed muffled that warm Sunday night. Even the few cars that were circulating appeared to be doing so slowly, lazily, as if the drivers wanted to prolong the last throes of the weekend. Little by little Héctor, who had started walking at a brisk pace, began to keep time with the slow rhythm ruling the streets. He would have given anything to stifle his mind as well, to stem the flow of unbidden images. He knew from experience that it was a question of time, that these faces which now seemed unforgettable would sooner or later fade through the drain of memory. There were some, however, he’d prefer not to forget for the moment: Eduard Rovira’s shocked, miserable face, for example. Despite the threats of jail that he himself had made, he knew it would be difficult to make him answer for his actions before the courts. But at least, he told himself, he’d have to put up with the shame of having been found out and the contempt of those around him. Héctor planned to make sure of that personally and as soon as possible: guys like Edu didn’t deserve even the slightest compassion.

He took a deep breath. He had other things to do the following day. Speak to Joana and say good-bye, drop in at the hospital to see Carmen. . And apologize to Savall. Maybe his behavior in Iris’s case years before hadn’t been exemplary, but his motives hadn’t been selfish; rather the contrary. In any case, he had no right to set himself up as judge and jury. That he left to people like Father Castells. Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow I’ll sort all that out. That night he could do no more. He’d made one call from the station: to Agent Castro to inform her that her intuition was correct. He owed her. After all, if it hadn’t been for her, this case might never have been solved. She was good, he thought. Very good. He didn’t spend a long time on the phone because he realized she wasn’t alone. In the background he suddenly heard a masculine voice asking something.

“I won’t bother you any longer-we’ll talk tomorrow,” he said as he wished her good-bye.

“OK. But we have to celebrate it, all right? And this time I’ll pay.”

There was a brief pause, one of those moments in which the silence seems to mean something. But, after the usual goodbyes, both had hung up.

Standing before a red light he took his mobile out again to see if there was any message from Ruth. It was almost eleven; perhaps they were still en route. It was almost a month since he’d seen Guillermo, and as he crossed the street he told him