Dolores Redondo - Offering to the Storm

‘I honestly don’t know,’ said Iriarte. ‘This could be a reaction to losing his daughter, but I can’t rule out the possibility he was trying to prevent a second autopsy, fearing it would confirm his mother-in-law’s suspicions.’ He fell silent, then sighed. ‘I can’t imagine anything more monstrous than harming your own child.’

The clear image of her mother’s face suddenly flashed into Amaia’s mind. She managed to thrust it aside only for it to be replaced by another, that of the midwife, Fina Hidalgo, breaking off newly sprouted shoots with a dirty fingernail, stained green: ‘ The families mostly did it themselves; I only helped occasionally when they couldn’t bring themselves to destroy the fruit of their womb, or some such nonsense .’

‘Was the girl normal, Inspector? I mean, did she suffer from brain damage or any other disabilities.’

Iriarte shook his head. ‘Besides being premature, the doctor assured me she was a normal, healthy child.’

The holding cells at the new police station in Elizondo had no bars; instead, a wall of toughened glass separated them from the reception area, allowing each compartment to be viewed from outside, and making it possible for the occupants to be filmed round the clock. Amaia and Iriarte walked along the corridor outside the cells, all of them empty save for one. As they approached the glass, they could see a man crouched on the floor at the back of the cell between the sink and the toilet. His arms were looped around his knees, his head lowered. Iriarte switched on the intercom.

‘Valentín Esparza.’

The man looked up.

‘Inspector Salazar would like to ask you a few questions.’

He lowered his face again.

‘Valentín,’ Iriarte called out, more firmly this time, ‘we’re coming in. No need to get agitated, just stay calm.’

Amaia leaned towards Iriarte. ‘I’ll go in alone, I’m in plain clothes, I’m a woman, it’s less intimidating …’

Iriarte withdrew to the adjacent room, which was set up so that he could see and hear everything that went on.

Amaia entered the cell and stood facing Esparza. After a few seconds, she asked: ‘May I sit down?’

He looked at her, thrown by the question.

‘What?’

‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ she repeated, pointing to a wooden bench along the wall that doubled as a bed. Asking permission was a sign of respect; she wasn’t treating him as a prisoner, or a suspect.

He waved a hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, sitting down. ‘At this time of day, I’m already exhausted. I have a baby too – a little boy. He’s five months old. I know that you lost your baby girl yesterday.’ The man raised his pale face and looked straight at her. ‘How old was she?’

‘Four months,’ he said in a hoarse voice.

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

He swallowed hard, eyes downcast.

‘Today was supposed to be my day off, you know. And when I arrived I found this mess. Why don’t you tell me what happened?’

He sat up, motioning with his chin towards the camera behind the glass, and the spotlight illuminating the cell. His face looked serious, in pain, but not mistrustful.

‘Haven’t your colleagues told you?’

‘I’d like to hear it from you. I’m more interested in your version.’

He took his time. A less experienced interrogator might have assumed he had clammed up, but Amaia simply waited.

‘I was taking my daughter’s body away.’

Amaia noted the use of the word body; he was acknowledging that he had been carrying a corpse, not a child.

‘Where to?’

‘Where to?’ he asked, bewildered. ‘Nowhere, I just … I just wanted to have her a bit longer.’

‘You said you were taking her away, that you were taking her body away, and they arrested you next to your car. Where were you going?’

He remained silent.

She tried a different tack.

‘It’s amazing how much having a baby changes your life. There’s so much to do, so many demands on you. My boy gets colic every night after his last feed; sometimes he cries for as long as two or three hours. All I can do is walk round the house trying to calm him. I understand how that can drive some people crazy.’

Esparza appeared to nod sympathetically.

‘Is that what happened?’

‘What?’

‘Your mother-in-law claims you went to her house early in the morning.’

He started to shake his head.

‘And that she saw your car drive away …’

‘My mother-in-law is mistaken.’ His hostility was palpable. ‘She can’t tell one car from another. It was probably a couple of kids who pulled into the driveway hoping to find a quiet place to … you know.’

‘Yes, except that her dogs didn’t bark, so it must have been someone they knew. What’s more, your mother-in-law told my colleague about a mark on the girl’s forehead, which wasn’t there when she put her to bed. She also said she was woken up by a noise, and when she looked out of the window she saw your car driving off.’

‘That bitch would say anything to get me into trouble. She’s never liked me. You can ask my wife, she’ll tell you: we went out to dinner and afterwards we went straight home.’

‘My colleagues have spoken to her, but she couldn’t help much. She didn’t contradict your story, she simply doesn’t remember anything.’

‘I know, she had too much to drink. She isn’t used to it, what with the pregnancy …’

‘It must have been difficult for you this last year.’ He looked at her, puzzled. ‘I mean, the risky pregnancy, forced rest, no sex; then the baby is born premature, two months in hospital, no sex; at last she comes home, more worries, caring for the baby, and still no sex …’

He gave a faint smile.

‘I know from experience,’ she went on. ‘And on the day of your anniversary, you leave the baby with your mother-in-law, you go out to a nice restaurant, and after a few glasses of wine your wife is legless. You take her home, put her to bed, and … no sex. The night is young. You drive over to your mother-in-law’s house to check that everything’s all right. You arrive to find her asleep on the sofa, and that irritates you. Entering the girl’s room, you suddenly realise the child is a burden, she is ruining your life, things were much better before she came along … and you make a decision.’

He sat perfectly still, hanging on her every word.

‘So, you do what you have to do, only your mother-in-law wakes up and sees you driving away.’

‘Like I told you: my mother-in-law is a fucking bitch.’

‘I know how you feel – mine is too. But yours is also very astute. She noticed the mark on the girl’s forehead. Yesterday, it was barely visible, but today the pathologist is in no doubt that the mark was made by an object having been pressed into her skin.’

He heaved a deep sigh.

‘You noticed it too, that’s why you tried to cover it with make-up. And to ensure no one else would see it, you ordered the coffin to be sealed. But your bitch of a mother-in-law is like a dog with a bone, isn’t she? So you decided to take the body to prevent anyone asking questions. Your wife, perhaps? Someone saw you two quarrelling in the funeral parlour.’

‘You’ve got it all wrong. That was because she insisted on cremating the girl.’

‘And you were against it? You wanted a burial? Is that why you took her?’

Something appeared to dawn on him.

‘What will happen to the body now?’

Amaia was intrigued by Esparza’s choice of words; relatives didn’t usually refer to their loved one as a body or corpse, but rather as the girl, the baby, or … She realised she didn’t know his child’s name.

‘The pathologist will perform a second autopsy, after which the body will be released to the family.’