Читать книгу The Invisible Guardian - Долорес Редондо, Dolores Redondo - Страница 20

Amaia could hear James and Jonan’s voices mingling with the omnipresent murmur of the television as they chatted in Aunt Engrasi’s little living room. It sounded like they were sitting separately from the six old ladies who were making a real din as they played poker at a hexagonal table covered with green baize that wouldn’t be out of place in a casino. Her aunt had had it brought all the way from Bordeaux so that honour and a few euros could be gambled on it each afternoon. When they saw her in the doorway, the two men moved away from the gaming table and came over to her. James gave her a quick kiss as he took her hand and led her to the kitchen.

‘Jonan’s waiting for you, he needs to talk to you. I’ll leave you alone.’

The deputy inspector came forward and handed her a brown envelope.

‘Chief, the report on the samples has arrived from Zaragoza, I thought you’d want to see it as soon as possible,’ he said, looking round Engrasi’s enormous kitchen. ‘I thought places like this didn’t exist anymore.’

‘You’re right, they don’t, believe me,’ she replied, pulling a sheet of paper out of the envelope. ‘This is … enlightening. Listen, Jonan, the hairs we found on the bodies come from wild boar, sheep, foxes and, although they’re still waiting for confirmation on this, possibly a bear, although that’s not conclusive; furthermore, the epithelial fragments we found on the string are, wait for it, goatskin.’

‘Goatskin?’

‘Yes, Jonan, yes, we’ve got Noah’s fucking ark here, I’m almost surprised they haven’t found elephant snot and whale sperm …’

‘Any human traces?’

‘Nothing human; no hair or fluids, nothing. What do you think our friends the forest rangers would say if they could see this?’

‘They would say there’s nothing human because it isn’t a human. It’s a basajaun.’

‘In my opinion, that guy’s an idiot. As he himself explained, basajauns are supposed to be peaceful creatures, protectors of the life of the forest … He said himself that a basajaun saved his life, so you tell me how that fits in with our story so far.’

Jonan looked at her, weighing up her comment.

‘Just because the basajaun was there doesn’t mean he killed the girls, it’s more likely the opposite: as the protector of the forest, it’s logical that he would feel responsible, insulted and provoked by the presence of this predator.’

Amaia looked at him in surprise.

‘Logical? … You’re just having a laugh about all this, aren’t you?’ Jonan smiled. ‘You love all this rubbish about the basajaun, don’t deny it.’

‘Only the bits that don’t involve dead girls. But you know better than anybody that it’s not rubbish, chief, and I speak with authority, since I’m an archaeologist and anthropologist as well as a police officer.’

‘That’s rich. OK then, let’s hear your explanation: why do I know better than anybody?’

‘Because you were born and grew up here. Surely you’re not going to tell me you weren’t brought up on these stories? They’re not nonsense, they form part of the culture and history of the Basque Country and Navarra, and we mustn’t forget that what is now considered mythology was originally a religion.’

‘Well don’t forget that in 1610 in this very valley, in the name of the most extreme forms of religion, dozens of women were persecuted and condemned and died on the fires of the auto-da-fé as a result of beliefs as ridiculous as this one, which have, fortunately, been left behind by evolution.’

He shook his head, giving Amaia a glimpse of the knowledge hidden behind his deceptively modest title of deputy inspector.

‘It’s well known that religious fervour and fear fed by legends and ignorant peasants did a great deal of damage, but you can’t deny that it constituted one of the most overwhelming belief systems in recent history, chief. A hundred years ago, or one hundred and fifty at the most, it was unusual to find someone who claimed they didn’t believe in witches, sorgiñas, belagiles, basajauns, the tartalo and, most importantly, in Mari, the goddess, genius, mother, guardian of the harvests and livestock, whose whims could make the sky thunder and cause hailstorms that left the town suffering the most awful famines. It reached a point where more people believed in witches than in the Holy Trinity, and this didn’t escape the notice of the Church, which saw how its faithful would leave after Mass only to continue observing the ancient rituals that had formed part of their families’ lives since time immemorial. And the ones who waged all-out war on the old beliefs were the half-crazed obsessives like Pier de Lancré, the Inquisitor of Bayonne, who managed to reverse the balance of belief through their madness. What had always formed part of the people’s beliefs suddenly became something damned, to be persecuted, the object of absurd denunciations which, in most cases, were made in the hope that anyone who collaborated with the Inquisition would be free of suspicion themselves. But before this madness, the old religion had been an integral part of the inhabitants of the Pyrenees for hundreds of years without causing the slightest problem. It even coexisted with Christianity without significant issues, until intolerance and madness made their appearance. I think that our society could do with reclaiming some of the old values.’

Impressed by these words from the normally rather introvert deputy inspector, Amaia said, ‘Jonan, madness and intolerance always make their appearance in every society, and you seem like you’ve just been talking with my Aunt Engrasi …’

‘No, I haven’t, but I’d love to. Your husband told me that she reads cards and that sort of thing.’

‘Yes … and that sort of thing. You stay away from my aunt,’ said Amaia with a smile, ‘your head’s buzzing as it is.’

Jonan laughed without taking his eyes off the roast that was sitting next to the oven waiting for its final browning before dinner.

‘Speaking of buzzing heads, do you have any idea where Montes is?’

The deputy inspector was about to reply when he was overcome by a fit of discretion and bit his lip and dropped his gaze. His expression did not escape Amaia’s notice.

‘Jonan, we’re conducting the most important investigation of our lives here, there’s a lot riding on this case. Reputation, honour, and, most importantly, getting that rat off the streets and making sure he doesn’t do what he’s already done to those girls to anybody else. I appreciate your sense of solidarity, but Montes is a bit of a loose cannon and his behaviour could seriously interfere with the investigation. I know how you feel, because I feel the same. I still don’t know what to do about it, and of course I haven’t reported him, but much as it hurts me, much as I respect Fermín Montes, I won’t allow his flaky behaviour to prejudice the work of so many professionals who are slogging their guts out, ruining their eyesight and losing sleep over this. Now, Jonan, tell me: what do you know about Montes?’

‘Well, chief, I agree with you, and you already know my loyalty lies with you; if I haven’t said anything before it’s because it seemed to me to be something of a personal nature …’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

‘At lunch time today I saw him eating at the Antxitonea restaurant … with one of your sisters,’ he finished in a mumbled rush.

‘With his sister?’ she said in surprise.

‘No, with your sister.’

‘My sister? My sister Rosaura?’

‘No, the other one, with your sister Flora.’

‘With Flora? Did they see you?’

‘No; you know it has a semi-circular bar that runs from the entrance and goes back towards the entrance to the pelota court; I was by the window with Iriarte, but I saw them come in. I was going over to say hello but then they went into the dining room and it didn’t seem appropriate for me to follow them. When we left half an hour later I saw through the window into the bar that they had ordered and were about to eat.’

Jonan Etxaide had never let rain intimidate him. In fact, walking in a downpour without an umbrella was one of his favourite things and, in Pamplona, he would go for a walk with his anorak hood pulled up whenever he could, the only one walking slowly as everyone else hurriedly fled to the nearest cafés or lined up under buildings’ treacherous eaves which dripped huge drops on them, making them even wetter. He walked the streets of Elizondo admiring the smooth curtain of water that seemed to fall across the roads, producing a curious effect like a slanting wedding veil. The car headlights pierced the darkness, drawing watery ghosts in front of them, and the red light of the traffic lights seemed to spill out as if it were a solid, forming a pool of red water at his feet. In contrast with the deserted pavements, there was a steady flow of traffic at that hour, when it seemed like everyone was in a rush to get somewhere, like lovers on their way to a tryst. Jonan walked along Calle Santiago to the square, fleeing the noise with rapid steps, which slowed as soon as he drew near enough to make out the clean outlines of the buildings that immediately transported him to another era.