Читать книгу The Legacy of the Bones - Долорес Редондо, Dolores Redondo - Страница 14

Whenever Amaia called a meeting, she tried to make sure she’d be the first to arrive. She would remain for a few minutes staring through the windows looking out over Pamplona, collecting her thoughts, lulled by the growing murmur of voices behind her. Only Jonan would approach her, quietly, with a mug of coffee, which she always accepted, though it would often be left untouched after she had warmed her hands on it.

When she heard Inspector Iriarte’s voice cheerily greeting the assembled company, she turned to face the room. Accompanying him was Deputy Inspector Zabalza, who nodded and said something under his breath as he sat down next to Iriarte. She waited until they were all seated, and was about to begin talking when the door swung open and the Commissioner entered. He stood with his arms folded, leaning against the wall, offering his apologies before inviting her to carry on.

‘Pretend I’m not here,’ he said.

‘Good morning, everyone. As I’m sure you’ve already gathered, the aim of this meeting is to establish a plan of action for investigating the desecrations that have been taking place at the church in Arizkun. The results of preliminary tests carried out on the bones show they belong to a human infant of less than a year old, but otherwise don’t shed much light on the matter. Dr San Martín will keep us informed of his progress as and when further results come in, but in the meantime I want to begin by looking at what constitutes an act of desecration and why this particular case falls unmistakably into that category …’ She got to her feet and walked over behind Deputy Inspector Etxaide.

‘Desecration is the act of depriving something of its sacred character, despoiling and treating with contempt objects that should be respected. Based on this premise, and bearing in mind these acts were perpetrated in a place of worship and involved the use of human remains, we would seem to be dealing with an act of desecration. However, before deciding how we take the case forward, there are a few things worth clarifying. As with every type of criminal behaviour, desecration takes many forms. Understanding the mechanics of desecration will give us a profile of the sort of person we’re looking for.

‘The most common type of desecration is vandalistic in nature, generally associated with urban gangs and marginal groups, who express their hatred of society by attacking its sacred and religious symbols. They might choose to attack a monument or a library, to burn a flag or smash the windows of a large department store. This type of desecration is the easiest to identify, because it shows clear signs of irrational violence.

‘The second type concerns people who desecrate churches and cemeteries, gangs or groups of criminals whose sole aim is to steal valuable objects, to strip the church of microphones, sound or lighting equipment, anything made of silver or gold, tabernacles, candlesticks, chalices, even gravediggers’ tools. In the most heinous cases, they may steal jewellery or even gold teeth from corpses. Recently, a gang was arrested for stealing the platinum frames from the photographs of the deceased that adorn many graves. Some of these delinquents admit to staging their crimes to look like satanic rituals in order to throw the police off the scent, directing the blame at sects and spreading fear among the locals. In such cases, it’s important not to be duped, to remember that satanists aren’t usually interested in pocketing a priest’s mobile phone. And this brings us to the third type of desecration, the esoteric kind. Jonan …’

Jonan stood up and walked over to the whiteboard.

‘These are magic rituals that derive from various cultures. The majority of these so-called desecrations are in fact religious rituals used in santería, Haitian voodoo, Brazilian candomblé or the Cuban palo mayombé,’ he said, writing the words on the whiteboard.

‘These rituals are associated with death and spiritism and are habitually performed in cemeteries rather than in churches and temples. Only satanists choose places of Christian worship, because besides being devil-worshippers, their aim is to offend God. Satanic desecrations are rare, although at yesterday’s meeting with the Archbishop it was suggested that such acts are often hushed up in order to deter copycat crimes. Most frequently we find sacred symbols being soiled with faeces, vomit, urine, animal blood, and ashes, with the aim of creating a spectacle: decapitated saints, virgins with phallic symbols scrawled on them, inverted crucifixes, that kind of thing. A few years ago, a group of satanists broke down the door of a tiny chapel at A Lanzada in Galicia with an axe. They chopped the hands off a statue of the Virgin that was much revered in the region and tossed them over a cliff. This is a typical example of the theatrical gesture: they could have simply forced open the door, which was sturdy but had an ancient lock and no alarm; they could have taken away the whole statue, but what they did was much more spectacular and offensive.’

Amaia took the floor again.

‘Lastly we have desecration as social protest, or so the perpetrators claim. I had the opportunity to study this type of behaviour close up while working alongside the FBI in the United States. This consists of vandalising graves, digging up bodies of specific people and performing amputations and mutilations, the sole aim of which is to shock. Individuals who perform such acts harbour strong feelings of hatred towards society, and profilers consider them extremely dangerous, because desecration is simply a starting point for their actions, which may go on to target living people. A well-known case occurred when a police officer was killed in an explosion during a raid on a safe house in Leganés where terrorists were hiding out after the 11-M atrocity in Madrid. After the funeral, a group dug up his body, mutilated it and then set it alight. It is worth pointing out that in the Muslim faith, fire signifies the total annihilation of the dead person’s soul, making their resurrection to eternal life impossible.

‘Studies of criminal behaviour consider this type of conduct as a stage of psychopathy. Subjects often have a history of torturing animals, arson, bed-wetting, extreme backwardness at school, abuse … There is often a significant psychosexual element, because of the difficulties they have in relating normally to the opposite sex.

‘To begin with, I must admit that I favoured the vandalistic theory – and I haven’t entirely ruled it out. However, there are aspects of the history of Arizkun – for those of you unfamiliar with it, Jonan has prepared a report explaining the possible historical motive – which mean we can’t dismiss the possibility that these attacks are a form of social protest, albeit in an embryonic phase.

‘Another kind of desecration which we have ruled out is art theft. Perpetrators enter a church they have previously identified, causing minimum damage, and remove only the most valuable objects. These people are usually working for someone else, are never opportunistic or disorganised.’

‘Good,’ the Commissioner chimed in. ‘Now, tell me what you’ve done so far?’

Iriarte opened his notebook and read out loud:

‘For the moment we have a round-the-clock patrol car outside the church; that seems to have gone some way towards reassuring the locals; a few of them have been over to thank the officers. No further incidents have taken place.’

‘Have you questioned people living in the immediate vicinity?’ asked Amaia.

‘Yes, but, even though Arizkun is quiet as the grave at night, no one saw or heard anything. Chopping up the pew with an axe must have made quite a din.’

‘That church has solid walls, which would have muffled the blows, not to mention the walls of the houses themselves. And on a cold winter night, people’s doors and windows would have been firmly shut.’

Iriarte nodded. ‘We’ve also looked into local teenage gangs with antisocial tendencies, but drawn a blank. On the whole, young people in Arizkun are pretty laid-back, a bit nationalistic, but that’s about it. The majority, practising or not, see the church as a symbol of the village.’

‘What about the issue of the agotes?’ asked Amaia.

Iriarte sighed. ‘That’s an extremely sensitive subject, chief. And one most people in Arizkun prefer not to talk about. I can assure you that, until recently, an outsider coming to Arizkun asking about them would encounter an impenetrable wall of silence.’

‘There are a couple of odd stories about that,’ Zabalza chimed in. ‘I heard that some years ago, a well-known author arrived in Arizkun intending to write about the agotes, but was forced to abandon his project, because everyone he asked played dumb, or pretended they’d never heard of them. They all assured him the agotes were a myth and no one believed they had really existed. Apparently the novelist Camilo José Cela was interested in them too, and was given the same treatment.’

‘Those are my people you’re talking about,’ said Amaia, smiling. ‘Things must be different among the younger generation. They’re usually proud of their roots, but don’t feel the guilt the older generations carry around. As I was saying to Jonan yesterday, the story of the agotes is similar to that of the Jews or Muslims in Spain; people were treated differently because of their religion, gender, ancestry, wealth: the same as now, more or less … Even noblewomen were forced to marry or confined in convents.’

‘You’re probably right. For most young people, anything that happened before the civil war is prehistoric. Nevertheless, we need to avoid treading on people’s toes.’

‘We will,’ Amaia assured him. ‘This afternoon I’m heading off to Elizondo for a few days to take charge of the investigation.’

The Commissioner nodded, so she went on:

‘Jonan is going to look at anti-Catholic action groups and everything relating to the agotes, as well as the desecrated objects. I’d like someone to arrange for me to meet separately with the parish priest and the chaplain at Arizkun: we can’t rule out the possibility that this is an act of revenge against one of them. Don’t forget the recent theft of the Codex Calixtinus, which turned out to be part of a personal vendetta against the dean of Santiago Cathedral by a former employee. In other words, before we start developing any historical or mystical theories, we should do a bit of digging on the people involved, as we would with any other case. I have a few ideas I want to follow up. That’s all for now,’ she said, rising and following the Commissioner out of the room. ‘See you there tomorrow morning.’

The report, which had kept her awake until three in the morning, was lying on the Commissioner’s desk. She examined the cover for any sign that he had read it.

‘Sir, have you had a chance to look at my report?’

The Commissioner turned and gazed at her pensively for a few moments before responding.

‘Yes, I have, Salazar. It’s exhaustive.’

Amaia scanned his inscrutable face, wondering whether for him exhaustive was a good or a bad thing.

After a brief silence, to her astonishment he added:

‘Exhaustive and extremely interesting. I can understand why all this caught your attention. I can also see why Lieutenant Padua might consider it merits further investigation, but I agree with his superiors. If you’d brought me this report a week ago, I would have told you exactly what they told him. The similarities are somewhat far-fetched and could be a coincidence. The fact that prisoners communicate amongst themselves or with people who admire their crimes is commoner than people think.’

He broke off and sat down facing her.

‘Of course, yesterday’s events cast a different light on things. Quiralte directly involved you by deciding to tell you where the body was. I’ve given it a lot of thought, but I’m still not sure. These cases are all officially closed. The killers are all dead, by their own hand. Separate cases, in different provinces, run by different forces, and you’re asking me to open an investigation.’

Amaia remained silent, holding his gaze.

‘I have faith in you, Salazar, I trust your instinct. I know there must be something there to have aroused your interest. However, I don’t consider there’s enough evidence to authorise opening an official investigation, which would only stir up rivalries between the different forces.’

He fell silent, while Amaia held her breath.

‘Unless there’s something else you aren’t telling me …’

Amaia smiled. Not for nothing was he commissioner. She slipped the plastic sheath out of her pocket and handed it to him.

‘Jasón Medina was carrying this envelope the day he killed himself in the courthouse toilets.’

He took it from her, examining the contents through the plastic. ‘It’s addressed to you,’ he said, surprised. He opened his desk drawer, searching for gloves.

‘You can touch it, it’s been tested for fingerprints – they didn’t find a single one.’

The Commissioner took the envelope out of the plastic sheath and read the card inside before looking up at Amaia.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m authorising an investigation based on the fact that the two murderers addressed themselves exclusively to you.’

Amaia nodded.

‘Do your best not to tread on any toes – and before you proceed you’ll need to secure Markina’s blessing, although I doubt he’ll be a problem. He seems to have the greatest respect for you as a detective. Why, only this morning he called to discuss the Aguirre case and was singing your praises. I don’t want any run-ins with the other forces, so I’m asking you to be polite and treat them with kid gloves.’ He paused for effect. ‘And in return, I expect to see some progress on the desecrations at Arizkun.’

Amaia pulled a weary face.

‘I know your thoughts on the matter, but it’s imperative we solve the case as soon as possible. The Mayor was on the phone earlier. He sounded extremely concerned.’

‘I’m sure the culprits will turn out to be some young tearaways.’

‘Well then, arrest them and give me some names; that’ll get the Archbishop off my back. They’re in a panic over this and, while it’s true that they’re inclined to exaggerate when it comes to Church affairs, I’ve not seen them this stirred up over other, more sensational cases of desecration.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll do all I can. As you know, we have a patrol car stationed outside the church. That should reassure them, and maybe they’ll stop pestering you.’

‘I hope so,’ he said.

Amaia stood up and walked towards the door.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Hold on, Salazar, there’s one more thing.’

Amaia stopped in her tracks and waited.

‘It’s been a year since Inspector Montes was suspended after what happened during your investigation of the basajaun murders. Having looked into the matter, Internal Affairs recommend he be reinstated. As I’m sure you’re aware, that will only happen if the other officers involved – in this case, yourself and Inspector Iriarte – give Montes a favourable report.’

Amaia kept quiet, waiting to see where the Commissioner was going with this.

‘Things have changed. Then you were the detective leading the investigation, now you’re head of the murder squad. If Inspector Montes is reinstated, he’ll be under your command like everyone else. I have the last word over whether to assign him to your team or not, but your team is one short, so if you don’t want Montes, I’ll have to assign another permanent officer.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said frostily.

The Commissioner sensed her animosity.

‘I’m not trying to influence your decision, Inspector, I’m merely keeping you informed.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ she replied.

‘You can go now.’

Amaia closed the door behind her and whispered:

‘No, of course you aren’t.’

The Navarre Institute of Forensic Medicine was deserted at midday. Between showers, a hesitant sun shone on surfaces glistening from the recent rain; the number of spaces in the car park showed it was lunchtime. Even so, Amaia wasn’t surprised to see two women throw away the cigarettes they had been smoking and walk over to her as soon as they saw her. She found herself resorting to a memory cue, as she struggled with their names: ‘Lazaro’s sisters’.

‘Marta, María,’ she greeted them. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she said, knowing full well that there was no obvious place for family members to go, and that they would either remain in the doorway or in the tiny waiting room until their loved one was released. ‘You’d be better off at home, I’ll let you know as soon as the …’ She always found the word autopsy, with its sinister connotations, impossible to pronounce in the presence of family members. It was just another word; they all knew why they were there; some of them even used it themselves. But, knowing what it entailed, for her it was as painful as the scalpel making a Y-shaped incision on the corpse of their loved one. ‘… As soon as they’ve finished all the tests,’ Amaia said.

‘Inspector.’ It was the older sister who spoke, Marta or María, she could never be sure. ‘We realise there has to be an autopsy because our mother was the victim of a violent crime, but they told us today that it could be a few more days before they release her … well, her body.’

The younger sister burst out crying. As she attempted to stifle her tears, she gasped as if she were choking.

‘Why?’ demanded the older sister. ‘They already know who killed her. They know it was that animal. But now he’s dead and, God forgive me, I’m glad, because he died like the filthy rat that he was.’

Tears started to stream down her face too. She wiped them away furiously, for unlike her sister’s, they were tears of rage.

‘… And yet at the same time I wish he was still alive, locked up, rotting in prison. Can you understand that? I wish I could strangle him with my bare hands, I wish I could do everything to him that he did to our mother.’

Amaia nodded. ‘And even then, you wouldn’t feel any better.’

‘I don’t want to feel better, Inspector. I doubt anything in the world would make me feel good right now. I just wish I could hurt him, it’s as simple as that.’

‘Don’t talk that way,’ her sister implored.

Amaia laid her hand on the angry woman’s shoulder.

‘No, you wouldn’t. I know you think that’s what you want – and to some extent it’s normal, but you couldn’t do anything like that to anyone, I know you couldn’t.’

The woman stared at her. Amaia could see she was close to breaking down.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because to do the things he did, you’d need to be like him.’

The woman clasped her hands to her mouth; from the horror on her face, Amaia saw that she had understood. Her younger sister, who had appeared the more fragile and defenceless of the two, placed one arm around her older sister, and encountered no resistance as with her free hand she gently tilted the woman’s head on to her own shoulder, in a gesture of reassurance and affection which Amaia was sure she had learned from their mother.

‘We assumed we’d get her back after the autopsy. Why is it taking longer?’

‘Our mother lay abandoned for five months in a frozen field. Now we need time with her, time to say our goodbyes, to bury her.’

Amaia studied them, assessing how resilient they were. Against all the odds, and despite evidence to the contrary, relatives of missing people show great resilience, which is nourished by the belief that their loved ones are still alive. But the moment the body appears, all the energy that has been keeping them going collapses like a sandcastle in a storm.

‘All right, now listen to me, but bear in mind that what I’m about to tell you relates to an ongoing investigation, so I’m counting on you to be discreet.’

The two women looked at her expectantly.

‘I’ve been honest with you from the start, from the day you asked me to authorise a search for your mother because you were convinced she hadn’t disappeared voluntarily. I’ve kept you informed every step of the way. And now I need you to carry on trusting me. We’ve established that Quiralte killed your mother. However, it’s possible he wasn’t the only person involved.’

Their anticipation gave way to astonishment.

‘You mean he had an accomplice?’

‘I’m not sure yet, but this case resembles another one I worked on in an advisory role, where a possible second culprit was also suspected. A different force was in charge of that investigation and so comparing the different elements and evidence will be a more complex and time-consuming process. We’ve been given the green light, but this could take hours, possibly days, I can’t say for sure. I know this has been very hard for you, but your mother is no longer in a frozen field, she’s here. And the reason why she’s here is so that she can help us to solve the crime of which she herself was the victim. I’ll be in there with her, and I promise you that no one respects the smallest detail she might be able to tell us more than these pathologists. Believe me, they are the voice of the victims.’

She could tell from the look of acceptance on their faces that she had convinced them. Whilst she didn’t need their consent, there was nothing to be gained from having irate relatives getting in the way of her work.

‘At least we’ll be able to hold a Mass for her soul,’ murmured Marta.

‘Yes. That’ll do you good. You know she would have liked that.’ Amaia proffered a firm hand, which both women shook. ‘I’ll do my best to speed things up. I promise to call you.’

Amaia swapped her coat for a gown and entered the autopsy room. Dr San Martín, stooped over a stainless steel worktop, was showing something on the computer to a couple of assistants.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Or should that be good afternoon?’

‘For us it’s good afternoon, we’ve already had lunch,’ replied one of the assistants.

Amaia suppressed the look of disbelief spreading across her face. She had a fairly strong stomach, but the idea of those three eating before an autopsy seemed … improper.

San Martín started to pull on his gloves.

‘So, Inspector, which of the two do you want us to start on?’

‘Which of what two?’ she asked, puzzled.

‘Lucía Aguirre,’ he said pointing to the body draped with a sheet on a nearby slab, ‘or Ramon Quiralte,’ he added, signalling a table further away, on which she could make out a large shape still zipped inside a body bag.

Amaia looked at him quizzically.

‘Both autopsies are scheduled for today, so we can start with whichever one you like.’

Amaia walked over to the mound made by Quiralte’s body on the table, unzipped the bag and studied his face. Death had erased any vestige of good looks he might once have possessed. Around his eyes, dark purple spots had formed where small capillary veins had burst from the strain of vomiting. His half-open mouth, frozen in the middle of a spasm, revealed his teeth and the tip of his white-coated tongue, which protruded like a third lip. His swollen lips were covered in acid burns, and still streaked with vomit, which had trickled into his ear and formed rank clots in his hair. Amaia looked over to where the woman lay and shook her head. Only two metres separated victim and executioner; it was quite conceivable they would use the same scalpel to cut open both bodies.

‘He shouldn’t be here,’ she said, thinking out loud.

‘Pardon?’ replied San Martín.

‘He shouldn’t be here … Not with her.’ The assistants stared at her, bemused. ‘Not together,’ she added, gesturing towards Lucía’s corpse.

‘I doubt whether either of them care at this point, don’t you think?’

She realised that, even if she could explain, they wouldn’t understand.

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ she muttered to herself.

‘Right, then, which one do you want first?’

‘I’m not interested in him,’ she replied coldly. ‘Suicide, end of story.’

She zipped up the bag, and Quiralte’s face disappeared.

The pathologist shrugged as he uncovered Lucía Aguirre’s body. Approaching the slab, Amaia came to a halt, bowed her head in a fleeting prayer, then finally looked up. Stripped of her red-and-white pullover, Amaia barely recognised the cheerful woman whose smiling face presided over the entrance to her house. The corpse had been washed, but the multiple blows, scratches, and bruises she had suffered made the woman appear soiled.

‘Doctor,’ said Amaia, moving closer to him, ‘I wanted to ask you a favour. I know you follow strict procedures, but, as you can imagine, what really interests me is the amputation. I managed to get hold of photos of the skeletal remains the Guardia Civil discovered in the cave at Elizondo,’ she said, showing San Martín a thick envelope. ‘This is all they’ve given me so far. What I need you to do is compare the two sections where the bones were cut through. If we could establish a link between this and the Johana Márquez case, Judge Markina would authorise further measures that might enable us to make headway in the case. I’m meeting him later today – I was hoping I could take along something a little more convincing than mere theories.’

San Martín nodded. ‘All right, let’s get started.’

Switching on a powerful lamp above the body, he held a magnifying glass above the severed limb and photographed the lesion. Then he leaned in so close his nose almost touched the mutilated arm.

‘A clean, post-mortem incision. The heart had already stopped, and the blood was clotting. It was made with a serrated object similar to an electric saw, yet different; this is reminiscent of the Johana Márquez case, where the direction of the incision also suggested an electric knife or angle grinder. Since in the Márquez case it was assumed the culprit was the stepfather, no further inquiries were made into the object he might have used; a few tools from the house and his car were examined, but no matches found.’

Amaia lined up the photographs Padua had given her on the negatoscope and switched on the light, while San Martín placed the one the printer had just spat out next to them.

He studied the images at length, rearranging and occasionally superimposing them, giving low, rhythmical grunts that set Amaia’s teeth on edge and brought joking remarks from his assistants.

‘In your opinion, were the incisions made with the same object?’ Amaia asked, interrupting San Martín’s musings.

‘Ah!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now that would be saying a lot. But what I can confirm is that the same technique was used for all of them; they were made by a right-handed person who was very assured and also very strong.’

Amaia gazed at him, wanting more.

San Martín went on, grinning at the glimmer of hope he saw in the inspector’s eye:

‘Although I can confirm that the bones all belonged to adults, without any tissue attached, it’s impossible to pinpoint their exact age or sex from looking at the photos, still less whether these limbs were surgical amputations or taken from a desecrated tomb. It’s obvious at first glance that the incisions resemble one another, that the bones are all forearms … However, in order to be one hundred per cent certain, I’d need to examine the instrument that was used. We could make moulds of the bones themselves to scan and compare them. I’m sorry, Inspector, but that’s the best I can do, based on photographic evidence. It would be different if we had the actual samples.’

‘The Guardia Civil have their own laboratories – that’s where the samples are kept. You know how reticent their top brass is about sharing information. I’ve been saying for years that until we set up an independent criminal investigation unit, with members from all the different forces, including Interpol, working together in the same laboratories, investigations like this one will continue to grope in the dark,’ complained Amaia. ‘Thank heavens for officers like Padua, who are genuinely interested in solving crimes, not in scoring points.’

Amaia walked back to the body, leaning over as San Martín had done to take a closer look at the wound.

The flesh looked withered and cracked, dried out. The skin had a pale, faintly washed-out quality compared to the rest of the body. Seeing the tiny serrations the blade had made on the bone, she suddenly thought she could make out a dark, pointed object embedded in the flesh.

‘Come over here will you, Doctor? What do you think this could be?’ she asked, stepping aside so he could look through the magnifier.

He glanced up, surprised.

‘I didn’t see that. Well done, Salazar,’ he complimented her. ‘I expect it’s a bit of bone that broke off during the amputation,’ he explained, extracting the fragment with a pair of tweezers. He examined the tiny triangle beneath the magnifier before placing it on a tray, where it made a definite metallic tinkle. He carried it swiftly over to the microscope, then raised his eyes with a grin as he made room for her. ‘Inspector Salazar, what we have here is the tooth of a metal saw – the saw used to amputate the victim’s arm. If we make a mock-up from this one tooth, we’ll have a good chance of establishing approximately what type of saw it was. And if you’re clever enough to persuade Judge Markina, we should be able to carry out tests to ascertain whether the same instrument was used on the bones discovered in the cave in Elizondo. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get on with the autopsy,’ he said, handing the tray containing the sample to his assistant, who immediately set to work.