The Legacy of the Bones. Dolores Redondo

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СКАЧАТЬ aroma of mushroom and truffle from the crispy golden parcel was making her stomach rumble.

      ‘Very well,’ she said. They would dine if he insisted, but they’d do so in record time.

      They ate the first course in silence, Amaia realising how ravenous she had been.

      The waiter removed the plates and replaced them with two more.

      ‘Pearly soup with shellfish, seafood and seaweed,’ he said before withdrawing.

      ‘One of my favourites,’ said Markina.

      ‘And mine,’ she echoed.

      ‘Do you eat at this restaurant?’ he asked, trying to conceal his surprise.

      A cretin and arrogant with it, she thought.

      ‘Yes, but we usually reserve a more intimate table.’

      ‘I like this one, looking at the other diners …’

      And being looked at, thought Amaia.

      ‘Browsing the library,’ he explained. ‘Luis Rodero has a fine collection of books on cuisine from all over the world.’

      Amaia glanced at the spines of a few, among them The Challenge of Spanish Cuisine, a thick, dark volume by El Bulli, as well as the splendid cover of Spanish Cuisine by Cándido.

      The waiter placed a fish dish before them.

      ‘Hake in velouté with crab jelly, hints of vanilla, pepper and lime.’

      Amaia tucked in, only half able to savour the subtleties of the dish between glancing at the time and listening to Markina making small talk.

      When at last the table was cleared, Amaia declined dessert and ordered coffee. The judge did the same, but with visible reluctance. She waited until the coffee was on the table before once more producing the documents and placing them in front of him.

      She saw him pull a face, but went ahead. She sat up straight, instantly sure of herself, on her own ground. Turning her chair slightly to one side so that she could see the door, she felt relaxed for the first time since she’d arrived.

      ‘During the autopsy, we found clues indicating that the Lucía Aguirre case is probably related to at least one other murder that took place a year ago near Lekaroz,’ she said, picking out one of the files to show to him. ‘Johana Márquez was raped and strangled by her stepfather. He confessed to the crime when he was arrested, but the girl’s body presented the same type of mutilation as that of Lucía Aguirre: amputation of the forearm at the elbow. Both Johana Márquez’s and Lucía Aguirre’s killers took their own lives and left behind identical messages.’

      She showed Markina the photographs of the wall in Quiralte’s cell and the note Medina had left for her.

      He nodded, his curiosity aroused.

      ‘Do you think the two men knew each other?’

      ‘I doubt it, but we could find out for sure if you authorised an investigation.’

      He looked at her uncertainly.

      ‘There’s something else,’ she said, ‘which might be unrelated, but I’m pursuing a lead that suggests a similar amputation was carried out in a crime that took place nearly three years ago in Logroño. As with these two cases, the murder itself was a messy affair, yet the corpse was subjected to a textbook amputation and the severed limb was nowhere to be found.’

      ‘In all three cases?’ Markina said, alarmed, rifling through the papers.

      ‘Yes, three so far, but I have a hunch there could be more.’

      ‘Explain to me exactly what we’re looking for here. A bizarre fraternity of bungling killers who decide to imitate a macabre procedure they possibly read about in the newspapers?’

      ‘Perhaps, although I don’t think the press gave sufficient details of the amputation to enable someone to imitate it so precisely. In the Johana Márquez case, that information was withheld. What I can confirm is that the perpetrator in Logroño killed himself in his cell, leaving behind the same message on the wall: TARTTALO, with two “t”s. This in itself is noteworthy, because the usual spelling is with one “t”. This leads me to think that their actions are so specific that in themselves they point to a clear identity, the hallmark of a single individual. It’s improbable, to say the least, that the behaviour of these animals would diverge so substantially from the pattern of abusers who kill. The cases I’ve been able to look at tick all the profile boxes: connection to the victim, prolonged abuse, alcoholism or drugs, violent, impulsive personality. The only element that clashed at the crime scenes was the post-mortem amputation of the forearm – the same arm in each case – and the fact that the limb was missing.’

      Markina flicked through one of the reports in his hand.

      ‘I myself questioned Johana Márquez’s stepfather,’ she went on. ‘He denied all knowledge of the severed limb, insisting he had nothing to do with the amputation, despite having confessed to charges of harassment, murder, rape, and necrophilia …’

      Amaia watched Markina, who ran his hand absentmindedly over his chin as he pondered the information with a wistful expression that made him appear older and more attractive. From afar, the waitress who had accompanied her to the table was standing by the lectern at the entrance, also observing him intently.

      ‘So, what do you think?’

      ‘I think we’re looking at an accomplice, a fourth person who could be the link between these three perpetrators and their crimes.’

      Markina remained silent, his eyes moving between the documents and Amaia. For the first time that evening she was beginning to feel truly at ease. Finally, she saw on Markina’s face that familiar expression, which she frequently encountered on the faces of her colleagues as well as her superiors, when putting forward her arguments: interest, the kind of interest that generated questions, a thorough analysis of the facts and theories that would trigger an investigation. Markina’s eyes grew steelier while he was thinking, his undeniably handsome face acquiring an air of intelligence that she found extremely attractive. She contemplated the perfect outline of his lips, reflecting that it was no surprise that half the female secretaries in the courtroom were vying for his attention. The thought made her smile, breaking Markina’s concentration.

      ‘What’s so funny?’

      ‘Nothing, sorry,’ she said, smiling again. ‘Honestly, it’s nothing … I was just remembering something. It isn’t important.’

      He looked at her, his curiosity piqued.

      ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.’

      ‘What?’ she replied, slightly taken aback by the observation.

      He continued to stare at her, his expression serious again. She held his gaze for a few seconds then lowered her eyes towards the manila file. She cleared her throat.

      ‘So?’ she said, looking up, in control once more.

      He nodded.

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ