The Invisible Guardian - Dolores Redondo

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he must be using gloves,’ Zabalza chipped in.

      ‘It would seem likely, but sometimes these killers can’t resist the pleasure they get from feeling a life end under their own hands, a feeling that would be deadened by gloves. As a consequence they sometimes end up taking them off, if only at the key moment. Even so, it’s sometimes enough for us.’

      As Amaia had expected, Dr San Martín agreed that Anne had defended herself. Perhaps she had seen something that her predecessors hadn’t, something that had made her suspicious and was enough to prevent her from going to her death submissively. The symptoms of asphyxia were obvious, and it was clear that the killer had tried to use Anne to recreate his fantasy. He had succeeded up to a certain point, because at first glance that crime and all the paraphernalia the killer had used were identical to the previous ones. However, Amaia had the inexplicable impression that the killer hadn’t been at all pleased with the death, that the little girl with her angelic face, who could have been the monster’s masterpiece, had been tougher and more aggressive than the others. And although the killer had made an effort to arrange her with the same care as he had the others, Anne’s face didn’t reflect surprise and vulnerability but rather the fight for her life that she had kept up to the last and a parody of a smile that was actually rather terrifying. Amaia observed some reddish marks that had appeared around her mouth and extended almost as far as her right ear.

      ‘What are those red marks on her face?’

      The technician took a sample using a swab. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as we know for certain, but I would say that it’s …’ she smelled the swab, ‘gloss.’

      ‘What’s gloss?’ asked Zabalza.

      ‘It’s like lipstick, Deputy Inspector, a greasy, shiny lipstick,’ explained Amaia.

      In the course of her time as a homicide inspector she had attended more autopsies than she wanted to remember, and considered that she had more than fulfilled her quota of what I need to do to prove a woman can do this. With that in mind, she didn’t stay to watch the rest. The brutality of the y-shaped incision performed on a corpse is unparalleled by any other surgical procedure. The process, which consisted of removing and weighing the organs and then replacing them in the cavities, was never pleasant, but when the body belonged to a child or a young girl, as in this case, it was unbearable. She knew that it was less to do with the technical, unvarying steps of the autopsy procedure than the inexplicable reasons why a child would be on that steel table, which they ought to be forbidden from as a matter of course. The incongruity of that diminutive little body which barely filled the surface it had ended up on, the explosion of brilliant colours inside it and, most of all, the girl’s small, pale face with tiny drops of water still trapped in her eyelashes acted like clamorous cries to which she could not help but respond.

       9

      Based on the light levels, Amaia guessed it must be about seven in the morning. She woke Jonan, who was asleep under his anorak in the back of the car.

      ‘Good morning, chief. How did it go?’ he asked, rubbing his eyes.

      ‘We’re going back to Elizondo. Has Montes called you?’

      ‘No, I thought he was at the autopsy with you.’

      ‘He didn’t turn up and he’s not answering his phone. I keep getting his voicemail,’ she said, visibly annoyed. Deputy Inspector Zabalza, who had come down to Pamplona in the same car as them climbed into the back seat and cleared his throat.

      ‘Well, Inspector, I’m not sure if I should get involved in this, but I don’t want you to worry. When we left the ravine, Inspector Montes told me he’d have to go and change because he’d arranged to have dinner with someone.’

      ‘To have dinner?’ she couldn’t contain her surprise.

      ‘Yes, he asked whether I was going to Pamplona with you for the autopsy, I said yes and he told me that in that case he’d be less concerned, that he supposed that Deputy Inspector Etxaide would be going too and that everything would be fine if that was the case.’

      ‘Everything would be fine? He was well aware that he should have been here,’ said Amaia furiously, although she immediately regretted making a fool of herself in front of her subordinates.

      ‘I … I’m sorry. From the way he was talking I assumed that you’d agreed to it.’

      ‘Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him later.’

      She wasn’t at all tired in spite of not sleeping. The faces of the three girls stared into the void from the surface of the table. Three very different faces, but made equal in death. She carefully studied the enlargements of the pictures of Carla and Ainhoa she had requested.

      Montes came in silently with two coffees, placed one in front of Amaia and sat down a short distance away. She looked up from the photos for a moment and gave him a penetrating stare until he dropped his gaze. Another five officers from her team were also in the room. She took the photos and slid them towards the centre of the table.

      ‘Well, gentlemen, what do you see in these photos?’

      They all leaned over the table expectantly.

      ‘I’m going to give you a clue.’

      She added Anne’s picture to the other two.

      ‘This is Anne Arbizu, the girl who was found last night. Do you see the pinkish marks that extend from her mouth almost as far as her ear? Well, they’re from lip gloss, a pink, greasy lip gloss that makes the lips look wet. Take another look at the photos.’

      ‘The other girls aren’t wearing any,’ observed Iriarte.

      ‘Exactly, the other girls aren’t wearing any, and I want to know why. They were very pretty and trendy, they had high heels, handbags, mobile phones and perfume. Isn’t it strange that they weren’t wearing even a trace of make-up? Almost all girls their age start wearing it, at least mascara and lip gloss.’

      She looked at her colleagues who were regarding her with confused expressions.

      ‘The stuff for your eyelashes and the one for your lips that’s somewhere between lipstick and lip balm,’ Jonan translated.

      ‘I think that he removed Anne’s make-up, which would explain the traces of lip gloss, and that he had to use make-up remover and a tissue to do it, or, more likely, facial wipes; they’re like the ones used to wipe babies’ bottoms, but with a different solution on them, although you could use the ones designed for babies. I also think it highly likely that he did it by the river; there was next to no light down there and even if he had a torch with him it wasn’t enough, because he didn’t finish the job on Anne. Jonan and Montes, I want you to go back to the river bank and look for the wipes; if he used them and didn’t take them with him, we might be able to find them somewhere round there.’ She didn’t miss the look on Montes’s face as he looked down at his shoes, a different style, brown this time, and clearly expensive. ‘Deputy Inspector Zabalza, please speak to Ainhoa’s friends and find out whether she was wearing make-up the night she was killed; don’t bother her parents with this, especially since she was quite young and it’s quite possible that even if she did wear make-up, her parents wouldn’t have known … Lots of teenage girls put it on once they’ve left the house and take it off again before they get back. As for Carla, I’m sure she would have been wearing more make-up than a clown wears face-paint. She’s got it on in all the photos we have of her alive and, furthermore, it was New Year’s Eve. Even my Aunt Engrasi wears lipstick on New Year’s Eve. Let’s see if we can find anything by this afternoon. I want everyone back here at four.’

       Spring 1989

      There were some good days, almost always Sundays, the only day her parents didn’t work. Her

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