The Invisible Guardian - Dolores Redondo

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and flour similar to those used in the cake found on Ainhoa Elizasu’s body.’

      ‘It’s possible that the girl ate one for dessert and a few crumbs fell on her dress,’ said Jonan.

      ‘She didn’t eat any at home, at any rate, I checked,’ said Montes.

      ‘It’s not enough to link them,’ said Amaia, tossing her biro onto the table.

      ‘I think we’ve got what you need, Inspector,’ said San Martín, exchanging a knowing look with his assistant.

      ‘What are you waiting for, Dr San Martín?’ asked Amaia, getting to her feet.

      ‘For me,’ answered the Commissioner, entering the room, ‘please don’t bother getting up. Dr San Martín, tell them what you told me.’

      The pathologist’s assistant attached a comparative analysis graph with various coloured lines and numerical scales to the whiteboard. San Martín stood up and spoke with the confidence of someone who is used to being believed without question.

      ‘Our tests confirm that the cords used in the two crimes are identical, although this, in itself, is not conclusive. It’s parcel string, which is commonly used on farms, in construction, in the wholesale business … It’s made in Spain and sold in hardware stores and big DIY chain stores like Aki and Leroy Merlin.’ He paused theatrically, smiled and continued, looking first at the Commissioner and then at Amaia. ‘What is conclusive is the fact that the two pieces came consecutively from the same ball,’ he said, showing them two high definition photographs in which two pieces of string of the same size whose ends matched perfectly could be seen. Amaia sat down slowly without taking her eyes off the photos.

      ‘We’ve got a serial killer,’ she whispered.

      A ripple of suppressed excitement spread around the room. The growing murmur ceased immediately when the Commissioner began to speak.

      ‘Inspector Salazar, you told me you’re from Elizondo, didn’t you?’

      ‘Yes, sir, my family all live there.’

      ‘I think your knowledge of the area and certain aspects of the case, together with your training and experience, make you the ideal candidate to lead the investigation. Furthermore, your time in Quantico with the FBI could prove very useful to us right now. It seems we’ve got a serial killer on our hands and you did in depth work with the best in this field during your time there … methods, psychological profiling, background research … In any case, you’re in charge and you’ll receive all the support you need, both here and in Elizondo.’

      The Commissioner raised his hand in a farewell gesture and left the room.

      ‘Congratulations, chief,’ said Jonan, grinning as he shook her hand.

      ‘My felicitations, Inspector Salazar,’ said San Martín.

      Amaia didn’t miss Montes’s expression of disgust as he watched her in silence while the other officers came over to congratulate her. She did her best to escape the slaps on the back.

      ‘We’ll leave for Elizondo first thing tomorrow, I want to attend Ainhoa Elizasu’s funeral. As you already know, I have family there, so I’ll definitely be staying. The rest of you,’ she said, turning to the team, ‘can drive up each day for the duration of the investigation. It’s only fifty kilometres and the roads are good.’

      Montes came over before leaving. ‘I’ve just got one question,’ he said in a markedly scornful tone, ‘will I have to call you chief?’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Fermín, this is just temporary and …’

      ‘Don’t bother, chief, I heard the Commissioner, and you’ll have my full cooperation,’ he said, before giving her a mock military salute and stalking out.

       5

      Amaia walked slightly distractedly through the old town of Pamplona, making her way towards her house, an old restored building right in the middle of Calle Mercaderes. In the Thirties there had been an umbrella shop on the ground floor and the old sign announcing Izaguirre Umbrellas ‘Hold quality and prestige in your hands’ was still visible. James always said that the main reason he had chosen the house was for the space and light in the workshop, a perfect location to install his sculptor’s studio, but she knew that the thing that had prompted her husband to buy the house in the middle of the bull running course was the same thing that had brought him to Pamplona in the first place. Like thousands of North Americans, he felt an enormous passion for the San Fermín festival, for Hemingway and for this city, a passion that seemed almost childish to her and which he revived each year when the festival arrived. Much to Amaia’s relief, James didn’t take part in the bull running, but every day he would stroll along the eight hundred and fifty metres of the course from Santo Domingo, learning by heart each curve, each stumbling block, each paving stone all the way to the square. She loved the way she would see him smile each year as the festival drew near, the way he would dig his white clothes out of a trunk and would set out to buy a new neckerchief, even though he seemed to have hundreds already. He had been in Pamplona for a couple of years when she met him; he was living in a pretty flat in the city centre at the time and renting a studio to work in very near the town hall. When they decided to get married, James took her to see the house on Calle Mercaderes and she thought it was magnificent, although too big and too expensive. This wasn’t a problem for James, who was already starting to earn a certain prestige in the art world. Furthermore, he came from a wealthy family of state-of-the-art work-wear manufacturers in the United States. They bought the house, James installed his studio in the old workshop and they promised themselves they would fill it with children as soon as Amaia became an inspector on the homicide team.

      It was four years since she’d become an inspector, San Fermín came round each year, James became more famous in artistic circles, but the children didn’t arrive. Amaia lifted her hand to her stomach in a subconscious gesture of protection and longing. She quickened her pace until she overtook a group of Romanian immigrants who were arguing in the street and smiled when she saw the light glowing in James’ workshop between the slits in the shutters. She looked at her watch, it was almost half past ten and he was still working. She opened the front door, left her keys on the old table that acted as a sideboard and went to the workshop, passing through what used to be the house’s entrance hall, which still retained its original floor of large round stones and a trapdoor that led to a blind passage where wine or oil had been stored in the old days. James was washing a piece of grey marble in a sink full of soapy water. He smiled when he saw her.

      ‘Give me a minute to get this great toad out of the water and I’ll be with you.’

      He arranged the piece of stone on a rack, covered it with a piece of linen and dried his hands on the white cook’s apron he normally wore to work in.

      ‘How are you, my love? Tired?’

      He wrapped his arms around her and she felt like there were butterflies in her stomach, as she always did when they embraced. She breathed in the scent of his chest through his jersey and waited a moment before replying.

      ‘I’m not tired, but it’s been a strange day.’

      He drew back enough to be able to see her face.

      ‘Tell me about it.’

      ‘Well, we’re still working on the case of the girl from my town. It turns out that it’s quite similar to another one from a month ago, also in Elizondo, and it’s been established that the cases are related.’

      ‘Related in what way?’

      ‘It looks like it’s the same killer.’

      ‘Oh God, that means there’s an animal out there who kills young girls.’

      ‘They’re almost still children, James. The thing is, the Commissioner has put me in charge of the investigation.’

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