LITMIR.BIZ

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had dialled Markina’s number on her way to her car. Searching her pockets for a pair of sunglasses to ward off the dazzling light reflected in the rain puddles, she waited to hear his secretary’s mellifluous voice.

      ‘Good afternoon, Inmaculada, this is Inspector Salazar from the murder squad at the Navarre Police Department. Could I speak to Judge Markina, please?’

      Her icy response took Amaia by surprise.

      ‘It’s two-thirty in the afternoon and, as you can imagine, the judge isn’t here.’

      ‘Yes, I know what time it is. I’ve just come from an autopsy, the results of which Judge Markina is waiting to hear. He asked me to call him …’

      ‘I see …’ replied the secretary.

      ‘I find it hard to believe he would forget. Do you know if he’s coming back later?’

      ‘No, he isn’t coming back, and of course he hasn’t forgotten.’ She paused for a few seconds, then added: ‘He left a number for you to call.’

      Amaia waited in silence, amused at her blatant hostility. She sighed loudly to make it clear her patience was wearing thin, then asked:

      ‘So, Inmaculada, are you going to give me that number, or do I need a court order? Ah, no, wait, I already have one from the judge himself.’

      She didn’t respond, but even over the telephone, Amaia could sense the woman pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes in that prudish way so typical of mousy women like her. She read the number out once then hung up without saying goodbye.

      Amaia looked at her mobile in amazement. What a long streak of misery! she thought. She punched in the numbers from memory and waited.

      Judge Markina replied after one ring tone.

      ‘I thought it might be you, Salazar. I see my secretary relayed my message.’

      ‘Sorry to bother you, your honour, but I’ve just come from Lucía Aguirre’s autopsy. The forensic report is conclusive, we have fresh evidence, which in my opinion warrants further investigation.’

      ‘Are you talking about reopening the case?’ Markina asked, hesitantly.

      Amaia forced herself to be more cautious.

      ‘I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job, your honour. However, this fresh evidence points to a new line of investigation, without prejudice to the initial one. Neither we nor the pathologist are questioning Quiralte’s guilt, but—’

      ‘Very well,’ the judge interrupted her, seeming to reflect for a moment. His tone suggested she had aroused his interest. ‘Come and talk me through it in person, and remember to bring the pathologist’s report.’

      Amaia glanced at her watch.

      ‘Will you be in your office this afternoon?’ she asked.

      ‘No, I’m out of town, but I’ll be dining at El Rodero tonight at nine, come there and we can talk.’

      She hung up, glancing again at her watch. The pathologist’s report would be ready by then, but if they were to arrive at a reasonable hour James would have to go on ahead to Elizondo with Ibai. She could join them there after her meeting with the judge. She sighed as she climbed into the car, thinking to herself that if she hurried she might make it home in time to give her son his three o’clock feed.

      Ibai was crying erratically, alternating gasps and wails to show his annoyance. Between protests, he sucked at the bottle James was struggling to keep in his mouth, cradling him in his arms. He grinned sheepishly when he saw her.

      ‘We’ve been doing this for twenty minutes and so far I’ve only managed to make him take twenty millilitres, but we’re slowly getting there.’

      ‘Come to Ama, maitia,’ she said, spreading her arms wide as James passed the baby to her. ‘Did you miss me, my love?’ she added, kissing his face and giggling when he started to suck her chin. ‘Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry, Ama is very late, but I’m here now.’

      She sat down in an armchair, folding the baby in her arms, then devoted the next half-hour to him. Ibai’s fretfulness slowly faded, he relaxed and grew calm as Amaia caressed his head, tracing with her forefinger his perfect, tiny features, marvelling at the clear, bright eyes gazing back at her with the intensity and wonderment of an audacious lover.

      When she had finished breastfeeding him, she took Ibai to the room Clarice had decorated for him, changed his nappy, reluctantly acknowledging that the furnishings were comfortable and practical, although the baby still slept with them in their bedroom. Afterwards, she cradled him in her arms, singing softly to him until he fell asleep.

      ‘It’s not good for him to get into the habit of falling asleep like that,’ James whispered behind her. ‘You should leave him in the cot so he learns to relax and goes off on his own.’

      ‘He has the rest of his life to do that,’ she said rather brusquely. Then she reflected, and added in a softer voice: ‘Let me pamper him a little, James. You’re right, I know, but I miss him so much … And I suppose I’m afraid he’ll stop missing me.’

      ‘Of course he won’t, silly,’ said James, picking the sleeping child up and moving him to his cot. He arranged a blanket over him and looked again at his wife. ‘I miss you too, Amaia.’

      Their eyes met, and for an instant she felt the urge to fling herself into his arms, into that embrace, which, over time, had become the unequivocal symbol of their union, their love for one another. An embrace that always made her feel protected and understood. But the urge didn’t last. She was seized by a sudden frustration. She was tired, she’d skipped lunch, and had just come from an autopsy … For the love of God! She was forced to rush from one side of the city to the other, she scarcely had time to be with her son, but all James could think of was that he missed her. She missed herself! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had five minutes to herself. She hated him for looking at her with those mournful, dead sheep’s eyes. It didn’t help; no, it didn’t help one bit. She left the room, overwhelmed by feelings of anger and remorse. James was a darling, a wonderful father and the most tolerant man any woman could wish for, but he was a man, and therefore light years away from understanding how she felt, which drove her crazy.

      She went into the kitchen. Sensing him behind her, she avoided his gaze while she made herself a cup of coffee.

      ‘Have you had lunch? Do you want me to make you something?’ he asked, going over to the fridge.

      ‘No, James, don’t bother,’ she said, sitting down with her milky coffee at the head of the table. ‘Look, James, a meeting has come up with the judge in charge of the case I’m investigating. I can’t put it off and he can only see me this evening, which is when I’ll have the autopsy report. It’s extremely important …’

      He nodded.

      ‘We could drive up to Elizondo tomorrow morning.’

      ‘No, I want to be there first thing, so we’d have to get up very early. I think it’s best if you go on ahead with Ibai and install yourselves at my aunt’s house. I’ll feed him before you leave, and be there for the next one.’

      James started to chew his upper lip – a gesture she knew he only did when he was anxious.

      ‘Amaia, I wanted to talk to you about that …’

      She gazed at him in silence.

      ‘I think that slavishly following this schedule to keep him breastfeeding …’ she saw he was searching for the right words, ‘… isn’t really compatible with your work. Maybe it’s time for you seriously to consider weaning him off breast milk completely.’

      Amaia looked at her husband wishing she could express everything that was bubbling inside her. She was trying, trying as hard as she could. She wanted to succeed, for Ibai’s sake, but above all for herself, for the sake

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