LITMIR.BIZ

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claims you went to her house early in the morning.’

      He started to shake his head.

      ‘And that she saw your car drive away …’

      ‘My mother-in-law is mistaken.’ His hostility was palpable. ‘She can’t tell one car from another. It was probably a couple of kids who pulled into the driveway hoping to find a quiet place to … you know.’

      ‘Yes, except that her dogs didn’t bark, so it must have been someone they knew. What’s more, your mother-in-law told my colleague about a mark on the girl’s forehead, which wasn’t there when she put her to bed. She also said she was woken up by a noise, and when she looked out of the window she saw your car driving off.’

      ‘That bitch would say anything to get me into trouble. She’s never liked me. You can ask my wife, she’ll tell you: we went out to dinner and afterwards we went straight home.’

      ‘My colleagues have spoken to her, but she couldn’t help much. She didn’t contradict your story, she simply doesn’t remember anything.’

      ‘I know, she had too much to drink. She isn’t used to it, what with the pregnancy …’

      ‘It must have been difficult for you this last year.’ He looked at her, puzzled. ‘I mean, the risky pregnancy, forced rest, no sex; then the baby is born premature, two months in hospital, no sex; at last she comes home, more worries, caring for the baby, and still no sex …’

      He gave a faint smile.

      ‘I know from experience,’ she went on. ‘And on the day of your anniversary, you leave the baby with your mother-in-law, you go out to a nice restaurant, and after a few glasses of wine your wife is legless. You take her home, put her to bed, and … no sex. The night is young. You drive over to your mother-in-law’s house to check that everything’s all right. You arrive to find her asleep on the sofa, and that irritates you. Entering the girl’s room, you suddenly realise the child is a burden, she is ruining your life, things were much better before she came along … and you make a decision.’

      He sat perfectly still, hanging on her every word.

      ‘So, you do what you have to do, only your mother-in-law wakes up and sees you driving away.’

      ‘Like I told you: my mother-in-law is a fucking bitch.’

      ‘I know how you feel – mine is too. But yours is also very astute. She noticed the mark on the girl’s forehead. Yesterday, it was barely visible, but today the pathologist is in no doubt that the mark was made by an object having been pressed into her skin.’

      He heaved a deep sigh.

      ‘You noticed it too, that’s why you tried to cover it with make-up. And to ensure no one else would see it, you ordered the coffin to be sealed. But your bitch of a mother-in-law is like a dog with a bone, isn’t she? So you decided to take the body to prevent anyone asking questions. Your wife, perhaps? Someone saw you two quarrelling in the funeral parlour.’

      ‘You’ve got it all wrong. That was because she insisted on cremating the girl.’

      ‘And you were against it? You wanted a burial? Is that why you took her?’

      Something appeared to dawn on him.

      ‘What will happen to the body now?’

      Amaia was intrigued by Esparza’s choice of words; relatives didn’t usually refer to their loved one as a body or corpse, but rather as the girl, the baby, or … She realised she didn’t know his child’s name.

      ‘The pathologist will perform a second autopsy, after which the body will be released to the family.’

      ‘They mustn’t cremate her.’

      ‘That’s something you need to decide among yourselves.’

      ‘They mustn’t cremate her. I haven’t finished.’

      Amaia recalled what Iriarte had told her.

      ‘What haven’t you finished?’

      ‘If I don’t finish, this will all have been in vain.’

      Amaia’s curiosity deepened:

      ‘What exactly do you mean?’

      Suddenly, Esparza seemed to realise where he was, and that he’d said too much. He immediately clammed up.

      ‘Did you kill your daughter?’

      ‘No,’ he replied.

      ‘Do you know who did?’

      Silence.

      ‘Perhaps your wife killed her …’

      Esparza smiled, shaking his head, as if he found the mere thought laughable.

      ‘Not her.’

      ‘Who, then? Who did you take to your mother-in-law’s house?’

      ‘No one.’

      ‘No, I don’t believe you did, because it was you. You killed your daughter.’

      ‘No!’ he yelled suddenly. ‘… I gave her up.’

      ‘Gave her up? Who to? What for?’

      He grinned smugly.

      ‘I gave her up to …’ He lowered his voice to a muffled whisper: ‘… like all the others …’ he said. He murmured a few more words, then buried his head in his arms.

      Amaia remained in the cell for a while, even though she realised that the interview was over, that she would get no more out of him. She buzzed for them to open the door from outside. As she was leaving, he spoke again:

      ‘Can you do something for me?’

      ‘That depends.’

      ‘Tell them not to cremate her.’

      Deputy Inspectors Etxaide and Zabalza were waiting with Iriarte in the adjoining room.

      ‘Could you hear what he was saying?’

      ‘Only the part about giving her up to someone, but I didn’t hear a name. It’s on tape; you can see his lips move, but it’s inaudible. He was probably talking gibberish.’

      ‘Zabalza, see if you can do anything with the audio and video, jack up the volume as high as it’ll go. I expect you’re right, he’s messing with us, but let’s be on the safe side. Jonan, Montes and Iriarte, you come with me. By the way, where is Montes?’

      ‘He’s just finished taking the relatives’ statements.’

      Amaia opened her field kit on the table to make sure she had everything she needed.

      ‘We’ll need to stop somewhere to buy a digital calliper.’ She smiled, as she noticed Iriarte frown. ‘Is something wrong?’

      ‘Today is your day off …’

      ‘Not any more, right?’ she grinned, picking up the case and following Jonan outside to where Montes was waiting for them in the car with the engine running.

       5

      She felt a kind of sympathy bordering on pity for Valentín Esparza when she entered the room his mother-in-law had decorated for the little girl. Confronted with the profusion of pink ribbons, lace and embroidery, the sensation of déjà vu was overwhelming. This little girl’s amatxi had chosen nymphs and fairies instead of the ridiculous pink lambs her own mother-in-law had chosen for Ibai, but other than that, the room might have been decorated by the same woman. Hanging on the walls were half a dozen or so framed photographs of the girl being cradled by her mother, grandmother and an older woman, possibly an aunt. Valentín Esparza didn’t appear in any of them.

      The

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