her sweetly.
‘I love you,’ James groaned in her ear.
‘I love you,’ she murmured. And she smiled at the certainty that this was true, that she loved him more than anything, more than anyone, and at how happy it made her to have him between her legs, inside her, and to make love with him. When they finished, this same smile would last for hours, as if a moment with him was enough to exorcise all the world’s ills.
Deep down, Amaia thought that only he could really make her feel like a woman. In her daily professional life she let her feminine side take second place and concentrated solely on doing a good job; but outside work, her height and her slim, sinewy body, together with the rather sober clothes she usually chose, made her feel quite unfeminine when she was around other women, particularly the wives of James’s colleagues, who were shorter and more petite, with their small, smooth hands that had never touched a dead body. She didn’t normally wear jewellery except her wedding ring and some small earrings that James told her were like a little girl’s; her hair in its practical ponytail and the minimal make-up she wore combined to give her a serious and rather masculine appearance which he loved and she cultivated. In addition, Amaia knew that the firmness of her voice and the confidence with which she spoke and moved were enough to intimidate those bitches when they made malicious comments about her delayed motherhood. A subject she found upsetting.
They chatted while they ate and went to bed straight away. She admired James’s ability to disconnect from the day’s troubles and close his eyes as soon as his head hit the pillow. She always took a long time to relax enough to sleep; sometimes she read for hours before she managed it, and she would wake up at even the smallest noise during the night. The year she was promoted to Inspector she used to become so tense and nervous during the day that she would fall exhaustedly into a deep, amnesiac sleep, only to wake up two or three hours later with her back paralysed by a painful spasm that would prevent her from dropping off again. The tension had decreased with time, but she still wasn’t getting very good quality sleep. She used to leave a small lamp on the landing switched on so that its slanting light would reach the bedroom and help her orientate herself when she woke with a start from one of her frequent nightmares. Now she tried in vain to concentrate on the book she was holding. Eventually, exhausted and preoccupied, she let it slip to the floor. She didn’t turn out the light, though, but stared at the ceiling, planning the coming day. Attending the funeral and burial of Ainhoa Elizasu. With crimes like these, the killer often knew his victims, and it was probable that he lived near them and saw them every day. These murderers demonstrated a remarkable audacity. Their self-confidence and morbid tastes would often lead them to collaborate with the investigation, taking part in the search for the missing victims and attending vigils, funerals, and burials, in some cases offering public displays of their sympathy and distress. For the moment they couldn’t be sure of anything, not even the relatives had been ruled out as suspects. But as a starting point it wasn’t bad, it would be useful to get a feel for the situation, to observe reactions, to listen to comments and people’s opinions. And, of course, to see her sisters and her aunt … It hadn’t been long since she’d last seen them, on Christmas Eve, and Flora and Ros had ended up arguing. She sighed deeply.
‘If you don’t stop thinking out loud, you’ll never get to sleep,’ said James drowsily.
‘I’m sorry, darling, did I wake you up?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he smiled, sitting up beside her. ‘But do you want to tell me what’s going on in your head?’
‘You already know I’m going up to Elizondo tomorrow … I’ve been thinking about staying for a few days. I think it would be better to be there, to speak to the families and friends and get more of a general impression. What do you think?’
‘It must be pretty cold up there.’
‘Yes, but I’m not talking about the weather.’
‘I am, though. I know you, you can never sleep if you’ve got cold feet, and that would be terrible for the investigation.’
‘James …’
‘I could come with you to keep them warm for you if you want,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Would you seriously come with me?’
‘Of course I would, I’m well-ahead of schedule with my work and it would be nice to see your sisters and your aunt.’
‘We’d stay at her house.’
‘Great.’
‘I’ll be quite busy and I won’t have much free time, though.’
‘I’ll play Mus or Poker with your aunt and her friends.’
‘They’ll clean you out.’
‘I’m very rich.’
They both laughed at this and Amaia carried on talking about what they could do in Elizondo until she realised that James was asleep. She kissed him gently on the head and covered his shoulders with the duvet. When she got up to use the toilet she noticed bloody marks on the paper as she wiped herself. She looked at herself in the mirror as the tears welled up in her eyes. With her long hair falling over her shoulders she looked younger and more vulnerable, like the little girl she had once been.
‘Not this time, either, darling, not this time either,’ she whispered, knowing that there would be no consolation. She took a painkiller and, shivering, got back into bed.
The cemetery was full of neighbours who had taken time off work and even closed their shops in order to attend the burial. The rumour that she might not be the first girl to die at the hands of this criminal was beginning to spread. During the funeral, which had taken place barely two hours earlier in the parish Church of Santiago, the priest had implied in his sermon that evil appeared to be stalking the valley and during the prayer for the dead, around the open grave in the ground, the atmosphere was tense and ominous, as if an inescapable curse was hovering over the heads of those present. The silence was broken only by Ainhoa’s brother who, supported by his cousins, doubled over with a harsh, convulsive groan that came from deep inside him and reduced him to heartrending sobs. His parents, standing nearby, seemed not to hear him. Holding one another for support, they wept silently without taking their eyes off the coffin that contained their daughter’s body. Jonan recorded the entire service from his position leaning on top of an old vault. Standing behind the parents, Montes observed the group just opposite them, closest to the grave. Deputy Inspector Zabalza had stationed himself near the gate in a camouflaged car and was taking photos of all the people who entered the cemetery, including those heading towards different graves and those who didn’t actually go in but stayed outside, talking in huddles or standing by the railings.
Amaia saw her Aunt Engrasi, who was holding Ros’s arm, and wondered where her layabout of a brother-in-law could be; almost certainly still in bed. Freddy had never made an effort in his life; his father had died when he was only five and he had grown up anaesthetised by the fuss made of him by a hysterical mother and a multitude of aging aunts who had spoiled him rotten. He hadn’t even turned up for dinner last Christmas Eve. Ros hadn’t eaten a bite while she watched the door with an ashen face and dialled Freddy’s number time and again, only to be told it was unavailable. Although they had all tried to pretend it didn’t matter, Flora had been unable to resist the opportunity to say exactly what she thought of that loser and they had ended up arguing. Ros had left halfway through
