Arizkun – for those of you unfamiliar with it, Jonan has prepared a report explaining the possible historical motive – which mean we can’t dismiss the possibility that these attacks are a form of social protest, albeit in an embryonic phase.
‘Another kind of desecration which we have ruled out is art theft. Perpetrators enter a church they have previously identified, causing minimum damage, and remove only the most valuable objects. These people are usually working for someone else, are never opportunistic or disorganised.’
‘Good,’ the Commissioner chimed in. ‘Now, tell me what you’ve done so far?’
Iriarte opened his notebook and read out loud:
‘For the moment we have a round-the-clock patrol car outside the church; that seems to have gone some way towards reassuring the locals; a few of them have been over to thank the officers. No further incidents have taken place.’
‘Have you questioned people living in the immediate vicinity?’ asked Amaia.
‘Yes, but, even though Arizkun is quiet as the grave at night, no one saw or heard anything. Chopping up the pew with an axe must have made quite a din.’
‘That church has solid walls, which would have muffled the blows, not to mention the walls of the houses themselves. And on a cold winter night, people’s doors and windows would have been firmly shut.’
Iriarte nodded. ‘We’ve also looked into local teenage gangs with antisocial tendencies, but drawn a blank. On the whole, young people in Arizkun are pretty laid-back, a bit nationalistic, but that’s about it. The majority, practising or not, see the church as a symbol of the village.’
‘What about the issue of the agotes?’ asked Amaia.
Iriarte sighed. ‘That’s an extremely sensitive subject, chief. And one most people in Arizkun prefer not to talk about. I can assure you that, until recently, an outsider coming to Arizkun asking about them would encounter an impenetrable wall of silence.’
‘There are a couple of odd stories about that,’ Zabalza chimed in. ‘I heard that some years ago, a well-known author arrived in Arizkun intending to write about the agotes, but was forced to abandon his project, because everyone he asked played dumb, or pretended they’d never heard of them. They all assured him the agotes were a myth and no one believed they had really existed. Apparently the novelist Camilo José Cela was interested in them too, and was given the same treatment.’
‘Those are my people you’re talking about,’ said Amaia, smiling. ‘Things must be different among the younger generation. They’re usually proud of their roots, but don’t feel the guilt the older generations carry around. As I was saying to Jonan yesterday, the story of the agotes is similar to that of the Jews or Muslims in Spain; people were treated differently because of their religion, gender, ancestry, wealth: the same as now, more or less … Even noblewomen were forced to marry or confined in convents.’
‘You’re probably right. For most young people, anything that happened before the civil war is prehistoric. Nevertheless, we need to avoid treading on people’s toes.’
‘We will,’ Amaia assured him. ‘This afternoon I’m heading off to Elizondo for a few days to take charge of the investigation.’
The Commissioner nodded, so she went on:
‘Jonan is going to look at anti-Catholic action groups and everything relating to the agotes, as well as the desecrated objects. I’d like someone to arrange for me to meet separately with the parish priest and the chaplain at Arizkun: we can’t rule out the possibility that this is an act of revenge against one of them. Don’t forget the recent theft of the Codex Calixtinus, which turned out to be part of a personal vendetta against the dean of Santiago Cathedral by a former employee. In other words, before we start developing any historical or mystical theories, we should do a bit of digging on the people involved, as we would with any other case. I have a few ideas I want to follow up. That’s all for now,’ she said, rising and following the Commissioner out of the room. ‘See you there tomorrow morning.’
The report, which had kept her awake until three in the morning, was lying on the Commissioner’s desk. She examined the cover for any sign that he had read it.
‘Sir, have you had a chance to look at my report?’
The Commissioner turned and gazed at her pensively for a few moments before responding.
‘Yes, I have, Salazar. It’s exhaustive.’
Amaia scanned his inscrutable face, wondering whether for him exhaustive was a good or a bad thing.
After a brief silence, to her astonishment he added:
‘Exhaustive and extremely interesting. I can understand why all this caught your attention. I can also see why Lieutenant Padua might consider it merits further investigation, but I agree with his superiors. If you’d brought me this report a week ago, I would have told you exactly what they told him. The similarities are somewhat far-fetched and could be a coincidence. The fact that prisoners communicate amongst themselves or with people who admire their crimes is commoner than people think.’
He broke off and sat down facing her.
‘Of course, yesterday’s events cast a different light on things. Quiralte directly involved you by deciding to tell you where the body was. I’ve given it a lot of thought, but I’m still not sure. These cases are all officially closed. The killers are all dead, by their own hand. Separate cases, in different provinces, run by different forces, and you’re asking me to open an investigation.’
Amaia remained silent, holding his gaze.
‘I have faith in you, Salazar, I trust your instinct. I know there must be something there to have aroused your interest. However, I don’t consider there’s enough evidence to authorise opening an official investigation, which would only stir up rivalries between the different forces.’
He fell silent, while Amaia held her breath.
‘Unless there’s something else you aren’t telling me …’
Amaia smiled. Not for nothing was he commissioner. She slipped the plastic sheath out of her pocket and handed it to him.
‘Jasón Medina was carrying this envelope the day he killed himself in the courthouse toilets.’
He took it from her, examining the contents through the plastic. ‘It’s addressed to you,’ he said, surprised. He opened his desk drawer, searching for gloves.
‘You can touch it, it’s been tested for fingerprints – they didn’t find a single one.’
The Commissioner took the envelope out of the plastic sheath and read the card inside before looking up at Amaia.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m authorising an investigation based on the fact that the two murderers addressed themselves exclusively to you.’
Amaia nodded.
‘Do your best not to tread on any toes – and before you proceed you’ll need to secure Markina’s blessing, although I doubt he’ll be a problem. He seems to have the greatest respect for you as a detective. Why, only this morning he called to discuss the Aguirre case and was singing your
