Offering to the Storm

The two men were thrown forward slightly, as Montes stepped on the brakes, pulling over into a lay-by.

‘Why did you do that?’ Zabalza cried, startled.

‘Because I don’t want to hear you talk about Inspector Salazar like that again. Not only is she your superior, she’s an outstanding police officer and a loyal colleague.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Fermín!’ Zabalza laughed. ‘Don’t get so upset. You’re the one who coined the phrase “star cop” remember.’

Montes looked straight at him as he started the car again.

‘You’re right, and I was wrong. They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, don’t they? If you have any problems, you can always come to me, but I warn you, I won’t hear any more of this kind of talk,’ he said, joining the motorway again.

‘I don’t have any problems,’ muttered Zabalza.

As she left the cell, Amaia noticed the prison governor standing further along the corridor talking to Judge Markina, whose hushed voice brought back vivid recollections of her dream the night before. She concentrated on the brief summary she would give him before making her escape, but it was too late, the murmur of his voice had drawn her in, even though she was too far away to hear what he was saying. She stood watching his gesticulations, his habit of touching his face when he spoke, the way his jeans narrowed at the waist, how the blue of his shirt gave him a youthful air. She found herself speculating about how old he was, thinking it odd that she didn’t know. She waited for Dr San Martín to arrive and then joined them. She did her best to avoid Markina’s gaze while she gave a brief report, but without making it too obvious.

‘Will you attend the autopsy, Inspector?’ asked San Martín, with a sweeping gesture that included Deputy Inspector Etxaide.

‘Start without me, Doctor, I’ll join you later. Perhaps you’d like to go, Jonan, there’s something I have to do first,’ she added evasively.

‘Going home again today, boss?’ he teased.

She smiled, admiring his astuteness.

‘All right, Deputy Inspector, would you like to come with me?’

13 (#ulink_1ebcc264-234d-57ce-9557-9b9b834dcda9)

The receptionist at the University Hospital hadn’t forgotten Amaia, judging by the way the woman’s face froze the instant she saw her. Even so, the inspector fished out her badge, prodding Jonan to do likewise. Both detectives placed their badges squarely on the counter.

‘We’d like to see Dr Sarasola, please.’

‘I don’t know if he’s here,’ the woman replied, picking up the receiver. She gave their names, listened to the reply then, with a sour expression, motioned towards the lift doors. ‘Fourth floor, they’ll show you the way.’ There was a tone of caution in the woman’s voice as she said these last words. Amaia grinned at her and winked, then started towards the lift.

Sarasola received them in his office, behind a desk heaped with papers, which he pushed aside. He stood up, accompanying them to the chairs over by the window.

‘I imagine you’re here about Dr Berasategui’s death,’ he said, as they shook hands.

Few things happened in Pamplona without Sarasola’s knowledge; even so, Amaia and Deputy Inspector Etxaide were somewhat taken aback. Noticing their expressions, he added:

‘The prison governor has family ties with Opus Dei.’

Amaia nodded.

‘So, how may I help you?’

‘Did you visit Dr Berasategui in prison?’

They knew that Sarasola had visited him. She’d asked the question to see whether he’d admit it.

‘On three separate occasions – in a purely professional capacity, I might add. As you know, I have a special interest in cases of abnormal behaviour that possess the nuance of evil.’

‘Did Dr Berasategui mention anything to you about Rosario’s escape, or what happened that night?’ asked Etxaide.

‘I’m afraid our conversations were rather technical and abstract – although fascinating, needless to say. Berasategui was an excellent clinician, which made discussing his own behaviour and actions a daunting task. He thwarted all my attempts to analyse him so that in the end I limited myself to offering him spiritual solace. In any event, nothing he might have said about Rosario or what happened that night would be of any use. One thing I do know is that you should never listen to people who have embraced evil, because they only tell lies.’

Amaia stifled a sigh, which Jonan recognised as a sign that she was becoming impatient.

‘So did you talk about Rosario, or have you lost interest in the matter?’

‘Of course, but he immediately changed the subject. Knowing what you do now, Inspector, I trust that you no longer hold me responsible for Rosario’s escape.’

‘I don’t. However, I am beginning to suspect that this is all part of a far more intricate plan, starting with Rosario’s transfer from Santa María de las Nieves and culminating in the events of that night – which weren’t your fault, either.’

Sarasola leaned forward in his chair and looked straight at Amaia.

‘I’m glad you’re beginning to understand,’ he said.

‘Oh, I understand, but I still find it difficult to believe that a man like you didn’t notice that something untoward was going on in this clinic.’

‘This isn’t my—’

‘I know, I know, it’s not your clinic, but you know perfectly well what I mean,’ she snapped.

‘And I apologised for that,’ he protested. ‘You’re right, once I became involved in the case I should have kept a closer eye on Berasategui, but in this instance I, too, am a victim.’

She always found it distasteful when someone who wasn’t dead or in hospital referred to themselves as a victim. Amaia knew only too well what it meant to be a victim, and Sarasola wasn’t one.

‘In any event, Berasategui’s suicide doesn’t add up. I visited him in prison too, and I’d have said he was more of an escape risk than a suicide risk.’

‘Suicide is a form of escape,’ Jonan broke in, ‘although it doesn’t fit his profile.’

‘I agree with Inspector Salazar,’ replied Sarasola, ‘and allow me to tell you something about behaviour profiles. They may work, even for individuals suffering from mental illness. But they are far from reliable when dealing with someone who is the embodiment of evil.’

‘That’s exactly what I mean when I talk about a premeditated plan. What would drive a man like that to take his own life?’ declared Amaia.

‘The same thing that drove him to carry out those other acts: to achieve some unknown end.’

‘Bearing that in mind, do you believe Rosario is dead, or that somehow she got away?’

‘I know no more than you. Everything points to the river having—’

‘Dr Sarasola, I was hoping we had got beyond that stage in our relationship. Why not help me instead of telling me what you think I want to hear?’ she said.

‘I believe that, besides inciting those men to commit murder, Berasategui devised a way of drawing you into the investigation by leaving your ancestors’ bones in the church at Arizkun, that for months he was working towards Rosario’s transfer from Santa María de las Nieves, and her subsequent escape from this clinic. The plan was meticulously carried out, which makes me think that he took every possible contingency into account. Rosario may be an elderly woman, but after seeing the images of her leaving the clinic with Berasategui, I …’

‘You what?’

‘I believe she’s out there, somewhere,’ he admitted.