The Good Suicides (25 page)

“As you wish,” the man replied. “We’ll do something else. I’ll give
you my number: call me tomorrow and we’ll arrange a meeting in a public place. Does that seem better?”

Somehow the voice resembled the reflection of the face on the screen, although that was absurd. He didn’t have the accent of an old Nigerian, and neither was it a voice from beyond the grave. Leire noticed that her knees were shaking and she forced herself to calm down.

“All right,” she said, jotting the number down.

“Please call me.”

In the mirror, Dr. Omar was still ecstatic. Immortalized. Threatening as a serpent ready to spit his venom.

Seated on one of the chairs in Terminal 1 of the airport, Héctor contemplated a small screen announcing that the flight from Madrid was delayed by forty minutes. Seven years and forty minutes, he mentally corrected. It was the first time in his life he’d welcomed a delay of that kind, and as he watched the terminal shops closing, he thought he needed a little silence, albeit in a public place with black tiles that gave off an almost insulting shine. He hadn’t slept in over forty hours and he closed his eyes just for an instant, to rest them from the light. He didn’t stir from the terminal because he didn’t want to smoke anymore—he’d fought tiredness with nicotine and felt the weight of too much tobacco combined with little food and accumulated fatigue. He looked at his watch. 22:35.

The previous night, that same hour, a cold Sunday of gray, sluggish skies was coming to an end. Guillermo had just arrived and immediately shut himself in his room, saying he’d already eaten, without further explanation. And he, watching Marilyn languishing in
The Misfits
, that Western played out by actors who would die shortly afterward, chose to let it go. The film hadn’t yet finished when he received the call from Agent Fort from the station, informing him—in a voice not quite concealing a newbie’s hint of excitement—that Saúl Duque, Sílvia Alemany’s assistant, had just contacted the
Mossos
to confess that he had killed Amanda Bonet.

White death. That was his first thought on entering the bedroom where Amanda lay and Fort had already arrived with Forensics and the court representative. Walls painted ivory white, a bed with immaculate sheets and a young blonde whose pale features would never again recover the flush of the living. The presence of a corpse always disturbed him; it affected everyone, say what they might. However, Amanda’s body exuded a serenity he’d rarely felt at the scene of a sudden death. Her lips seemed to be smiling, as if she’d experienced a sweet vision before leaving this world and slipped toward the beyond, or toward nothingness, her conscience calm and full of hope. Martyrs must die like that, Héctor said to himself, though he doubted Amanda Bonet could qualify as such.

“She took an entire bottle of sleeping pills,” Fort told him.

“She took them?” asked Héctor. Roger Fort’s voice had brought him back to reality, moving him away from tragic fantasies. “I understood on the phone that Saúl Duque had said he was to blame.”

On coming into the apartment, Héctor had seen Saúl sitting on the sofa, so tense he seemed about to split into two, guarded by a judicial agent.

Fort breathed in and exhaled slowly before answering.

“It’s fairly complicated, sir,” he finally said. “I think it’d be better for him to explain it to you directly.”

Héctor nodded. He looked over the room, trying to pick out some jarring detail, something that would drive from his mind the notion that they were faced with a third suicide, the continuation of the macabre series that had started with Gaspar Ródenas in September the year before. Everything appeared in order: an antique-style cast-iron bed, bars painted white, matching the nightstands. Two black cords, coiled like snakes on the nightstand nearest Héctor, broke the harmony.

“And these?” he asked Fort.

“Cords,” he said, somewhat uncomfortable. “They would use them to play. She and Saúl Duque …”

“That explains the marks on the wrists,” said the forensic officer, who had remained silent until then, examining the body. “Look.”

Héctor came closer. Indeed, reddish marks could be seen on both.

“She died only a few hours ago, right?” Héctor asked him.

“Yes. She’s been dead no more than four hours.” It was a quarter past eleven at night. “I’m almost finished; we’ll take her as soon as the judge authorizes it.” He looked toward the corpse with a slight unease not typical of someone who’d spent years dealing with them. “She looks happy, like she’s enjoying a magnificent dream.”

“And the sleeping pills?”

“Here you are.” He’d kept the box in a pre-sealed bag. “Amobarbital. Very common. She had to have taken a good quantity to die that way. She didn’t even try to bring them back up. Sometimes they do, and as their strength fails they drown in their own vomit. She simply went to sleep; her brain was deprived of oxygen and she died. That’s why she looks so … peaceful.”

“Let’s go and talk to Duque,” Héctor decided. “I think he’ll have things to tell us and that way we let the forensics get on with their work.”

Saúl Duque was still seated. He was immobile, leaning slightly forward, hands gripping the edge of the sofa as if he were facing a precipice and scared of falling into the abyss. He was dressed head to toe in black, and Héctor had the feeling he’d chosen this outfit knowing full well a funeral awaited him. Or perhaps as a contrast to the white prevailing in the whole apartment.

“Would you mind leaving us alone?” Héctor asked the officer guarding him. And turning to Duque, he added: “Saúl … Saúl, are you all right?”

He laid his hand softly on his shoulder and then, feeling the touch and hearing that friendly voice, the man collapsed. The tension keeping him upright evaporated and his body slumped, exhausted. He covered his face with his hands and Héctor wouldn’t have been able to say if he was sobbing out of sorrow, fear or remorse. Perhaps all three.

It took him a few minutes to calm down enough to be able to speak.

“I … I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m better now. I didn’t expect to see you again, Inspector,” he said in an attempt to restore normality in such abnormal circumstances.

“Neither did I, Saúl. I believe you have already spoken to Agent Fort, but I need you to tell me what happened here tonight.”

Duque gave Roger Fort a quizzical look, but he didn’t take it personally.

“Have they told you anything about the relationship between Amanda and me?”

Héctor thought he detected some shame in that young man’s voice. He was going to assure him that no one, except those participating, should meddle in erotic games between adults, when Fort answered, “Better if you explain it to the inspector yourself.”

He took a deep breath and looked Salgado in the eye. Any trace of shame had vanished. “Amanda and I had a dominant-submissive relationship.”

“Do you mean a sado-masochistic relationship?”

“Well, yes … call it what you want. I’m not going to fuss about technicalities.”

“Explain to me what it consisted of.”

Saúl gestured indifferently and made a face that at any other time could have been an ironic smile. Just then, thought Héctor, it expressed more nervousness than anything else.

“It was just a game … It’s … it’s very difficult to explain it to those not involved in the scene. If I tell you I was her master, I controlled her, I told her how she must dress, what she must eat for dinner, you’ll think we were a pair of nutters.”

“Not at all.” He said it in a tone that must have sounded convincing, because Duque continued.

“I don’t know why I like it, and Amanda, for her part, didn’t know either. We simply enjoyed ourselves with it. With the phone calls and emails. With the cords, with the spanking.”

“When did it begin?”

“A little while after Amanda started working at Alemany Cosmetics. You must be wondering how we came to discover how much we complemented each other.” He smiled. “I suppose we were both looking for it and sounded each other out on the subject, casually, a couple of times. The second time we met I chanced hinting at it, half joking, and saw that the idea attracted her as much as me.”

“Did you see each other often?”

“Every Sunday and a day here and there, by surprise. But not many: you can’t abuse it too much or the spell is broken.”

Héctor nodded.

“Did she give you keys to her house?”

“No, only to the front door. She’d leave the other one under the doormat just before I arrived. It formed part of the set. So I’d come in as if it were my house and she would already be waiting for me … Well, waiting for me in her role.”

“I understand. And today?”

Duque took another deep breath. At that moment his appearance portrayed weakness rather than the ability to dominate.

“The one today was a special game,” he finally confessed, blushing. “She had to wait for me asleep. Completely asleep,” he stressed.

“And you would have sexual relations without her knowing. That was the game?” asked Héctor sarcastically.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. When you say it that way I sound sick and she …” He interlaced his fingers and fixed his gaze on the inspector in a desperate attempt to appeal to his empathy. “Our relationship was more about the presentation than the sex, strictly speaking. She would offer me her body in exchange for nothing other than for me to enjoy it. The maximum proof of submission, of obedience …”

Héctor took a few seconds to react.

“Fine,” he said in a neutral voice. “So she had to wait for you asleep, which I suppose meant she took the sleeping pills a while before you were to arrive. Am I right?”

“Yes. I suppose she … she took more than the usual amount—”

“Wait a second, we’ll get to the dosage.” The inspector’s furrowed brow indicated deep concentration. “What I meant before is that she had to leave the key outside a good while before your arrival.”

“Ye— I hadn’t thought about it. Of course. Before the pills took effect.”

“And what time did you come?”

“Later than expected. Some friends came around and I didn’t get away from them until half past eight, so I didn’t get here until after half past nine. I didn’t look at the time. The key was where it always was, so I came in and went straight to her room.”

For an instant, Héctor and Fort feared that this confession might be more than they could take without being unprofessional.

“What you’re thinking didn’t happen,” said Saúl Duque. “She was beautiful, just as I had asked of her. White sheets and white nightgown. Sleeping for me. I was admiring her for a few minutes and began to get aroused. She was so beautiful. She looked so defenseless, lying there on the bed … I took the cords from the drawer of the nightstand and when I tied her wrists I realized they were inert. I tried to bring her around, I shook her, I kissed her … I was like a madman. I don’t know how much time passed before I finally called the police.”

“You called the station at 22:34,” Fort interjected.

Héctor meditated for a few seconds.

“Saúl … What I’m going to ask you now might surprise you, but have you realized that three people from the company have died in strange circumstances in only a few months? Three people,” he went on in a quiet but firm voice, “of the eight that were part of a single group.”

Saúl looked at him, uncomprehending. Then, little by little, his expression reacted to this revelation.

“Gaspar. Sara. And now—Amanda. What are you trying to say?”

“I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to find out. Saúl, did Amanda tell you about anything that happened that weekend? Anything strange, unusual? Anything relating to the dogs they found strangled, perhaps?”

He shook his head and Héctor felt overwhelmed with exasperation.
For a moment he’d believed maybe this man would know, that he’d have the answer, even if unconsciously.

“Well, the only thing that happened—that happened to Amanda—was the fright she got on the Friday night, when I called her. But it didn’t have anything to do with the dogs …” He seemed confused.

“Tell me.”

“I called her every Friday night, around nine. She had to be free to answer. Obviously I knew she was with everyone in the house, but I called her anyway and ordered her to go outside. She obeyed me, as always.”