Read Online The Summer of Dead Toys by Antonio Hill - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Antonio Hill
Ads: Link
inconvenient than helpful.
7
“I believe we’re boring Agent Castro.” It was Superintendent Savall’s tone of voice, dry and ironic, accompanied by a direct gaze, that made Leire Castro aware he was speaking to her. More accurately, it got her attention. “I’m very sorry to pull you away from your passionate inner life for a matter so irrelevant as the one we’re discussing, but we need your opinion. Whenever you think it convenient, of course.”
Leire blushed up to her hairline and tried to find an apology. It would be difficult to come up with a coherent answer to a question she hadn’t heard because she was immersed in her worries.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was, I was thinking . . .”
Savall realized, as did Salgado and Andreu, that his question, still hanging in the air, had gone unnoticed by Agent Castro. All four were in the superintendent’s office, behind closed doors, with the Marc Castells case file on the desk. Leire desperately forced herself to find something adequate to say. The super had described the autopsy report, which she knew well. Alcohol levels slightly over the limit; the guy wouldn’t have passed a breathalyzer test, but he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t stand upright. The medical analysis hadn’t shown the smallest trace of any drugs in his blood which would allow them to deduce a delirium that might have made him fall into the void. The phrase “medical analysis” had thrown up a whirl of resolved doubts which led to others more difficult to resolve, a mental storm from which she awoke abruptly.
“We were discussing the matter of the broken door,” said Inspector Salgado, and she turned toward him brimming with gratitude.
“Yes,” she breathed, relieved. There she was on safe ground: her voice took on a concise, formal tone. “The problem is that no one was very clear on when it broke. The cleaner thought she’d seen it already broken when she left that evening, but she wasn’t sure. In any case, there were numerous fireworks in the rear part of the house, in all probability originating in the neighboring garden. Its owners have four sons, and the boys admitted they’d been throwing them part of the evening and the night.”
“Yeah. At the end of the day, it was San Juan,” interjected the superintendent. “God! I hate that night. At one time it used to be fun, but now those little monsters throw small bombs.”
Leire continued, “What is certain is that nothing in the house was missing and there was no meaningful sign that might indicate anyone having entered there. What’s more—”
“What’s more, the supposed burglar would’ve had to go up to the attic to push the boy. And for what? No, it doesn’t make sense.” The super made an irritated gesture.
“With all due respect,” said Andreu, who’d kept quiet until then, “this boy fell. Or at worst, he jumped. Alcohol affects people differently.”
“Is there something that makes you think suicide?” asked
Héctor.
“Nothing significant,” answered Leire instantly. Then she
realized the question wasn’t directed at her. “Pardon.” “Since you’re so sure, explain why,” barked the super. “Well,” she took a few seconds to organize her thoughts,
“Marc Castells had come home a while ago after spending six
months in Dublin, learning English. According to his father,
the trip had done him good. Before leaving, he’d had problems at school: not attending, negative attitude, even a threeday suspension from the centre. He managed to pass Second
Baccalaureate, but he didn’t obtain the necessary marks to
study what he wanted. It seems he wasn’t very sure of what he
wanted to study really, so he deferred beginning a degree for
a year.”
“Yeah. And he was sent to Ireland to study English. In
my time, he would’ve been put to work.” The superintendent couldn’t help a sarcastic tone. He closed the file. “That’s
enough. This is like a school board. Go and talk to the parents
and
7
“I believe we’re boring Agent Castro.” It was Superintendent Savall’s tone of voice, dry and ironic, accompanied by a direct gaze, that made Leire Castro aware he was speaking to her. More accurately, it got her attention. “I’m very sorry to pull you away from your passionate inner life for a matter so irrelevant as the one we’re discussing, but we need your opinion. Whenever you think it convenient, of course.”
Leire blushed up to her hairline and tried to find an apology. It would be difficult to come up with a coherent answer to a question she hadn’t heard because she was immersed in her worries.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was, I was thinking . . .”
Savall realized, as did Salgado and Andreu, that his question, still hanging in the air, had gone unnoticed by Agent Castro. All four were in the superintendent’s office, behind closed doors, with the Marc Castells case file on the desk. Leire desperately forced herself to find something adequate to say. The super had described the autopsy report, which she knew well. Alcohol levels slightly over the limit; the guy wouldn’t have passed a breathalyzer test, but he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t stand upright. The medical analysis hadn’t shown the smallest trace of any drugs in his blood which would allow them to deduce a delirium that might have made him fall into the void. The phrase “medical analysis” had thrown up a whirl of resolved doubts which led to others more difficult to resolve, a mental storm from which she awoke abruptly.
“We were discussing the matter of the broken door,” said Inspector Salgado, and she turned toward him brimming with gratitude.
“Yes,” she breathed, relieved. There she was on safe ground: her voice took on a concise, formal tone. “The problem is that no one was very clear on when it broke. The cleaner thought she’d seen it already broken when she left that evening, but she wasn’t sure. In any case, there were numerous fireworks in the rear part of the house, in all probability originating in the neighboring garden. Its owners have four sons, and the boys admitted they’d been throwing them part of the evening and the night.”
“Yeah. At the end of the day, it was San Juan,” interjected the superintendent. “God! I hate that night. At one time it used to be fun, but now those little monsters throw small bombs.”
Leire continued, “What is certain is that nothing in the house was missing and there was no meaningful sign that might indicate anyone having entered there. What’s more—”
“What’s more, the supposed burglar would’ve had to go up to the attic to push the boy. And for what? No, it doesn’t make sense.” The super made an irritated gesture.
“With all due respect,” said Andreu, who’d kept quiet until then, “this boy fell. Or at worst, he jumped. Alcohol affects people differently.”
“Is there something that makes you think suicide?” asked
Héctor.
“Nothing significant,” answered Leire instantly. Then she
realized the question wasn’t directed at her. “Pardon.” “Since you’re so sure, explain why,” barked the super. “Well,” she took a few seconds to organize her thoughts,
“Marc Castells had come home a while ago after spending six
months in Dublin, learning English. According to his father,
the trip had done him good. Before leaving, he’d had problems at school: not attending, negative attitude, even a threeday suspension from the centre. He managed to pass Second
Baccalaureate, but he didn’t obtain the necessary marks to
study what he wanted. It seems he wasn’t very sure of what he
wanted to study really, so he deferred beginning a degree for
a year.”
“Yeah. And he was sent to Ireland to study English. In
my time, he would’ve been put to work.” The superintendent couldn’t help a sarcastic tone. He closed the file. “That’s
enough. This is like a school board. Go and talk to the parents
and
Similar Books
