Flora’s face suddenly contracted into a grimace and she started to cry.
‘You killed Anne, you’re a murderer,’ she said as if finally convincing herself.
‘As you’re always saying, Flora, someone had to make the right decision; it was a question of responsibility, somebody had to do it.’
‘You could have spoken to me about it, if what you wanted was to preserve the valley there are other ways of doing it, but killing young girls … Víctor, you’re ill, you must be crazy, otherwise this is impossible.’
‘Don’t talk to me like that, Flora,’ he smiled meekly, like a little boy who is sorry for some mischief. ‘Flora, I love you.’
The tears poured down her face.
‘I love you too, Víctor, but why didn’t you ask me for help?’ she whispered lowering the gun.
He took two steps towards her and stopped, still smiling.
‘I’ll ask you now. What do you say? Will you help me bake?’
‘No,’ she said, raising the gun, her face serene again, ‘I’ve never mentioned it to you before, but I hate txantxigorris.’ And she fired.
Víctor looked at her, his eyes wide, slightly surprised by her action and by the intense wave of heat that spread through his chest, clearing his vision and making him aware of the other woman who was present to witness his end. Wrapped in a white cape that partially covered her head, Anne Arbizu was looking at him from the doorway with a grimace of something somewhere between disgust and pleasure. He heard her belagile’s laugh before the second shot hit him.
Amaia left the house and made her way quickly to the corner, holding Montes’s Glock firmly while she listened carefully for any sound of movement. She heard the second shot and broke into a run. On arriving at the end of the wall she cautiously followed the north side of the house, where the stables had stood a long time ago. A powerful light was shining from beyond the enormous green door, turning the lawn the colour of an emerald and looking out of place coming from what used to be an animal shed. Flora was standing in the doorway, holding the rifle at chest height and aiming inside with no hesitation.
‘Drop the rifle, Flora,’ shouted Amaia, pointing her gun at her.
Flora didn’t reply, but took a step inside the stables and disappeared from Amaia’s view. Amaia followed her, but only saw a shapeless shadow lying on the floor like a heap of old clothes.
Flora was sitting next to Víctor’s body. Her hands were stained with the blood pouring from his abdomen and she was stroking his face, streaking his forehead with red. Amaia went over to her and bent down beside her to take away the gun that was resting at her feet; then she put the Glock in her shoulder holster, leant over Víctor and put two fingers to his neck, trying to find his pulse while she searched through his clothes for a phone, which she used to call Iriarte.
‘I need an ambulance at Camino de los Alduides, it’s the third farm after the cemetery. Shots have been fired, I’ll wait for you here.’
‘It’s no use, Amaia,’ said Flora, almost whispering, as if she were afraid of waking Víctor. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Oh, Flora,’ she sighed and put a hand on Flora’s head, her heart breaking at the sight of her sister stroking Víctor’s inert body. ‘How could you?’
Flora looked up as if struck by lightning; she sat up as dignified as a medieval saint in a niche. Her voice was strong and contained a clear note of annoyance.
‘You still don’t understand anything. Somebody had to stop him, and if I’d waited for you to do it I’d have the whole valley covered in dead girls.’
Amaia removed the hand that was resting on Flora’s head as if she’d received an electric shock.
Two hours later.
Dr San Martín was leaving Víctor’s stable after confirming his death and Inspector Iriarte was coming over to Amaia with a frown on his face.
‘What did my sister tell you?’ she wanted to know.
‘That she found the report about the source of the flour lying on the ground in the car park of the Hotel Baztán, she put two and two together and she took the rifle with her because she was scared; she wasn’t entirely sure, but she decided to take it with her in case Víctor was the killer. She asked him about it and he not only admitted it but also became very violent; he advanced on her in a threatening manner and, believing herself to be in danger, she fired without thinking. But he didn’t fall and he kept advancing on her, so she fired again. She says she wasn’t very aware of what was happening, that she did it instinctively because she was terrified. The white van is inside, under a tarpaulin. Flora said he was using it to go and collect the motorbikes he was restoring. There were bags of flour from Mantecadas Salazar inside the oven and in the kitchen, in addition to the collection of horrors in the loft.’
Amaia sighed deeply and closed her eyes.
Ten hours later.
Amaia attended the funeral of Johana Márquez. Blending into the crowd, she prayed for the eternal repose of her soul.
Forty-eight hours later.
Amaia received a call from Lieutenant Padua.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to make a statement about your informant. The guardias from the Nature Protection Service found human bones of a distinctive size and origin in the cave you mentioned to us; based on the number they’ve found, they’ve calculated that they comprise the remains of a dozen or so bodies that have been thrown into the cave any old how. According to the forensic scientist some of them have been there for more than ten years and they all display human tooth marks. I know what you’re going to ask me, and the answer is yes, they match the bite on Johana’s body, and no, they don’t match Víctor Oyarzábal’s dental imprint.
A fortnight later, and on the day of the national launch of her book Con mucho gusto, the judge released Flora without charge and she decided to take a long holiday on the Costa del Sol while Rosaura took charge of the management of Mantecadas Salazar. Not only were the sales unaffected, but in a few weeks Flora became some kind of local heroine. Ultimately, the valley had always respected women who did what had to be done.
Eighteen days later she received a phone call from Dr Takchenko.
‘Inspector, it turns out that you were right in the end: the French observation service’s GPS picked up the presence of a female bear aged about seven and quite confused which had descended as far as the valley. You needn’t worry. Linnete is already back in the Pyrenees.’
A month later.
Her period didn’t arrive. Nor the next month, nor the next …
GLOSSARY
Aita: father.
Aizkolari: a woodcutter who cuts up the tree trunks. Nowadays, a specialist in wood chopping in rural Basque sports competitions.
Ama: mother.
Amatxi: grandmother.
Basajaun: literally the ‘gentleman of the woods’.
Belagile: a dark, powerful woman, a witch.
Botil-harri or botarri: a stone pot or bottle; used in the game of laxoa, a Basque variation of pelota.
Eguzkilore: symbol representing the dried flower of the silver thistle which is hung at the entrance to houses to ward off evil spirits. Elizondo’s literal meaning is ‘beside the church’.
Esparto: sandal with a sole woven from dried esparto grass.
Etxeko andreak: housewives.
Ikastola: a school where lessons are taught in Basque.
Jentil: a type of giant that features in Basque mythology.
Olentzero or Olentzaro: a Navarran folk character who is a traditional part of Basque Christmas celebrations. He is a mythical coal miner who brings the presents on Christmas day.
Pelota: a traditional Basque ball game which is played against a wall.
Día de los Reyes Magos: In Spain Epiphany is a national public holiday. According to Spanish tradition, it is the Three Kings rather than Father Christmas who bring presents for good children and many towns hold colourful parades to celebrate the occasion.
Sorgiña: witch.
Trinquete:
pelota court.
Txikitos: glasses of wine.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to express my thanks to everyone who was so generous with their knowledge and time and who helped this novel become a reality.
To Señor Leo Seguín of the Universidad Nacional de San Luis for his assistance regarding molecular biology.
To Juan Carlos Cano for his advice on the restoration of classic motorbikes. He helped me understand how fascinating that world is.
To the spokesperson for the Policía Foral de Navarra, Deputy Inspector Mikel Santamaría, for his patience in answering my questions.
To the Jorge Oteiza Baztán Ethnography Museum, which originally provided me with the material I needed to get started.
To my agent, Anna Soler-Pont, for making this happen.
Thank you Mari for coming out of retirement and doing me the honour of manifesting yourself in this storm, which has had me at its mercy since I started writing the Baztan trilogy.
About the Author
Dolores Redondo was born in Donostia-San Sebastián in 1969, where she studied Law and Gastronomy. The Invisible Guardian was published in Spain in 2013, with rights sold in twenty-seven languages. It was chosen as ‘Best Crime Novel of the Year’ by the major Spanish newspaper La Vanguardia and over 400,000 readers turned the series (which includes the follow-up novels The Legacy of the Bones and Offering to the Storm) into one of Spain’s biggest literary successes in recent years. The film adaptation is being developed by the producer of The Killing and Stieg Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy.
Dolores Redondo currently lives and writes in the Ribera Navarra area of Spain.
About the Publisher
Australia
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Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
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New Zealand
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http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
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London,SE1 9GF
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
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The Invisible Guardian Page 39
