“Didn’t your parents come to see you?”
“They weren’t my parents.”
“I mean the Ubachs.”
“No. When at last I was discharged, two policemen and an ambulance picked me up and took me back to the Ubachs’ mansion in Madrid.”
“What did the Ubachs say when they saw you?”
“The señora, for that’s how she liked me to call her, spat in my face and called me a bitch and an ungrateful whore. Ubach summoned me to his office. The whole time I was there, he didn’t even bother to look up from his desk. He explained that they were going to send me to a boarding school near El Escorial, and that I’d be able to come home for a few days at Christmas, so long as I behaved myself. The next day they took me there.”
“How long were you at the boarding school?”
“Three weeks.”
“Why for such a short time?”
“The head of the school discovered that I’d told my roommate, Ana Maria, what had happened.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Everything.”
“Including the stealing of children?”
“Everything.”
“And she believed you?”
“Yes. Something like that had also happened to her. Almost all the girls in the boarding school had a similar story.”
“What happened?”
“A few days later they found her hanging in the boarding-school attic. She was sixteen.”
“Suicide?”
“What do you think?”
“And you? What did they do to you?”
“They took me back to the Ubachs’ house.”
“And . . . ?”
“Ubach gave me a beating and locked me in my room. He told me that if I ever told lies about him again, they’d stick me in a mental hospital for the rest of my life.”
“And what did you say?”
“Nothing. That very night, while they slept, I sneaked out of my room through the window and locked the door of the Ubachs’ bedroom, on the third floor. Then I went down to the kitchen and opened the gas taps. They kept drums of kerosene for the generator in the basement. I walked all around the first floor, sprinkling kerosene on the floor and the walls. Then I set fire to the curtains and went out into the garden.”
“You didn’t run away?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wanted to see them burn.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you can understand. But I’ve told you the whole truth. Now you tell me something.”
“Of course.”
“Where’s my sister?”
15
“Your sister is now called Mercedes, and she’s in a safe place.”
“Like this one?”
“No.”
“I want to see her.”
“Soon. First tell me about your husband, Ignacio Sanchís. I can’t quite understand how Miguel Ángel Ubach, who had all the top law firms in the country at his service, decided to make a promising but inexperienced young man his executor. Have you any idea why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No.”
“Ignacio was Ubach’s son. He fathered him with a chorus girl he used to see when he was young. Her name was Dolores Ribas, and she was a regular in the music halls of the Paralelo district. Because Ubach’s wife—the señora—didn’t want to ruin her figure by having children, Ubach supported Ignacio secretly. He paid for his schooling, and when Ignacio came of age, he made sure he enjoyed plenty of opportunities, enabling him to join a law practice, which Ubach then took on.”
“Did Sanchís know? Did he know Ubach was his real father?”
“Of course.”
“Is that why he married you?”
“He married me to protect me. He was my only friend. He was an honest and decent man.”
“So it was a sham marriage?”
“It was the most real marriage I’ve ever seen, but if you’re referring to that, no, he never laid a finger on me.”
“When did you start planning your revenge?”
“Because he had access to all the Ubach documentation, Ignacio put two and two together regarding Valls. It was his idea. By going through the story of my real father, Víctor Mataix, we found out about some of his prison companions, from David Martín to Sebastián Salgado, and Morgado, whom he hired as a chauffeur and bodyguard. But we’ve already talked about that . . . no?”
“It doesn’t matter. Was it also your idea to use David Martín’s ghost to frighten Valls?”
“It was my idea.”
“Who wrote the letters that you sent Valls?”
“I did.”
“What happened in November 1956 in the Círculo de Bellas Artes, here in Madrid?”
“The letters were not achieving what we had hoped for. The idea had been to instill an increasing fear in Valls and make him believe there was a plot, orchestrated by David Martín, to take revenge on him and reveal the truth about his past.”
“To what end?”
“To get him to make a false move and return to Barcelona to confront Martín.”
“Which you achieved.”
“Yes, but we were forced to apply more pressure.”
“And that was the murder attempt in 1956?”
“Among other things.”
“Who perpetrated it?”
“Morgado. He wasn’t supposed to kill Valls, just scare him and convince him he wasn’t safe even in his own bunker, and never would be until he came in person to Barcelona to silence David Martín once and for all.”
“But he would never be able to find him, because he was dead.”
“Exactly.”
“What other things, as you were saying, did you do to apply pressure?”
“Ignacio paid a member of his house staff to leave one of my father’s books, Ariadna and the Scarlet Prince, in Valls’s office in Villa Mercedes. It was the night of the masked ball. There was a note in the book, and the list with the numbers of the forged documents we’d discovered until then. It was the last note he received. After that he couldn’t take it any longer.”
“Why did you never go to the police or the press?”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’d like to go back to the matter of the list.”
“I’ve already told you everything I know. Why is that list so important to you?”
“It’s a question of getting to the bottom of this business. So we can see justice is done. To find the real architect of this nightmare that you and so many others have lived through.”
“Valls’s partner?”
“Yes. That’s why I have to insist.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I’d like you to make an effort and try to remember. The list, you say it only included numbers? Not the names of the children?”
“No. Just the numbers.”
“Do you remember how many? More or less.”
“There must have been about forty.”
“How did you get hold of those numbers? What made you think there were more cases of children stolen from parents murdered on Valls’s orders?”
“Morgado. When Valentín began working for the family, he told us he’d heard of entire families that had disappeared. Many of his old prison mates had died in the castle, and then their wives and children had vanished without a trace. Ignacio told Valentín to give him a list of names, and he hired Brians, the lawyer, to make discreet inquiries in the Civil Registry and try to find out what had happened to those people. The easiest to find were the death certificates. When he saw that they were mostly issued on the same day, he suspected, and looked up the birth certificates with the same date.”
“How ingenious of Brians. Not everyone would have thought of doing that.”
“When he made that discovery, we began to think that if Valls had done what it looked like he’d done in those cases, there could be many more. In o
ther prisons. In families we didn’t know, all over the country. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands.”
“Did you tell anyone about your suspicions?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t investigate anyone beyond those cases?”
“Ignacio was planning to do that. But he was arrested.”
“What happened to the original list?”
“That man kept it. Hendaya.”
“Are there copies?”
Victoria shook her head.
“Didn’t you or your husband make at least one? For security?”
“The ones that existed were at home. Hendaya found them and destroyed them there and then. He was very clear that it was the best thing to do. All he wanted to know was where we’d hidden Valls.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely. I’ve already told you a few times.”
“I know, I know. And yet, even so, somehow I can’t quite believe you. Have you lied to me, Ariadna? Tell me the truth.”
“I’ve told you the whole truth. What I don’t know is whether you have too.”
Leandro’s eyes, devoid of all expression, rested on her as if they’d just noticed her presence. He smiled weakly and leaned forward. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Ariadna.”
She could feel her eyes fill with tears. The words slid out of her lips before she realized she was uttering them. “I think you do know. You were in the car, weren’t you? The day they came to arrest my father and take my sister and me away. You were Valls’s partner . . . the black hand.”
Leandro gazed sadly at her. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else, Ariadna.”
“Why?” She was barely able to speak.
Leandro stood up and walked over to her. “You’ve been very brave, Ariadna. Thanks for your help. I don’t want you to worry about anything. It has been a privilege to know you.”
Ariadna looked up and confronted Leandro’s smile, a balm of peace and compassion. She wanted to lose herself in that smile and never wake up again. Leandro leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.
His lips were cold.
* * *
That night, while the doctor’s magic potion made its way through her veins one last time, Ariadna dreamed about the Scarlet Prince of the stories her father had written for her, and she remembered.
Many years had passed, and she could barely recall her parents’ faces, or her sister’s. She could only do so in dreams. Dreams that always took her back to the day those men arrived to take her father away and kidnap her and her sister, leaving their mother for dead in the house in Vallvidrera.
That night she dreamed that she could once again hear the rumble of the car approaching through the trees. She remembered the echo of her father’s voice in the garden. She looked out the bedroom window and saw the black carriage of the Scarlet Prince stopping by the fountain. The door of the carriage opened, and light turned to shadow.
Ariadna felt the touch of ice-cold lips on her skin, and the silent voice bled like poison through the walls. She wanted to run and hide with her sister inside a wardrobe, but the Scarlet Prince’s eyes saw everything and knew everything. Huddled in the dark, she listened to his footsteps, as the architect of all nightmares slowly approached.
16
A pungent aroma of eau de cologne and American tobacco preceded him. Valls heard his footsteps coming down the stairs, but refused to give him the satisfaction. In lost battles, the last defense is indifference.
“I know you’re awake,” said Hendaya at last. “Don’t make me throw a bucket of cold water over you.”
Valls opened his eyes in the half-light. The cigarette smoke emerged from the shadows and drew jellylike shapes in the air. The glow of the embers lit up Hendaya’s eyes.
“What do you want?”
“I thought we could talk.”
“I’ve got nothing to tell you.”
“Do you feel like smoking? They say it shortens one’s life.”
Valls shrugged. Hendaya smiled, lit a cigarette, and handed it to him through the bars.
Valls accepted it with trembling fingers and took a drag. “What do you want to talk about?”
“About the list,” said Hendaya.
“I don’t know what list you mean.”
“The one you found in a book in your office at home. The one you had on you the day they captured you. The one that contained about forty numbers of birth and death certificates. You know what list.”
“I don’t have it anymore. Is that what Leandro is looking for? Because he’s the person you’re working for, isn’t he?”
Hendaya settled down again on the stairs and looked at him with indifference. “Did you make a copy?”
Valls shook his head.
“Are you sure? Think about it.”
“Perhaps I made a copy.”
“Where is it?”
“Vicente had it. My bodyguard. Before we got to Barcelona, we stopped at a gas station. I asked Vicente to buy a notebook, and I copied the numbers there so that he too had a copy, in case something happened and we had to separate. He knew someone he could trust in the city, and he was going to ask that person to locate the certificates and destroy them, after we’d got rid of Martín and found out who else he’d given that information to. That was the plan.”
“And where’s that copy now?”
“I don’t know. Vicente had it on him. I don’t know what they’ve done with his body.”
“Is there any other copy apart from the one Vicente had?”
“No.”
“Are you sure now?”
“Yes.”
“You know that if you lie to me, or you hide something from me, I’ll keep you here indefinitely.”
“I’m not lying.”
Hendaya nodded and fell into a long silence. Valls was afraid he would go and leave him alone again for another twelve hours. He’d reached the point at which Hendaya’s brief visits were the only event he could look forward to.
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
Hendaya smiled as if he’d been waiting for the question, for which he had a perfectly rehearsed answer. “Because you don’t deserve it.”
“Does Leandro hate me that much?”
“Señor Montalvo doesn’t hate anyone.”
“What must I do to deserve it?”
Hendaya was looking at him with interest. “From my experience, those who boast the loudest about their wish to die fall apart at the last moment when they see the wolf’s teeth, and plead like little girls.”
“It’s ears.”
“What?”
“The Spanish saying is ‘To see the wolf’s ears.’ Not teeth.”
“I always forget we have a distinguished man of letters as our guest.”
“Is that what I am? One of Leandro’s guests?”
“You’re no longer anything. And when the wolf jumps upon you, and it will, the first thing you’ll notice will be its teeth.”
“I’m ready.”
“I don’t blame you. Don’t think I’m not aware of your situation and what you must be going through.”
“A compassionate butcher.”
“A thief thinks everyone steals. You see, I know about sayings too. I propose a deal. Between you and me. If you behave well and help me, I’ll kill you myself. It will be clean. A shot in the back of the neck. You won’t even notice. What do you say?”
“What must I do?”
“Come over. I want to show you something.”
Valls moved over to the bars of the cell. Hendaya was looking for something inside his jacket, and for a second Valls prayed it was a revolver and he’d blow off his head right there. What he pulled out was a photograph.
“I know someone was here. Don’t bother to deny it. I want you to have a good look at this photo and tell me whether this is the person you saw.”
Hendaya showed him the picture. Valls nodded.
“Who is it?”
“
Her name was Alicia Gris.”
“Was? Is she dead?”
“Yes, although she doesn’t know it yet,” Hendaya replied, putting away the snapshot.
“May I keep it?”
Hendaya raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t think you were sentimental.”
“Please.”
“You miss female company, eh?” Hendaya smiled magnanimously, then, with a sneer, threw the photograph inside the cell. “All yours. I must say, she’s a real stunner in her own way. Now you’ll be able to look at her every night and jerk off with both hands. Sorry, with one.”
Valls looked at him blankly.
“Keep behaving yourself and piling up those points. I’ll keep a hollow-point bullet for you as a farewell gift, a reward for all the services you’ve offered the fatherland.”
Valls waited until Hendaya had disappeared up the stairs before kneeling down to pick up the photograph.
17
Ariadna knew this was the day she was going to die. She knew the moment she woke up in the suite of the Gran Hotel Palace and opened her eyes to discover that one of Leandro’s minions had left a parcel on the desk while she was asleep. It was tied with a ribbon. She pulled aside the sheets and staggered to the table. It was a large white box with the word pertegaz inscribed on it in gold letters. Beneath the ribbon was an envelope with her name handwritten on it. When she opened it, she found a large card:
Dear Ariadna,
Today is the day when you can finally be reunited with your sister. I thought you’d like to look your best and celebrate that at last justice will be done, and you’ll never again have to fear anything or anyone. I hope you like it, I chose it personally for you.
Yours,
Leandro
Ariadna caressed the edges of the box before opening it. For a second she imagined a poisonous snake creeping up its side, ready to leap onto her neck the moment she lifted the lid. The inside was covered with soft tissue paper. She removed the first layer and found a complete set of underwear in white silk, stockings included. Beneath the underwear was an ivory-colored wool dress, with shoes and a bag to match. And a scarf. Leandro was sending her to her death dressed as a virgin.
The Labyrinth of the Spirits Page 66
