“And Jaco?”
“I answer only for myself. What Jaco might have done is not my responsibility.”
“Then he did do something.”
“What do you want me to say? That he went off with the money Salvador insisted Marlasca had in a secret account? That he killed Marlasca and fooled us all?”
“And that’s not what happened?”
Roures stared at me.
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him since the day Marlasca died. I told Salvador and the rest of the police everything I knew. I never lied. If Jaco did do something, I never knew about it or got anything out of it.”
“What can you tell me about Irene Sabino?”
“Irene loved Marlasca. She would never have plotted anything that might hurt him.”
“Do you know what happened to her? Is she still alive?”
“I think so. I was told she was working in a laundry in the Raval quarter. Irene was a good woman. Too good. That’s why she’s ended up the way she has. She believed in those things. She believed in them with all her heart.”
“And Marlasca? What was he looking for in that world?”
“Marlasca was involved in something, but don’t ask me what. Something that neither Jaco nor I had sold him. All I know is that I once heard Irene say that apparently Marlasca had found someone, someone I didn’t know—and, believe me, I knew everyone in the profession—who had promised him that if he did something, I don’t know what, he would recover his son, Ismael, from the dead.”
“Did Irene say who that someone was?”
“She’d never seen him. Marlasca didn’t let her. But she knew that he was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
Roures clicked his tongue.
“Marlasca thought that he was cursed.”
“Can you explain?”
“I’ve already told you. He was ill. He was convinced that something had got inside him.”
“Something?”
“A spirit. A parasite. I don’t know. Look, in this business you get to know a lot of people who are not exactly in their right mind. A personal tragedy hits them—they lose a lover or a fortune—and they fall down the hole. The brain is the most fragile organ in the body. Señor Marlasca was not of sound mind. Anyone could see that after talking to him for five minutes. That’s why he came to me.”
“And you told him what he wanted to hear.”
“No. I told him the truth.”
“Your truth?”
“The only truth I know. I thought he was seriously unbalanced and I didn’t want to take advantage of him. That sort of thing never ends well. In this business there is a line you don’t cross, if you know what’s good for you. We offer our services to people who come to us looking for a bit of fun or some excitement and comfort from the world beyond, and we charge accordingly. But anyone who seems to be on the verge of losing his mind we send home. It is a show like any other. What you want are spectators, not visionaries.”
“Exemplary ethics. So, what did you say to Marlasca?”
“I told him it was all a load of mumbo jumbo, I told him I was a trickster who made a living organizing séances for poor devils who had lost their loved ones and needed to believe that lovers, parents, and friends were waiting for them in the next world. I told him there was nothing on the other side, just a giant void, and this world was all we had. I told him to forget about the spirits and return to his family.”
“And he believed you?”
“Obviously not. He stopped coming to the sessions and looked elsewhere for help.”