“I did. He has also kept those receipts. They were for works to improve, maintain, and alter the family mausoleum.”
“Someone is buried in Marlasca’s tomb who isn’t Marlasca.”
“That’s what you say. But if
you want me to desecrate a grave, you must understand that you have to provide me with a more solid argument. Anyway, let me continue with my revision of your story.”
I swallowed.
“Since I was there, I decided to walk over to Bogatell beach, where for one real I found at least ten people ready to reveal the huge secret of the Witch of Somorrostro. I didn’t tell you this morning when you were narrating your story so as not to ruin the drama, but in fact the big, stout woman who called herself by that name died years ago. The old woman I saw this morning doesn’t even frighten children and is laid up in a chair. And there’s a detail you will love: she’s dumb.”
“Inspector—”
“I haven’t finished. You can’t say I don’t take my work seriously. So much so that from there I went to the large old mansion you described to me next to Güell Park, which has been abandoned for at least ten years and in which I’m sorry to say there were no pictures or prints or anything else but cat shit. What do think?”
I didn’t reply.
“Tell me, Martín. Put yourself in my position. What would you have done?”
“Given up, I suppose.”
“Exactly. But I’m not you and, like an idiot, after such a fruitful tour I decided to follow your advice and look for the fearsome Irene Sabino.”
“Did you find her?”
“Give the police some credit, Martín. Of course we found her. A complete wreck in a miserable pension in the Raval, where she’s lived for years.”
“Did you speak to her?”
Grandes nodded.
“At length.”
“And?”
“She hasn’t the faintest idea who you are.”
“Is that what she told you?”
“Among other things.”
“What things?”
“She told me that she met Diego Marlasca at a session organized by Roures in an apartment on Calle Elisabets, where a spiritualist group called the Afterlife Society held meetings in the year 1903. She told me she met a man who took refuge in her arms, a man who was destroyed by the loss of his son and trapped in a marriage that no longer made any sense. She told me that Marlasca was kindhearted but disturbed. He believed that something had got inside him and was convinced that he was soon going to die. She told me that before he died he left some money in a trust, so that she and the man she had abandoned to be with Marlasca—Juan Corbera, aka Jaco—would receive something once he was gone. She told me that Marlasca took his life because he couldn’t bear the pain that was consuming him. She told me that she and Juan Corbera had lived off Marlasca’s charity until the trust ran out, and soon afterwards the man you call Jaco dumped her. People say he died alone, an alcoholic, working as a night watchman in the Casaramona factory. She told me that she did take Marlasca to see the woman they called the Witch of Somorrostro, because she thought the woman might comfort him and make him believe he would be reunited with his son in the next life … Shall I continue?”
I unbuttoned my shirt and showed him the cuts Irene Sabino had engraved on my chest the night she and Marlasca had attacked me in the San Gervasio cemetery.
“A six-pointed star. Don’t make me laugh, Martín. You could have made those cuts yourself. Irene Sabino is just a poor woman who earns her living in a laundry in Calle Cadena, not a sorceress.”
“And what about Ricardo Salvador?”
“Ricardo Salvador was thrown out of the police force in 1906, after spending two years stirring up the case of Diego Marlasca’s death while having an illicit relationship with the widow of the deceased. The last thing anyone knew about him was that he’d decided to take a ship to the Americas and start a new life.”
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the enormity of the deceit.
“Don’t you realize, Inspector? Don’t you realize you’re falling into the same trap that was laid for me by Marlasca?”
Grandes looked at me with pity.