The Whispering City by Sara Moliner Read Free Book Online

Why couldn’t she have accepted the conditions the policeman had given her and then work out how to get round them? But it was ‘her’ first article. Or it would have been, since her eagerness to finally write something of her own had brought on this absurd refusal and now, if Sanvisens didn’t fire her for being an idiot, he would leave her for ever stuck in the glittering dungeon of society parties. But, at that moment, it was Sanvisens himself who came to her aid.
    ‘My boss told me that it is very important our readers see the efficiency with which you work to solve this case.’
    Castro observed her with a neutral expression. Instinctively, she resorted to adjectives. ‘In a delicate case such as this one, it is crucial to highlight the extensive police work, the noble spirit with which a diligent and efficient investigation is carried out, to find the perpetrators of such a horrendous crime.’
    ‘Of course. And?’
    ‘And my articles could be of great help to you. Which is why I dare to suggest that you allow me to follow your work closely and present it in my newspaper. Based, of course, on the information you provide me with.’
    She noticed a slight lift at the left corner of Castro’s mouth. It seemed that her efforts to keep the job had at least amused him. She saw the ‘yes’ timidly rising to the policeman’s lips while a ‘no’ kept it tightly shut. The ‘yes’ bounced against his teeth and fell back, but took a running start… It tried twice more and both times the inspector stifled a smile.
    Then the door opened and Officer Sevilla came in.
    ‘What is it?’ asked Castro, and Ana saw the ‘yes’ squashed in the inspector’s annoyed expression.
    ‘Carmen Alonso is already here.’
    ‘Mariona Sobrerroca’s maid,’ said Ana.
    Castro looked at her and she felt compelled to add, in an attempt to impress him, ‘I have a very good memory for names, and you mentioned her a moment ago.’
    She hadn’t given up completely, and she was trying to earn points, even fractions of points, to nudge him in her favour.
    Sevilla stood in the doorway awaiting orders from his boss.
    ‘Bring her here.’
    Ana understood that her arguments hadn’t convinced him. She accepted defeat, closed her notebook and got up to leave the office. But Castro stopped her.
    ‘What? Don’t you want to see the extensive police work and noble spirit with which we carry out a diligent and efficient investigation? Well, now’s your chance.’
    She didn’t miss Castro’s satisfaction when he saw the astonishment he had caused by repeating her words almost verbatim. They were like two cocksure gunslingers in a western. That the policeman in turn wanted to impress her with another display of his memory could be a good sign. It also meant she had to be careful with what she said.
    Castro addressed his subordinate. ‘Sevilla, put the lady from
La Vanguardia
in a chair there, in the corner, so she can see well.’
    The officer obeyed the order. He placed a chair behind Castro’s desk. From there, Ana would be able to see the woman’s face. She settled in her place with a gesture from the inspector.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Sevilla told her in a joking tone, ‘the blood splatters won’t reach you there.’
    ‘Sevilla!’ reprimanded Castro.
    ‘But she’s a witness, isn’t she?’ said Ana timidly.
    ‘That remains to be seen,’ Castro replied.
    The officer went out to look for the woman.
    Again Ana felt the anxiety that had seized her when she’d approached the police headquarters. The building was covered in a slick of fear that emanated from its innards, from the basements that were the setting for torture and death. As with so much else, it was something that was known and not talked about. The fear that impregnated the headquarters’ walls was nourished by stories told in hushed voices, by unexplained absences whose causes were nonetheless clear, by the cruel echoes of denunciations. Fear penetrated the