...Around midnight, at the ‘Mariscal’ nightclub, located near Calle 2 de Mayo, Cándido Heredia, a well-known drug dealer in the area, is sitting in a corner of the side bar his usual spot sipping a mixed drink.

For quite some time now, he has been keeping a close eye on a beautiful Brunette sitting on a bar stool a few metres from his corner, curiously drinking mineral water, something rarely seen in such places.

The Brunette is a pretty woman with long hair, cut to shoulder length in the ‘Cleopatra’ style; she is wearing a black blouse through which her bra, also black, is visible, clasping her ample breasts.

She is wearing black leather trousers, tight-fitting and accentuating her figure even more.

Heredia has noticed that the woman is keeping an eye on him too, glancing his way from time to time.

He hasn’t quite dared to strike up a conversation with the Brunette; deep down, he is somewhat shy. Although he is a tall man, with short curly hair and an 'Emiliano Zapata', style moustache, his dark complexion reveals his Gypsy origins. To his surprise, the Brunette approaches him...

“If you keep staring at me like that, you’ll wear me out!” are her first words to him.

“It’s just that it’s been ages since I’ve seen a woman like you around here! Usually, the ones who come along aren’t worth it…” and Heredia continues, paying her a compliment: “How do you manage to stay so slender?”

“Doing lots of sport! It burns the fat.”

“Any in particular?” he asks in a provocative tone.

"Lots! But... always with a partner; I don’t like groups, nor do I like doing it on my own." In the same tone.

Heredia can’t believe his luck; the Brunette is hitting on him. He wonders, from experience, where the catch is; and, keen to clear things up, he blurts out:

"Look, if you’re a professional, I don’t go to prostitutes!"

"Hey mate, you’re a dirty old man!" replies Brunette, offended. Heredia realises he’s just ruined his chance, so he quickly adds:

"Right, sorry! But I’m not used to a girl as hot as you hitting on me.”

“The waiter told me earlier that you’re the one who runs the show round here.”

“Let’s cut to the chase! If all you want is 'to make you a line', fifty euros will sort it out!”

“I always say… ‘Why pay for something you can get for free?’”

“You don’t look like the type to settle for a few measly euros.”

"I’m in the mood for a little party today… while my husband’s away on business, but if you’re going to play hard to get, forget it, I’ll find someone else who’s available!

"No, woman…! If it’s a good time you’re after, I’ve got plenty of that in me! By the way… Let’s go now!" The gypsy ‘dealer’ (Heredia) opts once again to get straight to the point.

"We’ll go in your car; I came here in a taxi." Clarifies the Brunette.

"And where do you reckon we’re going?" He asks. What the “sucker” doesn’t realise is that, without knowing it, he’s about to complicate his life with this woman; who is actually the wife of a notorious “professional” criminal, known as Antonio Pinilla, alias 'The Butcher'.

"To my house! I told you before that my husband’s away; no one will bother us."

"Right then! Shall we go, sweetheart?!"

Once in the car, Heredia tries to 'get a feel' for Brunette. She, whilst removing his hand from her knee, points out:

"I’d rather you didn’t get distracted whilst driving! We don’t want to crash! Be patient; later, at my place, we can play at whatever takes your fancy… given that perverted mind of yours! Ah…! And my name is Ángeles!

“What a lovely, heavenly name!” With that, Heredia complies, and for the rest of the journey, barely speaking, he spends the time imagining the erotic scenes he plans to have with her...

“Turn right at the next street!” Ángeles instructs.

“Is it much further?” asks Heredia, as he turns the steering wheel of his car.

“No! My house is at the end of that roundabout. Don’t be impatient; you’ll soon see all your desires fulfilled…”

The gypsy presses the accelerator to cover the distance separating them from the end of the street as quickly as possible.

“Turn off the engine and don’t make a sound!... I don’t want the neighbours to find out!”

“What a mansion! Your husband must be loaded!” exclaims the unsuspecting ‘dealer’ at the sight.

“I told you not to make a sound. Get out of the car and follow me!”

Heredia does as the Brunette (Ángeles) instructs; practically in the dark, they cross a small garden in front of the villa itself; the only light they have is that reflected from the few houses in the vicinity. With great care, they manage to reach the front door of the house, where the woman skilfully pushes him gently inside; taken aback, Heredia, thinking of previous dates, none of which are in the slightest bit like this one, asks Ángeles:

“Do you usually leave the door open?”

"I must have forgotten before, but come in, don’t stand there like a statue… and don’t make a sound!" A way of justifying the state of the door, after which Heredia enters the house… he takes a few steps through a dark hallway, and once inside exclaims:

"I can’t see a thing! Turn on the light, girl!"

“Turn it on yourself, there’s a switch at the end of the hallway! A few steps further on, right in front of you!” the woman tells him.

As Heredia takes those few more steps, he feels a heavy blow to his stomach:

"BLANG…!" a second one on his back a moment later: "PLAAANNNG…!" as if someone had struck him with a bar. Not knowing what is happening, he exclaims:

"What’s going on?! What’s going on?! Help meeee...!"

He cannot finish his cry for help, as another blow:

THUD…!" This time near his neck, causes him to lose consciousness.

…After about thirty minutes, Heredia regains consciousness, he doesn’t know how much time has passed; he sees that he is tightly bound to a chair with a thick rope, and furthermore, each of his wrists is clamped by the cold steel of handcuffs. the sort used by the police, which secure each of his limbs to the armrests of the chair in which he sits, imprisoned. His first reaction is to move both hands to free himself, but it is impossible…

He tries to scream but cannot; that is when he realises he has a rag in his mouth that reaches right down his throat. He wants to spit it out, but is prevented from doing so by adhesive tape securing it to his face.

In front of him are two men and Ángeles, the woman who brought him to the house. The silence is broken by the voice of the 'Butcher', nicknamed which Antonio Pinilla is known:

"What… you bastard? Did you think you were going to sleep with my woman…?" And he continues: "I’m going to cut off your fingers one by one!"

Heredia wonders: “Why?”, he doesn’t know him at all. The 'Butcher' notices his victim’s panic; he relishes seeing his eyes bulge, revelling in it to the point that small drops of semen ooze from his swollen penis, staining his trousers like a blot, the situation excites him. “You’re here to receive a gift from ‘Bartolomé Colón’, you bastard!” Yes… that one, the one you owe a lot of money to! Do you know who I’m talking about, you bastard? This is nothing compared to what I’ll do to that son of a bitch! For now, you’ll serve as my outlet to get even with that bastard…!

Heredia writhes in his chair, trying in vain to free himself from it; the restraints prevent him from moving, and he pays no heed to his tormentor’s curses. Nor, of course, does he realise that they are directed at Diego, a man who, before these events unfolded, had dared to ‘flirt’ with his wife, Àngeles; and we shall later learn how this altercation came about.

But back to the present; the 'Butcher' continues with his task:

"Paco, hold this son of a bitch down; I’m going to cut off his fingers! He orders his brother, who is also part of this peculiar and bloody team. At which point Paco Pinilla holds the diabolical chair down with all his might. Ángeles keeps her distance.

 From a corner of the living room, the 'Butcher' grabs an electric saw, taking advantage of the fact that the villa has electricity, and switches it on. It is his favourite tool, the one he enjoys using most...

"RAMMM, RUMMM, RUUUM!" Without further ado, he directs the blade of the saw towards the fingers of Heredia’s right hand, and as if he were dealing with an animal in a slaughterhouse, he saws off the fingers of his hand one by one, without flinching in the slightest and with great precision:

"RAAASSS, RUMMM, RAAASSS, RUMMM, RAMMM…!" Blood gushes from the unfortunate man’s hand.

Heredia feels the cold steel, writhing in pain; he has never felt anything like it before. His brain tries to send signals to make him faint; he cannot bear the pain. The ‘Butcher’, like a true professional and living up to his nickname, begins a “lapsus” upon finishing cutting off the five fingers of the unfortunate Heredia’s hand.

"Does it hurt, you bastard? Can you feel the cold? Can you feel your fingers coming off? Now I’ll cut off the ones on your other hand! When they find you, they won’t be able to recognise you!"

"RAAASSS, RUMMM, RAAASSS, RUMMM, RAMMM…!" Which he does with the cold-bloodedness of a murderer who takes pleasure in inflicting pain and watching his victim suffer. All the while, his penis continues to expel small drops of semen. He cuts off the fingers of his other hand in the same manner.

The gypsy still wants to pass out so he won’t have to suffer any more, but he can’t. The pain makes him shit himself…; then, in another reflex action, he wets himself; the rag stuffed down his throat chokes him at times.

The ‘Butcher’, watching his wife Ángeles, asks her and replies:

"Didn’t you want to fuck my wife?... Well, go on and fuck her now, you bastard…!"

Meanwhile, blood continues to gush from the wretch’s hands. The ‘Butcher’ drops the saw on the floor, picks up a cheap brown cloth sack, the sort used by the ‘farmers’ living in ‘Sa Pobla’, a region on the island of Mallorca, to fill with potatoes. And he places it over Heredia’s head. And once again, with his saw in his hands...:

“Step back, you let go of the chair, or I’ll cover you in blood!” The assistants at the makeshift butcher’s shop obey him. The ‘Butcher’ directs the saw towards the neck, and with a swift movement cuts his victim’s neck in just 3 seconds; the bones offer very little resistance, as he knows exactly which vertebrae to cut between:

"RAAASSS!, RUMMM, RAMMM…! RAMMM…!"

The head falls into the sack that now contains it.

From the rest of the body, through the little neck that remains, a huge jet of blood spurts out towards the ceiling of the room. The ‘Butcher’ cannot prevent a large amount of blood from the rest of the decapitated body from splattering him; until now, the two brothers had only received a few splashes.

“This bastard’s covered me in blood!” curses the 'Executioner'. “Come on, don’t just stand there! Ángeles, get in the shower and get some clean clothes ready!

“And you, pick up the sack with the head! And put this bastard’s fingers in my bag!” the 'Butcher' usually keeps his victims’ fingers in a climate controlled bag, which he then stores 'half dried' in a chest, like 'trophies'.

But at that moment, the decapitated body of the 'dealer', still slumped in the chair, jerks suddenly.

“Bloody hell, he’s alive!” exclaims the assistant, Paco Pinilla.

“No, you idiot! It’s a reflex; they all do it…” his brother, the 'Butcher', clarifies. “Get it over with! This is nothing compared to what I’ll do to that bastard!” Referring once again to Diego, he is obsessed with this man; it’s very typical of him to become “blinded” by someone who stands up to him…

However, little does the 'Butcher' realise that fate will bring the four of them together again in the not too distant future, and that his desire to end Diego’s life might just be fulfilled…

But having reached this point, and to understand what happened between them, let’s rewind 48 hours; and find out how and when these two characters: Antonio Pinilla’s 'Butcher' and the journalist Diego Torres, met. But first, we’ll have to meet his friend Javier.... To do so, we need to REWIND...

Time Machine

««« RIIIINNNG! «««, just a bit more…: ««« RIIIINNNG! «««, there, that’s it, here…:

…At twelve noon in the entrance hall of 241 San Bernardo Street, Javier Ponce, an official at the Ministry of Justice, awaits the arrival of solicitor Bauzá and his client. In Ponce’s hands is the bulky case file number 10528, relating to an eviction case against a certain ‘IVONNE’ GOMEZ CORTES.

After a few minutes, three individuals approach from behind Javier:

"Hello Javier, we’re here!" it is the dry voice of solicitor Bauzá. “We’ve also brought a locksmith, in case the key we have doesn’t open the lock,” he says, pointing to a man dressed in blue overalls, and continues: “Let me introduce you to Gabriel Enseñat, who is the owner of the property.”

Javier Ponce greets him with a handshake, paying no attention to the locksmith.

The members of the ‘Judicial Commission’, as this type of group of people assembled for such proceedings is known in legal jargon, take advantage of the fact that the building’s door is half-open and step inside. They make their way to the far end of the entrance, towards an old green lift.

Once inside, they press the button marked seven…

The lift slowly ascends the floors of the building until it stops at the designated floor.

On the landing, they find four doors, two immediately to their right, and the other two on the opposite side. Above each one is a letter: A, B... and D. Almost in unison, Javier Ponce and Bauzá exclaim:

"The letter C is missing!"

At this, the flat’s owner, Enseñat, points towards one of the doors on the left.

“It’s here; although I haven’t been here for over six months, this is the door to my flat, it’s unmistakable because of its darker colour.”

“Are you absolutely certain? We can’t be wrong.”

“No doubt about it! Look at this nameplate on the door too: ‘IVONNE’ GOMEZ.”

The solicitor takes a key from his pocket and inserts it into the door’s lock:

“It looks like the key works. We’ve been lucky!”

As he turns it to the left, the door opens, but... only a few inches. It’s blocked by a chain inside the flat.

Bauzá turns to the man in the blue overalls.

"Get out the bolt cutters and break the chain!"

"Hold on! If the chain’s on, it means someone’s inside; we’ll ring the bell first."

Having said that, Javier Ponce presses a switch to his right; the bell doesn’t ring. He tries again several times, but nothing can be heard.

“They must have cut the power,” exclaims the official.

The solicitor grows impatient and, without further ado, bangs on the door:

“POOM! POOM!”

The flat’s owner joins in this impromptu concert of banging:

“POOM! PUM! POOM!"

"Right, that’s enough! Let the locksmith cut the chain.”

Nodding several times, as if in agreement, Ponce consents to it being cut. The locksmith grips the chain with the tip of his pliers and snaps it with a sharp blow.

The door opens, and almost instantly, a foul stench wafts out of the flat, similar to that of an animal that has been dead for weeks.

Instinctively, all the members of the ‘Commission’ cover their mouths and noses with their hands:

"What a stench! There must be some dead, half-rotten animal in here…! “Or come to think of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were a person rather than an animal,” says Javier Ponce, who pulls a large, plain white handkerchief from his pocket and holds it over his nose and mouth.

Without a second thought, he enters the flat; the others don’t go past the door…

After taking just a few steps, he finds himself in the flat’s living room; at the far end, just beneath a large window, there is a sofa, and Javier’s gaze is drawn to it. He sees a body lying on it, half covered by a blanket, with a head of long blonde hair sticking out; the body shows every sign of being in an advanced state of decomposition.

Although Javier Ponce has encountered corpses in this state on other occasions, he cannot stop himself from feeling an overwhelming urge to vomit. He turns around and walks quickly towards the entrance. After spitting into his handkerchief, he exclaims:

"Just as I told you! It’s a woman’s body! We’ll have to call the magistrate to tell him." Heading towards the front door and knocking:

"PUUM, PUM…! PAM… PUUM…! His intention is to get the people in the flat to let him use the phone. The latest changes at the Ministry of Justice had placed a highly politicised individual in charge of management, with orders to cut the administration’s costs. This manager had decided to limit the number of handsets among the staff, particularly due to their excessive use of the phones. The proposed solution to the issue, that the staff themselves should provide their own mobile phones, hadn’t quite taken hold. And the instruction given by the unions to put pressure on the management was that if there were no mobiles, well, let the administration go to hell and let things proceed at their own pace… The End!

PUM... PUM! PUM! He continues banging whilst loudly complaining about the situation: "This wouldn’t be happening if they hadn’t taken our mobiles away with the cuts... (having already mentioned the ‘why’)."

"What’s going on? What’s happening?" asks a frightened woman, as she opens the door marked A.

Ponce takes out his wallet and shows his ID badge, replying:

"Look, madam, I’m from the court and I need to use your phone… Would you do me a favour?"

“Come in, come in, the phone’s on that little table.” Pointing towards an old, restored piece of furniture, she gestures for Javier Ponce to go over, pick up the receiver and hastily dial the court’s number the old, fashioned way:

“RANK, RANK, RENK, RENK…! RANK, RANK, RENK! RANK and RENK…!”

"…Duty Court, hello?"

"Hey Anastasia, it’s Javier Ponce, put me through to the judge!" His eagerness to contact his superior causes him to lose his manners with Anastasia, who isn’t being very helpful:

"That’s impossible! Judge Aguilera is in the courtroom…"

"Look, it’s very urgent! Please!" he finally uses the ‘magic words’. "Go to the courtroom and tell him to please come to the phone!"

“Right then, I’m on my way! But if it’s just some nonsense, you know what Aguilera’s like, he’s got a nasty temper and he’ll get right pissed off with you.” A few minutes pass, which feel like much longer to Javier, and through the receiver of Ponce’s phone comes the unmistakable tone of Judge Aguilera’s voice:

“Go on, Javier… What the hell’s going on…?!"

"I’ve gone to carry out an eviction at a flat on Calle San Bernardo, and I’ve come across the half-decomposed body of a woman. What do you want me to do?" Briefly bringing the judge up to speed on the events, who replies by giving him instructions:

"For the moment, don’t let anyone into the flat… Where did you say it was?"

"Take note… 246 San Bartolomé Street, on the seventh floor."

"Did I just hear you say San Bernardo?"

"You’re right! It’s San Bernardo Street. Sorry, but I’m a bit nervous. When you see the body, you won’t like what you see. Bring some gloves and a face mask.

"Don’t worry! I know exactly what I need to bring! I’ll give the orders to notify the coroner and the fire brigade!" The judge doesn’t like anyone, let alone a subordinate, giving him orders. "And you, calm down; it’s not the first time you’ve seen a dead body!"

The neighbour, watching… and having heard the whole conversation, decides to get involved in the ‘thick of it’; all this is far too curious and unusual not to:

"What’s going on, sir? Is it true what I heard you say about a dead body?"

"Yes, madam! In the house opposite, the one marked C, we’ve found the body of a blonde woman in an advanced state of decomposition. Did you know her?" Ponce explains what has happened, thinking she might have known her.

"If she’s a woman my age and tall… Yes!" The officer’s (Ponce’s) instinct is right once again. "What we thought in the block was that this couple had moved away… We hadn’t seen them for over six months, since at least early November."

"You mentioned a couple; do you know if they had any children?" Ponce continues to ask, aiming to extract everything the neighbour knows about her neighbours:

"No…! They were a bit of an odd couple, but as far as I know they didn’t have any children."

“‘You mean’! They didn’t have any children…!” The thought immediately occurred to the officer that there might be another body, specifically that of the man who made up the couple. But he decides to cut short his impromptu interrogation, thinking there will be time later to probe further into the situation: “Well, madam! Thank you very much! I’ll probably come and bother you again later, so you can tell me anything else you might know about your neighbours.”

"There’s not much more I can tell you; they were people who didn’t mix with anyone in the block. The owner of the flat used to come to the residents meetings, a man called ‘Enseñado’ or something like that (Enseñat)."

"Do you at least know your neighbours names?" asks Ponce.

"The woman’s, yes, a foreign name... Ivon, …but I don’t know the boy’s name…

But we’ve been standing in the hall talking this whole time… and I haven’t even offered you a coffee yet… Or perhaps a little beer?"

"Well…! I’d certainly appreciate a little glass of cognac, to help me get over the shock of seeing the dead woman."

"I’ll bring it round straight away! But… what about your colleagues? Wouldn’t a little drink do them good too?"

"No, madam, that would be taking the mickey."

"No, no, don’t worry…! Show them in whilst I get them ready."

Javier leaves the house and returns to the landing, where the solicitor is talking to the other two men.

“Hey, Bauzá! Come with me! This lady’s treating us to a glass of cognac.” The guests don’t turn down the offer; deep down, it suits them down to the ground, as it’ll help them get rid of the ‘smell’ that’s stuck in their nostrils. So they accept the offer and join the gathering.

Half an hour after these events, the lift doors open on the fateful seventh floor of the building. It is Judge Aguilera, accompanied by the coroner, Dr Miret.

Ponce, from inside the neighbour’s house, which remains with the door open, sees them and goes out to meet them:

‘How are you, Javier! Is this the house where the body is?"

"No, Your Honour, it’s behind you!" After making this point, he turns to his companion, the coroner: "How are you getting on, Miret? Always in the worst situations."

“Yes, Ponce, but I’m immune to the horror now.” As he turns and remarks: “Aguilera, shall we go in?” the doctor asks the judge.

“Go in? With the stench out here, imagine what it must be like inside the house. Let’s wait…!" The lift goes up again, and two men and a woman step out. Aguilera exclaims: "Blimey! You’re the female firefighter!" referring to an athletic woman dressed in the red uniform of the fire service. "I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!"

“Well… I think you’ve picked a bad time!” at which everyone present smiles.

“Come on, move aside and let us ventilate the flat!” orders the other firefighter as he puts on a respirator.

“Be careful, you’ll probably come across another body!” Ponce warns them. Paying him little heed, the firefighters enter the flat. Aguilera, who is ‘suspicion personified’, turns to Ponce:

“What did you mean by ‘another body’?”

“Yes, Judge Aguilera, the neighbour told me it was a couple who lived in the flat.”

“Well then! Let’s see how many dead bodies we end up finding…”

On the landing, everyone present is eager to enter the house to see how many dead bodies there are. After a while, the female firefighter reappears:

“You can go in whenever you like…! We’ve opened all the windows and the smell is starting to fade, but you’d be wise to put these masks on; there are just four of them…" As she takes them out of a sports bag and offers them round.

"There are enough! Give the first one to me, that’s what I’m the judge for!

Aguilera puts on the mask and enters the flat, heading straight for the sofa where the dead woman lies. He is followed by the coroner Miret, Javier Ponce and another man, who is the inspector from the Judicial Brigade and who has not spoken a word so far.

Lying on the sofa, with her legs slightly drawn up and covered with a blanket up to her waist, is the body of the unfortunate woman.

The corpse’s arm is stretched out and hanging down, with extremely long nails, which appear to have continued growing after death, and almost touching the floor; typical of a dehydrated corpse. Speaking with difficulty, Aguilera makes his first assessment of the deadly ‘scene’:

"Look, Miret, she’s got a syringe stuck in her!"

"Here we go again… another ‘junkie’!" exclaims Miret, the coroner.

Oblivious to this conversation, Javier Ponce scans with his eyes the numerous photographs which, as if on display, lie on a chest of drawers near the sofa. The inspector from the Judicial Brigade, who has put on gloves, points his camera’s lens at the body, and the automatic flash dazzles the room. At this, Judge Aguilera remarks:

“Very well, Quintillas, take photos of everything!” he says, addressing the hitherto silent inspector… and then turns to the coroner: “What do you think, Miret? How long has she been dead?”

“I’d say… five to seven months… and there are no visible signs of violence; as far as I can tell, she’s just another ‘drug addict’ who’s died of an overdose.”

“Blimey, Miret, you’re certainly quick! What’s the matter, is someone waiting for you?”

“No, Aguilera! The thing is, they bring one of these to the morgue every day; it’s a scourge that’s everywhere. Every night I pray that my daughter doesn’t get the idea to get involved… in all this shit!”

Judge Aguilera listens to him and understands him perfectly. Meanwhile, Javier Ponce, oblivious to the conversation, continues to look at the photographs of the flat. In practically all of them, there is a beautiful blonde woman, tall and with striking features, not typical of a woman. Also in many of them, a young man with dark skin and short, almost shaved hair is pictured.

Ponce picks up one of them (the photos) which is in a small silver frame, showing the couple with their cheeks pressed together, smiling at the camera. At the bottom of the photo, to one side, and in very small writing, it reads:

«To my dear Manolo, from your eternal love».

Javier Ponce notices something odd about the woman in the photograph; apart from her very pronounced features, her Adam’s apple is larger than normal for a woman. Without a second thought, he approaches Aguilera, taking off his mask as he does so and realising that his sense of smell has already adjusted to the scent of the flat:

Look, Aguilera, this must be a photo of the woman; she’s in almost all the photos, the deceased." Aguilera, noticing that Javier isn’t wearing his mask and before answering him, takes his off too; Dr Miret does the same. "And this man next to her must be her boyfriend." Not stopping at this comment, Ponce continues: "Don’t you notice anything odd about the woman?"

"What do you want us to notice, Ponce? All I can see is that the woman was absolutely stunning!"

"Can’t you see the woman has a man’s face? I’d say she’s a transvestite! I wouldn’t be surprised if they were a gay couple." The suspicious Ponce adds…

"Why are you talking rubbish? Can’t you see she’s a woman?" the judge reproaches him, whereupon the official seeks another opinion to back him up:

"And you, Miret...! What do you say?"

"Oh really...!?" exclaims Miret, as he pulls the blanket aside with his hand, revealing the rest of the unfortunate woman’s body. "And the willy...! Where is it, have the maggots eaten it?... Oh, Ponce, you’re something else!" Smiling ironically.

“Hey, Miret, don’t laugh, he might have had an operation!” says Ponce, raising a witty doubt about the victim’s possible gender.

“Come on, Javier, cut the nonsense and listen to Miret, he’s seen enough bodies to know what he’s talking about!... And by the way, haven’t they found the boyfriend’s body? The bloke in the photo? “Go and ask the firemen, see if they’ve seen him!” An order given with the intention of getting him away from them, his superior, the judge,

“All right, Aguilera, but I still think it’s a transvestite!”

Ponce, ignoring his orders, goes into a room; it’s practically empty, with no furniture; the only object in the room is a large box. He approaches it and lifts the lid. Inside are neatly arranged books; he takes one out and opens it, immediately recognising the characters drawn inside, they’re from the ‘Fantastic Four’ comic. A smile spreads across his face as he thinks of the memories they bring back: “It’s been years since I last saw you.” As if he were talking to the drawings. Despite being a strapping chap, 1.87 metres tall, with a sturdy build, though not fat, perhaps with a bit of a “belly” and medium-length, wavy brown hair. He is, after all, just a big kid. He places the comic back on the box and leaves the room, then enters the next one… The room is mostly taken up by a bed larger than usual, which, surprisingly, “is made” a clear sign that it hasn’t been used, or if it has, the person didn’t want it found unmade.

He opens the doors of a huge wardrobe to his right and notices that women’s clothes are hanging inside. There is an empty space that seems to suggest the other clothes have been hastily removed, given that normally the clothes would be more evenly distributed along the wardrobe rail...

He stops paying attention to the wardrobe and starts opening the drawers of the bedside table. In one of them he finds a pile of papers and photos; he takes them out of the drawer and places them on the bed. As he is looking at the new photographs of the blonde woman, he hears the unmistakable voice of Aguilera calling him from the living room. Ponce goes to his boss with the papers and photos, though he slips some of them into his pocket.

“Has the other body turned up?” asks Judge Aguilera anxiously.

“No, it hasn’t! It seems there are no further bodies. What I found was this pile of papers and some photos in the room,” explains Ponce.

“If you’re finished, we’re off! Come with me… I’ve come in Miret’s car!” orders the judge; the proceedings here are already becoming tedious and ‘tiring’ for him; to him, the cause of the unfortunate woman’s death is already clear: yet another ‘junkie’s’ overdose.

“Just a moment, let me organise all this documentation so I can take it with me.”

"Leave it! Just put them on top of this chest of drawers!" To which he adds, addressing the police inspector: "Quintillas, when you’ve finished your work, bring over some papers that Javier left on the chest of drawers in the hall!... And don’t forget all the photos there either! Include the framed ones as well… Let’s see if they’re of any use to us!

“Don’t worry, Your Honour… I’ll collect it all! Shall I take them out of the frames or bring them as well?” he asks, trying to make a joke.

But the judge doesn’t reply; he merely gestures as if to indicate that the little joke is fine. The coroner, however, does speak up:

“I’m coming! I’ll come down with you too; my work here is done! “I’ll send the undertakers later to bring the body to the mortuary, and I’ll perform the autopsy tomorrow,” comments Dr Miret, who has been listening.

Once on the landing, Aguilera turns to the solicitor, who has been waiting outside the flat;

“Bauza! Tell your client to wait a few days, and then come with him to collect the key from my chambers.

"I’ve got the key!..." the solicitor points out.

"Well, go into the flat and give it to Inspector Quintillas, who’s inside; the key is being seized!" the judge orders.

"Thank you very much, Your Honour… have a good time!..."

"That Bauza’s always such a brown-noser," whispers Javier Ponce.

"Were you saying something to me?"

"No…!" the official replies sharply to the judge.

However, Aguilera has noticed that part of a set of photographs is sticking out of a pocket in Javier Ponce’s jacket… Which prompts the investigating judge, issuing yet another order, to make it clear he doesn’t like Ponce acting on his own; he wants to be the one dictating everything that must be done in the investigation of his cases, so he adds:

"Ponce, give the other photos you’ve got to Miret; he’ll need them for his report!"

"But then I’ll be left with none!"

"You’ll just have to choose from the ones Quintillas brings; it seems you’ve fallen for the dead woman!" Throwing this remark at him as a 'joke', which he hopes will help him change his behaviour and not get too personally involved in this 'new” case'.

Obeying the order, he approaches Miret and hands him the photos from his pocket:

"Here, Miret! I suppose you’ll need them…"

"Thanks, Juan! See you later!"

They all leave the building, disappearing in the two cars, each heading in a different direction…

END OF CHAPTER I