...A few hours later, at the entrance to the courthouse, Javier Ponce runs into Inspector Quintillas, who is laden with documents:

“What a pile of papers you’ve got me here, you’ll have to tell me where I’m supposed to put all this, given how tight we’re on space!”

“Give them to me, I’ll keep them for you!” suggests his colleague, the court clerk in charge of the deceased’s case.

“No, not yet! I want to look at all the photos first!... By the way, I’ve taken the ones that were on top of the chest of drawers and brought them along too. Looks like the old lady was a cabaret singer.”

“How do you know?” asks Ponce, surprised; he doesn’t understand how he’s come to that conclusion.

“Look!” He pulls a photo from the pile, taking care not to let the rest of the papers fall. “See her?” holding it out for him to take, whereupon Javier grabs the photo and instantly recognises the deceased woman, who appears practically naked; the snapshot captures her in a pose typical of a performance, and at her feet lie the garments the artist has shed, as is customary during a ‘striptease’.

“Let me keep it!” Ponce asks the inspector.

“No way! Come back in a few days… and as far as I’m concerned, you can have them all, but I’m telling you, I want to see them first… for my report.”

Ponce doesn’t understand Quintillas’ insistence, as he is the one who first sees and examines all the photographs collected from the flat; what he is asking for is perfectly normal, and he knows that one more or less photo is unlikely to make much difference to his report. But as he is running late for a meeting he had scheduled days earlier, he doesn’t argue with the inspector and takes his leave:

“As you wish, Quintillas…! We’ll talk later!”

“Take it easy, mate! I don’t want you to get angry!” exclaims the policeman, realising that his refusal regarding the photo hasn’t gone down well with Ponce; and he continues: “I’ve already told you, I’ll just have a quick look at it... I’ll give it to you, and you can do whatever the hell you like with it and all the others! Blimey…! You’re a real suspicious lot, Ponce…!" And with that apology, that’s how it stands. We’ll have to wait and see!

…After roughly twenty-four hours, Ponce finds himself in a small building, next to a block of burial niches, inside the city cemetery; specifically, he is in the place that houses the ‘Mortuary’.

"Hello Melchor! Is Dr Miret here?"

"Come on, Javier! Yes, he’s in his office! But hang on, stay with me for a bit, for God’s sake!" The two have known each other for years.

"I’m in a right hurry!" trying to fob him off.

"When are the civil service exams?" insists his friend Melchor.

"Well, they haven’t announced them yet, but they’ll almost certainly be in October, like every year." Without stopping as he walks towards Miret’s office.

"Right, Javier, thanks! But don’t forget to let me know..."

TOC... TOC...!" As he opens the door:

"Hello, Miret! How are you?"

“Come in, Javier… sit down!” his manner this time is much friendlier than the last time they met. “What…? I suppose you’ve come to collect the autopsy report… the one on the woman who died in the flat?”

“Yes, that’s exactly why I’m here!”

"But what do you think, that I can have it done in such a short time?! With the amount of work I’ve got and being as lonely as a dog?! And I bet you still think it’s a transvestite! That’s what’s got you all worked up and titillated!"

After the dressing-down he receives from the coroner, the only thing Ponce can think of is not to rile him up any further and to tell him his true intentions and motivations:

"Well, yes, it really turns me on… and look, more and more so! Yesterday, Quintillas showed me a photo of her doing a ‘striptease’ in a cabaret show."

“You don’t have a photo of her showing her bits, do you?”

“No, Miret! She’s practically naked, but you can’t see down below.”

“Look! As I told you when we found the body, and now I’ve been able to confirm it, she shows no signs of having been assaulted or abused; she almost certainly died of a heroin overdose.”

Anyway, I’m going to send some samples and some of the photographs you gave me to which I’ll add some of the ones Quintillas has to the ‘Institute of Forensic Anatomy’ to carry out comparative tests with the woman’s head.

We’ll have to wait at least a month to be certain of how she died."

"And do you think those people at the ‘Anatomic’ will be able to sort it out, given the advanced state of decomposition of the body?"

"I’m sure they will, Javier! It takes them quite a while because they’re so busy, but they have good equipment and use very modern techniques. They’ll even send us a photofit reconstruction of her face."

"Will we then find out if she was a transvestite?"

 "Yes...! We’ll also find out exactly what their sex was, though I can tell you now that you’re right and it was probably a man who’d had a sex change; I can tell from the hip bones. But as I said, I haven’t finished the report yet and, besides, I’m not going to commit myself until I’m absolutely sure, it might be a ‘hermaphrodite’… So what…! Have you tracked down the groom yet?"

"No way! If we have to rely on Quintillas, we’re in for a rough ride!"

"Oh, Quintillas! What a bloody idiot he looks" confirming with these words that he doesn’t think much of him either, and adding a question. "Has he been in the ‘Judicial Brigade’ for long?"

"Not long, a year or so."

"Right, Javier! Stop nagging me and get lost, I’ve got loads of work to do."

"Right, Miret! See you later, and don’t forget about me, I’m really curious."

…Back at the courthouse, Ponce heads for the room provisionally set up by the ‘Judicial Brigade’ on the second floor.

Once there, he approaches a glass door at the far end of the right-hand corridor and notices the light inside the room. And, as is his custom, he resolutely opens the door.

At the table on the left, there is a man who, taken aback by Ponce’s unexpected presence, stops writing in a magazine and asks him:

"Who the hell are you?" with a Basque accent.

"I’m Javier Ponce, a clerk at ‘Investigating Court Five’! Is Quintillas here?"

"No! Quintillas is on holiday! What do you want from him?"

Ponce replies in a softer tone, avoiding letting ‘the Basque’ rub off on him with the loud, harsh tone he uses:

"But I saw him just yesterday and he didn’t say anything to me."

"Well, I’m telling you, he’s on holiday and will be for at least a month! What else do you want, for fuck’s sake?"

"Don’t you know where he’s kept the file on the woman we found dead yesterday? In a flat on Calle San Bernardo?"

"I don’t know anything about a woman, but look on that desk—it’s his! And who’s asking for the file?"

"Judge Aguilera ordered it!” replies Ponce emphatically, and approaches the spot on Quintillas’s desk he’s been told to look at.

Once at the desk pointed out by the Basque, Ponce opens the top drawer on his right.

"Here it is! This is what I was looking for!"

As he pulls the pile of papers Quintillas took yesterday out of the drawer.

"Hey you! You’ve found it, haven’t you? If you want to take it, you’ll have to give me a piece of paper, a receipt… or something."

With this request, the Basque man manages to infuriate Ponce completely, who can no longer contain his tone or his words:

“What the hell sort of receipt do you want me to give you! The judge wants these papers and that’s it! If you want a receipt, come with me now and ask the judge yourself!”

"Come on, leave it! Take your papers and go; if Quintillas gets angry, I’ll send it to you!"

Loaded down with the papers, Ponce leaves the room and goes up to the next floor, where his desk is.

Once there and having unloaded the heavy load, he begins to sort all the documentation into two piles. In one pile he places all the photographs, without looking at them closely at this first ‘glance’.

And in the other, all the other papers. Just as he is about to put down the last of the papers, someone knocks at his door:

"TOC... TOC...!" At the same time as he opens it from the outside.

"Yes... come in!" thus allowing the visitor to enter.

Through the door appears a burly man, with little hair on his head, practically bald; Ponce recognises the man:

“Well, Benito! What are you doing round here?”

“Well, look! I’ve come for a trial and I remembered you; I said to myself: ‘I’m going to see how life is treating my friend Javier Ponce!’”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Sit down! How’s the security firm going?”

“Fine! Little by little. I’ve got thirty men working for me now; I’m not complaining.”

“Blimey! Thirty men is a lot. Where do you have them all?”

"I’m in charge of security at Bartolomé Colón’s nightclub, and that alone takes up four men on shifts. I’ve also got a few stationed at some brothels that pretend to be hostess clubs. The rest are on security duty on Calle San Bernardo, mainly the first section of the street, which is where most of the shops are. Interestingly, I read earlier in *El Primero del Día* that you found a woman’s body in a building on that very street. Tell me, how did it happen?"

"The woman had been dead for over six months, and I can’t tell you much more than that."

"The newspaper says the apparent cause of death was an overdose. Was she a ‘drug addict’?"

Ponce is puzzled by Benito Bestard’s unusual interest in this case, and his initially affable manner changes:

"It’s possible… though to be honest, it’s all conjecture at the moment; we’ll have to wait for the autopsy results."

"Apparently… you found a syringe, which confirms she was a drug user."2

"How do you know about the syringe?" Ponce’s intuition confirms that there is more to this on Benito’s part: first, his exaggerated interest in the body; and now his knowledge that there was a syringe, coupled with his hesitation and delay in answering the question:

"‘EL PRIMERO’ says so!" It’s his final answer, which doesn’t convince Ponce. As far as he can recall, when he read the newspaper this morning, it didn’t mention the syringe, or perhaps it did...?

“Look, Benito! Come back another day and I’ll tell you the latest developments, but you’ll have to leave me to it now, I’m really swamped!” In this polite manner, he tries to get rid of him; he decides not to “snub him”, as they’ve been friends for many years.

"All right. But don’t you have even a minute to have a coffee with me?"

"No, Benito! We’ll have one another day."

At that, Benito gets up and leaves the room, after which Ponce relaxes; he stretches out in his chair and starts thinking about Benito’s visit: ‘What a pain this bloke has become… I’m off for a beer! But first I’ll pop some of these photos into Miret’s locker (he’s got one in a hall on the ground floor of the courthouse, near the duty prosecutor’s office); if he has to wait for Quintillas to get them for him, our friend Miret will certainly find that out!’ He takes the photos the coroner needs to complete the dispatch to the ‘Anatomic’; and puts them in an envelope. With it in his hand and before stepping through the door, in a sort of reflex action, he takes another photo from that pile, which turns out to be the signed photograph, the one he’d already spotted on the floor and which is now out of its frame; and he slips it into his pocket.

 Now he does leave his room, closing the door behind him, as has been his habit ever since the theft of files from the courthouse, and heads for the coroner’s locker, which has in fact been replaced by a locked and reinforced postbox, also due to the thefts that have taken place.

poner coordenadas

««« 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