The Summer of Dead Toys (33 page)

“Yeah. Me too. We arranged for her to come around nine, half nine.”
“And she still hasn’t arrived?” He looked at his watch, uneasy.
“No. And I’ve called her and she’s not answering. Carol doesn’t know anything either.” He paused and continued in a voice that wasn’t that of a child but a worried adult. “Papa, Mama hasn’t spoken to anyone since Friday morning.”
Mobile still in his hand, facing the staircase which led to his home, Héctor suddenly remembered what Martina had said about Dr. Omar, about the rituals he was preparing, about the DVD Ruth had received. “Forget all this, he’s dead—it doesn’t matter now . . .” the sergeant had said.
His forehead broke out in a cold sweat.

It’s already been six months since Ruth disappeared. No one has heard from her since that Friday she decided to go to her parents’ apartment. We’re not even sure that she got there, because her car was found in Barcelona, near her house. We’ve published her photo, put up notices, searched her flat. I personally interrogated the good-for-nothing lawyer who killed Omar and I’ve come to the conclusion that he knows nothing apart from what he’s already told me. The damn doctor told him, with a Machiavellian smile, that I would have to suffer the worst possible sentence. The lawyer thought it was just one of his phrases. I wouldn’t have taken it seriously either. But now I know it’s true. There is nothing worse than not knowing, living in a world of shadows and doubts. I roam around the city like a ghost, scanning faces, thinking I see Ruth in the most unlikely places. I know one day I’ll find her, dead or alive. I’ll have to explain to my son what happened to his mother. I owe him: if I have kept my sanity it is thanks to him. To him and my friends. They’re not giving up either. They know I have to find out the truth and I won’t rest until I do.