Free The Summer of Dead Toys by Antonio Hill Page B

the mountain, scarcely visible at the end of the long avenue, hinted at the promise of a cool oasis which contrasted with the scorching asphalt of three in the afternoon.
    Sitting on the passenger side, Héctor contemplated the city without seeing it. By his sad expression and slight frown, one would say his thoughts were far away from those streets, roaming some shadier but not at all pleasant place. He hadn’t uttered a single word since they got into the car and Leire took the wheel. The silence might have been uncomfortable had she not also been lost in her own world. In fact, she was even grateful for those minutes of peace: the station had been hectic that morning and she wasn’t very proud of her performance in front of the superintendent. But the image of the “Predictor” confirming her fears with an intense purple color came into her mind at the most unexpected moments.
    Héctor half-closed his eyes in an effort to re-order his thoughts: he hadn’t spoken to Andreu in private and he was dying to ask her if there was anything new in the case of the doctor. He also remembered that he’d called his son in the morning after coming out of the psychologist’s and he hadn’t returned his call. He looked at his mobile again, as if he could will it to ring.
    A sudden braking jolted him back to his senses and he turned to his colleague, not knowing what had happened. He understood instantly on seeing an urban cyclist, a member of that reckless tribe that had recently invaded the streets, who turned toward them more offended than scared.
    “I’m sorry,” Leire apologized. “That bike crossed suddenly.” He didn’t respond but nodded with a distracted air. Leire exhaled slowly: the bike hadn’t come out of nowhere; she’d simply become too distracted. Fuck, enough! She breathed deeply and decided that the silence was overwhelming, so she opted to strike up a conversation with the inspector before he got submerged in thought again.
    “Thanks for before. In Superintendent Savall’s office,” she clarified. “My head was in the clouds.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It was obvious, to be honest.” He made an effort to follow the conversation: he was also sick of thinking. “But don’t worry: Savall barks a lot and bites very little.”
“I know I deserved the barks,” she replied, with a smile on her lips.
Héctor continued speaking without looking at her, his eyes straight ahead.
“How did the Castells family seem to you?” he asked out of the blue.
She took a few seconds to answer.
“It’s strange . . . I thought it would be harder. Interrogating them about the death of a son only nineteen years old.”
“And it wasn’t?” His voice was still tense, rapid, but this time he deigned to turn toward her. Leire had the feeling of being in an oral exam and concentrated on finding the right answer.
“It wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure. But not’—she searched for the word—“dramatic, either. I suppose they’re too reserved to make a scene, and after all she’s not his mother . . . Although that doesn’t mean they don’t give free rein to their emotions when they’re alone.”
Héctor said nothing and the lack of comment made Leire expand on her answer.
“What’s more,” she continued, “I suppose religion helps its faithful in these cases. I’ve always envied that. Although at the same time I can’t quite swallow it.”
For the second time that day, the concept of God had come up. And when Héctor answered his companion, a little before they reached their destination, he did so with an explanation she didn’t fully understand.
“Believers have an advantage over us. They have someone to confide in, someone who protects or consoles them. A superior power that clears up their doubts and dictates their conduct. We, on the other hand, have only demons to fear.”
Leire noticed that he was speaking more to himself than to her. Fortunately, on her right she saw the modern façade of the