The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,191

love me, do that for me. Don’t tell.”

The immensity of her love and affection for him squeezed her heart until it ached. But the words to declare her adoration withered and became a painful memory wrapped around her vocal cords. Unable to speak, she nodded, and her silence shrouded the deep, dark secret she would keep for him—the reason she would never love him again.

Juan felt his daughter’s face brush against his as she nodded.

When he straightened up, Amaia had stopped crying. She stared directly into his eyes. Juan realized he was seeing the serious, determined face that the adult Amaia would have. He looked away, filled with shame, and went toward the door.

“Agur, maitia.”

Three seconds passed before Amaia responded. And when she did, Juan already knew it was a final farewell.

“Agur, Aita.”

Engrasi had been watching through the ICU window, and though she couldn’t hear anything, she hadn’t missed a single gesture. Juan came out to stand beside her, downcast, his cheeks covered with tears. Engrasi didn’t look at him. “Was she crying over Ipar?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t tell her . . . ?”

“No, of course not!” he flared up. “And don’t you ever breathe a word either!”

Engrasi turned a withering glare upon him. He lowered his head again.

“What kind of person would I have to be to tell that child that someone ripped open her dog’s belly and nailed him up on a tree at the edge of the forest?” she said.

Juan didn’t answer. He was in tears again. Engrasi turned away, disgusted.

“I’m taking Amaia away from Elizondo. Immediately.”

“You’re right,” he answered.

“Maybe you didn’t understand me. Once she’s released. Amaia’s not going to set foot in Elizondo again.”

Juan just nodded. “Take her far away. I don’t think Pamplona is far enough. Take her, I’ll give you the money. But don’t ever tell me where she is, because I’m weak, Engrasi, and if I knew . . .”

70

THE VIOLIN THAT BELONGED TO “MIC”

The swamp

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Johnson brought Bull and Charbou to the boat.

Dupree didn’t wait for them to ask why. “We’ve got him. The Composer is Martin Lenx, and Martin Lenx has been using the alias Robert Davis. He’s an adjustor for the American Insurance Association, specializing in evaluating disaster damage. He got the job six months after killing his family in Madison. He’s been using insurance application files to get information: the family names, the number of family members, others residing with them, firearms in the home, ages, accidents—everything. He lives in Texas with his second family. Eight months ago, his wife let him know they were expecting another child, their third. He was at their vacation home in Galveston, next door to the Andrews family.”

“The son-of-a-bitch Good Samaritan,” Charbou muttered with a glance at Amaia.

Dupree continued. “He has one son and a daughter named Michelle who plays the violin. He used it to set up the Andrews living room as a replica of the music room in Madison. Salazar was right about that. That was his first murder in this series. Must have acted on impulse, without planning, and took an enormous risk. The news of another child put him back in exactly the same situation he’d faced in Madison, and his world collapsed. In his deranged mind, the murders were justified by the Andrews boy’s bad behavior. The kid was giving his parents a hard time and went on a rampage in Davis’s tropical garden.”

“What a fucker!” Charbou exclaimed.

“Davis hired specialists to clean up the crime scene to make sure everything was under control. You can imagine his reaction when young Joseph talked about calling the police back in. And I’ll bet his daughter complained when she couldn’t find her violin.”

“He broke into the house and grabbed it before the forensics team came back for it,” Johnson said.

“He must have been out of his mind to use his own daughter’s violin,” Bull commented. “Why didn’t he remove the violin earlier?”

“It was an oversight. He didn’t think it through, and he was upset when he realized that with another child on the way, his story was repeating itself. His past was catching up with him. He murdered the family next door, people he knew. Giving into that impulse was a huge mistake. That’s how murderers give themselves away; without thinking, they choose victims in their proximity.

“His wife is scheduled for induced labor in Austin two days from now. Salazar and I believe he’ll get out of NOLA as soon as he can. He intends to return and kill them