“Okay, then, I like Charizard better.”
Jacob held out the toy. “For you!” He placed it on her palm.
Amaia was surprised. She’d assumed Jacob simply wanted to play. But no, he’d asked her to choose because he wanted to give her one of his toys.
“Jacob, thank you so much, but I can’t accept him.” She turned the little dragon over and saw that Jacob had written something underneath. She pointed to it. “Did you write your name?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you put it on all your toys?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Diana collects Pokémons too, and she’s always saying mine belong to her.”
Amaia sat there with her eyes on Jacob as she loosened her vest and searched her pockets. She took out a folded piece of paper, opened it carefully, and showed the boy the photo she’d taken from the conference room the day before. It was a close-up of the mysterious mark along the side of the violin. “Take a look at this. What do you think it is?”
Jacob took the photo and leaned over to study it. “It’s a violin that belongs to some kid named Mic.”
“Mic? You think that’s what it says?”
Jacob nodded. “That’s what it says: Mic. It belongs to Mic!”
Surprised by that declaration, Amaia studied the image with the astonishment you experience when someone shows you how an impossible piece actually does fit into a jigsaw puzzle. She looked at Jacob. “How old is Mic?”
Jacob thought about it. “Four. Or maybe five.”
“Why do you think so?” she asked. She wanted to hear his explanation.
“’Cause he writes the letters all together. Really little kids always write them separate.”
“You’re older than that, of course.” Amaia smiled. She turned over the dragon and found that Jacob had carefully connected the letters as he’d inscribed his name. “Wow, Jacob, you’ve been a big help! I wasn’t going to accept your Charizard, but you know, I think I will take him with me, after all. He’ll be my lucky charm.” She refolded the photo and tucked it away along with Charizard. She saw Jacob watching her closely. “I wish I had something to trade you for him.”
The boy lowered his gaze. Amaia realized he was looking at the pistol on her belt. “You want my gun?” she asked, surprised.
Jacob nodded.
She assumed a very serious expression. “You know it’s a real one, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then you know I can’t give it to you, because a boy shouldn’t go around carrying a real gun.”
He nodded, disappointed.
“Why do you want it?”
“Because,” he said, starting to tremble and looking away. “’Cause I’m scared.”
Amaia followed the direction of his gaze and saw nothing unusual. She hesitated, wondering how she should react, until she finally put her arm around the little boy. She pulled him to her side. “Listen, when I was little like you, I was scared too. But you’ll just have to grow up and become a policeman if you want to carry a pistol.”
“You’re with the police because you were scared when you were little?”
“Yes, I really think so,” she declared, realizing she’d just told the truth. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“And you’re not scared anymore?”
“I am scared, but now I have this,” she said, tapping the pistol at her hip. “And this too.” She smiled and pointed to her badge. “These mean I can go after the people who scare me.”
Jacob looked doubtful. “And when you catch them, you kill them?”
She had to think about that. Normally she’d have said, No, a gun isn’t for killing; it’s only for defending yourself. She looked down at the frightened child beside her and realized she couldn’t give him that pat answer, because it wasn’t true.
“Yes. I get rid of them.”
Jacob smiled, but he quickly looked down again. “But some of them you can’t kill, like that zombie in our house. My grandpa shot it and didn’t even hurt it, it just kept marching around like a broken robot.” There was real terror in his voice. “What’ll you do if the bad guy is dead already or if he’s a ghost?”
“Did you get a good look at the people who came into your house?”
“There was two with masks on their faces, another one like that lady, and the ghost. The ghost was their boss.”
“Their boss was a ghost? Why do you say he was a ghost?”
“Because he didn’t say anything! He told them what to do with his mind. And his face . . .”
“What did he look like?”
Jacob looked down and said nothing for a few moments. She understood immediately afterward that he’d been gathering his courage. He stood up and offered her his hand, inviting her to come with him. Uncertain exactly what he was up to, she took it and followed. He led her four steps toward the nursing station counter, and then she suddenly saw the reason for his furtive, frightened glances. Jacob pointed to the wall and an anatomy poster showing the muscles of the human body. “He was like that.”
45
GUARDIAN ANGEL
Elizondo
Ignacio Aldecoa didn’t have an alarm clock. He’d never needed one. He clicked the switch of the little bedside lamp and picked up the watch he’d inherited from his father. It was five o’clock in the morning. He was sure that when he went downstairs, he’d find embers faintly glowing in the dining room fireplace. He hadn’t slept a wink that night, for as hard as he’d tried, he’d been unable to suppress the evil of that empty glare. He played the sequence over and over in his mind: the white hand swaying seductively in the air, the thin, almost invisible fabric billowing about the wrist, the matte-black hair of the she-wolf—and that smile.
He wasn’t hungry, but he ate all of his usual breakfast, and when he was leaving, he wasn’t entirely surprised to discover that for the first time in years, his wife had locked the door. The closest dwelling was a mile and a half away, so they’d never felt the need to lock up. He stood for a few seconds, contemplating the key in the lock and wondering just how much Joxepi had seen. Clearly enough to frighten her. He went out and made sure the house was secure behind him, then went to the sheds. He whistled for the dogs Argi and Ipar, two border collies who were his inseparable companions for sheep herding.
He returned at noon and found Joxepi on the telephone with Engrasi. They’d all gone to the police station the previous afternoon to report the attack. Ignacio understood from his wife’s half of the conversation that earlier that morning, the lieutenant had called Engrasi. The video cameras at the border crossing hadn’t recorded any vehicle with that license plate. Ignacio shook his head slowly as he cut up the dogs’ food over the kitchen sink. He wasn’t surprised to learn that either the license plate was phony or that the lieutenant hadn’t made the least effort to track it down. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d caught the exaggerated grimace the lieutenant had made to the desk sergeant. The police clearly thought a kidnapping was about as likely as an abduction by aliens. The lieutenant had suggested a little girl’s imagination could get carried away, especially if she was high strung.