Water-Blue Eyes Read Free

with the smell of the surrounding sea. Where the road forked, they took the right. They skirted the woods until the enormous high-rise appeared before them, making Estévez whistle in admiration.
    ‘Some skyscraper, inspector. It didn’t look so high from far off.’
    ‘I hope its foundations are good,’ muttered Leo Caldas, who had the conviction that no place was better for setting one’s foot than firm ground.
    Since most of the flats in that marvel of bad taste were occupied only during the summer, the car park was nearly empty. Caldas identified the van of the inspection unit among the few parked cars. It must be quite serious if they were still there. On getting out of the car, Estévez took a closer look at the tower. He had to tilt his head back to see it whole. He whistled again and followed his boss to the lobby of the building.
    There were twenty floors and three wings: north, south and east. Leo Caldas reckoned there must be about ten flats per floor, six hundred of them in total. It must have been too good a real estate deal to deny it planning permission, even if the result was an eyesore.
    He reread his piece of paper: ‘Duplex 17/18, north wing.’
    They followed a sign and entered the lift. Caldas pressed 17. Once out, the inspector went briskly up a short flight of stairs. Estévez followed suit, his footsteps resounding down the hall.
    The door was marked out by a police tape blocking the way. Leo Caldas peeled it off from one side and opened the door. Estévez went in behind his boss, not before fixing the crime scene tape back in place.
    They came into a large room, the front wall of which was taken up by an enormous curtainless window. The iridescent light of the sunset flooded it with reddish colours. It commanded a superb view, this window: the Cíes Islands right in front; one of the shores of the main ría on the left; and, on the right, the Morrazo Peninsula, which jutted out into the sea like a stone gargoyle. Rafael Estévez immediately approached the window the better to appreciate that vista. Caldas did not.
    The living room had two sofas and a glass coffee table. Facing the sofas was a state-of-the-art hi-fi instead of a TV. Caldas realised the several small metal boxes scattered about the corners of the room were loudspeakers. A bookshelf packed with CDs took up the back wall.
    Adorned with a basket of dry flowers on its centre, and surrounded by four high-backed chairs, the dining table was as far as possible from the window. Across from the shelves hung two engravings. One represented a vase painted with love scenes, the other the frieze of a classical edifice. Beside them, hanging on the same wall, were six saxophones.
    Clara Barcia, one of the forensic officers, was in the living room, dusting a couple of glasses for fingerprints.
    ‘Hi, Clara,’ Caldas said, as he approached.
    ‘Good afternoon, inspector,’ she replied, straightening her back. ‘I’m nearly done with the prints.’
    ‘Don’t get up, please,’ said Caldas, matching his words with a gesture, and taking a look around. ‘What have we got here?’
    ‘Murder, inspector. Pretty nasty.’
    Caldas nodded, then said:
    ‘And how’s your work going?’
    ‘I’ve collected quite a few samples,’ she said, pointing to some small evidence bags she’d lined up against the wall, ‘but you never know.’
    ‘Are you on your own?’
    ‘No, initially all four of us came down, but for a while it’sbeen only Doctor Barrio and me. He’s downstairs in the bedroom. Over here.’
    Clara Barcia put the glass she was examining on the table, stood up and showed them the way down the spiral staircase.
    ‘Are you not coming down, officer?’ she asked Estévez through the wooden steps of the staircase.
    Caldas turned round and saw his subordinate at the living room window taking in the view. He was surprised to find that this implacable officer, who was capable of softening up the toughest thugs, was showing as much