Antía just shook her head.
“Are you sure?” he insisted. “No decapitated animals? Severed heads?”
“No, of course not!” she snapped, glaring back at him. “What are you getting at?”
He was silent for a moment, aware that what he said next could change everything completely.
“Your brother, Diego ...” Roberto hesitated. “He says there’s a monster on the island. And I think you know exactly what I mean.”
Antía looked dumbfounded.
“Diego has the mental age of a ten-year-old!” she replied, wiping away the water dripping from her hood into her eyes. “He lives in a fantasy world! Half the stuff he comes up with isn’t real!”
“Well”—Roberto gestured to the body—“this looks pretty real to me! And the night I arrived, someone left a rabbit’s head on my doorstep, and I assure you that was real too. For a fantasy world, it’s all disgustingly convincing!”
“It wasn’t Diego!” she shouted. “He’s been at home with me all day.”
“I don’t mean to imply that it was him.” Roberto squeezed his temples, trying to ward off a growing headache. “But he must know something.”
“Oh? What do you think he knows, exactly?”
He was silent for a couple of seconds. Finally, he let out a sigh. “The dead man’s kiss,” he said. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“The dead man’s kiss?” Antía shook her head. “That kids’ story? It’s just some absurd legend, a folktale!”
“Well, someone clearly doesn’t think so,” he said gloomily, pointing at the corpse. “The question is, who.”
Everyone was momentarily lost in thought. The rain was coming down hard. At last, Rosalía Freire went over to the body and started carefully patting the pants. She extracted a battered wallet from one of the back pockets and opened it.
“Fuck!” The curse word took him by surprise. “It’s Ricardo Docampo, one of Ramón’s nephews.”
“We have to tell the family,” said Antía in a low voice.
“And although I know you won’t like it,” said Roberto, “we also have no choice but to notify the authorities. This is getting way out of control.”
“That’ll be their call,” said Rosalía, steadying herself. “After all, he’s one of theirs. But there’s hardly any point. In this storm, it’s going to be quite a few days before anyone can get to the island.”
Roberto again looked at the body, and he had to admit that the woman was right. The torrential rain was doing its best to wash away any possible clues or prints that the murderer might have left behind. By the time the Guardia Civil showed up, nothing of any use would be left.
“Antía, Roberto, go tell Ramón Docampo. We’ll wait here until you get back. And another thing ...”
“Yes?”
Rosalía looked from the headless body to the two of them, worry etched in her face. “Be careful on the footpath. Whoever did this might still be out there.”
The warning, though unnecessary, did little to raise their spirits. Antía produced a flashlight and shone it on the path. The swirling, relentless rain enveloped them, setting strange figures dancing in the beam.
They set off, walking in silence for a while until she stopped suddenly and gave him a grave look.
“Okay, I need you to explain something,” she said. “Why me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You could have gone to the Docampos, or asked for my mother when you came to the house. That would have made sense. But you came in calling my name. Why me?”
Roberto hesitated for a moment. “You’re the only person on this island I can trust. The only person who can help me figure out what’s going on and solve the situation with the money.”
“What makes you think that?”
