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‘I … I’m sorry. From the way he was talking I assumed that you’d agreed to it.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him later.’
She wasn’t at all tired in spite of not sleeping. The faces of the three girls stared into the void from the surface of the table. Three very different faces, but made equal in death. She carefully studied the enlargements of the pictures of Carla and Ainhoa she had requested.
Montes came in silently with two coffees, placed one in front of Amaia and sat down a short distance away. She looked up from the photos for a moment and gave him a penetrating stare until he dropped his gaze. Another five officers from her team were also in the room. She took the photos and slid them towards the centre of the table.
‘Well, gentlemen, what do you see in these photos?’
They all leaned over the table expectantly.
‘I’m going to give you a clue.’
She added Anne’s picture to the other two.
‘This is Anne Arbizu, the girl who was found last night. Do you see the pinkish marks that extend from her mouth almost as far as her ear? Well, they’re from lip gloss, a pink, greasy lip gloss that makes the lips look wet. Take another look at the photos.’
‘The other girls aren’t wearing any,’ observed Iriarte.
‘Exactly, the other girls aren’t wearing any, and I want to know why. They were very pretty and trendy, they had high heels, handbags, mobile phones and perfume. Isn’t it strange that they weren’t wearing even a trace of make-up? Almost all girls their age start wearing it, at least mascara and lip gloss.’
She looked at her colleagues who were regarding her with confused expressions.
‘The stuff for your eyelashes and the one for your lips that’s somewhere between lipstick and lip balm,’ Jonan translated.
‘I think that he removed Anne’s make-up, which would explain the traces of lip gloss, and that he had to use make-up remover and a tissue to do it, or, more likely, facial wipes; they’re like the ones used to wipe babies’ bottoms, but with a different solution on them, although you could use the ones designed for babies. I also think it highly likely that he did it by the river; there was next to no light down there and even if he had a torch with him it wasn’t enough, because he didn’t finish the job on Anne. Jonan and Montes, I want you to go back to the river bank and look for the wipes; if he used them and didn’t take them with him, we might be able to find them somewhere round there.’ She didn’t miss the look on Montes’s face as he looked down at his shoes, a different style, brown this time, and clearly expensive. ‘Deputy Inspector Zabalza, please speak to Ainhoa’s friends and find out whether she was wearing make-up the night she was killed; don’t bother her parents with this, especially since she was quite young and it’s quite possible that even if she did wear make-up, her parents wouldn’t have known … Lots of teenage girls put it on once they’ve left the house and take it off again before they get back. As for Carla, I’m sure she would have been wearing more make-up than a clown wears face-paint. She’s got it on in all the photos we have of her alive and, furthermore, it was New Year’s Eve. Even my Aunt Engrasi wears lipstick on New Year’s Eve. Let’s see if we can find anything by this afternoon. I want everyone back here at four.’
Spring 1989
There were some good days, almost always Sundays, the only day her parents didn’t work. Her mother would bake crisp croissants and raisin bread at home, which would fill the whole house with a rich, sweet fragrance that lasted for hours. Her father would come slowly into the room, open the blinds on the windows facing the mountain and go out without saying anything, leaving the sun to wake them with its caresses, unusually warm for winter mornings. Once awake, they would stay in bed, listening to their parents’ light chatter in the kitchen, savouring the feeling of their clean bedding, the sun warming the bedclothes, its rays drawing capricious paths through the dust in the air. Sometimes, before breakfast, their mother would even put one of her old records on the record player, and the house would resonate with the voice of Machín or Nat King Cole and their boleros and cha-cha-chas. Then their father would put his arms around their mother’s waist and they would dance together, their faces very close and their hands entwined, going round and round the whole living room, skirting the heavy, hand-finished furniture and the rugs woven by someone in Baghdad. The little girls would get out of bed, barefoot and sleepy, and sit on the sofa to watch them dance while the adults smiled rather sheepishly, as if, instead of seeing them dance, their daughters had surprised them in a more intimate act. Ros was always the first to clasp her father’s legs to join in the dance; then Flora would attach herself to their mother, and Amaia would smile from the sofa, amused by the clumsiness of the group of dancers singing boleros under their breaths as they turned. She didn’t dance, because she wanted to keep watching them, because she wanted that ritual to last a bit longer, and because she knew that if she got up and joined the group the dance would end immediately as soon as she brushed against her mother, who would leave them with a ridiculous excuse, like she was tired already, she didn’t feel like dancing anymore or she had to go and check on the bread cooking in the oven. Whenever that happened, her father would give her a desolate look and carry on dancing with the little girl a while longer, trying to make up for the insult, until her mother came back into the living room five minutes later and turned off the record player, claiming that she had a headache.
10 (#ulink_d4c7bded-82c2-5c0d-8810-c607f5631988)
After a brief siesta, from which she woke disorientated and confused, Amaia felt worse than she had in the morning. She took a shower and read the note that James had left her, a bit annoyed that he wasn’t at home. Although she would never tell him, she secretly preferred him to be nearby while she slept, as if his presence could soothe her. She would feel ridiculous if she ever had to put into words what waking up in an empty house did to her and her wish that he had been there while she was asleep. She didn’t need him to lie down beside her, she didn’t want him to hold her hand; but it wasn’t enough for him to be there when she woke up. She needed his presence while she was asleep. If she had to work at night and sleep in the morning she would often do it on the sofa if James wasn’t at home. She didn’t manage to sleep so deeply there as when she was in bed, but she preferred it, because she knew that if she got into bed it would be impossible. And it didn’t make a difference if he went out once she had fallen asleep: although she might not hear the door, she would immediately notice his absence, as if there wasn’t enough air, and on waking up she would know for certain that he was not in the house. I want you to be at home while I sleep. The thought was obviously and rationally absurd, which was why she couldn’t say it, couldn’t tell him that she woke up when he went out, that she felt his presence in the house as if she detected it with a sonar system and that she secretly felt abandoned when she woke up and found he had left his place at her side to go out and buy bread.
Back at the police station and three coffees later, she wasn’t feeling much better. Seated behind Iriarte’s desk, she was heartened to observe the evidence of his domestic life. The blond children, the young wife, the calendars with pictures of the Virgin, the well-tended plants that grew near the windows … he even had saucers under the pots to collect the excess water.
‘Have you got a moment, chief? Jonan said you wanted to see me.’
‘Come in, Montes, and don’t call me chief. Please take a seat.’
He made himself comfortable in the chair opposite and looked at her, his mouth forming a slight pout.
‘Montes, I was disappointed that you didn’t attend the autopsy. I was concerned that I didn’t know the reason why you weren’t there and it made me very angry that I had to find out from someone else that you weren’t coming because you were going out for dinner. I think you could at least have saved me the embarrassment of spending the whole night asking after you, wasting my time on phone calls you didn’t answer, only for Zabalza to tell me what was going on.’
Montes looked at her impassively. She continued.
‘Fermín, we’re a team, I need absolutely everyone in place all the time. If you wanted to go I wouldn’t have stopped you; I’m just saying that with what we’ve got on our plates I think you could have at least called me or told Jonan or something, but you certainly can’t disappear without giving any explanation. Right now, with another murdered girl, I need you at my side constantly. Well, anyway, I hope it was worth it,’ she smiled and looked at him in silence waiting for a response, but he continued to stare straight through her with an expression that had twisted from the childish pout to disdain. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything, Fermín?’
‘Montes,’ he said suddenly, ‘Inspector Montes to you. Don’t forget that although you might be in charge of this investigation for the moment, you’re speaking to an equal. I don’t have to explain myself to Jonan, who’s my subordinate, and I let Deputy Inspector Zabalza know. My responsibility stops there.’ His eyes half closed with indignation. ‘Of course you wouldn’t have stopped me going out for dinner, that’s not up to you, even if you have begun to think so lately. I had already been working on the homicide team for six years when you started at the academy, chief, and what’s pissing you off is looking incompetent in front of Zabalza.’ He settled back in the seat and gave her a challenging look. Amaia looked at him with a feeling of sadness.
‘The only one who looked incompetent is you, incompetent and a poor policeman. For God’s sake! We’d just found the third body in a series, we still don’t have anything and you go off out for dinner. I think you resent me because the Commissioner assigned the case to me, but you have to understand that I had nothing to do with that decision and what we ought to be worried about now is solving this case as soon as possible.’ She softened her tone and looked Montes in the eye, trying to gain his support, ‘I thought we were friends, Fermín. I would have been happy if it were you. I thought you respected me, I thought I’d have every possible help from you …’
‘Well, keep thinking that,’ he muttered.
‘Don’t you have anything else to say to me?’ He remained silent. ‘Alright, Montes, have it your way, I’ll see you at the meeting.’
The girls’ dead faces were there again, their eyes gazing into infinity and veiled by death, and, beside them, as if to emphasise the great loss they represented, were other photos, colourful and bright, showing Carla’s mischievous smile as she posed by a car that undoubtedly belonged to her boyfriend, Ainhoa holding a week-old lamb in her arms and Anne with her school theatre group. A plastic bag contained various wipes that had almost certainly been used to remove the make-up from Anne’s face and there was another that held the ones that had been found at the scene of Ainhoa’s death. No-one had paid them any attention at the time because it had been assumed that they had blown down to the river from the esplanade up by the road where couples often met.
‘You were right, chief. The wipes were there, they’d been dumped a few metres away, in a crack in the river bank. They’ve got pink and black marks on them, from the mascara I suppose. Her friends say she usually wore make-up and I’ve also got the original lipstick, which was in her handbag. It’ll help us confirm whether it’s the same one. And these,’ he said, pointing to the other bag, ‘are the ones found where Ainhoa was killed. They’re the same kind with the same stripy pattern, although these ones have got less make-up on them. Ainhoa’s friends say she only used lip gloss.’
Zabalza got to his feet.
‘We haven’t been able to find anything where Carla was killed, too much time has passed and we have to bear in mind that the body was partially submerged in the river; if the killer left the wipes nearby it’s likely they were washed away by the flood water … We’ve confirmed with her family that she used to wear make-up pretty much every day, though.’
Amaia stood up and started to walk around the room, moving behind her colleagues, who remained seated.
‘Jonan, what do these girls tell us?’
The deputy inspector leant forward and touched the edge of one of the photos with his index finger.
‘He removes their make-up, takes off their shoes, which are high-heels, women’s shoes in all three cases. He arranges their hair so it hangs to either side of their faces, he shaves off their pubic hair, he makes them into little girls again.’
‘Exactly,’ agreed Amaia, vehemently. ‘It seems to this guy that they’re growing up too fast.’
‘A paedophile who likes little girls?’
‘No, no, if he were a paedophile he would choose little girls in the first place, and these are teenagers, more or less young women, at the stage when young girls want to seem older than they are. It’s nothing unusual, it’s part of the adolescent growing up process. But this killer doesn’t like these changes.’
‘What’s most likely is that he knew them when they were smaller and he doesn’t like what he sees now, and that’s why he wants to make them go back to how they were,’ said Zabalza.
‘It’s not enough to take off their shoes and make-up and shave off their pubic hair and leave their sexes like a little girl’s,’ Amaia continued. ‘He slashes their clothes and exposes their bodies, which are not yet those of the women they wished they were, and instead of a body that symbolises sex and the profanation of his concept of childhood, he gets rid of the body hair, which is a sign of maturity, and replaces it with a pastry, a soft little cake, which symbolises past times, the traditions of the valley, the return to childhood, and so on. He disapproves of how they dress, the fact they wear make-up, their adult ways, and he punishes them by using them to represent his idea of purity; that’s why he never violates them sexually, it’s the last thing he’d want to do, he wants to preserve them from corruption, from sin … And the worst of all is that, if I’m right, if this is what torments our killer, we can be sure that he won’t stop. More than a month passed between the murders of Carla and Ainhoa, and barely three days between the murders of Ainhoa and Anne; he feels provoked, confident and like he has a lot of work to do; he’s going to continue recruiting young girls to return to purity … Even the way he arranges their hands facing upwards symbolises surrender and innocence. Where have you seen hands and expressions like these before?’ She looked at Iriarte and pointed at him with her finger.
‘Inspector, can you bring me the calendars from your desk?’
Iriarte was back in barely two minutes. He put a calendar with a picture of the Immaculate Conception and another with a picture of Our Lady of Lourdes on the table. The virgins smiled, full of grace, as they held their open hands at either side of their bodies, generous and without any reserve, showing their palms, from which shone rays of sunlight.
‘There you have it!’ exclaimed Amaia. ‘Like virgins.’
‘This guy is completely crazy,’ said Zabalza, ‘and the worst thing is that if there’s one thing we can be sure of, it’s that he’s not going to stop until we make him.’
‘Let’s update his profile,’ said Amaia.
‘Male, aged between twenty-five and forty-five,’ said Iriarte.
‘I think we can narrow it down a bit more, I’m inclined to think that he’s older. This resentment he shows towards youth doesn’t really match up with a young man; there’s nothing impetuous about him, he’s very organised, he takes everything he might need with him to the scene, and yet he doesn’t kill them there.’
‘He must have some other place, but where could it be?’ asked Montes.
‘I don’t think it can be a building, at least not a house. It’s impossible that all the girls would agree to go to a house, and we have to remember that they didn’t put up a fight, with the exception of Anne, who resisted at the end, at the moment he attacked her. There are two possibilities: either he stalks them and carries out surprise attacks somewhere he might be seen, which doesn’t really fit his modus operandi in my opinion, or he persuades them to go somewhere, or even better, takes them there himself, which implies that he has a car, a large car, because he has to transport the body afterwards … I prefer the latter theory,’ said Amaia.
‘And, bearing in mind what’s going on, do you think girls would get into just anyone’s car?’ asked Jonan.
‘They might not in Pamplona,’ explained Iriarte, ‘but in a small town it’s normal. You’re waiting for the bus and some neighbour or other stops and asks where you’re heading; if it suits them they’ll give you a lift. It’s not at all unusual, and would confirm the fact that it’s someone from the town who’s known them since they were little and who they trust enough to get into his car.’
‘OK, a white man, aged between thirty and forty-five, perhaps slightly older. It’s likely he lives with his mother or elderly parents. It’s possible he had a very strict upbringing, or entirely the opposite, that he ran wild as a child and he created his own moral code which he now applies to the world. It’s also possible that he suffered abuse as a child or that he lost his childhood in some way. Perhaps his parents died. I want you to look for any man who has a history of harassment, indecent exposure, loitering … Ask the couples who hang out around there whether they know of any incidents or have heard about any. Remember, these delinquents don’t just appear, they come from somewhere. Look for men who lost their families as a result of violence, orphans, victims of abuse, loners. Question every man in the Baztán Valley with a history of abuse or harassment. I want everything added to Jonan’s database and, while we haven’t got anything else to go on, we’ll continue questioning the families, friends and closest acquaintances. Anne’s funeral and burial are taking place on Monday. We’ll carry out the same process we did for Ainhoa’s and at least we’ll have some material to compare. Make a list of all the men who attended both funerals and match the profile. Montes, it would be interesting to speak to Carla’s friends to find out whether anyone recorded the funeral or burial on a mobile phone or took photos. It occurred to me when Jonan said that Ainhoa’s friends didn’t stop crying or talking on their mobiles; teenagers don’t go anywhere without their phones, so check it out,’ she said, leaving out the ‘please’ on purpose. ‘Zabalza, I’d like to speak to someone from the Guardia Civil’s Nature Protection Service or the forest rangers. Jonan, I want all the information you can find about bears in the valley, sightings … I know they’ve got a few GPS tagged, let’s see what they can tell us. And I want to know immediately if anyone finds anything, no matter what time it is. This monster is out there and it’s our job to catch him.’
Iriarte came over as the other officers left.
‘Inspector, go along to my office. You’ve got a phone call from the General Commissioner in Pamplona.’ Amaia picked up the phone.
‘I’m afraid I can’t give you any good news, Commissioner. The investigation’s moving forward as fast as possible, although I’m afraid the killer is quicker than we are.’
‘It’s alright, Inspector, I think I’ve put the investigation in the best possible hands. I received a phone call an hour ago from a friend, someone connected to the Diario de Navarra. They’ll be publishing an interview with Miguel Ángel de Andrés, Carla Huarte’s boyfriend who was in prison accused of her murder, tomorrow. As you know, he’s been released. There’s no need to tell you where that leaves us; in any case, that’s not the problem: in the course of the interview, the journalist insinuates that there’s a serial killer on the loose in the Baztán Valley, that Miguel Ángel de Andrés was freed after it was discovered that the murders of Carla and Ainhoa are linked, and, on top of all this, the murder of the latest girl, Anne—’ it sounded like he was reading from notes, ‘—Urbizu, will be made public tomorrow.’
‘Arbizu,’ Amaia corrected him.
‘I’ll fax you a copy of the articles exactly as they’re going to appear tomorrow. I warn you that you’re not going to like them, they’re revolting.’
Zabalza came back with two printed sheets on which several sentences appeared to have been underlined.
Miguel Ángel de Andrés, who spent a month in Pamplona prison accused of the murder of Carla Huarte, confirms that the officers are linking the case with the recent murders of young girls in the Baztán Valley. The killer slashes their clothes and hairs of non-human origin have been found on the bodies. A terrible lord of the woods who kills within his domains. A bloodthirsty basajaun.
The article about Anne’s murder was headed ‘Has the Basajaun Struck Again?’
11 (#ulink_221e8fcf-5fd4-5c5c-928a-23d40bbb3af5)
The enormous Baztán forest, which before its transformation by man consisted of beech woods up in the mountains, oak woodland on the low ground and chestnut, ash and hazel trees in between, now seemed to be almost entirely covered in beech trees, which reigned despotically over all the rest. Meadows and scrubland comprising furze or gorse, heather and ferns made up the carpet on which generation after generation of baztaneses walked, a truly magical place comparable only to the forest at Irati but now stained by the horror of murder.
The wood always gave Amaia a secret feeling of proud belonging, although its immense size also gave her a sense of fear and vertigo. She knew that she loved it, but hers was a reverent and chaste love based upon silence and distance. When she was fifteen she had briefly joined a hiking group. Walking in their boisterous company hadn’t been as pleasant as she’d expected and she quit after three outings. She only returned to the woodland paths once she’d learnt to drive, attracted once again by the forest’s magnetic pull. She had been amazed to discover that being alone on the mountain provoked in her a terrifying anxiety, the sensation of being watched, of being in a forbidden place or of committing an act of sacrilege. Amaia had gone back down to her car and returned home, excited and unnerved by the experience, and conscious of her atavistic fear, which seemed ridiculous and childish in Aunt Engrasi’s living room.
But the investigation had to continue, and Amaia returned to the thick undergrowth of the Baztán forest. Winter’s death throes were more noticeable in the forest than anywhere else. The rain that had been falling all night was taking a break now, leaving the air cold and heavy, weighed down by humidity that penetrated both her clothes and her bones, so that she shivered, in spite of the heavy blue anorak James had made her wear. Darkened by the excess water, the tree trunks shone like the skin of an ancient reptile in the tentative February sun. The trees that hadn’t lost their leaves gleamed with a green worn by the winter, the gentle breeze revealing silvery reflections on the underside of their leaves. The presence of the river could be detected further down in the valley, flowing through the woods and acting as a mute witness to the horror with which the killer had adorned its banks.
Zipping up his jacket, Jonan increased his pace until he reached her side.
‘There they are,’ he said, pointing out the Land Rover with the Forest Rangers’ emblem on it.
The two uniformed men watched them approach from some distance away and Amaia guessed that they were making some kind of jokey remark because she saw them look away and laugh.
‘Here we go, the typical yokel comments about girls,’ murmured Jonan.
‘Easy tiger, it’s not a big deal,’ she muttered as they approached the men.
‘Good afternoon. I’m Inspector Salazar, from the Policía Foral’s homicide team; this is Deputy Inspector Etxaide,’ she introduced them.
The two men were extremely thin and wiry, although one of them was almost a head taller than the other. Amaia noticed how the taller of the two stood up straighter on hearing her rank.
‘I’m Alberto Flores, Inspector, and this is my colleague Javier Gorria. We’re in charge of keeping watch over this area; it’s very big, more than fifty square kilometres of woodland, but if we can help you in anyway, you can be sure that we will.’
Amaia looked at them in silence without replying. It was an intimidation tactic that almost never failed, and it worked this time too. The ranger who had stayed leaning against the Land Rover stood up and moved forward a pace.
‘Ma’am. We’ll do everything we can to help. The bear expert from Huesca arrived an hour ago, he’s parked a bit further down,’ he said, indicating a bend in the road. ‘If you’ll come with us, we’ll show you where they’re working.’
‘Good, and you can call me Inspector.’
The path became narrower as they went into the wood, opening out again in small clearings where the grass grew green and fine like a beautiful garden lawn. In other areas the wood formed a sheltered, sumptuous and almost warm maze, an impression reinforced by the endless carpet of pine needles and leaves that stretched before them. The water hadn’t penetrated as far into that level, scrubby area as it had done on the slopes, and great dry, springy patches of windblown leaves crowded around the bases of the trees as if forming natural beds for the forest-dwelling lamias. Amaia smiled as she remembered the legends Aunt Engrasi had told her as a child. In the middle of the forest it didn’t seem so far-fetched to accept the existence of the magical creatures that shaped the past of the people of the region. All forests are powerful, some are frightening by dint of being deep or mysterious, others because they are dark and sinister. The Baztán forest is enchanting, with a serene, ancient beauty that effortlessly brings out people’s most human side; a childlike part of them that believes in the fairies with webbed ducks’ feet that used to live in the forest. These fairies would sleep all day, emerging only at nightfall to comb their long blonde hair. Known as lamiak, they would give their golden combs to any man who chose spend the night with them, despite their ducks’ feet, thus granting him his heart’s desire.
Amaia felt the presence of such beings in that forest so tangibly that it seemed easy to believe in a druid culture, the power of trees over men, and to imagine a time when the communion between magical beings and humans was a religion throughout the valley.
‘Here they are, the Ghostbusters,’ said Gorria, not without a hint of sarcasm.
The expert from Huesca and his assistant were wearing garish orange overalls and were each carrying a silver coloured briefcase similar to the ones used by forensics officers. When Amaia and Jonan reached them they seemed absorbed in observing the trunk of a beech tree.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inspector,’ said the man, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Raúl González and this is Nadia Takchenko. If you’re wondering why we’re wearing these clothes, it’s because of the poachers; nothing appeals to those riffraff like the rumour that there’s a bear in the area, and you’ll see them popping out from all kinds of places, even under rocks, and that’s no joke. The big macho Spaniard sets out to catch a bear, and he’s so terrified that the bear might catch him first that he’ll shoot at anything that moves … It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve shot at us thinking we were bears, hence the orange overalls. You can see them two kilometres away; in the Russian forests everybody wears them.’
‘What have you got to tell me? Habemus bear or not?’ asked Amaia.
‘Dr Takchenko and I believe it would be too precipitate to confirm or refute something like that at this stage, Inspector.’
‘But you can at least tell me whether you’ve come across any sign, any clue …’
‘We could say yes, we’ve undoubtedly come across traces that indicate the presence of large animals, but nothing conclusive. In any case, we’ve only just arrived, we’ve barely had time to inspect the area and the light is almost gone,’ he said, looking at the sky.
‘Tomorrow at dawn we will get down to work, is that how you say it?’ asked Dr Takchenko in strongly accented Spanish. ‘The sample you sent us is certainly from a plantigrade. It would be very interesting to have a second sample.’
Amaia decided it was best not to mention that the sample had been found on a corpse.
‘You’ll have further samples tomorrow,’ said Jonan.
‘You can’t tell me anything else, then?’ persisted Amaia.
‘Look, Inspector, the first thing you ought to know is that bears aren’t often sighted. There have been no reports of a bear coming down into the Baztán Valley since the year 1700, which is when the last recorded sightings occurred; there’s even a register that lists the compensation paid to the hunters who killed one of the last bears in this valley. Since then, nothing. There’s no official record that a bear has come down this low, although there have always been rumours amongst the people in the area. Don’t misunderstand me, this is a marvellous place, but bears don’t enjoy company, company of any kind, not even their own kind. And especially not human company. It would be quite rare for a man to come across one by chance, the bear would smell him from several kilometres away and head away from the human without their paths crossing …’
‘And what if a bear had, by chance, come down as far as the valley, following the scent of a female, for example? My understanding is that they’re capable of travelling hundreds of kilometres with that as a lure. And what if it was attracted by something special?’
‘If you’re referring to a corpse, it’s quite unlikely. Bears don’t eat carrion; if there’s a shortage of prey they gather lichen, fruit, honey, young shoots, almost anything rather than carrion.’
‘I wasn’t talking about a corpse, more something like processed foods … I’m afraid I can’t be more specific.’
‘Bears are strongly attracted to human food; in fact, the chance to sample processed food is what leads bears to approach populated areas to search for rubbish bins instead of hunting, unable to resist the scent of it.’
‘In that case, could a bear feel so attracted by the scent of processed food that it would approach a corpse, if that corpse smelled of it?’
‘Yes, if we assume that a bear had come down as far as the Baztán Valley, which is pretty unlikely.’
‘Unless they’ve confused a bear with a, how do you say it? With a sobaka again,’ laughed Dr Takchenko. Dr González looked towards the forest rangers, who were standing a few steps further away.
‘Dr Takchenko is referring to the supposed discovery of a bear’s body very near here in August 2008; following an autopsy, it was found to be that of a large sobaka dog. The authorities made a big fuss over nothing.’
