Ten Days Of July

By Esteban Navarro Soriano

Inspector Simón Leira finds himself temporarily in charge of the Santa Margarita police station as the rest of the command staff has commenced their vacation periods. On his first night of duty, a significant incident occurs: a prostitute who had been arrested earlier in the day, facing only minor charges, is discovered dead in her cell. As the investigation unfolds, a series of unexpected events ensue, further complicating the case instead of shedding light on the circumstances of her death. Undoubtedly, these will be the most trying ten days of July for the new inspector.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Oct 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667464947

Book preview

Chapter 1

The old and pot-bellied officer ran back and forth along the long corridor of the dungeon. He didn't stop shouting while making wild gestures with both hands.

Where is the key?! Where is the key?!

The entrance door to the dungeon had been locked since the patrol brought the detainee in. She remained calm, sitting on the bed. One of the policemen remembered that she lifted her head slightly, and her teary eyes fixed on the cell opening. It was as if she wanted to say something, but no one heard her.

Only an hour had passed when, through the round glass window, the policeman saw the detainee lying on her back on the bed with a stream of blood flowing from her mouth. He noticed bloodstains on the wall as if she had spat it out.

Where the hell is the key? he kept asking.

The policeman had the walkie-talkie in his hand and was directing his question to the patrol car that had detained the girl. However, due to nerves, he wasn't pressing the button, and they couldn't hear him.

Chapter 2

An hour earlier, around eight in the evening, Vanessa was standing on the corner of Avellaneda Street, in front of the Arcadia bar. The only patrol car in all of Santa Margarita passed by, and upon seeing her standing there, they assumed she was engaged in prostitution. They stopped the vehicle and prepared to identify her. They knew that if there were any potential customers for the girl inside the bar, they would lose interest upon seeing the police.

Put everything you have in your purse on the hood of the car, one of the policemen told her, which forced the girl to hang up the phone. Apparently, she was talking to someone.

The girl obeyed and began taking out her belongings one by one, carefully placing them where the policeman had instructed.

And what's this? the officer asked her.

It's for personal use, she replied without lowering her gaze.

One of the policemen took the small packet from inside a brown leather wallet and showed it to the girl.

Coke?

I don't know, she mumbled. It's not mine.

Right, the policeman clicked his tongue. And it magically ended up inside your purse. Didn't it?

She knew from previous experiences that the police would confiscate it, and in a couple of weeks, she would receive a fine.

Do you have to take it away from me? she asked, fear evident in her eyes.

The officers glanced at the glass window of the Arcadia bar, searching for any complicit glances from the few customers inside at that moment. But no one was looking outside.

Give me your identification, one of them ordered, while taking a folder out of the police car and placing it on the hood next to the girl's purse.

I don't have it. It expired a month ago, and I haven't had time to renew it yet.

Then you'll have to come with us to the police station.

I haven't done anything, and that coke isn't mine, she insisted.

Come on, stop with the stories and get in the car. You know that if you don't have identification, we have to identify you at the police station.

I'm waiting for someone, Vanessa said in perfect Spanish but with a Russian accent.

Get in the car if you don't want us to arrest you for disobedience.

Arrested for what?

That's enough, one of the policemen protested. You're under arrest for possession of narcotics.

And he handcuffed her hands behind her back.

Chapter 3

Now I can't get any closer. No, not until those police officers leave. If they see me, they'll suspect me. Why the hell are they identifying her? Can't you see she's a poor prostitute? Leave her alone, assholes. Yeah, go ahead, now you have to frisk her. They found a cocaine packet. I knew they would.

Don't take her away, don't take her away.

Sons of bitches! You know you can't arrest anyone for a cocaine packet.

Who are you calling now? No, Vanessa, don't make a phone call. If you call, the police will know who I am.

Alright. Yes, it's a damn coincidence that the patrol had to identify you, but don't worry, Vanessa. Don't worry because you have little life left.

Chapter 4

That morning, the alarm clock rang at seven when it usually went off at eight. However, due to an oversight by Inspector Leira, he had set the alarm one hour earlier the night before. He got up, sat on the corner of the bed, and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake up. At that moment, he remembered Guillermina, who couldn't stand him scratching his eyes in the morning.

Stop doing that, she would constantly scold him.

It had been a year since Guillermina had left him for a colleague at the French consulate in Barcelona, where, apparently, they shared more than just breakfast. But the inspector still couldn't forget her.

In the kitchen, he prepared an Italian coffee maker, pouring in the pre-ground coffee beans. He preferred to grind the coffee himself, but the noise of the grinder bothered the neighbor upstairs. So, the elderly woman would appear at the skylight and tap on her kitchen window with a broomstick.

What's going on? Simón asked the first time she did it.

You make a lot of noise in the mornings, she said, leaning out from above.

It's the coffee grinder, he apologized.

Well, buy it pre-ground like everyone else.

Simón began to despise the neighbor upstairs. She got on his nerves every time she banged on the window with the broomstick. She believed she could make noise at night when she got up to use the bathroom or the kitchen, but he couldn't grind a bit of coffee in the mornings. She was a widow who always peered out the window with her hair in curlers. Simón didn't know how old she was, but he guessed she was around ninety.

He spread butter on two frozen slices of bread that he had just toasted. After breakfast, with the coffee settling in his stomach, he headed to the police station, where he had been working as a detective for a few months.

Santa Margarita is beautiful, Guillermina had commented when Simón told her he was being transferred there.

He assumed the girl wanted to encourage him to leave her side. Their relationship had cooled for months. The final blow was when Simón found out that she was involved with one of his colleagues, a scoundrel.

His office was on the second floor of the three-story police station. It was a small office with a computer and a three-drawer cabinet. In the first drawer, he kept the files of closed cases; in the second, the ones pending resolution; and the third drawer was always empty. However, Santa Margarita was a town of just over fifty thousand inhabitants, where immigration hadn't taken hold, and most of the residents were born there, just like their parents and their grandparents.

Like every morning, Simón met with the chief, Commissioner Alberto Mendoza. Mendoza was born in Santa Margarita and maintained a close friendship with his childhood friends: the mayor and the governor. The local oligarchy.

Come in, Simón, he said as he closed the window of his office with some effort, holding a massive Habano cigar in his hand. He gestured for Simón to sit.

Good morning, Alberto, he greeted, while he remained standing next to the entrance door.

The commissioner liked detectives to address each other informally. It was one of his early requirements. According to him, a friendly atmosphere influenced the performance of the other inspectors. Simón thought it was fine because it indicated trust among them.

This damn window is going to be the end of me, he asserted while trying to secure the latch. Turn on the air conditioning, he ordered Simón, pointing with the cigar's tip at the control panel on the wall near the entrance, just to the right of where he was sitting.

In a few minutes, the other detectives arrived. The topic for that mid-July Friday was the same as every Friday: the weekly case closure. Each inspector brought a sheet to the commissioner's desk with the week's data. It included reported crimes and resolved crimes. For the mayor and the governor, the only valuable result was the difference between these two numbers. In other words, the number of crimes that had been resolved compared to those that had been reported.

Who's in charge of the incidents this weekend? the chief asked as he skimmed through the sheets that each inspector had placed on his desk.

I'll take care of it, Simón responded, raising his hand as if he were in a kindergarten class.

The commissioner turned and glanced at the calendar hanging on his office wall.

You're lucky, Simón! he exclaimed with a smile. These are the longest incidents of the year.

Since Simón had only been stationed there for a few months, he didn't know what the commissioner meant. He quickly realized that during the summer months, incidents were scheduled every ten days instead of weekly, to accommodate the vacation schedules of a third of the staff. This meant that his shift wouldn't end until July 25th.

There, seated around a rectangular table, were the four detectives from the Santa Margarita police station: Ernesto Fregolas, Carmen Mateo, Carlos Salinas, and Simón Leira.

All right, gentlemen! the chief concluded when he finished reading the sheets. We'll see each other again on July 25th.

Chapter 5

Wait, I said before she walked out the door.

What's wrong? she asked.

Are you leaving without giving me a kiss?

She looked at me with a puzzled expression.

I thought you were mad at me.

Please, Vanessa. How could you think that of me? I would never be angry with you.

I'm sorry, I'm just so confused.

It's because of that crap you're taking.

I promise I'll quit.

Someday.

Yes, someday I will.

Chapter 6

Simón had arranged to meet Carmen at El Rincón del Gato, a converted tavern turned restaurant. Carmen was one of the youngest inspectors in her class and had abandoned her medical studies halfway to pursue her lifelong passion: criminal investigation.

Hello, she greeted when Simón walked into the restaurant.

The inspector had been waiting for him inside, seated at the bar, sipping on a tonic.

You took a while, she commented.

After the meeting with the commissioner, I stayed back to chat with him. I had no idea the incidents from July 15th extended all the way to the 25th.

I thought I told you, Carmen affirmed. Now the peak vacation season begins, and with a third of the staff at the beach, incidents are reported in ten-day increments.

Yes, it's clear to me now.

If you ever need to go to Barcelona, just let me know, and I can cover for you.

Don't worry. I have nothing left for me in Barcelona now.

I'm sorry.

It's okay. When a relationship goes sour, it's best to let it go. I thought coming here and having the distance would strengthen our relationship. But after these months, I've realized it's not the case. I don't think we can ever reconcile.

Being separated from loved ones is one of the saddest things in life. In the police force, they train us for many things, but not for coping with loneliness.

How are things with Pedro?

We have issues, she replied, fiddling with a toothpick on the table.

They both shared a half-minute of silence. Simón refrained from asking about the nature of her problems with her boyfriend, as it was better to let her explain if she wished.

And how about you? How are you holding up?

Simón understood that Carmen wasn't going to divulge the details of her relationship problems.

As you can see, incidents keep piling up until July 25th, he forced a smile.

Don't worry. If nothing ever happens here in the winter, you can only imagine how quiet it is in the summer when most people head to the beach.

Are you going away these days?

Yes, I want to visit Pedro. But you have my mobile number in case you need anything.

Chapter 7

A little before eight in the evening, while Simón was in his office, his mobile phone rang. He couldn't know who was calling because the number was blocked.

Who is this?

Simón.

Yes, it's me. Who are you? he asked since he didn't recognize the caller.

She hung up the phone.

Oh, are you here? the commissioner said, appearing in the doorway.