The House In Front

Chapter 1

Episode 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Alvaro Alsina

Rosa Pérez

Irene Alsina

Javier Alsina

Juan Hidalgo

Diego Sanchez

Silvia Corral

Nacho Heredia

Pedro Carrasco

Luis Aguilar

Elvira torres

Candido Fernandez

Pablo Marin

Sandra Lopez

Sofia Escudero

Maria Becerra

Marcos Lopez

Lucia Ramirez

Natalia Robles

Sonia Garcia

Jose Soriano

Cesar Salamanca

Welcome to Roquesas

Author's note

Other titles that you will like

Chapter 1

Old Hermann Baier is sitting in his wooden rocking chair in the house he bought on Calle Gibraltar,

near Plaza Roquesas. He has lived there since he came to town. It has been so long since that there

is no one alive who saw him appear at the railway station, that cold morning in the winter of 1945.

The noisy train appeared timidly at the Roquesas stop. These were not good times for anyone and

large crowds came from all over Europe seeking refuge. The cities were saturated with immigrants

who roamed their streets in search of a forgotten peace. Small groups of soldiers patrolled the

platforms; The still disorganized Regime did not want foreign agents to sneak through the border

crossings seeking to destabilize it. Hermann got off the express coming directly from Germany.

Before it passed two severe border controls, but in the year 45 the Germans had safe-conduct to

enter Spain without impediments. That morning, the Civil Guard couple patrolled the platforms,

waving the embalmed layers of their suits in the wind and grasping the carabiners, by the muzzles,

with both hands together. The agents did not ask for papers or documentation, because the

adventurers who got off that train had no identity. Anonymous beings crossing a burning Europe,

cratered by bombs, filled with hatred because of anger. The veteran Civil Guard groomed his

mustache and looked directly into the German's eyes, and had to lower his; That gaze radiated such

an incandescence that it could be said that at any moment it would throw a column of fire on him.

-Documentation," he asked.

The German reached out, holding firmly a folded paper, which he opened before the agent's censorious gaze.

The civil guard took it and withdrew his hand enough to read what it said. He didn't understand it,

but there was a Gestapo stamp on it and that was enough to make him ask no more. Was limited

to write down the name of that traveler in a notebook, in case his bosses asked him for a name of

the people who came to town.

Shall we look at his bag? Asked the other, younger guard.

It is not necessary, said the major, and then asked the traveler:

Where does it come from?

From Berlin, he answered quietly. From hell.

The German folded the passport again and cautiously tucked it into a pocket of his raincoat. With

his elbow he made sure the Luger was still there. The civil guards did not notice, they did not even

search him to see if he was carrying weapons. Then he slipped out of the eyes of the agents and left the station.

––––––––

Hermann Baier settled in Roquesas. There he made his home. He was immediately one of his

neighbors, one of many. At times it was said that the Israeli secret service was looking for him,

that they would have killed him if they had known where he was, but no one ever came to town

asking for him. The emaciated German had arrived from Berlin, that is what he told the Civil

Guards who asked him when he got off the train. It was the most complete answer. For the agents

of that time, Berlin was a city in ruins, a city at the epicenter of a war. The capital of hell. A

document written in German testified that he was fleeing. The Civil Guard observed his eyes.

There was no fear in them. It was a challenging look, almost arrogant. But that German had come

from the Majdanek death camps, outside Lublin, in Poland. There he was commander of the

Gestapo and fled before the Russians captured him. He was the youngest commander the Nazis

had in their ranks. And also the most cruel and ruthless.

Now, he is rocking in his rickety rocking chair. The tears from her small eyes run down her cracked

face and are channeled through a slit near her nose, where a hint of sobbing has stalled as if she

wanted to heal the wound that a young Polish woman produced in the field of

Majdanek. The new Nazi commander abused her, he did it as many times as he wanted. "Who is

going to tell me anything?" Thought the conceited officer then. The girl screamed, but her request

for help was answered only by the laughter of the other officers. Their golden emblems gleamed in

the darkness of the death camp. On one occasion, she wanted to defend herself and dug her broken

nails into Hermann's face. He wanted to gouge his eyes out, but a reflex action from the commander

caused his nails to slip from the corner of his nose.

And now, Hermann wipes the stagnant crying in that cleft. During the years after the war many

wrinkles appeared, as if they had wanted to cover the mark of horror. But the old German knows

that that trace will never be erased.

––––––––

He falls asleep in the rocking chair. The ghosts of the past fill his room and surround him,

whispering in his ear so as not to let him sleep, so that he does not rest, so that he is a living dead.

But a familiar noise stretches him. It's the hinges on the front door. Someone is accessing the room.

The rocking chair slowly stops until it is completely still. With his firm, skeletal right hand he

grasps the Luger.

And he pretends to be asleep ...

Episode 2

That night the heat was crushing the paved tar of Reverend Lewis Street with blazing

enthusiasm. Álvaro Alsina felt the click of the soles of his shoes as they lifted off the ground. The

loose grains of the works crunched and displaced smoking droplets of dust that vanished before

they reached the level of his knees. An embarrassment fired by the sea breeze penetrated his bones and stuck annoyingly against his back, drenching it with sweat.

Like every day, he stopped in front of the house. The ridiculous fence that guarded it did

not allow him to go further. Two cigars fell to the ground when he pulled the package out of his

jacket pocket.

Clumsy, he said to himself in a low voice.

He didn't even bother to pick them up, he guessed that the humidity had spoiled them, and wet they were no use.

He took shelter in the shade of the centenary olive tree that presided over the roundabout

where the street ended and that served as a dike between the forest and the urbanization. Its trunk

conserved the marks of the lovers of the town who, with the blow of a knife, engraved their names.

And although Álvaro did not want to see it, his eyes betrayed him and he read, as he had done so

many times, the initials of some names. They were two letters separated by a heart: A and S. They

could barely distinguish between the machete blows that had tried, unsuccessfully, to erase them.

The memories of the nights in the living room of his house in the company of the Argentine

maid passed through his mind. She flushed back to the first time they made love. It was summer and

the heat was beating mercilessly into the darkness of Roquesas. That night he came down slowly so

as not to wake up his wife, Rosa, or the children, Javier and Irene. Stairs separated the upstairs room

from the downstairs kitchen, which was right next to the front door. Nothing satisfied Álvaro more

in summer than drinking a good glass of cold water. And Sonia was there, sitting in the aluminum

chair and refreshing herself with the milk that she drank directly from the bottle. The image could

not be more suggestive.

-What are you doing? He asked as soon as he saw her.

The refrigerator door was open and the reflection of the girl was the only breath of light that

illuminated the kitchen. The semi-darkness drew flashes from Sonia's legs and her breasts appeared

temptingly above that T-shirt that Álvaro's wife had always censored.

He couldn't take that hot and needed a drink, he replied.

Álvaro wanted to take the glass of water and flee from there. But his masculinity betrayed him and

he struck up a bland conversation with the maid.

Sonia had been with them for almost two years. The temp agency had highly recommended her,

assuring them that she was an exceptional domestic helper. Actually, that Argentinian woman with

a dark complexion and endless legs did her job with impeccable correction.

It's true, Álvaro said. Here the embarrassment is unbearable.

He took the glass of water and with the nerves of the situation spilled part of it on the floor. An

endless stream trickled down the glass and spilled onto the stoneware.

I'll pick it up, she said.

The girl stood up and her breasts swayed before Álvaro as if they wanted to get out of that T-shirt

she dreamed of so much. A white T-shirt that gave off a musky smell between mothballs and

perfume, highlighting the splendid tan of Argentina.

Take off, he said. I'll do it now, "he insisted, visibly nervous.

Álvaro opened the cupboard where the cleaning supplies were kept and, with little skill, took out a

mop. Sonia laughed at him when he ran her over the spilled water. His gleaming white teeth lit up

the dark kitchen.

What makes you so funny?

Stop, stop, she told him, I'll take care of it, really.

Sonia took the mop from his hands and they were so close that Álvaro felt intoxicated by that

peachy perfume that Argentina always wore. His trail was easilydetectable in any corner of the

house. He could know, without hesitation, when she had been in the bathroom or the children's

rooms or anywhere else. The peach soaked every corner and every corner.

How are you, Álvaro? She heard from behind him.

The hoarse voice of the local police chief distracted him from his thoughts. She tried not to look at

the heart carved in the olive tree, fearing that he would notice.

I went out to smoke a cigarette before I went to sleep, he replied.

And then he had that heartbreaking feeling from other times. It felt as if the house across the way

was looking at them. As if she were alive and understood each of the words that were said before

her.

A little far from your home, Cesar told him, and looked at him with those inquisitive eyes he

always wielded.

César Salamanca had been the chief of the local police for countless years and, like Álvaro himself,

had grown up in the town. The two shared their childhood in a Roquesas that had not yet been

discovered by tourists. And as adults, their lives diverged and each one found their future unevenly.

I'm out for a walk, said Cesar. I have to keep a close eye on the people in this development.

And he laughed jokingly, letting the holes of the missing teeth show in his mouth.

Álvaro did not feel alluded to, since he knew him and knew that he was constantly joking. His jokes

became heavy on him at times.

Well, you would do well to keep an eye on the people on your street, Álvaro replied, following

the joke.

Yes, he protested, "but it was here that Sandra disappeared and this is precisely where I have to

start investigating."

Álvaro lit another cigarette and knew that Cesar was no longer joking.

Sandra López was a sixteen-year-old adolescent, a friend of the Alsinas' daughter, who had been  

missing for a week in the forest surrounding the urbanization, the place where, according to

witnesses, she was last seen. She did not say anything to anyone, so it was suspected that she could

have been kidnapped, although her parents were not exactly a wealthy family from whom she

could ask for a ransom. Sandra was out of the ordinary, and that led the investigation to a voluntary

escape. The people were not prepared for these events and any prediction was easily credible.

I guess you know the lesbian thing? Asked Caesar.

His gaze gave him away and Álvaro knew what he was referring to without further explanation. The

whole town commented on Sandra's sexual orientation, but Álvaro tried not to echo that, since they

were very good friends with Irene, his daughter.

Do you think his parents know? Asked Caesar.

Please, Álvaro grumbled.

That same conversation had been reproduced by Rosa and Álvaro many times. His wife was

concerned about Sandra's homosexuality and continually repeated the same thing:

Álvaro, I don't like the girl hanging out with her.

"Well, I think he's hooked up with an aunt from Santa Susana and since his parents won't let him, he

has run away with her," César said, laughing.

The chief of police spoke so fast that he didn't give Álvaro time to collect his thoughts. In the house

with the gazebo, one of the planks that supported it creaked, and Álvaro was startled.

Did you hear that? He asked Caesar.

The chief omitted his question and kept talking.

—The Lopezes are old-fashioned, surely they have reproached their daughter's attitude so much that

she has ended up running away from home. I know hundreds of the same cases, "he said. Family

pressure can turn a girl into the opposite of what her parents want for her.

Well, I don't think Lucía, Álvaro said, referring to Sandra's mother, is a traditional woman. On

the contrary, I rather think it is modern and broad-minded.

Cesar laughed again and this time, it didn't seem so funny. His eyes were fixed on Álvaro and he

couldn't help but blush.

Sandra's mother, Lucía Ramírez, was a splendid woman with a childish face. Mottled freckles on

her face gave her a mischievous look, and she was at least ten years younger than her husband,

Marcos López, a clerk at the savings bank in Santa Susana, the city on which Roquesas depended.

Maybe Marcos does question Sandra's sexuality, Álvaro suggested, "but I think Lucía is the one

who is in charge there." Have you found out something?

This case is overwhelming me. I have to find her before the mayor has a heart attack. Do you

know what the cuckold told me?

Álvaro shook his head.

Absolute priority, Caesar. Find the girl or the tourists will stop coming to town. How about?

—It's normal, César, the mayor watches over Roquesas' interests and Sandra's disappearance scares

anyone away.

-The fact that? That a girl has gone with her lover?

But that's your guess, Alvaro replied. You have to put yourself in the shoes of the residents who

come here to invest in these houses, "he said, pointing at everything that could be seen of the

development. It is normal for them to worry about their daughters and think about the possibility

that they will disappear.

Did your daughter say anything else?

Álvaro was upset and thought he was trying to link his daughter to Sandra's disappearance.

We've already discussed the matter with my daughter, he replied defensively. Although the one

who has had the most contact with her has been Rosa, that's what her mother is for, and between

women they understand each other better. But I don't think he's hiding anything, I'm convinced he

told you everything he knew.

Cesar's face screwed up, visibly suspicious.

-Do you believe?

The chief of police must not have liked Álvaro's expression, since he changed the subject.

How is your company?

-Well. We are immersed in a new project.

The thing about the chips?

-That's how it is. We are working on making the network card I told you about.

Álvaro did not feel like delving into superfluous explanations about his company's business.

It's a splendid night and I wanted to take a walk around the urbanization, Cesar told him. I can't

stop thinking about the missing teenager and I look for some evidence that will allow me to find out

where she is.

There was an awkward silence.

Do you think they killed her? Álvaro asked.

I already told you no. That child has eloped with someone, not necessarily with another woman, it

may have left with another boy from the village, or it may even be at a friend's house. Do you

know anything about that Natalia woman?

Cesar was so old-fashioned that when he sensed a clue, nothing changed his mind.

Are you suspicious of her too?

-May. That Natalia is not from here and Sandra really liked hanging out with her. Do you know

where he lives?

In Santa Susana, Álvaro answered, hesitating.

I already know that, said Caesar, annoyed. I mean if you know his exact address.

Ask the police there, Álvaro said dismissively.

That would be easy, but I don't want to get you in on this.

A glance from Álvaro urged him to explain himself better.

These are the mayor's orders, he lamented. The fewer people who know about it, the better.

But by now all the police in the region will be warned, Álvaro observed.

-About. For now, and as recently after his disappearance, we have preferred not to issue an alarming

statement. In the official note we have put the disappearance of a minor, nothing more. We didn't

mean to hint at any murder.

-Murder?

Well, Álvaro, don't be crazy about things. I mean that at the moment there is no need to

unnecessarily alarm the neighbors. What's more...

-In addition to? Alvaro asked, interrupting him.

"Well, that, besides, if we don't find her, the Santa Susana headquarters will take care of the matter

and send investigators to town."

-That is not bad.

-It depends. Nobody likes to be snooped around Roquesas, police officers who are not from here. You already know the townspeople.

Álvaro understood that the person who didn't like him was César Salamanca himself. He guessed

that his image would suffer if an outsider had to take over the investigation. And despite their

differences, he understood their position

. Another cigarette? Offered César, who did not smoke, but the offer of another cigarette implied

that they would talk a while longer.

No, thank you, Álvaro refused. It's late and I have to go home, Rosa and the children are waiting

for me for dinner.

You have a wonderful family. Keep it.

Those words annoyed Álvaro. What did he mean by keeping it? Possibly it was just a cliché, but

coming from Caesar it would contain some double-edged subliminal message.

And this house? Álvaro asked, pointing with his chin towards her.

-I dont know. What's so special about it?

-Whose is it?

"I suppose it's from some rich man from