The Valentina File

By A.P. Hernández

Valentina: a teenager who ended her life with a box cutter.

Martha: a mother who can't accept her daughter's atrocious act.

Ishmael: a university student who's beginning to overcome his fears.

Lazarus del Río: a former Chief Inspector of Police who's been suspended and barred for life.

Why did Valentina commit suicide?

Follow Lazarus del Río's investigation and discover the hidden truth behind her death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Aug 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667460789

A.P. Hernández

Ο Antonio Pérez Hernández (Μούρθια, 1989) είναι δάσκαλος στην Πρωτοβάθμια Εκπαίδευση, παιδαγωγός, με Μάστερ στην Καινοτομία και στην Έρευνα στην Εκπαίδευση και Δόκτορ, με τη διάκριση cum laude (έπαινος), για τη Διδακτορική του Διατριβή Αξιολόγηση της ικανότητας στην επικοινωνία δια της γλώσσας μέσα από διηγήματα στην Πρωτοβάθμια Εκπαίδευση. Εργάζεται ως δάσκαλος και συγγραφέας.

Book preview

THE VALENTINA FILE

A CASE FOR

FORMER CHIEF INSPECTOR OF POLICE

LAZARUS DEL RIO

––––––––

By A. P. Hernandez

Translated by Angela Fairbank M.A. C.T.

Table of Contents

OUT THERE

DAY 1

DAY 2

DAY 3

DAY 4

OUT THERE

1

Lazarus del Río is watching television—or at least he’s trying to. After a long period of doing absolutely nothing except existing on canned food and cheap beer, he thinks turning on his TV might be the best (and simplest) way of showing interest in the world he still occupies.

The screen powers up and Lazarus shuts his eyes, momentarily dazzled by the sudden flash of light. Ever since coming home, Lazarus hasn’t left his house. He has declared war on the world outside and is now firmly convinced he’ll never leave his 2,000-square-foot duplex again. He has everything he needs inside, and thanks to the internet, he can pay his electricity and water bills—and buy everything else he needs—from home.

Lazarus is sitting on his living room couch, and, even with half-closed eyes, is watching the news anchor on his 45-inch HD-Ready LG. She’s pretty. She sure is. Brunette, brown eyes, white skin, just like he prefers. He’s sitting on the couch listening to her.

She’s telling her viewers about an organized gang that specializes in stealing high-end vehicles and is warning residents in a specific neighborhood of Madrid to be extremely cautious.

Lazarus breathes, relieved, although he knows he’s not totally safe.

He’s waiting for the next piece of news.

Come on, my brown-eyed beauty. Tell Lazarus everything.

The next item concerns a fight between two young people at the entrance of a discotheque. The anchor reports that the event took place at three o’clock in the morning when two youths, aged 19 and 22, were exiting the premises, clearly intoxicated. As they were leaving, they argued and became involved in a violent confrontation. Apparently, one of the boys had a knife and had stabbed the other. The latter was now in the hospital in serious condition.

The world’s full of shitty people, Lazarus says.

And, God forgive him, he couldn’t be happier.

He waits for the next item of news as he gradually calms down.

The woman’s now talking about a small fire in a building. Fortunately, the incident didn’t cause any deaths, only two minor injuries.

Lazarus turns off the TV.

The anxiety that had been accumulating in his chest gradually dissipates. His heartbeat slows down. So does his breathing.

Finally. At last Lazarus has ceased to be a news item. Although, let’s see. How long has it been? Fifteen years? Sixteen?

He’s not sure. Time ceased to make any sense as of the moment he entered prison. And, as if that weren’t enough, after serving his sentence, he’s now imprisoned again, although this time in his own house. As soon as he arrived home, Lazarus lowered the blinds and locked his front door with the bolt.

As if anyone were going to visit me, he scoffs. As if anyone cares in the slightest!

He was released from prison a few weeks ago (or was it months?) and quite a few things have stopped bothering him.

For one thing, his life has stopped making any sense.

He wonders what kind of future awaits him if he remains constantly in the dark, and is unable to leave his house, not even to go out into his garden. Lazarus knows his deeds haven’t been forgotten despite the passage of time. Clear evidence is the graffiti in large letters on the outside of his house: FUCKING MURDERER.

He also knows moving to another city isn’t an option. Anywhere he goes, people will recognize him: the former Chief Inspector of the National Police Force, Lazarus del Río, who became a murderer overnight.

His photo had been on the front page of the most popular international newspapers (for several days). His name had been in the headlines of magazines and newsletters in several countries. His actions had resonated in every language and in every news outlet in the world.

I used to have a life, he says, thinking aloud, now I have nothing.

Lazarus has no family except for his older brother who, since it happened, hasn’t had any contact with him.

No one came to visit me in prison.

And that’s what hurts him the most. No one. Nobody cares about him.

I’m all alone, he realizes.

Lazarus gets up and heads to the fridge. Only three cans from the case of cheap beer he’d bought a few days ago on the Internet remain. He picks them up by the plastic handle and sits back on the couch with the cans on his lap. He drinks the first one in one gulp, crushes it with his left hand using unusual force, and throws it into the corner of the living room.

In the past, he never drank. On the contrary, he’d always been a teetotaler.

But that was before I became the monster I am now.

And with that thought, Lazarus pulls the ring on the second can and drinks.

He burps loudly, crushes it, and tosses it—this time against his front door.

FUCK you all! he shouts at the loneliness enveloping him as he lets his tears slide down his cheeks. DAMN you all to hell! He was a murderer! He was a fucking rapist!

2

It’s 4:00 a.m. and Lazarus is shopping online. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, it’ll be delivered to his front door.

He looks through his final order: 20 cases of Maxi-Save beer, three packs of sugar-sweetened soda, 30 frozen ham and bacon pizzas, 18 bags of potato chips, 27 coffees-in-a-can, five boxes of whole grain cereal, and toilet paper.

He clicks OK and enters his credit card number. Then he clicks on CONFIRM YOUR PURCHASE, and, to his surprise, learns the operation hasn’t gone through.

Lazarus, fearing the worst, accesses his private online bank account using his ID and password. He finds out he has a balance of only €121.45. He opens his eyes wide and clamps his hands on his head, stunned.

His long stay in prison has made him forget he has no job or income. He’s been expelled from the National Police Force and disqualified from employment and a salary.

Lazarus frowns. Where did all his savings go? Without hesitating, he enters his user profile, selects his current account, and clicks on the option SEE ACTIVITIES IN THIS ACCOUNT.

To his astonishment, he discovers not everyone has forgotten about him. It’s true none of his workmates came to visit him in prison, and even his brother isn’t talking to him, but at least someone remembered him periodically!

You bastards!

His mortgage company.

He’d forgotten about his goddamn mortgage.

At the end of each month, there’s a debit of €490 accompanied by the item description HOME MORTGAGE.

The good news is that, thanks to his savings account, the bank hasn’t foreclosed on his house. The bad news—very bad in fact—is that his savings have disappeared and what’s more, he still has more than €40,000 of his mortgage to pay. Before, when he’d been Chief Inspector of Police, dealing with a monthly fee of €490 was something simple. But what can he do now?

The last thing he wants is to be kicked out of his house.

I’ll have to look for a job.

But he dismisses the idea quickly. There’s something about him that refuses any work not connected to the national police. After all, he’s been in the police force almost his entire life—ever since he passed his entrance exams at age 19.

Lazarus’s climb up the ladder had been brilliant. Like everyone else, he’d begun as a simple trainee policeman, and had later become a full policeman. But it hadn’t ended there. Unlike his peers, Lazarus had continued to rise: from policeman he had gone on to be an officer, then deputy inspector, trainee inspector (first and second year), practicing trainee inspector, inspector, and finally chief inspector.

The position of chief inspector is pretty impressive. No doubt about it. But Lazarus knows that had he not committed the stupidity he had, he’d have been promoted to commissioner.

So now what? he asks, looking at the stack of beer cans piled up in the corner of the living room. Am I supposed to look for work as a waiter or a store clerk?

The very idea makes him groan. Lazarus has nothing against waiters or store clerks. The real reason he’s reluctant to look for a job is because he still believes he’s a policeman. Despite being expelled from the force years ago, inside his head, Lazarus continues to behave, act, and feel like a policeman.

I’ll always be a Chief Inspector, he tells his reflection on the blank TV screen. And being Chief Inspector is a full-time job.

As Lazarus contemplates his image, he can scarcely recognize himself. He sees a tall, thin, dark-eyed man with messy hair and the tattoo of a snake crawling from his left nipple up to his neck.

Lazarus gets up from the couch and heads upstairs to the second floor of his duplex. He’s tired and his physical condition has worsened dramatically since his release from prison. At least in prison he lifted weights daily with the other