"You know your office is the building opposite where a serial killer lived over a 100 years ago?" I said, sipping the last of my morning coffee and licking the foam from around the lip of the cup. Carolina's eyes widened as she secured the lid on her cafe con leche. "No. What are you talking about?" "Well, there used to be a woman who lived on Joaquin Costa that killed children and used their body parts to make lotions and potions for rich women." Marcos stuck his head out of the window "Yeah it's true, didn't you know this?". "No." She said, taking a sip." How do you know this?"
"They call her La Vampira Del Raval , it's a famous story around here. I found out when I was writing an article on the history of the area and have always intended to get around to writing an article about her." I said. "Perhaps I should do that today?"
Enriqueta Marti was a Catalan woman born in 1868 in Sant Feliu de Llobregat. Little is known of her life before she moved to Barcelona as a young woman to secure employment as a maid and a nanny. However, living in the city was tough for Enriqueta and she soon turned to prostitution around the port of Barcelona, where jobs were more than easy to find. It was during this time that she also found her husband to be, Joan Pujalo, a painter. The marriage was inconsistent and turbulent. Pujalo spoke of his wife as an unpredictable character and how he could never quite adjust to her dealings with peculiar, dubious characters and how she would still frequent brothels, despite their marriage. They were separated and reunited a number of times before finally becoming estranged from one another, with no children or little else to show for their relationship.
In recent years, essays and works have emerged in defence of Enriqueta claiming that she was a scapegoat for an immoral, corrupt and lazy police force, who scandalised the story to such great heights in order to distract the eye of criticism to this 'devil woman'. Either way, we will never know the truth about Enriqueta Marti. Number 29 sits innocently next to an organic vegetable shop and all that remains are the whispers of Barcelona, the stories of La Vampira del Raval.