Domingo Armada series Omnibus

by Jefferson Bonar

  “Yes, well, I didn’t plan that one out. It wasn’t even my idea. I didn’t want to do it.”

  “Whose idea was it?”

  “Amparo’s.”

  The pieces of the case in Armada’s mind began to shift. That couldn’t be right.

  “It was Amparo’s idea to divert the spring water into your field?”

  “He’d been hounding me to do it for years,” Jose said.

  “Why? He has no stake in your field, does he?”

  “No. He only gets the wage I pay him, same as Enrique, same as everyone who has ever worked for me.”

  “Then why was he so keen on it?”

  “Work, I figured. If my field fails, he loses his job.”

  “And your field was failing?”

  Jose sighed and sat back on the table, laying the harquebus down next to him. He picked up his brandy and took a sip.

  “I thought I could turn it around,” Jose said. “But every year, I ended up with a little bit less. Taxes go up. Then a drought. Then another drought. Then one year the seeds are no good. So you need a little loan to get by. Then another. And one day you wake up and realise this work you have devoted your life to…well…it’s all become a sinking ship. When they started talking about a drought this year…that was it.”

  Another piece that Armada thought he had slotted into the puzzle once more did not fit.

  “Tell me, how long have you been in financial difficulties like this?”

  “A few years, más o menos.”

  “How have you been getting by?”

  “Luck, really. And it helps to have a large family to help you through the lean times.”

  Armada needed a moment to think and began to pace, his hand outstretched as if he were holding a glass of sherry, which he desperately wished he had. He needed to re-evaluate everything. For if Jose were in such dire straits, how could he afford to pay Amparo his blackmail money? He could hardly afford to feed his own family, and with a failing crop…it didn’t make any sense. The evidence of money he saw in the house Amparo and Madalena shared was far more than Jose could ever afford to give him.

  This led to one question: what if Jose wasn’t the person whom Amparo was blackmailing? This removed Jose’s motivation to kill Amparo.

  A harsh truth now stared Armada in the face—Jose was innocent. And Amparo’s killer was still out there.

  “What do you know about Amparo and Madalena’s finances? Were they getting by on what Amparo made?”

  Jose smiled. “More than that, Armada, and you know it. He was getting money from somewhere. He didn’t buy that bed just from what I’ve paid him.”

  “Any idea where it could have come from?”

  “No,” Jose said, not looking at Armada.

  Was it a lie? It was hard for Armada to tell. Jose’s body was still relaxed, leaning against the stone wall, the harquebus butt now on the ground, his meaty fingers wrapped around the top of the barrel as if it were a walking stick. There was no awkwardness, no shifting his weight about, no eyes darting round. Just a sorrowful gaze toward the horizon.

  “Did you ever give him any money beyond his wages?”

  Jose was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You mean was he blackmailing me?” Jose said.

  Armada let the question hang in the air, not wanting to diffuse the tension of the question.

  Jose took in a small breath of air. “No.”

  “Do you know if he was blackmailing someone else?”

  “Either that or he was secretly a Hapsburg prince in line for the throne.”

  Armada hopped to his feet. “Thank you.”

  Armada turned to walk away.

  “Armada,” Jose called to him. Armada turned around, expecting to see a warm smile. Instead, he found ice cold eyes glaring back at him.

  “Don’t ever come back here again. Or I will shoot you next time, Brotherhood or no. You’ve done enough damage to this family.”

  Jose didn’t wait for an acknowledgment of his threat, and instead turned and walked back into the cortijo.

  Armada didn’t take it personally. Jose was used to being in charge of every situation. But in this case, he had no control, and it was a frightening feeling. His family was already taken from him once when he went to prison, a huge shock. For a man like Jose, struggling with the same demons as Armada, having a family and being a part of the pueblo helped him feel normal, and held back the flood of doubts that plagued him about whether he was a violent monster deep down inside. Take the family away, and the guilt and the memories and the doubts would probably crush Jose, leaving him open to doing anything, including violence, to protect them.

  Armada knew his ability to return to this cortijo had ended tonight. And he wouldn’t have to, assuming Jose was telling the truth.

  It was time to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Later that afternoon, Armada jumped to his feet as Madalena approached. He’d been sitting on the wall across the road from her house for the better part of an hour, waiting for her to return.

  She seemed distressed, but tried to hide it, and ignored Armada as she passed him. She went up to her door and took out a large key.

  “I’m sorry, Constable, but I’m not in the mood to answer any more of your questions,” she said over her shoulder. “You can come back tomorrow.”

  “I’m not here to ask you anything,” Armada said, standing just behind her. “I’m here to search your house. So if you don’t mind…”

  Madalena stopped before she unlocked the door, then turned around.

  “Excuse me? You can’t do that.”

  “I think you’ll find that I can,” Armada said, not being entirely sure if this were true. It didn’t matter. He hoped the threat would be enough. “You see, when a witness lies to me, it gives me the authority to search their premises.”

  “You think I lied to you?”

  “Oh, I know you did. You see, you told me it was Jose Padilla that you were blackmailing. But I now have proof that it wasn’t. Your lifestyle suggests that you are blackmailing someone, and if you won’t tell me who it is, then I’ll have to search your house for some kind of evidence. You leave me no choice.”

  With a quick glance around the neighbourhood, Armada could tell that they were already starting to attract attention. Upon his first visit, Armada remembered that Madalena hadn’t cared about who was listening in on their conversation.

  That had changed now, as she was well aware of the eyes watching them.

  “Who told you I lied? Jose? Because if he did, he’s the one who is lying. Not me.”

  “I don’t take the word of witnesses as sacrosanct, Señora. I’m well aware that people lie all the time. So I’ve gathered my own proof of what I believe. Now if you don’t mind, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “You can’t just come in and search my house. It’s illegal. I’ll sue.”

  It was not an empty threat. With Madalena’s resources, she could very well file a civil suit against Armada that could drag on for months, even years, soaking up every ducat he had in legal fees and court costs, and wipe him out. It was how lawsuits worked these days. Most times, the judgement in the end was irrelevant. It was all about delaying the suit in order to outspend your opponent until he was destitute, or willing to settle. With the right lawyer who knew how to play the system, even someone like Armada could end up penniless.

  Yet it was a chance he had to take.

  “I imagine you will. But that will have to occur after I’ve had a look round your house. So you can either tell me the truth now or suffer the consequences.”

  Madalena again nervously glanced around the neighbourhood. She was not as in control as she had seemed when Armada talked to her in the market. She was losing her confidence and she knew it.

  “I told you the truth,” Madalena whispered under her breath.

  “Who were you blackmailing?” Armada said.

  “Jose. Now go away.”

  �
�Who were you blackmailing, Señora?” Armada said louder.

  “That’s it, I’m leaving.”

  She attempted to step round Armada, but he was quicker and managed to snatch the key from her grasp.

  “Hey!” she shouted, but Armada was already unlatching the bolt. It gave way instantly and he pushed his way inside. In any other situation, the owner of the house would begin shouting for help to extricate the intruder.

  But Armada was betting that Madalena would keep quiet. He suspected that the idea of her neighbours being inside her house, seeing her secrets and invading her space, would be too much for her to bear. So, as he thought, she said nothing, and even closed the door behind them.

  “You can’t do this!” Madalena said in a hushed whisper. “Get out of my house!”

  Armada started with the bed, lifting up the sheets and pillows before hoisting up the mattress to look under the bed, where he found only piles of folded up clothes.

  Madalena yelled at him to stop, but Armada ignored her. He moved to the trunk of clothes she kept by the bed, lifted the lid, and began tearing through each one of her expensive dresses, decorative head scarves, and pairs of fashionable shoes. There was far more there than he’d expected, but none of it seemed out of the ordinary.

  Through the open window they could see neighbours collecting outside and whispering. Madalena was becoming agitated, and Armada wanted to make sure she felt completely helpless. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he went about his search as if he knew exactly what he sought. He hoped the ruse would work quickly, before one of the neighbours would try to come in and pull him out. It was only a matter of time.

  It was under the kitchen countertop where his efforts finally paid off. Crude shelves had been built underneath it, and below them was where Armada found one of the new scarves Madalena had recently purchased. Pulling it out into the open, he could feel it was weighed down by something metallic, something that clanked as it shifted around inside.

  Madalena’s eyes went wild. She rushed over, trying to snatch it back from his grasp.

  Armada opened the scarf to find it filled with coins, hundreds of ducats, representing more money than many people in La Loma would ever see in their lifetimes. Armada now gripped the scarf tightly, holding it out so Madalena could see.

  “It’s time for the truth, Madalena.” he said. “Where did this money come from? Who are you blackmailing?”

  Madalena’s frustration seemed to turn to anger, then to acceptance, and finally defeat. Armada could tell that a thousand thoughts were running through her mind, as she tried to find a way to answer that would limit the damage. The answer was there, on the tip of her tongue. And now he would finally get it.

  “Armada!!” came a shout from outside. It didn’t seem to be from one of the neighbours. This was a darker, more grizzled voice, a voice gone gravelly from too many nights in the pub, too much tobacco, and too much fighting. It had a sharp-edged pang to it, as if perpetually cackling at some off-colour joke, softened only by a French lilt.

  Armada tried to hold the moment over Madalena. A name—all she had to do was utter a name and it would all be worth it. And whomever she was about to name would become the most important suspect in this entire case since the beginning.

  But Armada could only watch helplessly as her expression now turned into a steely-eyed determination at the sound of Bresson’s voice from outside.

  “I think your friend is calling,” Madalena said.

  “Tell me the name,” Armada said, but knew it was useless. The moment had been ruined. She saw no reason to tell him anything now.

  “Armada!! Don’t make me come in there and get you!”

  “Tell me!”

  Madalena reached up and grabbed the money from Armada, prying it from his fingers. It was obvious from the way she tensed her body she had no intention of telling him anything now.

  “I can only conclude from this,” Armada finally said. “That it is you who killed your husband, Señora Rodriguez.”

  Madalena laughed and Armada saw there was no more reason to stay. He turned and reluctantly went outside, and saw that the entire neighbourhood had turned out to watch. He approached Bresson, who stood outside holding a set of irons and a grin.

  “Nice to see you again, Armada,” Bresson said. He was holding the reins of his horse in one hand, an overworked mare with a missing ear Armada had overheard him affectionately refer to as King Louis, and in the other, a set of irons. “I’ve heard that lately you’ve been a naughty boy.”

  “Are the irons necessary?” said Armada.

  “That’s up to you.”

  Bresson turned King Louis around and Armada fell into step beside him, giving one last glance over his shoulder at Madalena. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected a worried expression on her face as she watched him walk away. It lasted only a moment, and it could have been a trick of the light.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Armada was escorted by Bresson, who refused to dismount his horse, all the way back to the plaza and then to the front door of the inn. It was only here that Bresson finally got down from his steed and handed over the letter.

  “A gift for you, from Majordomo Bautista”.

  Armada unrolled it, already assuming what it would say. It was written in a large, fat handwriting he knew well. It was that of Eusebio Bautista, his long-time friend and one of two majordomos in charge of the Holy Brotherhood office in Granada. The letter was short and to the point, as was all of Eusebio’s correspondence as he so desperately hated the administrative side of his job. Reports, records, and unanswered correspondence tended to pile up on his desk for weeks, even months. Only those he deemed a threat to his job were given any kind of attention.

  So, it was surprising that Eusebio had responded so quickly to Pablo Ortega’s threats. The letter detailed how Armada was to hand authority of the case over to Bresson and return to Granada two days after receiving the letter.

  “You understand why this is happening, don’t you?” Armada said to Bresson. “Eusebio is bowing to pressure from the corregidor in Granada who is an old friend of Pablo Ortega’s. He is being coerced. We shouldn’t let the case be influenced by it, especially as Ortega is a suspect.”

  Bresson smiled. He had been shown up by Armada before and was enjoying finally exerting power over him. It only frustrated Armada more. They didn’t have time for this. The whole case hung in the balance.

  “I have my orders, Armada,” Bresson said. “Which is to make sure you leave for home in two days.”

  “Bresson, you—”

  “Two days, Armada,” Bresson said, his tone darkening. There would be no room for negotiation. Eusebio must have made it clear to Bresson not to allow any compromise, which only made Armada more furious. How was it that Eusebio had allowed himself to be manipulated like this? Armada had worked with the man for many years now, and trusted him to be as committed to finding justice as he was. The man had taken many risks for Armada over the years. So why bend to pressure on this one? Was their budget really so threatened?

  “Come on, Armada. I have a surprise for you.”

  Bresson beckoned Armada into the inn and Armada reluctantly followed. Just outside the door to his room, Bresson stopped.

  “Something blew in with the wind while you were gone.”

  Bresson opened the door and let Armada enter first, his eyes scanning the room before falling on the figure resting in the bed.

  “Lucas!” Armada gasped.

  Lucas heard his name and sat up, revealing the extent of his injuries. Going by the bruising, he’d been beaten quite badly. His shirt was caked with dried blood and mud, and there was bruising on his neck and the left side of his face, which was swollen that he could barely open his left eye. It seemed painful for him to even sit up, and Armada could only assume he’d suffered injuries to his ribs as well.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Lucas said with a pained tone.

  “What happened?
”

  “Two sailors took him for everything he had!” Bresson said. “You should have taught that boy to fight, Armada.”

  Armada sat on the bed next to Lucas.

  “Is this true?”

  “I’m afraid it is, sir,” Lucas said. “I lost all that money you gave me.”

  “Forget about the money, my boy. Are you all right?”

  “A prostitute found me in Motril and took me to a doctor. He bandaged me up enough to get me back.”

  “Do you remember who the men were?” Armada asked. It was futile, he knew. Anonymous sailors from all the over the world were always crawling all over Motril. The chances of finding these two were slim. The chances of being able to do anything about it once they were found were even slimmer.

  “It doesn’t matter, sir. It’s over.”

  “Indeed,” Armada said, gravely concerned. “I can’t help but feel responsible for this. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

  “But sir—”

  “No. This is entirely my fault. And I can’t apologise enough,” Armada said. The day was going from bad to worse. The case had fallen apart, and now Lucas had nearly been killed. Perhaps it was time to cut his losses and head back to Granada willingly. It was possible that this case had defeated him after all. He had no suspects, no new leads to follow, and now peoples’ lives were in danger. Armada couldn’t quite make out how he’d gotten to this point, but here he was.

  Bresson had grown bored with the exchange and headed toward the door. “Remember, Armada. Two days to make your preparations, then you head out. And I’ll be checking to make sure. I would hate to drag you back to Granada in irons, but I will if I must.”

  Armada had few doubts that Bresson would follow through on such a threat.

  “What will you do about the case?” Armada asked.

  “What you should have done to begin with!” Bresson barked. “I’m going to find Miguel Guillen, and then I’m going to hang him.”