“It’s not that, sir. Look.”
Armada went over to see Lucas playing with the large keyed lock on the door and inspecting the door frame.
“It’s the lock, sir. It was open.”
“Yes, I imagine it was.”
“Well, why?”
“What do you mean?”
Lucas ran his hand over the outside edge of the open door. “The door is undamaged, sir. So is the frame. The way Madalena Rodriguez described it, I just pictured the killer kicking the door in and attacking her.”
“As did I.”
“But look, sir. He couldn’t have. The door is fine. So is the doorframe. And when we got here, the lock was unlocked. So either she left the door open the night she got attacked…”
“Or the killer had his own key.”
“It’s the only way he could have gotten in,” Lucas said.
“Could he have picked his way in? I’ve heard of those who are talented enough to do that, sometimes with just a rusty nail.”
Lucas kneeled down and peered into the lock. “Possibly. But I doubt it, sir. Watch.”
Lucas went outside and closed the door behind him. Then a loud clanking sound came from the lock. A moment later, Lucas opened the door again.
“That’s what it would have sounded like,” Lucas said. “And it takes a few minutes to do.”
“She would have heard it quite clearly,” Armada said. “Let’s get back.”
A short while later, Armada and Lucas were back at Jose’s cortijo just as Esmerelda was feeding Madalena a bit of broth. Some colour had now returned to Madalena’s face, but she still appeared dizzy and had trouble standing. Her bandages required constant changing as she was still bleeding. Yet she seemed in good spirits, though she needed constant rest.
“Are you certain you didn’t hear anything before you went to bed? No strange noises from the door?” Armada asked her.
“I live alone. I would have heard something.”
“And you’re sure you locked the door?”
“I always do. I don’t trust those others. Especially Melchora. She’s had her eye on my dresses all year. I wouldn’t put it past her to steal them if she could,” Madalena said as she sipped her broth.
“When you locked the door that night, where did you place your key?” Armada asked.
“Under my pillow, where I always put it.”
“And you’re certain of that?”
“Of course. I’m a very meticulous person when it comes to such things.”
“Is that the only key?”
“No. Amparo had one as well.”
“Where is that key now?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it since he was killed.”
Armada stood, his mind racing. He picked up a glass of cheap brandy that Jose had poured for him and took a swig. The taste was harsh, and burned the back of his throat. It was a poor substitute for his sherry, but it would have to do.
“So, we can be sure you were attacked by the same man who killed Amparo. We have solved the mystery of how he got into your house, but sadly not his identity.”
“No, you haven’t,” Jose said. He’d been standing in the back by the kitchen. He supported himself against the wall with a wobble to his gait, of which only drunkenness could be the cause.
Jose tossed a key to Armada.
“What is this?” Armada said half-heartedly.
“That is a key to my shed.”
“We don’t have time…” Armada began.
“It is one of three copies I made. One for me, one for Esme, and one to keep under a stone in case I lose one. The blacksmiths made them for me. It’s easy.”
Armada felt the key in his hand, turning it over and over in his palm. “A copy, you say.”
Armada turned to Madalena. “Did you ever loan your key out to anyone? For any length of time?”
“No. Never. I keep it on a bit of string round my neck so I don’t lose it.”
“What about Amparo?”
“Not that I know of,” Madalena said. She took a deep breath and lay her head back.
“Think back. This is important,” Armada said. “Did he ever mention anything about losing his key? Or giving it to someone for even a day?”
“I don’t remember,” Madalena said.
“Leave her alone. She needs to rest now,” Esmerelda said as she emerged from the kitchen. She took the bowl of hot broth from Madalena so it wouldn’t spill.
Armada ignored this and kneeled in front of Madalena, whose eyes were beginning to flutter and close.
“This is important, Madalena. Please. The answer lies in there somewhere.”
“Amparo never…oh wait…wait…yes…he did. He loaned it out…once…so they could sleep here one night…wasps…had to get rid of the wasps…took a few days…had to sleep here awhile…it wasn’t a problem…”
“Who? Who slept at your house? Who did Amparo loan his key to?”
“Constable, I’m going to have to insist you leave her…” Esmerelda began.
Armada held up his hand. He was not about to give up now.
“Who was it that Amparo loaned his key to?”
Madalena whispered the name, just as she drifted off to sleep. Armada exchanged a curious look with Lucas, who looked equally perplexed.
Chapter Forty
The journey hadn’t taken long. Armada led the way, with Lucas, Jose, and a reluctant Miguel following behind. Armada was not sure the weapons were necessary. Although Jose looked sober enough now, and he was quite well trained, the sight of him carrying the long barrel of his harquebus still made Armada feel uneasy. He’d argued virulently with the man, but to no avail. Jose was bringing the weapon, like it or not.
And Bresson was on his way. And once he showed up, the case would be halted. Armada couldn’t let that happen: he was so close to bringing this to fruition. The truth had to be exposed, whether it made sense or not.
The men finally arrived at Enrique’s half-sunk wagon on the beach. They wasted little time in approaching.
“Enrique!” Armada shouted as they approached. He didn’t want to startle the man, especially as a posse was coming straight for him and the sight of an armed Jose might jar him into action. If he was the killer, Armada didn’t want to provoke him. Going by the savagery he’d shown Madalena, there would be no limit to how hard he would fight back. And it was more important that Armada speak with him. There were aspects of this case that still didn’t jell, and only Enrique could provide the answers.
The men approached the wagon cautiously, with Armada and Jose up front.
“Enrique! It’s Domingo Armada! I want to speak with you!”
They stared closely at the wagon, looking for any sign of movement inside. The wind was whipping stiffly through their hair, blowing sand and the tufts of weeds. It sent ripples through the patchwork canvas that had been stretched over the top of the wagon, making it hard to tell if anyone was inside, or possibly getting ready to strike.
Armada and Jose moved closer, one small step at a time, toward the rear door. The bit of canvas fluttered, offering glimpses inside the wagon, but there was no sign of Enrique.
“Enrique!”
“If he’s in there, he’s getting ready,” Jose said out of the side of his mouth. “We shouldn’t wait too long.”
“I want him alive.”
“That’s not up to you now,” Jose said. “That’s up to him.”
Jose stepped forward, taking the lead.
“Enrique, if you are in there, I suggest you come out now. Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” Armada shouted.
Jose stepped up to the wagon, harquebus barrel first, then in a flash moved his body so that he was staring into the wagon, ready to fire.
A moment later, Jose lowered his weapon and thrust the canvas door aside.
“He’s not here.”
Everyone relaxed and Armada wasted little time in leaping into the wagon. It was untidy, but it looked lik
e Enrique’s things still remained. Armada’s instincts told him the man had not tried to flee.
“You see anything, sir?” Lucas asked from the open door.
Armada pushed the clothes and blankets aside, looking for anything that might have blood on it. Without some kind of confirmation of what he suspected, he would be stuck.
“I’m afraid not. Damn!” Armada said. He kicked Enrique’s bed out of frustration as he stood, having to bend his head down to keep it from dragging across the top of the wagon.
That’s when he heard it. A scraping sound under the bed. Something metal.
Armada lifted the bed, which was little more than a bit of linen with hay stuffed into it, to find something shiny underneath.
A key. With fresh, shiny scrapes showing it was recently used.
“Is that it, sir?”
“Let me see,” Armada said, gesturing to Lucas. Lucas fished Madalena’s key out of his pocket, which they’d borrowed before they left, and handed it to Armada.
Armada held Madalena’s key up next to Enrique’s. A perfect match. It was indeed Amparo’s key.
“Dios mio,” Jose said, making the sign of the cross over himself. “How did I not see this? All this time, he was walking with the devil...”
Armada kneeled and began searching through the clothes.
“It has to be here then. It has to be…”
Armada poured through Enrique’s clothes, holding them up, then tossing them aside. He searched under the bed again, and searched between the planks of the wagon, looking for any secret compartments or loose boards.
“Where are you hiding it, eh?” Armada mumbled to himself. He knew it was here. There was nowhere else it could be. And if he could find it, it would be all the proof he needed to prove his theory. The key could be argued. All the witness testimony could be argued. But there was one thing that was fool proof.
“What are you looking for, sir?”
Armada didn’t answer Lucas. He’d rather show him.
And there it was. Armada knew it as soon as he grabbed it. The cut, the shape, the colours. They were all exactly as he’d imagined.
Armada tucked it under his arm and leaped outside of the wagon. He walked over to Miguel, letting the dress unfurl in front of him. It caught the wind slightly, but it was still easy to tell it was a dress, made of blue and grey fabric.
“Is this the one, Miguel?” Armada asked. “The one you saw Amparo’s killer wearing? Is this the dress?”
Miguel looked with wide eyes, then nodded.
“Sir…” Lucas said behind him. Armada spun round to find Lucas having with something else. A wig, made of long dirty blond hair.
“We have to find Enrique. And quickly,” Armada said to Jose.
A flash caught Armada’s eyes, and a loud clanking sound erupted at his feet. A set of irons had just landed on the earth in front of him.
Armada spun around to find Bresson approaching slowly on horseback, having thrown the irons from quite a distance. Armada knew it was the type of dramatic touch Bresson always enjoyed, especially if he could catch someone off guard.
“How strange, Armada,” Bresson said as he approached. “I seem to remember locking you in a cell last night. And yet here you are, playing around on the beach.”
“I’m chasing a killer, actually. And if I don’t find him, he’s going to kill again.”
“Looks to me like you found him,” Bresson said, eyeing Miguel. Bresson dismounted his horse and walked over to Miguel.
“What are you doing?”
“Arresting you. For the murder of Amparo Rodriguez,” Bresson said as he put Miguel’s arms behind his back.
“That’s not your killer,” Armada said.
“And this isn’t your case, Armada!” Bresson shouted. Armada could smell brandy on Bresson’s breath. “You’re lucky I don’t hang you and your little puppy for breaking out of prison last night. I’ve hanged people for much less.”
“The killer is Enrique Talavera. I have proof. Irrefutable proof. And if you hang Miguel Guillen while ignoring my evidence, then what you are doing is tantamount to murder!” Armada shouted. “Help me, Bresson. Let’s find the real killer tonight. And if we don’t, then Miguel will still be here. There is nowhere he can run where you can’t find him tonight. You know that. So you win, either way.”
Bresson stared back at Armada and looked as though he was about to lunge at him. No one would have been surprised. But there was hesitation, something Armada had not expected. Could it be Bresson truly had a soul, somewhere down below the black abyss behind his eyes?
Bresson sighed and released Miguel, shoving him forward causing Miguel to stumble. “Why do you have to make things so complicated, Armada? We could have finished this by now. We could be in the tavern, enjoying ourselves, getting drunk and putting this whole sorry town behind us by morning.”
“We will, Arnaud,” Armada said. “As soon as we find Enrique.”
Chapter Forty-One
They began that afternoon. It was Bresson’s idea to form the search party. His usual tracking methods would take too long, he reckoned. He could find Enrique much faster if they flushed him out instead, the way hunting dogs flush out water fowl during a hunt. He, Jose, Miguel, and Lucas would all search every corner of the town, starting from the eastern entrance and pushing west until they ended up at the castle. They would search every house, every garden, every shop, every little corner of Salobreña where a killer might want to hide. Bresson agreed with Armada that Enrique had not yet fled, as he’d left all of his provisions behind. He might have had a little money, but that was all, and hardly enough to get him very far into the wilderness, no matter how resourceful he was. With no clothes, fleeing into the mountains was not an option; he had to still be in town somewhere.
They’d figured out a pattern, with each man taking a different neighbourhood, and set off. Meanwhile, Armada headed for the ayuntamiento to speak with the town council. He wanted to inform them of what was happening and make sure rumours wouldn’t get out of control. The last thing needed was for the people in the pueblo to panic.
But there was another reason Armada wanted them to know. Word would soon reach Pablo Ortega of what was happening. Armada was close to exposing his secret. The entire pueblo, the whole of Andalucía really, would realise what he’d done. There would be nowhere for him to run. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to start over. He would be ruined; his past finally having caught up with him. Armada wanted Ortega to know that, he wanted the man to sweat and worry, and understand that he would soon have to pay for what he’d done.
After his meeting with the town council, Armada joined the search and the men spent the entirety of the afternoon and evening turning the town over. But as the last rays of sunshine disappeared over the western hills, casting long shadows and finally darkness covered the streets of Salobreña, each man met up in front of the castle—the rendezvous point—and spoke of his failure to encounter anything other than suspicious glares.
The next day it was decided that the delta needed to be searched as well, a much bigger undertaking. Enrique was quite good at living out on the delta, and had done it his whole life. Thankfully, the harvest had made things much easier as it had taken away the cover the cane usually offered. Only a few remaining fields on the outside edges remained to be cut, with much of the centre having already been cut down to the soil.
At daybreak, Armada and Bresson went to the tavern and took on a group of ten labourers who had finished their work for the year, and offered a few coins if they helped out on the search. Now armed with twenty or so men, Armada left it to Bresson to organise the search and soon they were all sweeping across the delta, checking old cortijos, searching trenches, and every tree and bush that a man could conceivably hide behind.
The work was exhausting, as Armada was not made for wandering about in the hot sun. He took it upon himself to search El Peñon, mostly as he knew much of it would be cast in shade, and he found himself back at the c
ave he’d once hidden in to stay away from Bresson. He marvelled at how things had changed in such a short time.
But by the end of the second evening, they were still no closer to finding Enrique. Darkness was falling again, and most of the men they’d hired were now in the tavern spending their wages. The atmosphere inside quickly turned boisterous as the ale began to bite.
Armada sat in one corner table across from Bresson and Lucas, far removed from the festivities, not wanting to speak to anyone. Seeming to sense this, Bresson sat across from him, reeking of ale and joviality, something it appeared he knew would annoy Armada.
“Come on, Armada,” Bresson said, slapping Armada hard on the shoulder. “We tried, huh? He got away. Even the best trackers lose their prey occasionally. You have to learn to let these things go.”
“Very difficult to do if he kills again,” Armada said, wishing Bresson would go away. But he knew the harder he tried to get the Frenchman to leave, the more he would want to stay. “Especially as I should have seen it. The evidence of his true nature was right in front of me, and I ignored it. This is my fault.”
“What evidence?” Bresson asked. “This isn’t more of your nonsense about everything being in the brain. You think too much, you know that?”
“The bones. That’s what I missed. All those animal bones lined up beside his wagon. They weren’t food. I should have realised. They were animals he caught and killed for sport. For fun. He was feeding his appetite the only way he knew how. It’s why he’s always lived so far outside of town. He doesn’t trust himself around people. His urges are too strong. Enrique knew what he was and took steps to keep himself under control.”
“So why kill Amparo?”
“That is the ultimate question, isn’t it? What was it about Amparo that made him worthy of killing, when for everyone else Enrique stopped himself? I don’t know, but I suspect that I should by now.”
“You should drink, Armada. That’s what drink is for. It helps you let go of such things. You think too much anyway. Come on, more ale for both of us.”
Bresson rose and went to the barman. Armada wondered how Bresson was able to let things go so easily. For him, killing and death were such an accepted part of life, he saw no reason to react to it. And that meant he was never afraid of it, nor did he see the reason behind fighting to stop it. Oddly, this made Bresson good at his post, when he chose to be, and when he was sober enough. Armada suddenly found himself envying Bresson. It meant he rarely, if ever, felt guilty or ashamed. He just cast away bad feelings, or drank until they became lost in a drunken mist. Armada found himself suddenly attracted to such a philosophy.
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