Angeles glared at Armada for a long time, letting it get awkward before she spoke again.
“I won’t risk it. You don’t know how hard we’ve had to work to give our boy this chance. He is the only one of us to have ever gone to university. I work all day, sewing until my fingers bleed, and then wash clothes down at the lavadero all night. Pepe works at the mill so long he can hardly stand. And that just barely gets us by. But now our boy can go do something respectable with his life. And you want to risk all that by involving him in this mess about a junior professor that Aurelio had nothing to do with? Well, I’m sorry that man was killed, but it’s too much to ask. I won’t do it.”
“If I leave now, I will have little choice but to return with other constables,” Armada said. “You will be arrested and charged. I’d prefer not to have the rest of this conversation through the bars of a jail cell.”
Armada took his hand from the door, making it possible for Angeles to close the door in his face at any moment.
Now it was Angeles’s turn to show panic in her eyes for a moment.
“You’re not talking to my boy. You can talk to me instead. I know everything he does. But only until the baby wakes. Then, the interrogation is over.”
Armada was growing impatient with this, but then realised not only that what she said probably true, but there might be an opportunity here. No one was more observant of a man’s behaviour than his mother. She might have seen him say or do things she didn’t understand, things Aurelio may want to have kept from Armada. It was a strange request, but one worth pursuing. He could always catch Aurelio coming out of one of his lectures later, if he needed.
Armada agreed and was reluctantly allowed into the house. It looked like it had been a busy morning. With Aurelio working upstairs and the baby sleeping, she’d been doing a bit of sewing quietly in the chair by the front window. Her husband returned to cleaning his boots in the corner and would soon be off to a long shift at the mill, leaving her alone with the myriad of duties such households demanded, meaning quiet moments to herself were probably rare. With the baby having just gone to sleep, was he intruding upon one now?
Angeles made no effort to offer him anything or to give him a place to sit. She simply took her seat in the chair by the window and went back to her sewing as if he wasn’t standing there. She saw no reason to make him feel more comfortable.
“A few weeks ago, did you notice any kind of change in Aurelio’s demeanour?” Armada asked.
“What kind of change?”
“Did he seem…frightened of anything? Did he behave in a way that wasn’t normal?”
“No,” Angeles said without looking up. “The only thing my boy is frightened of is the dark. Won’t go to sleep without a candle burning. It’s been like that ever since he was a baby. Costs us a fortune.”
“He didn’t seem angry or distracted at all?”
“No. And believe me, if he was, I would have noticed. That boy can’t hide anything from me, even when he thinks he can.”
Armada believed Angeles. Which meant Julian had been afraid of something just before Gregorio was killed, but Aurelio hadn’t. What could have frightened Julian, but not affected Aurelio at all?
“What about Julian de Benaudalla? Did Aurelio ever mention him? Did he ever come here?”
“That Julian is the devil’s child!” Angeles said with a bit too much intensity, slamming her sewing down on her lap. She took a moment to calm herself, looking somewhat embarrassed. “He’s the worst of the lot of those San Bartolomé boys. He’s the one that ostracised my Aurelio from their little group, saying he wasn’t really one of them, that he was poor and didn’t deserve to be there. My Aurelio has as much right to be there as the rest of them! We’ve paid the fees. And those boys are supposed to help each other in their careers after university. Isn’t that how the system works? You all help each other advance. But they won’t do that for my Aurelio now, not if Julian tells them not to. They’re like sheep! Now, because of Julian’s grudge, my boy’s career as a letrado might be over before it’s even begun.”
It made sense, but it was hardly something worth threatening to kill over. Also, it didn’t explain why Julian had accused Aurelio of being a thief. Yes, Aurelio was stealing saltpetre from the wealthier residents of Salamanca. But why would Julian get so angry about it? There had to be more to that.
“So, you’ve met Julian de Benaudalla? Has he been here?”
“A few times, maybe. But not lately. There was a time when Aurelio was trying to impress him, to be let into their little group. But he realised that was futile quite a while ago. Hasn’t mentioned him since.”
Armada thought it was still a strange coincidence that they both ended up working for Gregorio Cordoba all the way up until his murder.
“What about Aurelio’s night job? Has he ever mentioned that to you?”
“I knew he was working to help his father, who’s suffering a lot these days, poor dear. I can’t get that man to stop working, even though it’s killing him. He’ll put himself into a grave soon if he doesn’t slow down.”
Angeles smiled at Pepe, who only briefly glanced up, just enough to acknowledge he’d heard what she said, before returning to cleaning his boots with a quicker pace.
“Did he ever tell you what his job was? Or who he was working for?”
Angeles went oddly silent, focusing on her sewing as if it was a particularly difficult bit. But Armada could tell it wasn’t. She was stalling.
“Did Aurelio ever mention that he was working for Gregorio Cordoba? Do you know who that is?”
Angeles took a long breath. “Yes. And I know exactly who Gregorio Cordoba is. A criminal. A thief! Always trying to blackmail people to get them to do what he wants. What kind of a person does that? He threatened my boy from the moment he met him, always saying he was going to tell Aurelio’s benefactor everything and she would cut him off. Gregorio knew Lady Florentia was our lifeline, that she was the reason all of this was possible. And he said he would tell her things, horrible things, and she would cut him off and we would have to go back to our old lives. That’s why my boy had to work for him, for almost a year now! He didn’t want to. He was just trying to protect us, to protect his future.”
“Where was he the night Gregorio Cordoba was killed?”
“Here. Studying, as always. I saw him when I came back from the lavadero.”
“You always do washing at the lavadero at night?”
“It’s the only time I have to do it. It’s up on a rise overlooking the river, so the moonlight is usually enough to work by.”
There was a cry from the other side of the room. The baby had awoken as a result of Angeles’s outburst. Angeles rose from her seat.
“So, Gregorio Cordoba knew this Lady Florentia?”
“He said he did.”
“Did he ever say anything to her in the end?”
“If he did, we never heard about it. But we rarely hear anything from her. She’s a recluse. Lives just outside a pueblo called Valdunciel to the north, in a big villa. She prefers her privacy so we don’t have much contact with her.”
The baby, sensing the tension in the room, began to squirm about and cry.
Pepe glanced at Armada with an anxious look, then to Angeles. His body was tense, like he didn’t dare move for fear of attracting attention to himself.
Armada rose and followed Angeles to the corner of the room where the basinet was.
“Do you know what Gregorio Cordoba was working on? What he was hiring Aurelio to do?”
Angeles picked up her baby and tried to comfort it in her arms.
“I’m afraid that’s it, Constable. The baby is awake.”
“Just answer my question and I’ll go.”
“That wasn’t our deal.”
“I’m breaking our deal. Did you know what Gregorio Cordoba was doing?”
The baby clawed at her mother’s breast, hungry and wanting to soothe. Her mother glanced down, unable to feed the
child until Armada left.
“I’m no fool, Constable. I know it was illegal, whatever it was. And it forced my boy to do things he didn’t want to do. And I would have loved nothing more than to turn Gregorio in to the authorities. But it would have risked my boy’s future. Right now, nothing is as important than that.”
Was it possible Aurelio killed Gregorio to stop him from blackmailing him? He certainly had the motivation. But his mother had said he was with her the night Gregorio was killed. And he hadn’t seemed at all frightened or distracted at the same time Julian was. Going by the evidence he had, it would seem Aurelio had nothing to do with any of this. He certainly wasn’t acting like a killer would in these circumstances.
Armada knew from experience that having the motivation to kill someone was no measure of one’s guilt or innocence. Aurelio had been working for Gregorio for almost a year without ever killing him for blackmail, which suggested Aurelio had been fine with the arrangement all that time. If Aurelio was the killer, then something dramatic must have changed very recently to motivate him to do it. And very possibly, that motivation had something to do with whatever had frightened Julian several weeks ago.
There was only one person Armada knew of who could clear everything up.
Armada went to the stairs and began to climb.
“Hey!” he heard Angeles cry, but with the baby in her arms, she was unable to follow fast enough to stop him.
Armada dashed up the stairs two at a time, turned, and burst into the door leading to Aurelio’s room.
Inside, the sparse room was empty, with only a single candle left burning on a writing table that was devoid of any work.
Angeles was suddenly in the doorway behind him, cradling her baby.
“I told you, he isn’t here. Foolish boy, always wasting my candles.”
Angeles went over to the table and blew the candle out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Although it was only a short walk to the meeting place, Lucas found time to do a lot of thinking. He hadn’t slept much that night, trying to get the smell from Gregorio’s office out of his nose. It was strange that it didn’t make him ill anymore, but it still echoed in his mind whenever he closed his eyes, as if remembering the distinct ring of a church bell. He swore he could smell it in every corner of the university, every corner of town, wafting through windows, drifting out of bakery ovens and candle shops and filling every back alley.
And for what? So the old man could make some point about how murder was bad? Lucas was no foolish little boy anymore. He had seen more death than five boys his age put together. And yet Armada still thought he had no idea that what they were doing was important? It was insulting.
But that wasn’t what he was mad about. No, his anger was saved for the fact that Armada had never once mentioned the idea of him going to university. It wasn’t even considered. Julian had done more for his education in their first five minutes of meeting than Armada had done in years.
So why should he feel guilty about not telling Armada what Julian’s gunpowder was going to be used for? The election had nothing to do with him, or the Holy Brotherhood, or this case. This was about the university and San Bartolomé. It was important. Why couldn’t it be important to him, too? Yes, he’d never met Francisco Vergara, who apparently was a very busy professor who had been in Madrid these past few months. But whatever he was doing there, Lucas was sure it was to help the colegio of San Bartolomé somehow. Julian had been sure about that, so Lucas was, too.
No, he wouldn’t let himself feel guilty about this. It was just Armada, having burrowed his way into his head, telling him what to think. Well, he could think for himself. He didn’t need the old man for that anymore.
Lucas reached the courtyard of the Patio de Escuelas Menores and spotted the other boys hanging about on the opposite side. There were no lectures going on now, so the whole courtyard was deserted. It had been decided that morning that talking in the pupilaje was too dangerous. They were well aware that Ambrosio was talking to Armada and had no desire to have their plans overheard.
Lucas felt excited. He was being allowed into a very secret meeting, one that could decide the very future of the colegio. It was crucially important that things went well. And Lucas would now be a part of it.
“I’m here,” Lucas said breathlessly after running over at nearly full speed.
His excitement abated as he saw the other boys looking him over with odd expressions as he approached.
“Lucas, you made it. Good. We couldn’t start without you,” Marcos said, putting his arm round Lucas’s shoulders and grabbing his shoulder tightly.
Julian was standing some way off, avoiding eye contact. It was clear something was wrong. Something the boys didn’t want to tell him just yet.
“Julian…?” Lucas said. “Is something wrong?”
“I spoke to Emiliano today. He said he got visited by that constable from the Holy Brotherhood, Armada.”
Lucas felt a chill radiate through the back of his head at the utterance of Armada’s name.
“Emiliano said that constable seemed to know all about how he was going to help us with the election. Every detail.”
It was only now Julian let himself look at Lucas. But there was no warmth there. Only anger. Only distant hate. And it was terrifying.
“I’ve been asking around, and the only way he could have learned any of that…was from you. So, I’m going to ask you a question, Lucas. And you have to tell me the truth. It’s important.”
“All…all right….”
Lucas felt Marco’s grip on his shoulder tighten.
“Did you tell him about Emiliano and the election?”
Julian got close to Lucas, not letting him look anywhere else except deep into the blacks of his pupils. There was no escape from Julian’s glare.
“No…,” Lucas said. It sounded weak. It was weak. And it was uttered out of fear. Lucas couldn’t stand the idea of Julian being disappointed in him. He would have given anything to go back in time to that conversation with Armada, and tell him nothing. How he wished now that he had! Had he ruined his relationship with Julian forever? Would there be any repairing this?’
“Did you tell that constable about the gunpowder? About what we were planning to do with it?”
“No,” Lucas said again.
“You have to tell me if you did, Lucas. Because you might have ruined everything. If they catch us while we’re trying to set everything up, and we lose that election….”
“I didn’t tell him anything.” Lucas was able to muster up a bit more conviction for his answer. It was true. He hadn’t told Armada what they were planning to do with the gunpowder. Only that he had it.
Julian looked troubled as he mulled Lucas’s answers over. His suspicious gaze had softened somewhat, giving Lucas hope that he could still fix this.
“Please…I would never do anything to jeopardise San Bartolomé,” Lucas said. “Kings for Bartolome, Bartolome for Kings!”
Lucas’s words rang out down the alley. But they were lonely. No one else joined in, leaving the echoes to fade away on their own.
“Then how did that constable find out everything?” Julian said. “I know none of us have said anything. That bellaco had to get it from somewhere.”
“Maybe Emiliano said…something…?” Lucas said. He hadn’t meant to. It was an unformed idea in his head. Something, anything, to take the heat of Julian’s glare off his own guilt.
The blow had come so suddenly Lucas hadn’t had time to stiffen. It had come from Julian, just above his stomach, violently expelling all the air from his lungs. Lucas doubled over and struggled for breath while the boys circled round him like a pack of hungry wolves.
“You’re saying Emiliano sold us out? Is that what you just said?” Julian said. The caustic tone when Lucas had first met him had returned. Now, his words had an even sharper edge, and something in Lucas’s mind suggested his life may now be in danger.
Two more kick
s in quick succession found his rib cage, and Lucas cried out.
“You have the huevos to look us in the eye and tell us Emiliano, who has been San Bartolomé longer than any of us, was disloyal? Is that what you think?”
More kicks were lodged into Lucas’s back. He twisted away, but to no avail. They were coming faster now, and getting more painful.
“This is for Emiliano, you worthless little soplon!”
“You’re nothing but a pícaro! Go back to begging on the street!”
“Please…,” Lucas tried to shout, but he didn’t have the breath. “I can help…I can….”
But it was no use talking. It only inspired the beating more. Suddenly, his whole world was the soles of shoes as they jammed their way, hard, into his midsection and his face. Lucas couldn’t keep track of them anymore, he had no idea which way he was facing. One of his eyes had lost vision, covered in red that dripped down his face, while his nose exploded in pain every time he moved his head back and forth.
After a few minutes, all he heard was the sound of cackling boys and footsteps as they strolled down the alley, muttering insults over their shoulders and laughing as they went.
Lucas began to lose all sense of time. He had to focus his energy on breathing, which took everything he had now. His nose was obviously broken, making it almost impossible to breathe through. He tried breathing through his mouth, but there was a gurgling metallic taste in the back of his throat that made him gag whenever he took a breath. He could see nothing, nor could he call out for help. So, he would have to wait for someone to come by. That same niggling voice in the back of his head, the one that had reminded him of his guilt, now told him something else—stay conscious. Don’t go to sleep. Sleep means death.
Stay conscious.
Chapter Twenty-Five
From the moment he laid eyes on the Lady Florentia’s villa, it was clear it was a shrine to the past.
He was well outside the city now, in a small canyon made of rolling hills topped with odd bunches of nature, decaying oak trees that were memorials to the vast forests of oak that once covered these plains.
A Murder Most Literate Page 16
