‘Have you seen Captain Sousa?’
The fisherman choked on his drink.
‘Touch metal,’ he said, coughing, and tapping his knuckles on a metal napkin ring.
Estevez quickly tipped his stool back to get out of the fisherman’s reach, only just managing not to fall over. He needn’t have done so, however, as the man in the cap spat backwards, over his own shoulder. He didn’t seem too concerned about his aim.
‘We’ve heard that some fishermen here have seen him again,’ Caldas went on once the man had done with hawking. ‘You’re one of them, aren’t you?’
‘Could be.’
‘You’ve seen the skipper?’
‘Not exactly.’
Caldas saw he’d have to prompt further: ‘What about his boat?’
The fisherman ran his hand over the cap.
‘Did you see Sousa’s boat?’ Caldas pressed.
‘The Xurelo, yes,’ the man replied at last.
At that moment, Caldas’s phone rang. He didn’t recognise the number on the display but, when the caller identified himself, the inspector withdrew and motioned to Estevez to continue the interview.
Caught a little off-guard, Estevez began, ‘Was it out at sea?’
‘Didn’t I say it was a boat?’
‘But were you at sea yourself?’ Estevez insisted.
‘Where else would I be?’
‘Well, I don’t know. You could have seen it from the harbour.’
‘Could have, but didn’t. I was fishing.’
‘OK then. Where were you?’
‘I told you,’ said the man in the cap. ‘I was at sea.’
Estevez took a deep breath.
‘The sea’s a big place,’ he said. ‘Could you be a little more specific?’
‘Over there,’ replied the fisherman, pointing towards the wall of the Refugio del Pescador as if human eyesight could pierce it. ‘By Monteferro.’
‘Are you sure that the vessel you saw was the Xurelo?’
‘Yes, I think it was.’
‘You think so, or you know for sure?’
The fisherman remained silent.
‘Fine, it seemed to you that it was the Xurelo,’ said Estevez.
‘That’s right.’
‘Was there anything about the boat that helped you distinguish it from others?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, you tell me. What led you to believe that it was the Xurelo?’
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘I’m the policeman here and I’m the one asking the questions.’
‘That’s true,’ said the man.
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘Could you please tell me what the fuck made you think that the boat you saw was this Captain Sousa’s boat?’
‘Didn’t I say I saw it?’
Estevez took another deep breath. ‘Didn’t you think it odd to see a boat that sank years ago?’
‘Wouldn’t you think so?’
‘Yes, I would definitely think it odd,’ said Estevez, now focusing more on resisting the urge to grab the fisherman by the lapels than on getting a definitive answer out of him. ‘But I’m asking you: what did you think?’
‘I didn’t think anything.’
‘How long did you see it for?’
‘Not long.’
‘A minute?’
‘Less than that.’
‘How much less?’
‘I don’t know. As soon as I realised it was the Xurelo, I started the engine and headed out of there.’
Estevez suspected he’d paused to spit overboard. ‘Which way?’ he asked.
‘Which way what?’
‘Which way did you head out of there?’
‘Back to the harbour, of course.’
‘You didn’t see it again?’
‘The Xurelo?’ said the fisherman, turning his finger on his temple.
‘You think I was going to look back when I was scared out of my wits?’
‘I don’t know. You tell me.’
‘I am telling you.’
‘Did you or didn’t you look back?’
‘I thought I told you: I didn’t.’
When Caldas returned, Estevez was on his feet.
‘Thank God you’re back, boss,’ whispered Estevez, for once snorting with relief.
He told him what the man in the cap had said and Caldas took over:
‘So you only saw the boat for a moment.’
The old man nodded.
‘And only that one time?’
‘Yes, thank God.’
‘Do you know of anyone else who’s seen the boat?’
The fisherman gave him a few names.
‘Would you let the police know if you see it again?’ Caldas asked him.
‘I doubt I will,’ said the fisherman with a slight smile.
‘How can you be sure?’
The man slipped his hand inside his shirt and showed them the amulet hanging round his neck. ‘I’ve got this to protect me.’
It was a fist with the thumb protruding between the index and middle fingers, like the one found in Justo Castelo’s pocket.
‘A figa?’ said Caldas.
The old man nodded. ‘Others carry horseshoes, bay leaves or little bags of salt.’
The bag of salt! Caldas hadn’t thought of it since the day before.
‘Salt?’ he asked, surprised to hear that this was also believed to be a lucky charm.
‘Yes,’ replied the fisherman. ‘But I prefer the figa. Don’t you?’
Seagulls were still clustering on the slipway when they came out of the Refugio del Pescador. Arias was baiting traps on his boat. On the huge, almost deserted beach, a boy in a wheelchair was playing with a Labrador. He was throwing a ball into the sea and the dog was running after it, swimming out to retrieve it, leaping around the wheelchair, waiting for the boy to throw the ball again and bounding after it once more.
Walking to the car, Caldas thought about his father. And about the dog that greeted him excitedly and followed him among the vines.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Estevez.
‘To Valverde’s house.’
‘Again?’ objected Estevez.
Caldas nodded.
‘That was Valverde on the phone. His wife gave him my card. I’ve arranged to drop in there now, before the funeral. Let’s see what he knows about the skipper.’
The Shipwreck of the Xurelo
‘It was many years ago, Inspector,’ said Marcos Valverde. ‘We’ve hardly spoken since.’
He was wearing a dark suit and tie. Caldas wondered whether it was for the funeral or he always dressed like that. Valverde was slim and not very tall. He had thick, straight, dark hair, combed back. Trabazo had said that Castelo, Arias and Valverde were the same age, but Valverde looked younger than the other two. Hours at sea had left no mark on his face and only the slightly greying hair at his temples hinted at his age.
‘If you were such good friends, why did you stop seeing each other?’
‘I couldn’t say. These things happen. I suppose it’s a defence mechanism, so as not to be constantly reminded of that dreadful night.’
‘Could you tell me what happened?’
‘When the boat went down?’
Caldas nodded, and Valverde took a deep breath, summoning his strength.
‘It was at night,’ he began. ‘It was very dark and seas were very heavy. Waves were washing over the deck. We had to shout to make ourselves heard. The skipper was at the helm, struggling to maintain our course.’
‘Where were you heading?’ interrupted Caldas.
‘We were on our way back to Panxón, near the island of Salvora.’
‘That’s a long way from here. Why didn’t you shelter in a port that was nearer?’
‘You’d have to ask the skipper,’ muttered Valverde. ‘But I suppose it was because we had a full hold. It was our second night and the weekend was coming up
. He can’t have wanted the catch to rot on board.’
‘Right. So what happened?’
‘It was all so fast. The skipper yelled at us to hold on. Then we heard a terrible sound, as if the hull were breaking apart. The boat stayed still for a moment on the sandbank, then it started to list. Before we knew it we were in the water and when a flash of lightning lit up the sea, the Xurelo had disappeared. So we started swimming like crazy. We had to get through the breakers to reach shore.’
‘Were you wearing life jackets?’
‘We were near the coast, but without them we wouldn’t have reached shore. The skipper ordered us to put them on a few minutes before the boat went down.’
‘He didn’t put one on himself?’
‘El Rubio handed him one, but the last I saw of him he was gripping the helm, shouting, and, no, he wasn’t wearing a life jacket.’
Caldas nodded gravely.
‘The skipper’s only concern was to get the boat upright again, no thought for himself,’ added Valverde. ‘Captain Sousa was like that. A brave man, right to the very end.’
‘That was the last you saw of him alive?’
Valverde clicked his tongue to confirm this.
‘What happened after that?’
‘We were exhausted, battered and frozen. We climbed up on to the rocks and headed towards the lights. Arias and I were quiet, but El Rubio couldn’t stop crying. At daybreak we were brought back here. Captain Sousa’s body didn’t turn up until weeks later. It got caught up in a trawler’s nets.’
‘I know,’ said Caldas. ‘What happened after that between the three of you, the crew?’
‘We went our separate ways. El Rubio carried on fishing, Arias left the village and I got by as best I could.’
Caldas glanced around, at the straight lines of the sitting room and the huge window overlooking the bay.
‘You haven’t done too badly.’
‘Don’t be fooled by what you see, Inspector. I haven’t always lived in a house like this. Nothing’s been handed to me on a plate.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘Can I ask you something, Inspector?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Why are you looking into a fisherman’s suicide?’
‘Routine,’ Caldas lied.
Valverde looked sceptical. ‘Two policemen come all the way from Vigo on a routine investigation?’
‘It’s procedure,’ Caldas assured him and changed the subject: ‘Did you know Justo Castelo was being harassed?’
‘I’d heard something like that. Someone painted the date of the sinking on his rowing boat. Is that what you mean?’
Caldas concurred.
‘As you can see, it’s hard to keep anything secret here,’ added Valverde.
‘There was a word painted on the boat as well,’ said Caldas.
‘What was it?’
‘“Murderers”.’
‘What?’ asked Valverde, but it was obvious from his expression that he didn’t need to hear it again.
‘“Murderers”,’ Caldas repeated anyway.
When Valverde remained silent, Caldas said, ‘You didn’t know?’
Valverde shook his head.
‘Do you have any idea who might have done it?’
‘No.’
‘And you haven’t seen anything similar in your own surroundings?’
‘My surroundings?’
‘Your house, your car, your office.’
‘Of course not.’
‘And no one’s reminded you of that night recently?’
‘No one apart from you.’
‘Have you felt threatened yourself?’
‘In my line of work I have to be firm, Inspector. As you do in yours. I can’t be popular with everyone.’
‘That’s not what I mean,’ said Caldas. ‘I expect you know that people claim to have seen Captain Sousa.’
Valverde smiled bitterly and exhaled through clenched teeth.
‘Well, you can tell them I’ve seen him too, Inspector. Gripping the helm and shouting for us to hold on as the boat broke apart in the storm. I don’t know who’d want to stir up such memories.’
‘Is it possible that Justo Castelo thought otherwise?’
‘El Rubio saw him go down with the boat just as Arias did. And just as I did,’ said Valverde. He fell silent and looked down at his feet.
‘Yet Castelo had a number of lucky charms on him, the kind used to protect oneself from …’ said Caldas, leaving the sentence hanging.
‘Protect oneself from what?’ asked Valverde.
Caldas shrugged.
‘Anyone’s entitled to feel scared, Inspector.’
‘You don’t?’
‘I’ve been very scared. So scared I haven’t gone near the sea again. It’s over twelve years since I even dipped a toe in. Is that scared enough for you?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘You think I should be scared of something else?’
‘I suppose not.’
Valverde saw them out, along the gravel path that ran round the house. Caldas paused to run his hand over the verbena plant and breathe in the scent. Just as they were taking their leave, the wooden gate slid aside. The red car they’d seen on their last visit drove in and pulled up.
‘Have you told the inspector that you know his father?’ asked Valverde’s wife as she got out of the car. She was wearing the same blouse as before, the one that showed off her cleavage. And again, her smile reminded Caldas of Alba.
‘My father?’ Caldas asked, trying not to stare.
‘We’ve bumped into each other a couple of times. I’ve just started making wine,’ said Valverde shyly. ‘But I’m sure your father has no idea who I am.’
Eyes closed, Inspector Caldas inhaled the fragrance of the eucalyptus trees carried in on a shaft of cold air through the window.
‘Still thinking of Mrs Valverde?’ asked Estevez as he took the road back into the village.
‘No,’ replied Caldas, without opening his eyes. ‘I was thinking about her husband. He’s more scared than he realises.’
The Macana
In the early decades of the twentieth century, the priest and parishioners of Panxón decided to demolish their old church, which was too small, and build a larger one. Catching wind of this, the architect Antonio Palacios travelled to the village and convinced the locals to preserve the Visigothic arch that was contained within the old building. In return, Palacios undertook to draw up plans for a new church dedicated to seafarers.
It was built on the crest of a hill close to the arch, to serve as a landmark to fishermen, with walls of rough stone topped with an octagonal cupola. Abutting a square, crenellated belfry, Palacios designed a circular tower enclosing a staircase leading to the top of the belfry.
Around the upper, conical section of this tower, painted red and white like a lighthouse, he placed four human figures, holding hands, each looking out at a compass point.
Estevez parked at the foot of the hill and Caldas got out of the car. He told his assistant to wait there and set off up the steep path to the Templo Votivo del Mar. The paving was decorated with a pattern of black and white stones. On reaching the entrance, Caldas walked round the church and looked out over the deserted village. It appeared lifeless beneath the grey sky. Even the eight plane trees on the slope, their branches now bare, seemed to be waiting for spring, when they would once again provide shade.
Caldas went up to the back door of the building that adjoined the church and rang the bell. He called out that he was there to see Don Fernando and a voice told him to wait inside the church.
*
The interior, as deserted as the rest of the village, reminded him of the upturned hull of a ship.
He sat waiting for the priest in a pew up by the altar, admiring the mosaics on the vaults and upper chancel. There were images of saints appearing before shipwrecked sailors, and other religious and seafaring scenes. The only one Caldas recognis
ed was the arrival of the caravel Pinta in Baiona with news of the discovery of America.
In an aisle, in the dim light coming through the windows, he made out the Virgin of El Carmen with the baby Jesus in her arms, rising above a raging sea. The figure was on a bier, as if to be carried in a procession. At the feet of the Virgin, among the crests of the waves, three sailors clung to the wreckage of a ship.
Caldas went to look more closely at the anguished faces of the three fishermen beseeching the Virgin to intercede. He was struck by their waterproofs, which were just like those of the fishermen in the harbour, and he pictured Arias, Valverde and Castelo battling the storm. He couldn’t help looking for Captain Sousa, but there was no fourth man in the waves.
Caldas thought of the medallion of the Virgin of El Carmen around El Rubio’s neck. He wondered if he’d had it with him the night the Xurelo sank, or if he’d only started wearing it later, in gratitude for a favour like the one sought by the three carved wooden figures.
He had just sat down in the pew again when the elderly priest entered through the vestry door, walking with a cane.
Caldas rose.
‘Please, no need to get up,’ said the priest, motioning with his left hand. ‘I’m not going to say Mass.’
This made the policeman smile, but he remained on his feet as the old priest approached, black cassock trailing on the ground.
‘Are you Don Fernando?’ asked the inspector.
‘What’s left of him,’ replied the priest, looking through thick lenses that made his eyes appear huge. ‘And you are?’
‘Inspector Caldas,’ he said. ‘From Vigo Police Headquarters.’
‘Please, sit,’ insisted the priest, sinking into a pew himself. ‘Do you know the church?’
‘Only from the outside,’ admitted Caldas.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it? But the years have passed and it’s in need of repair. See that?’ he said, pointing his cane at the plastic buckets placed beneath one of the windows. ‘A few joints leak when it rains, and some of the mosaics have fallen off. But you can’t get just anyone to repair pieces like these. You need experts and money. Sometimes faith alone is not enough.’
Death on a Galician Shore Page 14
