Secrets of Spain Trilogy

by Caroline Angus Baker

  “The drink had one shot, and if anyone deserved it, Luna, it was you.”

  “Yeah, but you know how picky he can be,” Luna whispered as Cayetano reappeared.

  “I won’t interrupt their game, the four of them barely even acknowledged my presence!” Cayetano joked as sat down next to Luna. He took her face in his hands, a cringe tied into his expression. “Oh, la chispa, why do these things happen? I almost had a heart attack when I saw the video.”

  “Sofía gave you a colourful version over the phone, I’m sure.” Luna glanced over at Sofía, out of earshot in the kitchen. “The children and I got caught up in the crowd, a policeman took a swing at the guy who tried to bottle him, and I somehow got in the way. I’m sorry; I know I shouldn’t have put the children in that position. I’m the worst parent alive.”

  “Bullshit,” Cayetano spat. “Policemen shouldn’t be pulling weapons in a place where children are in possible danger. There is no way a member of the police can do this and not receive punishment. All the papers this morning…”

  “Yeah, I know, have the story blown out of proportion.”

  “Hector is handling all that. At least here, at Sofía’s, we have our privacy. I leave for the south for a few days, and this happens…”

  Luna smiled and took Cayetano’s hands from her face. “I’m all right, my mouth and eyes hurt, but the bruising will subside, and once I have the stitches out…”

  “Then I can kiss you.”

  “Don’t worry, you still can, just carefully for the next week.”

  “Has the neurologist seen you?”

  “Yes, Papá.”

  “Hey, I’ll fuss all I want. Who is taking care of finding out which officer did this?”

  “The media,” Luna scoffed. “What difference does it make?”

  “Trust me, it makes a lot of difference. There have to be consequences.”

  “Oh, come on; there won’t be anything of the sort. The media will cry outrage at the police for a few days and then forget the incident. I’ll heal, and we’ll get over it.”

  “What about the boys, they saw that happen, do you think they’ll feel safe again?”

  “If we handle this well, yes.”

  “Luna is right, Caya,” Alysa said behind the pair. They turned see her in the doorway, her hands full of bags from the Colón market across the street. “The reality is, we want to argue with the police. But your bright shining bullfighting face can only get you so many privileges. Expecting a police apology is something even you can’t get.”

  Cayetano got up and kissed his aunt’s cheeks and took her shopping for her. “Thanks for being here, tía. The expression on Jaime’s face when he heard the news…”

  “I have a little experience with police run-ins,” Alysa replied as she sat down with Luna. “Jaime knows I can handle this situation for Luna.”

  Cayetano glanced at his sister as she came back from the kitchen, her hands in her pockets. “The family needs to get back to Madrid as soon as possible, so we can decide what happens next,” he said and Sofía nodded in agreement.

  “Nothing will happen, Caya,” Luna said. “There is no sense in arguing.”

  “I agree,” Alysa nodded. “Sometimes you need to accept reality, for your sanity. Caya, you need a few days to calm down.”

  “I only have fights in Salamanca next week. I can be home to help a little.” Cayetano wouldn’t sit; he kept pacing in front of Luna, studying her sore face. “Let’s pack up and go home. I’ll cancel tomorrow’s fight in Ronda.”

  “The ring has been conducting bullfights in Ronda for 230 years, and it’s your last chance to step onto the sand. No, you will not miss your fight,” Luna mumbled through sore lips. “I have a meeting today, about one of the Escondrijo bodies. Please, you can stay here and help Sofía babysit if you want to be helpful.”

  “But you can’t go walking the streets with a head injury, preciosa.”

  “I’ll go with her,” Alysa reassured her nephew. “There’s no harm in going to someone’s house for an hour.”

  “Which body?” Cayetano asked, his arms folded to match his frown.

  “Body one, Aná Munoz,” Luna said. “Aná’s youngest daughter is the DNA match. God bless the stolen baby database of Valencia.”

  “Can’t Jorge deal with this case?”

  “The woman wants to meet me. Señora Ortiz has waited her whole life to find her real mother. The least I can do is chat for an hour. She lives a few blocks from here. How was the fight in Granada?”

  “Fine, fine,” Cayetano dismissed his wife’s question. “Why are you so relaxed about this incident, preciosa?”

  “Luna’s a tough girl,” Alysa said as she rose from her seat. “And Luna is in good company.”

  Alysa rested her hand on Cayetano’s shoulder, and he smiled, his temper cooled by the level-headed calm from his aunt. He waited as Sofía followed Alysa down the hallway, and he sat down with Luna again. Cayetano took her hands in his and kissed her forehead. Luna winced as he held her sore fingers in his much larger hands. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “Don’t be!”

  “A decent parent doesn’t get into a fracas with the police in front of their kids.”

  “The children will understand the situation.”

  “Will you?”

  “When I stop being angry! I wish you had called me, preciosa.”

  “I was at the hospital by myself and then needed to lie down when I got back here. I didn’t want to bother you on your busy evening.”

  “But it’s okay to feel self-important sometimes, preciosa. You were sitting alone in a hospital, bashed in the face, yet you called no one.”

  “I’m used to being background detail. You’re the important one.”

  “I see you sense of humour isn’t hurt. If I got hurt in a fight and didn’t let you know, you would be livid!”

  “I love that you came home, even though you didn’t need to rush here, Caya. But I am used to being on my own. You’re away all the time, and I’m in charge, then you come back, and I get forgotten in your shadow. Caya, you have the fun; I do the day-to-day living. I don’t need protection.”

  “Then we need to have a serious re-evaluation of our lives.”

  “Gee, how romantic!”

  “Things will get better for us, I promise.”

  “What I know is that there doesn’t need to be a witch-hunt for the man who hit me. People are mad about this because I’m married to someone rich who looks good in a suit at movie premieres. Had the officer hit the guy he was aiming at, it would be forgotten. We can’t expect any result from being angry.”

  ~~~

  The tall, luscious trees that lined the wide Gran Via del Marquis del Turia swung with their usual free essence as Luna and Alysa walked, side by side. The scents coming from the perfumería on the corner of Carrer del Comte del Salvatierra masked the smell of the roaring traffic for a moment.

  “I’m surprised Cayetano let you out of the house,” Alysa said as they crossed the first four lanes of traffic. The pair stood under the trees on the pedestrian avenue between the comings and goings along the main street.

  “Perhaps Caya will sneak up on us and haul me back to Sofía’s place,” Luna scoffed. “No, he is happy being Papá at the apartment.”

  The pair crossed the rest of the traffic, Luna ignoring the stares of fellow pedestrians and drivers waiting at the crossing. There was no way to hide her face. Luna combed her curly black hair forward, but she could only hide so much of the bruising.

  “A walk will make you feel better,” Alysa said. “Which way?”

  “Just here.” Luna pointed down the small street of Carrer de Ciscar. “When I said this woman lived close by, I meant close.”

  “I don’t know this part of Valencia well,” Alysa replied. “When I was here, I stayed in the Barrio del Carmen with friends. Russafa already existed of course, but it has changed a lot, so much expansion.”

  “When were you he
re?” Luna asked they passed a small café, looking for the street number Jorge had provided. “I know you were born here... and… well…”

  “In prison, you can say it, Luna. I first visited in 1975.”

  “Sorry to bring it up,” Luna mumbled as she stopped in front of the building she needed.

  “Women have secrets, and it’s okay to share them. Wow, this place…”

  The pair looked up at the building, elaborately detailed, similar to many in the barrio. The five-storey place was built in a pale grey stone, with intricate white embellishments and ornaments, making the place look hundreds of years old. A closed restaurant sat on the bottom floor, glided golden bars folded closed over the wooden doors and windows. Luna pressed the button on the intercom on the small entrance beside the restaurant, and the glass door buzzed open.

  “I have no idea what to say when we get up there,” Luna said and stopped to check her face in a mirror in the dark corridor. She had considered makeup but her skin practically cried at the mere thought of all that rubbing and patting.

  “Then we’ll make it up as we go,” Alysa reassured her niece. “Let’s take the elevator; it’s three floors, but you deserve any rest you can get.”

  The pair stepped out of the elevator into another dark corridor, and Luna felt for the light switch on the wall. It lit up a short windowless hallway decorated in a dark wood with pale granite flooring. One door sat at the end of the hallway. “I’ve been waiting for this since the day we first discovered the bodies at Escondrijo. Four years now.”

  “Your children are safe with their father, so let’s do this,” Alysa said and pressed the huge white doorbell.

  The door opened to a woman about Alysa’s age, with a hopeful smile and eyes keen to meet her visitors. Señora Ortiz had her salt and pepper coloured short hair neatly combed back, and the long, floral dress she wore suggested it was fresh from a store. Her feet looked swollen in sandals. “Luna Montgomery?”

  Luna didn’t have a chance to say hello before the woman swept her into her arms and kissed both cheeks. “I hope I’m not hurting you, my dear,” she said. “You look sore. I saw the newspaper; you got hit in the protest yesterday. How awful for you.”

  “I’m sorry for my appearance,” Luna said and smoothed her pink blouse as if that would somehow make her look more appropriate for the day. “Señora Ortiz, this my husband’s aunt, Alysa Mariñelarena de Morales…”

  Luna’s voice dropped off as she watched the woman’s expression. She and Alysa stared at one another as if they had seen a ghost. “You!” Alysa said.

  “Dios mío,” the woman said, crossing herself. “Never did I suspect I would see you again.”

  “You know each other, Señora Ortiz?” Luna said. She frowned and hurt her face.

  “Call me Inmaculada. You had better come inside, Luna. And you, too, Alysa, was it?”

  “It is now,” Alysa said as they stepped inside the apartment.

  22

  Valencia, España ~ Mayo de 2014

  Luna followed Señora Ortiz down a dark hallway; the light from bedrooms was shut away behind closed doors. The only sound was that of the flat shoes of the three women as they headed into an enormous, high-ceiling, living space; decorated in antique furnishings, the room of a family who lived well, very proper. Almost like the kind of the living room Luna tried to create and then had destroyed by children each day. Luna sat down on a hard couch, next to a long window, that looked out over a balcony in the centre of the building. Huge pillars led out to wide opening doors, into the space where voices from the block were just audible. Alysa sat down next to her and placed her handbag on the dark wooden floor. Señora Ortiz sat down in a deep red leather armchair across from a bright painting of a landscape Luna couldn’t identify. Between them lay coffee, on an expensive silver tray, cups carefully arranged.

  “First things first, call me Inmaculada. I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to find my mother.”

  Luna smiled, still intrigued by Alysa’s connection to the middle-aged woman. “My mother died when I was young, but at least I knew she was sick, and my father could lay her to rest.”

  “Then you understand the void in my heart.” Inmaculada slid forward in her seat and set about pouring three small cups of coffee. “When that man, Jorge, from the historical memory association, phoned me, I almost didn’t believe he had a match for my DNA. I only put my name down on the list for potentially stolen children as a last-ditch effort. I was raised by a good family, but I always realised I was adopted. But I figured anything was possible. Jorge called me and said a woman was found in a mass grave outside the city, and the body was a DNA match for me. God answered all my prayers.”

  “I don’t care much about God, Inmaculada, but I believe in the importance of this moment.”

  “Jorge sent me photos of my mother’s grave and said you were the one who found her.”

  “That’s true,” Luna said and took the coffee offered.

  “Luna, I have so many questions, but you look as if you’re not up too much, not with your beaten face.”

  “Luna got a heavy dose of police injustice last night,” Alysa said.

  “This is nothing,” Luna tried to reassure them.

  “Your injury is something, something most important,” Inmaculada said and folded her hands on her lap, almost a protective gesture.

  “Please ask me any questions you have.” Luna had no interest in talking about the police.

  “Thank you for finding my mother. Aná, I never knew. I was a newborn in the flood of 1957. I got rescued by Guardia Civil officer José Morales Ruiz, who lived in our building on Carrer de Rellotge Viejo. José received a bravery medal for all his work during the flood, from Franco himself.” Inmaculada shuddered as she spoke.

  “José was my husband’s grandfather,” Luna said.

  “So Jorge told me. José is dead now?”

  “José died in 2010,” Alysa answered.

  “José saved me, and my seven brothers and sisters. There was never any mention of my mother’s fate. My oldest sister, 16 when the flood happened, tried to care for us but couldn’t, and we got split up. I always maintained contact with my eldest sister, growing up, though it wasn’t until 1975, when my adoptive parents disowned me, that I set to work finding all my siblings. My sister and I, we live together now; her husband was wealthy, and she inherited this apartment. The couple were so good to me, treated me as one of their children.”

  “Why did your family disown you?” Luna asked. The coffee felt good on her sore throat.

  “An incident,” Inmaculada said, and looked to Alysa. “Certain incidents shame families.”

  “I had no family to shame during those incidents,” Alysa replied.

  “Anyway, after almost ten years of searching, all eight of us siblings were reunited. The family had scattered around the country, so it was a challenge. My sister and I have lived in this apartment since 1980, and our siblings visit as often as possible. We are a family reunited. Simón, our father, I found he died in 1961, down in Gandia, where he had been living with another woman. He drowned when a fishing boat sank. And we assumed our mother drowned in the Valencian flood until her body was found high in the Sierra Calderona by you, Luna. I suppose we’ll never understand how she ended up there.” Inmaculada paused and made the sign of the cross again.

  “Aná was one of four buried on my property, Escondrijo. The other bodies were of another young woman, and a husband and wife in their fifties. The bodies identities are proven, yet there seems no link between the four,” Luna explained.

  “No clues?”

  “A Guardia Civil button was found at the grave site, but that is all.” From José, while carrying the bodies, Luna assumed.

  “Police brutality,” Inmaculada sighed and clapped her hand over her lips for a moment. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees as she took in the information. “That wouldn’t surprise me at all. But what motive would a Guardia Civil have to hurt my
mother?” Inmaculada’s eyes darted between Luna and Alysa. “The man who rescued us from the flood was a Guardia Civil. Your husband’s grandfather…”

  “José never spoke of anyone who fits the description of the bodies,” Alysa said. “Sadly, I don’t think justice can ever get served.”

  “Isn’t that typical.” Inmaculada sipped her coffee, looking soothed. “Jorge said my mother was most likely killed by having her head bashed, her neck broken.”

  “Yes, I believe so,” Luna almost whispered.

  “Was her head attached to her body?”

  Luna shook her head a little and Inmaculada’s eyes filled with tears.

  “The grave site,” Alysa stepped in, “it was a beautiful, peaceful place. Aná, your mother, has been well looked after.”

  “And I will pay for Aná’s reburial,” Luna hastened to add. “We will bury your mother here in Valencia, her hometown.” She placed her coffee cup on the silver tray. “Inmaculada, I’m so sorry.”

  “Nonsense, Luna, you’ve given me a gift. This was a mystery I never thought could get solved. I had given up hope of finding my mother. You can’t understand how it feels. You’ve reunited a family separated since 1957. Jorge said you’ve done a great thing, finding these bodies and having them identified and cared for; the police wouldn’t have helped us. The forensics teams think these old cases are pointless.”

  “Just yesterday I visited my father’s grave for the first time,” Alysa said.

  “I am sorry.”

  “It’s a sad tale. I found out who he was decades ago, but when I discovered he was a Guardia Civil member, I stopped searching for his grave. Yesterday I found him; covered in weeds in Valencia cemetery. I’m glad he rotted there all alone.”

  “My condolences,” Inmaculada said as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “My mother was no saint, and my father a man who abandoned a wife and eight children, but at least he was no demon. I suspect similar demons hit you in the face, Luna.”