A Murder Most Literate

by Jefferson Bonar

  “Señora Elvira Cordoba?”

  “I am.”

  “I am Domingo Armada, constable of the Holy Brotherhood. I am here to ask you a few questions about your husband.”

  “The Brotherhood? I apologise constable, but I thought you mostly worked in the countryside.”

  “My services were requested as a special favour to the university. May I come in?”

  Armada had a hard time reading the woman. There was a moment of confusion, which was quickly washed from her expression and replaced with a warm smile. Elvira let him in and filled his ear with platitudes as she led him up the steep stone stairs toward the level above.

  Armada knew Elvira’s wariness may not be coming from a suspicious place. Generally, the green sleeves that burst forth from the arms of his leather waistcoat made everyone nervous. The Holy Brotherhood had a reputation for being corrupt, overly violent, arriving too late to be of much service, and for mostly being interested in fees rather than justice. Armada understood this and it always made his job that much harder. But it did also lend him the authority to get to the truth like no other organisation could.

  Armada reached the upper level of the house and saw it offered a view of little beyond the three-way intersection below and the windowless, stone buildings opposite. There was the constant hum of pedestrians, horses, and other traffic that echoed off those walls and into the room, leaving Armada to wonder how it was that Elvira wasn’t driven mad by it.

  “I had some questions regarding your husband’s death. It would help to resolve the matter.”

  “Of course. Although, I was told my husband’s killer had already been arrested.”

  “I’m just clearing up a few details. For the report.”

  “Of course.”

  Armada had no report. It was just something official-sounding so he could get on with the conversation. a little trick he’d picked up years ago to keep a witness focused on answering questions and not on asking their own.

  “I want to know more about this upcoming election he was involved in. This was for the chair of the law department, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Enrique was a rival for this position?”

  “There are many rivals. It is a prestigious role and therefore quite valuable for anyone looking at a career as a letrado. Even if you wish to be something as lowly as a clerk or a notary, you need the privileges and connections that such a position brings,” Elvira said, settling down on a couch just opposite the wooden chair Armada had found. There was a single rip in the cushion, the only blemish, and she sat in a slightly awkward position, as if to use her body to cover it.

  “So, if there were many rivals, then getting rid of just one of them would not have helped Enrique very much, would it?” Armada asked.

  “I can’t imagine what that man was thinking when he killed my husband,” Elvira said. “He’s obviously evil.”

  “How did your husband feel about the upcoming election? Was he nervous? Did he think he had a good chance of winning?”

  “I’m not sure. He didn’t talk about his work very much. I know he was hopeful. But that’s all I know.”

  “What about these trips to Madrid? I was told he often went to try and secure a post of some kind outside the university. But these were never successful?”

  Elvira took a small sigh. Was it frustration? Was Armada perhaps prying a bit too much?

  “Not as far as I know. But I wouldn’t know much about that, as Gregorio rarely spoke of them. You would have to talk to his assistant, a boy named Aurelio. He is with the colegio mayor of San Bartolomé. Gregorio mentioned he accompanied him on those trips sometimes.”

  “How often did your husband take these trips?”

  “Every few weeks, más o menos.”

  Every few weeks? Armada thought. That seemed excessive, even for someone more ambitious than Gregorio Cordoba.

  “And you don’t know what he was doing there? Or who he met?”

  “Are you suggesting someone he met in Madrid may have been responsible for this?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m only trying to get all the facts first.”

  “I don’t know the people he knew in Madrid. He never mentioned them.”

  Another thought occurred to Armada, but he wasn’t sure he should say it. There was always the possibility Gregorio was in Madrid to see another woman. It made sense. If he had wronged her somehow, perhaps she followed him home and did the deed? Finding her would be next to impossible if Gregorio kept his life in Madrid this discreet.

  “What about this argument in the tavern the night before he died? Did he tell you about that?”

  Elvira looked up at Armada with piercing eyes. It was shock, which startled Armada. Had she not heard?

  “My husband did not go to taverns. He was far too busy with his career. And when he wasn’t working, he was home with my daughters and I.”

  Armada decided to let this go for now. He was getting the sense that there was quite a lot Gregorio never told his wife about. One of those secrets had gotten him killed, but that also meant the answer was probably not going to come from this woman.

  “Did Gregorio have any enemies you were aware of? Anyone he was having a dispute with? Anyone who might be especially angry with him?”

  Elvira’s eyes darted about the room and she put a finger to her chin.

  “Yes,” she almost whispered. “But it made little sense.”

  “Who?”

  “You have to understand, constable. My husband was a good man. I’ve always prided myself on being able to sense people, and what kind of a heart they have. I sensed in Gregorio Cordoba a good, Catholic heart. We never missed a mass, we always gave to the church, no matter how little we had left. And he lived his life to provide for his family. Everything he did, he did it for us. That is not the behaviour of a man without a heart.”

  “I understand,” Armada said, confused.

  “But my husband sometimes made mistakes. Like all men do. And one of them seems to revolve around a horrible man who came to the house the night Gregorio was killed. I don’t know why he thought Gregorio owed him money, and I’m not sure I wish to. But I can tell you where to find him, if you wish. He is still in town and under the delusion that I am going to pay him soon.”

  “I would very much like to speak to this man,” Armada said, realising he may have been wrong.

  Perhaps this woman had more answers than he thought.

  Chapter Four

  Armada was tempted to go straight over to the house Elvira had described to meet this man, Teo. It was highly unlikely he was the killer, as he wouldn’t have risked going to the Cordoba house demanding money if he knew Gregorio was already dead. But it might shed a little light on what Gregorio had been up to in Madrid.

  Yet Armada felt he still didn’t have a firm enough hold on what actually happened the night of the murder. What he needed was to talk to the first person to arrive at the murder scene after the killer, the one who had the freshest eyes on what happened.

  Which was why Armada was speaking to the jailer at the door of the ayuntamiento and slipping him a small bag of gold coins. Armada was led down into the basement, where little light penetrated beyond the bottom of the stone staircase. There were only two small windows here, barred, that overlooked a small plaza outside. The windows faced north, which meant they received very little light outside of the height of summer, and it left the room with a damp, mouldy smell.

  Armada was pointed toward a cell in the back, where a man in his thirties was sitting with his head in his hands. He was dressed in the robes of a professor, although they were badly soiled and tattered after a few days in a place like this. The lack of callouses on his hands, together with their milky smoothness, suggested a life spent inside libraries and lecture halls rather than in the fields.

  “Professor Enrique Talavera?” Armada asked.

  Enrique looked up to reveal a face made of sharp cheekbones and eyes that
opened wide, their size skewed by the magnification of his spectacles. His hair, grown long in the front, flopped over to one side of his head as he stood up, his body wiry as it moved about in sharp, erratic movements.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I am Domingo Armada of—”

  “The Brotherhood?” Enrique said, glancing down at Armada’s sleeves. “Did Arturo call you? Is that what this is?”

  “Yes. I wanted to speak with you about the night of Gregorio Cordoba’s murder.”

  “Why? I don’t know anything. I just discovered the body. It doesn’t make any sense why I’m here.”

  “What were you doing there that night?”

  “I went to apologise. We’d had an argument and I felt bad for some things I may have said. Then, I found him like that. I swear!”

  “The city authorities seem to believe that you killed him. You certainly had motivation to.”

  “What? You mean the election?” Enrique said, chuckling sarcastically. “Why would I kill him? No, it’s those students you have to look at. Not me. They’re the crazy ones. These elections always bring out the worst in them. Especially that Julian.”

  “What would the students have to do with this?” Armada asked.

  “It’s a student election! They’re the ones that vote for the university chair. And all the different colegios want one of their own to win it. It’s a point of pride for them. There is no manner of deviousness they won’t try.”

  “Including murder?”

  “I wouldn’t be that surprised. They do everything else. They threaten, they bribe. Last year, the boys of Cuenca even resorted to kidnapping. There is a lot of buying of votes, bringing in older students who should have come off the rolls, that sort of thing. They do it all.”

  “Who is Julian?” Armada asked, trying to keep up. Enrique’s mind worked fast and he spoke faster, having little patience to go slower for others to catch up. His lectures must have been a challenge.

  “Julian de Benaudalla. His father is the Duke of Frades and very wealthy, which is how he got into the colegio mayor of San Bartolomé. That is Julian’s little gang, and Gregorio wasn’t part of it. In fact, he was like me—he wasn’t a part of any of the colegios. Francisco Vergera. That’s their man. Gregorio and I, we were just getting in their way. Julian seemed to really have a problem with Gregorio. Don’t know why. There was always something strange between those two.”

  “And this Julian, he was threatening Gregorio to leave the election?”

  “They threaten everybody! I get threats too. It’s all part of the game. But no one’s ever taken it this far before. Can I leave here now? I’m innocent! I don’t belong here, I’m an academic, not a criminal.”

  Enrique moved toward the bars as if he were about to grab Armada, who stepped back instinctively.

  “Not until my questions are answered,” Armada said. The fact that he had no power to release Enrique didn’t seem relevant at the moment.

  Enrique pounded on the steel bars with his palms, then rubbed them as the pain throbbed.

  “How much do you know about Gregorio’s trips to Madrid? Did he ever mention them to you?”

  Enrique looked at Armada and smiled. “Madrid? Who told you that?”

  “Did he ever mention them?” Armada said firmly.

  “Gregorio has never stepped foot in Madrid,” Enrique said before snorting.

  “No?”

  “I’ve only been at this university eighteen months or so, but I can tell you in that time I never saw Gregorio leave town. He was always around. We worked in the same department, and I would either see him in his office, or walking around the streets in San Polo. But I rarely went a day without passing him somewhere. If he disappeared for a few days at any point, it would have been a blessed relief for me. Believe me! No way he left town.”

  It was becoming clear Gregorio was not the man he purported to be to anyone in his life. What if someone found out? It was still possible it could have been a woman, or perhaps he even had another family somewhere. No man with a wandering eye, at least none Armada had ever come across, ever had two families in the same city. That was just foolish. So, if Gregorio wasn’t leaving town, what was he doing?

  “Tell me about the argument in the tavern,” Armada said.

  “Did Arturo tell you about that?” Enrique said. “He’s never respected me. He’s always wanted to see me fail.”

  “Just tell me what happened.”

  Enrique made an exaggerated sigh. “It was drunken silliness, that’s all. Gregorio and I ended up in the tavern that night by accident. Some of the students started to taunt us into performing an oposición. We’d all had too many ales. It just got out of hand.”

  “What is an oposición?” Armada asked.

  “It’s part of the election. Every candidate for a teaching position gets up in front of an audience of students and tries to read their best lecture. Then the students vote on who they thought the best one was, and that’s who gets the post. It’s how these things are decided.”

  “And you did one in a tavern?”

  “It was a bit of spectacle. Those students are the ones who decide these things, so it always helps to show them you can be part of the fun. I gave them an old lecture I do on common land enclosure and if I remember, Gregorio gave them some rambling diatribe on grazing rights. You have to do anything to make yourself memorable to these boys. For both of us, the students just wanted to shout insults the whole time and…things just got out of hand, as they do in taverns.”

  Yet for some reason, Armada thought, Gregorio didn’t want his wife to know he was there. Why hide it? Perhaps he was there for something else and got distracted. It sounded as though the oposición was spontaneous, so he must have been surprised by it. Was he perhaps there to meet Teo? Or someone else?

  “So, can you let me out of here yet?” Enrique said, interrupting Armada’s thoughts.

  “I’m afraid not,” Armada said. “I don’t have the authority. Only the ayuntamiento can do that.”

  “What? But I told you everything I know! You said you could let me out of here!”

  Armada’s ears had had quite enough of Enrique’s frenzied screeching. “I don’t remember ever making such a promise. And I’m not fully confident yet that you are not the killer. My investigation will continue, and I will be in touch should I need anything further. Good afternoon, Professor.”

  Armada’s last statement finally stunned Enrique into quiet. He stared at Armada, shocked that he was still being considered a murderer. Armada strode out of the jail and went up the stairs back to where fresh air awaited him.

  There was a lot to think about now, and over the years he’d gotten used to sorting it all out by talking to Lucas. It didn’t used to be this way, in those early years before Lucas had come into his life. He also wasn’t quite sure when it happened, like when one develops a bad habit. One day, you just become aware that it is there, that you do things a new way now, and feel a bit powerless to change it.

  So, he would find Lucas. It was only when Armada started on his way he made the realisation that he’d given the map to their accommodation to the boy, but hadn’t looked at it for himself.

  Cursing his absent-mindedness, Armada made his way through the busy city toward the university, knowing there was an hour or two of aimless wandering ahead of him.

  Chapter Five

  Lucas was startled when Armada finally came through the door. He thought the old man would be home much earlier.

  “A bit of light please, Lucas, if you’re finished resting.”

  It was nearly midnight, and Lucas had been trying to stay awake for Armada’s return, in case he wanted anything to eat. He’d spent the afternoon settling them into their accommodation and it had been hard work. The stables were all the way on the other side of a large courtyard from where their room was. Lucas had to carry every sack, two at a time, all the way across it and then up a narrow set of stairs to their room. The sherry barrel h
ad been the worst. It was bulky and heavy, and he couldn’t allow anyone to see him do it. There were stiff penalties for breaking the King’s ordinance forbidding drink in one’s private room, especially an entire barrel of it. It was tantamount to having firearms, or walking about with an unlicensed sword in the daylight. Even when covered in a cloth, it was clear what it was from how Lucas was required to hoist the barrel over his shoulder, so he’d had to wait quite a long time for the courtyard to clear of any curious bystanders before risking such a move.

  The room was sparse and his bed was miserable, but the one window opened up to a view of rooftops, just beyond which he could see most of the northeast corner of the courtyard of the Escuelas Menores, where he’d seen the boys playing with the ball before. He learned that with the window open, he could pick up snippets of the conversations of the students as they wandered past, unaware Lucas was listening above their heads. Much of these conversations involved gossiping about their professors or their fellow students, but some also talked at length about aspects of theology or civil law they had just learned, talking excitedly and using large words Lucas didn’t understand. They also talked about their dreams and their hopes for the future. There was a feeling of excitement here. Everyone was ambitious and full of passion, and nothing was dying or decaying, as in many of the tiny villages he and Armada usually visited. This was not a place of backbreaking manual labour, crippling taxes, living in the shadow of famine and disease, or of mourning the many dead that seemed to be piling up in Spain’s crumbling countryside.

  No. Here, people were focused on the bright futures that awaited them after university and the fortunes they would earn. And it was intoxicating.

  After unloading the cart, organising the provisions in their room, and sorting out the beds, Lucas then headed to the local lavadero to give their grimy clothes a good wash. They were now hung up, filling the room with a dampness that was already fading away. Then he made sure the mule had everything it needed for the night and finally returned to the room to await the old man’s return. Could Armada blame him for being tired? He felt as though he’d only been sitting on the bed for a minute, but when Armada came bursting through the door, the sun had very suddenly gone down.