A Murder Most Literate

by Jefferson Bonar

  Lucas joined the Julian and the other two at the café, and for the next few hours, he watched as they attempted to woo the barmaid they had discussed. She was beautiful, Lucas agreed. But she was also far too old, and married, to ever have anything to do with them. She took the attention well enough, although Lucas suspected she’d prefer they hadn’t come at all. The boys trashed their table, drank too much, and stole tapas until the barmaid’s father was annoyed enough to chuck them out, barring them from re-entry and telling them not to return.

  The boys just laughed this off, grabbed some bottles of brandy as they called the man names, then ran off toward an open field where some smaller children were playing with a leather ball. The boys confiscated the ball, and much of the afternoon was spent kicking it about while bottles of brandy were drunk. The boys tripped and fell about, laughing the whole time, and Lucas couldn’t remember ever having more fun. There was some kind of magical sheen on the afternoon, where nothing outside of enjoying themselves seemed to hold any value. The heaviness of life that usually weighed on his shoulders began to lighten as the effect of the brandy took hold. Lucas spent a lot of time lying about as Julian and Marco told him about the barmaid and what they would do once they got her in their beds. There were many things they described that Lucas had never heard before and couldn’t believe were possible. By the end of the afternoon, he found himself lusting after her as well as they all headed off to the tavern, readying themselves for what was to come.

  Now thoroughly drunk and stumbling about, Lucas felt one of the boys put his arm on his shoulders to remain on his feet. Lucas didn’t care where they were going, or how long it took. He was perfectly content for this day to last forever as they stumbled down the street, singing songs and annoying passers-by as they went.

  That’s when Julian stopped them. Further down the road, just on the corner, was another group of boys who were standing about.

  “It’s them,” Julian whispered. Lucas was surprised at how Julian was able to function so well. He’d outdrank them all the entire afternoon, yet seemed the most sober.

  The boys tried to settle themselves, giggling and whispering, but their drunkenness made it impossible.

  “Cayate,” Julian whispered. “Let’s get closer, we’ll surprise them.”

  But Marco had little desire for such stealth. “Arzobispo bastardos!” he screamed.

  Heads whipped around and the other group of boys fanned out, smiling and readying for a fight.

  “Kings for Bartolome! Bartolome for Kings!” Julian shouted. The other boys immediately joined the chant, waving their fists in the air and stepping towards the other boys.

  Lucas recognised the chant. It was derived from the motto scrawled on to the grand façade of the university which read, in Latin, “Kings for Universities, Universities for Kings.” Apparently, Julian had thought it funny to adapt it to his colegio.

  Lucas didn’t care. He would do anything for Julian tonight, no matter the consequences. He threw his fist up in the air and joined the chant.

  That’s when one of the Arzobispo boys picked up a stone and threw it at them. This was enough to light the fuse and the two groups raced toward each other. Suddenly, the street exploded into a flurry of shoving and kicking and punching, which Lucas threw himself into.

  He felt one of the rival boys grab him by the collar and he swung his fist out, connecting with the other boy’s collarbone and knocking his grip free. Lucas then kicked the boy in the shin before watching him scramble to his feet and run off.

  A man shouted from the other end of the street and ran toward them.

  “It’s Pedro!” Julian shouted, and suddenly the boys leaped to their feet and started running.

  Lucas assumed Pedro must be the city constable, who patrolled the streets to break up student fights and prosecute those responsible. Lucas ran along with the boys but found it hard to catch his breath, as he was laughing too hard. The rush was incredible and something in him knew that as long as he was with these boys, he would be all right, no matter what they got up to.

  As they all raced down a narrow alley, startling the pedestrians as they shoved past them, Lucas looked one old woman in the eye.

  “Kings for Bartolome! Bartolome for Kings!” he shouted at her as they raced past, and the frightened old woman stepped aside, nearly falling over as she clutched the bread she was carrying to her chest.

  Lucas couldn’t remember seeing anything so funny.

  Chapter Twelve

  Armada entered the jail, exhausted, with a rolled-up bit of paper tucked into his jacket. He had spent the whole morning perfecting the corregidor’s signature, using the one on his letter to the Brotherhood as a model. Then it was off to the ayuntamiento for hours to talk to an endless parade of city officials who needed a healthy dose of complimenting, promising, and bribing for his bit of paper. It wasn’t the money that bothered him. If all he had to do was pay people, that would have been easy. It was all the talking, all the listening to corrupt government administrators talk his ear off about rules and regulations and precedence, trying desperately to justify the corruption they were about to participate in, calling it normal and describing in detail how everyone at the ayuntamiento did such things. It was how things got done. Whether they were right or not, Armada didn’t care. He just hated having to stand there and appear interested in these arrogant men. Yet as long as he appeared receptive to their vile charms, he was invariably trusted and the financial haggling could begin.

  But it was over now, and Armada was still trying to quell the echoing of the voices of those fatuous, arrogant old men from his mind. He had more important work to do now.

  Armada was escorted back down the long corridor to the sole jail cell in the back. Enrique looked much thinner than last time. Only a few days had passed, but it was obvious the man was not dealing with life in prison very well.

  “Buenas tardes, Señor Talavera.”

  Enrique didn’t answer. He was seated on the stone floor, his back against the bars and staring out the tiny window that overlooked the square outside. It was early evening, and the sun had barely penetrated the thick sill of the barred window.

  Whereas before, Enrique moved about with sharp, quick movements, now he sagged upon the floor, as if he was dissolving into it. A plate of food sat next to him, untouched. An unusual sight for a prisoner dying of hunger. The only sign he was alive was the slow, steady breathing that echoed against the back wall of his cell.

  “I have negotiated for your release,” Armada said, holding up the bit of paper from his jacket.

  The quick movements suddenly returned as Enrique spun his head round to face Armada. He grabbed the bars and hauled his thin body up onto its feet.

  “You’re letting me out?”

  “I don’t see a reason to keep you in here.”

  Enrique chuckled to himself as tears sprang to his eyes. “I’m innocent. I told you I was innocent! Why didn’t you believe me? Why did you leave me in here for another few days? Why did you say you couldn’t release me? That was cruel!”

  “I told you, I wasn’t the one holding you in custody. It took quite a lot of effort to convince the corregidor to agree to this, as well as a lot of other officials. This case is getting quite well-known in the city.”

  “All right, so let me out,” Enrique said, standing by the door. The guard went to unlock the cell door, but Armada stopped him.

  “I didn’t say you were innocent. I said I don’t see a reason to keep you in here…at least, not until you answer the rest of my questions.”

  Armada found a stone block to sit on across from the cell, and made himself as comfortable as he could on it to show Enrique he was in no hurry.

  “What? What questions? You don’t still think I killed Gregorio, do you?”

  Armada let the question hang in the air for a moment. “No,” he finally said softly. “But you did lie to me. And I want the truth before I let you go.”

  “I didn’t lie about
anything—”

  “I’m going to ask you something I asked you before. I want the truth this time. What happened at the tavern the night before Gregorio Cordoba was killed?”

  “I told you.”

  “There was no oposición. There were no students. That was all a lie. I spoke to the barman, and he witnessed the entire incident. According to him, it was just you and Gregorio Cordoba having an argument, with Gregorio demanding that you return something you stole.”

  Enrique let out a long sigh. The man wasn’t in the habit of hiding what he was thinking. Perhaps he was incapable of it, or had little interest in it. But it made Armada’s job much easier.

  “It was…nothing….”

  “Oh, I think it was much more than that. And whatever it was, I’m guessing you threatened not to return it unless Gregorio dropped out of the race. So, it must have been something very valuable to him.”

  “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “I don’t know. I won’t know until you tell me.”

  Enrique was quiet again, considering his answer. Whatever it was, Armada reckoned, it was something Enrique had been hoping to keep to himself. Perhaps the money Gregorio had been paid for the shipment of powder he never delivered? It was the only explanation Armada could think of.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Enrique said.

  “Is a bit of money worth being left in this prison for weeks, months, perhaps years? Because I am prepared to rip this up, right now,” Armada said, holding up the release order.

  A look of despair flashed in Enrique’s eyes.

  “How long do you think you can last in here?” Armada said, gesturing toward the untouched food at Enrique’s feet. “I’ll make it so you never come out. I can do that. Which means however much you took, it will never be any use to you. You might as well give it to me now.”

  Enrique glanced at the guard, with whom Armada felt there was a lot of animosity, then reached down and took off the tattered remains of his right boot.

  Inside was a small key. Enrique snatched it and held it through the bars for Armada to take.

  “What is this?”

  “I don’t know,” Enrique said. “But whatever it goes to, Gregorio was obsessive about it. I could see his office across the corridor from mine. I knew he always had this key on him. He was always checking his pocket, making sure it was safe. Never left it behind, never let it leave his person, not for a minute. I knew it was quite valuable to him.”

  “So why take it?”

  “I was desperate!” Enrique said, sounding honest for the first time. “You don’t understand how hard it is to make a living as a junior professor. The pay is a pittance! And I’m not rich enough to have gone to one of those colegios, so I didn’t have any students willing to fight for me. But I needed that university chair! I was a junior professor at Valladolid for ten years. Ten years! Nobody stays a junior professor that long! It’s pathetic! But I’m no good at making friends with the chairs. I tend to make enemies, or people think I’m a bit odd. So, I get passed up for promotions all the time.”

  Enrique’s twitchy movements returned as he paced about his cell.

  “I lied to the dean at Salamanca and told him this was my first job. I had to start over somewhere. This time, I vowed to do better, to socialise, to make the connections I needed to make in order to advance. It was the only way not to die in poverty.”

  Enrique found himself tiring and held on to one of the bars after suddenly getting to his feet.

  “But it was the same all over again. I tried, I really tried. But when I talk to people, it just comes out odd. The last time I spoke to the dean, I accidentally insulted his wife. I was just trying to make a joke! But he never forgave me. I knew he would never help me after that. So, my only hope was the student elections. He’s not allowed to interfere in those. If I could just win this damn election, I could get what I need to get a proper job in government, or at a law office somewhere, or something. I need to get out of academia, or I’ll just wither away.”

  Enrique moved toward Armada now, putting his face against the bars as if to make his point.

  “I figured my only real competition was Gregorio. We were the same, him and me. He didn’t have a very good relationship with our bosses, either. But he’d been a professor here for three years already. He had seniority. If I could have convinced him to drop out, I would have had a shot. I knew I would! My students like me, Constable. It’s the one advantage I had. And I have large classes, which means I could have had a shot at defeating those colegials Gongora and Vergara as well. They only have their colegio boys behind them. Yes, they lie and cheat, but it’s only because they don’t have the numbers. I have the numbers. I could have won! If only I hadn’t been put in here….”

  Armada was now even more sure Enrique hadn’t done it. But one part of the story didn’t make sense.

  “If Gregorio Cordoba was so obsessive about keeping this key, how did you ultimately get it off him?”

  Enrique smiled. “Put it in your pocket.”

  Armada did and Enrique came toward him, slowly putting both his hands up on the bars of the cell where they could easily be seen.

  “I may not be good talking to people, Constable. But I have watched them my whole life. I’ve gotten to know how they work very well. And the biggest lesson I’ve learned….”

  Enrique reached through the bars slowly and patted Armada on one cheek, grinning.

  “…is that they are easily distracted.”

  With that, Enrique held up his other hand, in which he held the key he’d just taken from Armada’s pocket.

  “I wasn’t always a junior professor, you know. There was a time in my life when I had to live a bit more…creatively.”

  Armada took the key back from Enrique. He had tired of the spectacle. He gestured toward the guard to unlock the cell door and Enrique bounded out, glaring at the guard in triumph.

  Armada grabbed his arm.

  “I wouldn’t celebrate quite yet, Señor Talavera. For if I find out you lied to me about not knowing what this key goes to, you will come right back in here. And this time, no one like me will come to release you.”

  Enrique threw off Armada’s grip and followed the guard out of the cell.

  Armada realised there was a lot about Enrique Talavera he didn’t know. How was it he rose from a pickpocket to a university professor? He suspected there was a lot more to that story. It also meant Enrique was no stranger to crime and grifting. But just how good was he, exactly? Had everything he told Armada been a con? Enrique had the advantage of looking uncomfortable and awkward no matter who he was talking to, making it impossible to read his body language one way or the other. No one could know if he was lying. Was Enrique aware he had that power?

  Armada looked down at the key. It was no mystery what it unlocked. No, the real mystery was who else knew Gregorio’s secret? And would any of them be willing to murder to keep it?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lucas winced from the pain and bit his lip to keep from crying out.

  “You have to hold still,” Julian said, and he plunged the tip of the knife in deeper.

  Lucas nodded and tried to keep his arm flat, as he’d been instructed. Lucas felt the knife carve his flesh and cried out anyway.

  “It’s done. Look,” Julian said.

  Lucas looked down at his bloody arm to find Julian had carved a small “V” shape into the underside of his forearm, just above the wrist.

  “It stands for vizcaíno, which makes you one of us. If it heals over, you have to cut it in again until it scars. Eventually, it will look like this.”

  Julian rolled up the long white sleeve of his shirt until it revealed the pasty whiteness of his right shoulder, in the middle of which protruded a scar, made long ago, in the same V-shape.

  Lucas looked down at his forearm in pride.

  “That’s for kicking the pants off that Arzobispo cabron last night.”


  “Thanks.”

  “Now those manchego rats will know who you are next time. So, make sure you’re never caught alone by them when you’re walking around the university grounds.”

  “I will.”

  That’s when Lucas sensed a shift in Julian’s mood. He walked silently over to where he’d kept a bottle of brandy and two dirty glasses to celebrate when the deed was done. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, Lucas thought. Weren’t all initiations like this?

  But Julian was lost in his thoughts as he returned and poured out a glass of brandy for each of them. Julian downed his drink, not bothering to toast or wait for Lucas to sip down his own. Instead, he poured himself another and stared at the floor.

  “You should know, joven, that sometimes being in San Bartolomé…it can get a bit dangerous. Are you ready for that?”

  “I…I think so.”

  “You have to be sure,” Julian said. “Because being a part of this colegio, it’s not all fun and games and brandy. In fact, it can be….”

  Julian was lost in his thoughts for a moment.

  “What?” Lucas said.

  Julian glanced back at Lucas, as if forgetting he’d started to say anything. “It can be frightening…for a boy of your age, I mean. Until you get used to it.”

  “Do you still get scared?” Lucas asked. He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. He was worried his question would be interpreted as an accusation of cowardice, which was the last thing he’d intended. In fact, it also made Lucas sound like one as well. He didn’t know why he’d even asked it, but he couldn’t take it back now.

  Julian cradled his brandy the way a child cradles a favourite toy while they sleep.

  “Sometimes…,” Julian said in almost a whisper. “We have so many enemies, joven. And they can take things too far. Our work here is important, but it’s not worth….”

  Julian interrupted himself with another mouthful of brandy, which he let slosh around in his mouth, giving him an excuse not to speak for a moment.