A Murder Most Literate

by Jefferson Bonar

  There was no one about as Armada crossed the plaza toward the ayuntamiento. Thankfully, it had not yet been locked, suggesting there were councillors inside working late tonight. Armada went in to find there was no porter about, so he made his way to the back stairs that led to the jail below.

  It was here his eyes finally found light. A bright flickering of torch light danced its way along the stone walls. There was a jailer there, seated on an old stool made of cracked, greying olive logs and leaning way back until his head rested on the wall, trying to doze a bit.

  The sound of Armada’s footsteps woke the man and he was on his feet, eyes popping open, as Armada approached.

  “Buenas noches,” Armada said, smiling.

  The jailer nodded. “You’re that Brotherhood constable. There are a lot of people looking for you.”

  “I’m aware of that. But I have other business tonight.”

  “Not here, I’m afraid. You’re not allowed to—”

  The jailer stopped speaking after he felt the cold steel of Armada’s dagger at his throat.

  “I do apologise for this. But my time is rather short,” Armada said, keeping his voice down. “I’m going to need you to release my page, Lucas.”

  “What, the boy? He’s a murderer.”

  “No, he isn’t. But I don’t have time to argue that right now. The keys, please.”

  To make his point, Armada pressed the dagger until it almost drew blood.

  The jailer clutched at his belt until he wrapped the keys around his fingers, as Armada pulled him away from the wall enough to get around the back of him. Then, both men shuffled their way down the corridor until they were standing in front of Lucas’s cell.

  Lucas glanced at what was going on and was stunned to see Armada holding the dagger.

  “Sir…?”

  “Go on,” Armada said to the jailer. He could feel the man stiffening his back, possibly getting ready to make a move.

  Instead, the jailer fumbled with the keys and opened Lucas’s cell door.

  “What are you doing, sir?”

  “Solving a case. Come along.”

  “But sir, I’ll be a fugitive.”

  “It’s better than being a dead man. Quickly!”

  Lucas seemed unsure as he slid out of the cell. Armada pushed the jailer in, then took a few moments to clasp his wrists in irons behind him before finally tying up his mouth with the black satin cloth the dagger had been wrapped in, if only to give him a little more time before the jailer could attract anyone’s attention.

  Armada and Lucas then dashed down the corridor, up the stairs, and out of the ayuntamiento. Once outside, Armada kept running. He needed to be sure, although he wasn’t clear what that meant. No one was chasing them. But still, he ran until his exhaustion made it impossible to continue.

  They were at the head of a small street that curved around off the plaza, well out of sight of the front of the ayuntamiento. It was here Armada leaned against a wall to catch his breath, noting how there were no windows on this street. Just high stone walls giving them ample privacy for the moment.

  “Sir, why did you do that?” he heard Lucas ask in the darkness.

  “I need your help, Lucas. I’ve been unable to make any progress with this case. I have chased up every lead, every clue. And nothing fits. There is something I am missing.”

  “But sir, I was going to get a lawyer tomorrow. Maybe there was some way they could delay it until I could—”

  “There was no way you would be granted access to a lawyer tomorrow, Lucas. They wanted you hung so the case could be resolved in the eyes of the Duke of Frades. Nothing else is more important than that to men like the magistrate.”

  “Then we should flee, sir. Let’s get the cart. I’m sure I can get us to Madrid by nightfall, and—”

  “No, Lucas. That is not why I helped you escape.”

  “What?”

  The boy sounded hurt. And why wouldn’t he? Armada wasn’t sure what he’d expected Lucas’s reaction to be. He needed to see it from the boy’s point of view. Would Lucas feel betrayed by his reckless act? Armada had foreseen at least some measure of gratitude, but perhaps that was too much to ask for. Perhaps the boy was focused on his own fear of death, as anyone would.

  “There is only one way to save your life. And that is to solve the case. Nothing else will do.”

  “Nothing else will do, sir? They’re going to hang me!”

  “I’m aware of that. And I’m trying to stop them. And this is the only way. Now concentrate. We need to go over the entire case—”

  “But even if we solve the case, they’ll hang me just for breaking out of prison! How could you do this?”

  Lucas stepped away. It was a small step, but it felt to Armada like the furthest Lucas had ever been from him.

  “I have to go, sir. I have to get out of the city….”

  Lucas turned to start running.

  “And how far do you think you’ll get?” Armada said sternly. “Out of the city, yes. But then you’ll be out in the countryside. No food, no water. No money. You won’t have my provisions. Those are back in the room, which you don’t have time to collect. And they’ll send a tracker after you. A good one, like Bresson. How long do you think you’ll be able to avoid them?”

  Armada needed to soften his tone. He didn’t want to argue with Lucas. That wasn’t going to help anything.

  “Running away won’t help. And even if you do avoid the tracker, you will be a fugitive for the rest of your life. Always looking over your shoulder, wondering if someone will figure it out and turn you in. Knowing you could be found out at any moment. What kind of life is that?”

  The boy wanted to run, but he didn’t.

  “The only way you are ever going to be free is if we solve this case. We have only hours before the jailer is discovered, possibly less. If we are unable to, then perhaps it will help to know that I will most likely hang alongside of you. We are both in this together now. Just as we’ve always been.”

  Lucas didn’t move. He needed time to think things over. Armada just wished he would think a little faster.

  “I don’t want to die, sir,” Lucas said, his voice cracking.

  “I’m as afraid as you are, Lucas.”

  Armada stepped forward, placing a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. Lucas only nodded, signalling he was ready to help.

  “What do we do, sir?”

  “What you and that ridiculous Italian man do best,” Armada said.

  Lucas smiled. He had spent so many hours in the past annoying Armada with quotes from Riselo’s book that espoused the value of using scientific methods in examining the physical world in criminal investigation. To Armada, Riselo knew less than lizards about how to find true killers. It ignored the most important aspect of investigation—the people. Armada had long been well served by focusing on the witnesses and suspects in any murder case, for were murders not committed by people? The more he learned about what motived them, the closer he got to solving the case. Examining all the useless little bits and pieces of a case, such as footprints or bits of clothing, just seemed like a lot of busy work that never got to the heart of things. Armada wasn’t sure where Lucas had found the book or why he was so fascinated by it, and normally he wouldn’t have given Riselo’s methods a second glance.

  But he was desperate.

  “So, where do we start?”

  “As I’ve said before, at the beginning. Come along.”

  Armada hurried from the alley with Lucas in tow and they raced toward the River Gate, just beyond which lay the old Roman Bridge and the stone verraco that greeted anyone wishing to cross it. Soon, they were halfway across, just beyond where the ornate Roman stonework gave way to the wretched wooden planks of the repaired section. The river lazily drifted past down below, glittering in the light of the moon that was nearly half now.

  “This is it.”

  “What, sir?”

  “The very beginning of the case. Aurelio Martinez was
murdered by someone who saw him crossing this bridge, on a night that looked very much like this. It was an opportunistic killing, and the murders of Gregorio Cordoba and Julian de Benaudalla were only a reaction to that original crime. If there are answers to find regarding this case, they will be here. So, what do you see?”

  Lucas looked around the bridge.

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Look harder, Lucas. Use those techniques that madman Italian taught you.”

  “But sir, Riselo is usually talking about little details. Not big things. I don’t know where to start with all this.”

  “What good is he then?” Armada said, losing his temper. It was suddenly too hot. There was no breeze at the moment, and he was sweating.

  “We will have to keep walking, all the way to Alteatejada if we have to, until we can find some kind of clue as to how this murder took place.”

  “But sir, I’m too sore. I can’t keep walking like this. It hurts too much.”

  “Come, Lucas! We don’t have time for luxuries like pain!”

  Armada marched his way across the wooden section of the bridge, hearing Lucas shuffling his way across as best he could behind him. They were back in Santiago now, back on the gravelly, rutted road that would take them further south. Armada wasn’t sure he would follow through on his threat to march an injured Lucas all the way to Alteatejada. It was cruel, he knew.

  Behind him, Lucas came off the bridge and Armada could now hear his feet as they scraped along the gravel, making it sound as though Lucas were a leper, leaning heavily on a walking stick and pleading for alms. Armada was angry that Lucas slowed them down. It was irrational, he knew. But was Lucas not aware he was trying to save his life?

  “Sir, this is mad!”

  “Don’t tell me what is mad, Lucas! I have always…!”

  Armada stopped as a woman walked by, smiling at them as she passed. She was elderly, sixties or seventies at least, and carrying a pile of washing on her head. It was hard to tell from her face how much of their argument she had heard. If she did overhear, she did not acknowledge it. She only softly chuckled while smiling in that way elderly Spanish women sometimes did when they were nervous around strangers. She shuffled past them, her shoes scraping along the gravelly path, but not slowing her speed as she passed. She had much more important things to do tonight.

  Armada suddenly felt silly and tried to calm himself. The case was over. He was finding it hard to accept. And there were worse implications. More than the inevitable prison time and hanging, the smugness he was bound to get from that magistrate de la Fuente once he was in irons. Right now, that was the worst of it.

  Armada then noticed Lucas was still staring at the old woman as she continued along a well-worn path that split from the one leading to the head of the bridge. The path veered off to the east and took her up a small rise overlooking the river.

  “What is it, Lucas?”

  “The path…it looks the same…,” Lucas mumbled as he looked at the path they were standing on, back to the path the old woman had taken, then back to the bridge.

  Lucas then hobbled off after the old woman at a brisk pace. They followed the path along the rise until they were standing at the entrance to a small lavadero where two other elderly women were dunking and scraping their clothes in the small pool of washing water supplied by the nearby river.

  “That’s it, sir. It’s the only way.”

  “Lucas, you’re going to have to explain.”

  “If the murder was opportunistic, sir, then how did the killer know it was Aurelio that was crossing the bridge at that time of the night? How could they have even seen him? It would have been too dark. The only explanation is that Aurelio had never been to the city before. He wasn’t sure where the track that leads to the bridge is. He must have gotten it wrong…and took the one that leads here instead.”

  Armada turned to see the three women who had been washing clothes, all of whom were watching the two strangers standing at the entrance with some interest.

  “And who do we know that would be crazy enough to wash their clothes here at night?” Armada said.

  Armada moved to the centre of the lavadero, just near the small pool that had already turned a murky black colour from soiled farmer’s clothing being dunked in it all day.

  “Excuse me, Señoras. I’m sorry to interrupt. I am Domingo Armada, of the Holy Brotherhood. May I have a word?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Armada rapped on the door with Lucas standing next to him. He knew it was risky to have Lucas out in full view of the street. It was getting on toward mid-morning now and the street behind them was crawling with traffic. Anyone could have happened by and spotted the boy. But it was worth the risk. In a way, Lucas earned his right to be here. He deserved it, even if there was no guarantee he still wouldn’t hang for it.

  The door opened to Pepe, who frowned at him from behind his bushy moustache.

  “You? What do you want?”

  Armada went to enter the house but Pepe blocked him.

  “I’m not here for you,” Armada said. “Don’t make this difficult.”

  Armada and Lucas walked into the house, to the back kitchen to find Juan Mendoza at the table reviewing his books while his mother, Angeles, finished work on sewing up a hole on some work clothes.

  “Angeles,” Armada said, getting her attention.

  “Constable,” Angeles said. “Back to harass us again? Well, this time my husband is home, so I suggest you be more polite this time. And be quiet about it. The baby is sleeping in the other room, and I don’t want to have to put her to sleep again. Now, you might as well join us for lunch if you’re going to barge in like this. It’s only civil….”

  Armada stood in the doorway. This was not a social call.

  “Where were you the night Aurelio Martinez disappeared?” Armada asked, his uncompromising tone raising the tension in the room.

  “She was home,” came Pepe’s growly voice from behind him. Armada raised his hand to stop him.

  “I want to hear it from her.”

  “Don’t mind him. My husband is just being a protective old bear,” Angeles said. “He’s right, I was home.”

  “Presumably after you finished your work at the lavadero.”

  “Yes, probably.”

  “How late did you come home that night?”

  “Just after sunset.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t later?”

  “I’m sure. There wasn’t much of a moon. Without it, I can hardly see a thing.”

  “I’ve spoken to witnesses that say you worked quite a bit later than that. They also left around sunset, and said you were planning on working there for a few more hours at least. You bragged to them about your ability to see well in the dark.”

  “You must have spoken to Silvia,” Angeles said as she returned to her sewing. “She always was a little gossip.”

  “Does that mean she was right?”

  “Oh, possibly. How should I know? It was months ago.”

  “I think this particular night you would remember. Because you would have gotten an unexpected visitor. A boy, sixteen, maybe seventeen. He must have startled you, suddenly appearing as he did in the middle of the night.”

  Angeles now stopped her work, glaring up at Armada.

  “He had gotten lost in the dark. Took the wrong path. Wanted to know if you could direct him to the bridge. He was on his way to the university that night. I’m guessing you noticed the little silver pin he was wearing. The mint leaves. And you realised just who this boy was.”

  Armada held up the letter Aurelio had received from the boys.

  “He must have mentioned how this was his first time visiting the university. Which meant no one at the university, or in the colegio, knew what he looked like yet. Not even the woman sponsoring his education, the reclusive Lady Florentia. And he was about to cross the Roman Bridge in the middle of the night, where there was sure to be no witnesses. You saw an opportunity
to give your boy a much better future than he had ever dreamed of. And you took it, didn’t you?”

  Angeles looked to her husband to defend her, but he remained quiet in the doorway, looking troubled.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about….”

  “The killing must have been easy. This boy took away an opportunity that your son rightly deserved. So, you hit him in the back of the head from behind. But what to do with the body? I may never know how you found out about the hidden space below the second arch of the bridge. But it must have been hard work getting Aurelio’s body into it. You stuffed it in on top of some old sacks, sealed up the loose bricks, and thought your troubles were over. Your boy would simply take Aurelio’s place. As long as you made sure Lady Florentia never found out about the real Aurelio’s disappearance, the tuition at the university would still be paid. Your son could just show up on the first day of lectures like nothing had happened. It’s not like anybody else from Santiago attends the university. Aurelio would be mourned here, a funeral, everything. But Santiago is such a world away from Salamanca, isn’t it? Not much danger of someone here having contact with anyone associated with the university. So how would anybody know?”

  “I don’t appreciate you coming into our home and making wild accusations. There are laws against such things. And we know a good lawyer in town—”

  “I cannot imagine the shock Gregorio Cordoba and Julian de Benaudalla must have felt when went to collect their sulphur and found a body. Julian locked himself in his room for three days and broke off all contact with Gregorio. But it didn’t take Gregorio long to figure out what was going on. Especially after he saw this.”

  Armada held up the mint leaf pin he’d found on Aurelio Martinez’s body.

  “He knew what this was as well as you did. Proof. Proof that your boy wasn’t who he said he was. And instead of turning you in, he decided to use this rare opportunity to put your boy to work for him, didn’t he? It was a cheap way to get all the saltpetre he needed. And if Juan was ever caught, it would be easy to deny that he had ever known the boy. It was perfect.”

  Armada now turned his gaze on Juan, who slumped back in his chair, looking frightened.