“Do you work for the Spanish government?”
“I read the papers, Colonel. I’m here to buy land. Castilla-Galicia is the big loser in this game. You have oil. You have the wining hand. I back winners, not losers. That’s why I’m here.”
He was watching me like he’d just made me and wanted to know if I worked properly. I must have said the right things because he turned to the guards and snapped something in Spanish. All I caught was a jerk of the head toward the corpse, a look of disgust and the word, “Mierda!”
I followed him back up the stairs to the big, round entrance hall. He crossed that with little struts of his short legs, and his black patent leather boots made black echoes against the black marble walls. We stepped out into the glare of the sun and the hot buzz saw of the cicadas. Here he stopped and put on his sunglasses. It was an action David Caruso failed to pull off in CSI Miami, and Colonel Fermin didn’t do it any better. He said, “Señor Murdoch, you are here to buy land, so why are you asking the waitress at La Isla about La Hermandad de la Cabra? Why do you tell her you are a journalist? How do you know Maria?” He turned to look at me. “It is time for the truth. You know what will happen if I find you are lying to me.”
For a moment I wanted to tell him that Uncle Sam wouldn’t tolerate some banana merchant getting rough on one of his subjects, but I knew that if Colonel Fermin put a bullet through this subject’s head, Uncle Sam would probably supply the champagne for the celebration. So I smiled like the whole thing was some hilarious misunderstanding and wondered what I was going to say. I drew on my cigarette and, as I breathed out the smoke, I heard the words like somebody else was saying them, “Pete and Mary told me to look up the Goat People. They said they were a cool, interesting bunch with some pretty far out ideas. I’ve read some Crowley, so I thought I’d check them out.” I dropped the cigarette and stepped on it. “I told Mary I was a journalist because I figured the Hermandad was probably not so popular among the God-fearing folk of the Çalares. I didn’t want to scare her off when we were getting on so well.”
He smiled at the paved veranda between us and I knew I was treading on thin ice over shark-infested water. “So, Pete and Mary told you to look up La Hermandad…”
“Sure.” I figured I was already out of my depth, so I might as well go for the butterfly stroke and make some noise. “You knew Pete and Mary, right?”
“Peter Strickland… But Mary? I don’t know Mary.”
“Mary-Jane Carter?”
He shrugged and raised his eyebrows, then shook his head for good measure. “You should know, Señor Murdoch, that La Hermandad de la Cabra is a dangerous and subversive organization. Before independence, the Spanish government was investigating it. I was in charge of that investigation.”
I could feel a thrill of excitement in my stomach, like a predator on the brink of making a kill. But I knew I had to tread with real care. So I went for mild interest and said, “Dangerous subversives? Is that so? I got the impression of New Age nuts… Isn’t this their headquarters? The Abbey of Thelema?”
He took three steps away from me into the hot dust, hands behind his back, then turned slowly to look at me again. “You maybe have not noticed, Señor Murdoch, but we are entering a new age. Europe is changing beyond recognition. There is a New Order being born. There is nothing ‘nutty’ about believing in a New Age. A month ago the Spanish government persecuted La Hermandad. Now La Hermandad persecutes the Spanish government.”
I spread my hands. “Hey, I’m a businessman. I stay out of politics.”
“Are you? I wonder what you would be prepared to do for enough money?”
“Most things, Colonel, that don’t put my life at risk. Spying would be firmly in that category.” I let the ambiguity stand.
He gestured toward the Jeep and we fell into step. “Tell me about Mary-Jane Carter, Señor Murdoch.”
I twisted a wry grin onto my face, one guy to another. “Oh, she’s one hot babe. I can tell you that for nothing. She’s a friend of Pete’s. Honestly I don’t know what she sees in that loser, but who understands women, right?”
“How did you meet?” His voice was bland, and about as dangerous as a black mamba.
“Mutual friends in London. Why, Colonel?”
“What is the name of your mutual friend, Señor Murdoch?”
We had reached the Jeep and I turned and leaned my ass against the hood. I knew there was no way back and no way out. Nothing I could say or do would do me any good, so I crossed my arms and looked him square in the eye. “Rupert Fergusson-Medicci.”
He nodded and said something to the driver, who got in and fired up the engine. The colonel climbed in and I got in next to him. As we spun and started down the track toward the gate, he said, “You would like to meet the Hermandad?”
I wasn’t real sure I would anymore, and I had a real bad feeling about where this was going. But my big weakness has always been curiosity. I know what it did to the cat, but it has so often led me to rich veins of cash, I always follow it. So I said, “Yeah, Colonel, I’d love to.”
Chapter Nine
I watched the colonel drive away before turning and walking down the path to Maria’s house, with my hands deep in my pockets and my mind deep in thought. I had tried to gently pump the colonel on the way back about Sinead Tiernan and Strickland’s connection to the Hermandad. His only reaction was to study my face like he was looking for the best place to smack it. In the end he told me, “Señor Murdoch, Peter Strickland had no connection with La Hermandad. Their members are rich, powerful people and he was a desgraciado—a small piece of shit. You understand me? And this woman, ‘Chinay’? I don’t know this woman. I never hear of her.” He stopped talking but kept watching me until we were practically at the house. Then he said, “Believe me. You ask too many questions. Money, American…” He pulled a face and, perhaps to show the depth of his disgust, reverted to his high-school English. “You don’t important a shit to me. This is war zone. Careless people die.”
And he drove away.
By the time I got to the front door and Rosalia, the spherical maid, had opened it for me, I had a blunt, invisible ax wedged in my skull and I was feeling kind of nauseous. Maria was lounging on the terrace, reading bits of a newspaper. She looked up as I stepped out and said, “It’s very serious, you know? The UN is sending peacekeepers…” She set down the paper and frowned at me. “You look as though you need a drink. Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, a whiskey straight up and a couple of aspirins.”
The heat was becoming oppressive and I had the feeling the air had stood still. It felt dense and hard to get down. I was aware of the sweat standing out on my skin. Rosalia brought my drink and I downed it with the pills. From very far away, I heard Maria saying, “You really don’t look well,” and a voice I recognized as my own, but that seemed to be speaking next to me, out of thick swollen lips, was saying, “I need to lie down…”
I remember climbing the stairs toward IKEA Land. I remember being undressed by Maria and Rosalia, and I remember lying in darkness with cold water being sponged over me. Then there was darkness for what might have been a fraction of a second or might have been days or weeks, because what happened next was out of time.
Maria was there, moving around in the shadows. I was thinking it was strange that it was dark, because it should be noon, but at the same time I was thinking I could hear the dogs, their claws tapping on the parquet floor. And when I tried to look, my head was too heavy, but my body felt weightless. I thought I was dreaming, but I knew I was awake. Then I could see Maria’s face looking down at me, but she looked somehow different. Her eyes seemed to be bigger—too big—and black. Her chin was real small and, for some reason, I could see dogs over her shoulder. I said, “Where am I?”
Her voice whispered, “You must have got sunstroke,” but she didn’t move her mouth. “You’ve been stroking the sun,” and there was a scorching sun glaring down at me in the blackness. It was hot.
I said, “No.”
Then she was whispering in my ear again, “I feel very strange, Liam,” and I could feel her skin on mine. I tried to push on the bed to sit up, but my arms didn’t know they belonged to me.
I said, “I need to get up.”
She was smiling and I could feel her hands on my chest. Her face got closer and I could feel her skin and her lips all over me, and what happened next was confusing. It was a kind of madness where our bodies were our only thoughts. They were beyond bestial, and our minds were in a kind of frenzy of heat that nothing could cool. I remember she was sitting astride me and I was so deep inside her it was crazy. I remember laughing like I was insane as she leaned over me, squeezing with her thighs and writing like a snake. And my whole world was her skin and the salt taste of her sweat on my tongue. I wanted her like I wanted the air I was breathing, but something inside me kept saying, Not like this. Not like this… This isn’t you, and it isn’t her… I don’t know how long it went on, but eventually I blacked out. I remember coming to briefly and seeing a pale blue light that might have been moonlight. I thought I heard the sound of claws clicking across the floor as the dogs left the room, then I was unconscious again.
When I finally came around, I was wet from head to foot. It dawned on me slowly that I could hear water and that I was sitting. I was stark naked, sitting in the bathroom on a wooden stool, dripping water on the floor. The shower was running and I had a towel in my hand. After a moment I dropped the towel, walked unsteadily to the shower, turned it to cold and stood under it for five minutes till I felt my brain was working again.
On inspection I found I was bruised and cut where no guy should ever be bruised and cut. And the cuts weren’t scratches, like you’d expect from a crazy night, but short, clean incisions.
I toweled myself dry, got dressed then looked at the time. It was seven p.m. I must have been out for hours.
When I got downstairs, I asked Rosalía, “Where is La Señora?”
“She sleeping. She no feel so good. After you go, she go.”
I went and stood on the terrace, looking out at the steep, overgrown valley, and the massive form of La Maroma rising over the house to the right. The heat was a dead weight, and the sawing of the cicadas just made it hotter. I thought about what had happened and it made my brain ache. I wondered if it was a dream. It had to be. How the hell could there have been dogs looking over her shoulder?
Her voice came to me. She said, “Feeling any better?” Was there a smile? I turned to look. She wasn’t smiling. She looked rough. She dropped into a cane chair and started to peel open a pack of cigarettes.
I said, “I had a dream.” Her eyes flicked at me and went back to her cigarettes. “At least, I think it was a dream. I’m not sure.”
She pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I saw her hand was trembling slightly. She threw the pack and the lighter on the table, and as she was blowing out smoke, she said, “It wasn’t a dream,” and when I didn’t say anything, she added, “Should I apologize?”
I smiled and shook my head. “Not at all. There are just some things I don’t understand.”
She raised her eyebrows at me. “Didn’t they explain to you about the birds and the bees when you were little? And the bunnies?”
I managed to produce a smile that wasn’t really a smile and said, “Sure, but they didn’t explain about the dogs.”
She frowned. “The dogs? Is this some ill-advised pun, Liam? Are we talking bitches?”
I sighed and rubbed my face. I was upsetting her, and I was mad at myself because I really didn’t want to. “No…” I felt ridiculous and shrugged. “I saw some dogs. They were looking over your shoulder.”
She burst out laughing and I had to smile. When she’d finished, she watched me a minute, smoking, with humor in her eyes. Finally, she said, “You must have been delirious.”
“You’re modest.”
“You know what I mean. I was alone.” After a moment she looked away. “I don’t know what came over me. It was quite bizarre.”
I said, “I never messed around with drugs. But I imagine…”
She nodded. “I did. A long time ago. And yes, it was like that.”
“You looked different somehow. Your eyes…”
She gave a small shudder. “I felt different. It was as though… As though it wasn’t me.” She glanced at me. “Us…like it wasn’t us.” She turned away and called, “Rosalia! Dos gin tonic!” Then to me, “Sun’s over the yard arm. Don’t know about you, but I need one.”
I told her I could use one and sat down. After a moment, I said, “I woke up in the bathroom. Somebody had showered me. I had a towel in my hands. I was sitting on the stool.”
She raised an eyebrow at the table and said, “I grant you it’s more original than, ‘The Earth moved,’ or, ‘Was it good for you, darling?’ but perhaps it lacks some of the charm.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t usually black out during sex.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting I drugged you.”
“No.” I paused, telling myself I was being an idiot, but I said it anyway. “You wouldn’t need to.”
She blushed. “Well, that’s a bit better.”
Rosalia came out with the drinks and, as she was putting them on the table, my cell began to ring. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen, but very few of my calls are social. I said to her, “I’d better take this.”
She nodded. “Rosalia will show you to the study.”
The study was a whitewashed room with an old oak desk and some bookcases that were spilling all the tomes that didn’t fit on the shelves. The shutters were closed and it was in half-darkness. I shut the door, placed my ass against the desk, pressed Accept and said, “Murdoch.”
There was a long silence and I was about to hang up when a woman’s voice said, “Liam Murdoch?” The voice was Deep South. Two got you twenty it was South Carolina. I said, “Who’s this?”
“I… It’s Mary-Jane Carter.”
“How did you get my number, Mary-Jane?”
“That’s not important right now.”
“You think not. I think it is.”
“Listen to me…”
“Rupert has been looking for you.”
There was a muffled sob. It had a crocodile ring to it. When she’d made sure I’d heard a couple of them, she said, “God only knows what that man must be thinking of me.”
I cut her short and said, “I keep telling him what he should be thinking of you. You did a good job on him.”
“I guess that’s how it looks. I can’t blame you for saying that.”
“I’ve been looking for you, sugar. You must know that or you wouldn’t have called me. How did you get my number?”
“I told you that’s not important. I need your help.”
“Strickland was murdered. Did you know that?” I listened hard for any change in her breathing, any sign, but there was absolute silence. I went on, “And Rupert is going down for it unless some pretty strong evidence shows up to say he didn’t do it. So far it seems you were the last person to see Strickland alive.”
Her voice, when it came, was about as neutral as a Swiss accountant on barbs. She said, “You can’t know that. You can’t prove it.”
“But your DNA can.”
Another long pause. You could almost hear the buzzes and clicks of her brain working through her binary flow chart of possibilities. In the end she just said, “DNA?”
“You left some behind. A strand of hair.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But you don’t know. You have some explaining to do, Mary-Jane.”
Another silence then another sob, slightly more believable than the first. Her voice, when it came, was a whisper. “I’ve been so afraid.” She was muffled, as though she were hiding from someone. “I’ve been afraid for my life. There are people. People who will kill me if I don’t do as they say. You have to help me.”
I said, “What people?”
I had pulled the pack of Camels from my pocket and now I dropped it on the desk and pulled one free. I studied the tip a moment and before she could answer said, “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Serafino del Roble.”
She’d been blindsided twice and she didn’t like it. She thought for a long moment before saying, “Yes.”
I snorted and poked the Camel in my mouth. As I leaned into the flame to light it, I said, “Who’d have thought a Catholic librarian could be so scary.”
Her laugh was almost hysterical, then she hissed in a thick whisper, “That’s his story! And who’d check it out? Did you? Believe me, Mr. Murdoch. He is a cruel, evil son of a bitch of the first order! He’s as smooth as a snake and twice as deadly!”
I felt like telling her actually I had checked him out, but instead I said, “Fair enough. What do you want from me?”
Suddenly her voice was neutral again, devoid of feeling. I was trying to remember who else did that. Switching from passion to a kind of dead-lizard lack of emotion. She was saying, “I need you to do something for me. About two months ago, Serafino employed me to do a job.”
My gut told me it had a ring of truth about it. My gut is a good judge of character, so I paid attention. I said, “What kind of job?”
Her voice was a twisted rasp. “His kind of job!”
“If you’re talking about blackmailing Rupert, it won’t wash. The guy is pure as the driven snow. And even if he wasn’t, he’s single, so who cares what he does?”
A Love to Kill For Page 11