“Just one question then. It’s all I require. Do you have time for that?”
“Of course,” Madalena said.
“Why are you here?”
This took Madalena by surprise. She turned and raised her eyebrows, looking straight at Armada. “That is your one question?”
“You have no family in Salobreña. And given Amparo’s reputation in this pueblo, no friends either. Your neighbours must know about your money,” Armada said, gesturing to the new bodice in Madalena’s basket. “They can smell the meat you cook,” he continued. “They’ve seen your bed, they know about your new dresses and linens. In a place like La Loma, jealousy must run very high. Especially toward a stranger in town like you, whom you will always be in their eyes as you weren’t born here. Anyone else in your position would be sad, having just lost her husband, looking at a long life to be spent in spinsterhood, an outsider in her own pueblo. You have the means to return to Malaga, away from the petty jealousies of a town like this. And yet you remain. And plan on remaining here long enough at least to find it worth your while to plant a garden of expensive flowers.”
Madalena seemed little affected by Armada’s words, and simply continued perusing the spice merchants’ supply as casually as if he had been discussing the weather. Armada had meant to wind her up, to upset her, which would reveal volumes.
Madalena, however, remained a closed book.
“I told you. I like it here.”
“And you’re not worried about earning money? Not an easy thing to do in Salobreña.”
Madalena sighed and turned to Armada. “This may be hard to believe, but I have money because I saved it. Amparo was a fool, I won’t argue that. If I’d have let him, he would have drunk away everything he earned long ago, which is why I didn’t allow it. Everything he earned he gave to me. And with a bit of frugality, I was able to save up a bit. With him gone, I find having nice things helps me to mourn. I’m sorry, Armada. I feel like you were hoping for a different answer.”
Her tone had shifted somewhat, especially with the mention of mourning. This suggested to Armada she was indeed in mourning, but it was buried very deep below the surface.
“All I’m hoping for is the truth,” Armada said. “And I believe the truth has something to do with Amparo’s late-night job he worked for Jose.”
Madalena had turned her back to Armada, so he couldn’t see her face. But there was a hesitation, that much he could tell. She was being very careful to remain casual, and it had been easy. Until this moment. Now it was forced. She was trying too hard.
Madalena turned around and smiled for Armada. “I admit the extra money he earned from that job helped.”
“How much do you know about what he was doing?”
“We never discussed it. I was mostly concerned that he wasn’t resting enough. Amparo worked too hard sometimes. It wasn’t good for him.”
Madalena stopped at a fruit seller, looking over a selection of oranges. They were too old, as the season for them had passed weeks ago. A few were already covered in green fuzz that meant soon the whole crate would be off. It was an odd bit of merchandise for Madalena to show interest in. She picked up one of the oranges, looking it over for far too long. Armada could sense, even from behind, she wasn’t really examining it. She was trying to think, and finding it more difficult to continue her ruse.
“Did it not seem suspicious to you that he was working at night? Were you not concerned he was doing something sinister?”
“I trusted my husband,” Madalena said with little conviction. She was rattled, Armada knew. The time for politeness had passed. He had no more patience for this.
“You shouldn’t have. I’m sorry to speak ill of the dead, Señora, but your husband was committing a crime for Jose Padilla. And getting paid far more than he should have for it.”
“I don’t see what any of this has to do with me, Constable. I wasn’t aware of any of it, as I said.”
“Was it your idea to blackmail Jose Padilla?” Armada asked. “It seems unlikely Amparo would have thought of it.”
There was a sudden change in Madalena. She put down the orange and turned to face Armada, her face brightening.
“Yes,” she said, as if proud of herself. “Yes, it was my idea to blackmail Jose.”
“So you admit it?”
“Of course,” Madalena said.
Armada couldn’t understand her reaction. She seemed almost giddy at the prospect.
“As you said, Amparo was being asked to dig those canals illegally,” she continued. “It seemed fair to me that he get paid extra for the risk he was taking. So we blackmailed Jose.”
Dig those canals, she’d said. So she had known what Amparo had been doing, and now seemed unconcerned about revealing the lie to him now. What else could she be lying about? Despite her admission, Armada still found her impossible to read.
But what she said did fit in with what Enrique had told him. If Amparo was blackmailing Jose, it would explain the argument Enrique had overheard. The pieces fit together.
“How did you know who Jose was stealing the water from? My page found it difficult to cull through the records in the town hall.”
Madalena laughed. “Who uses records? It’s just common knowledge around the pueblo. You just have to listen to the farmers around here. They’ve all been complaining for years about how the alcalde wastes that field. Some of them even remember his father.”
“I wouldn’t seem so proud of yourself, Señora Rodriguez,” Armada said, annoyed at how Madalena always made him feel as though he were a mouse being batted about by a cat. “What you are admitting to me constitutes a crime, one that you can be arrested and charged for by the Brotherhood.”
Madalena moved in close, lowering her voice. It was the first time she seemed at all worried about the swirl of people that had been coming in and out of earshot of their conversation.
“Yes, but you’re not going to do that, are you?” Madalena said. “Because you didn’t come all this way to investigate illegal irrigation. You came here to arrest Amparo’s killer. And it wasn’t me. In fact, it sounds like you think it was Jose. So I suggest you go find him and let me get back to my flower bulbs. They need to be in water soon, and I’ve paid good money for them. Very good money.”
Madalena turned and strode back into the crowd of shoppers on her way out of the Medina. Armada let her go, not feeling the need to press the issue any further. He had met cold-blooded strategist types before. But Madalena was different. There was some degree of empathy behind it all, but Armada couldn’t quite put his finger on why he sensed that.
On the surface, it seemed Armada had everything he needed to move forward with the case. A large part of the puzzle had fallen into place, probably enough to prosecute Amparo’s true killer.
And yet he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that despite that, he still felt he had absolutely nothing.
Chapter Twenty
It was in the later afternoon that Armada arrived, perched on front of his wooden cart, the one with the ominous iron cage bolted to the back. Lucas sat beside him, neither of them speaking. This was not a time for conversation, but a time for something neither of them enjoyed. For Armada, it was the worst part of his job. He had done so many terrible things in his life, things he struggled so hard to forget. And he’d never understood why God saw fit to continue performing such unpleasant tasks. But it had to be done, especially if there was to be any justice for Miguel Guillen. And it was Miguel’s face he now kept in his mind as he dismounted the cart and walked up to the oak-planked front door.
They were deep inside the Albaycín neighbourhood, a quiet street where families lived mostly inside, having little contact with each other, and feeling almost quite a world away from La Loma. For here lived those with means—the councilmembers, the lawyers, the business owners, and those lucky few farmers who owned their own land. Here, all the windows and doors were made of wood. There were no lines of laundry flapping in the wind, a
nd some homes even had small plots of land in back with vegetable gardens, or areas to keep small animals. There were no pots overflowing with colourful flowers or shrubs decorating the front stoops. No chatting neighbours, no children running about in the street. Here, the street was still, lonely, and bereft of life.
Inside one particular house, however, voices could be heard. Many voices. People talking over one another. Not shouting or arguing, but in more joyous and playful conversations. It was upon this door Armada knocked firmly.
A few moments later the door opened to Jose, a smile on his face, but one that quickly faded.
“Armada!” he said. The sight of Armada had surely startled him, but he tried to mask his surprise with hospitality. “Come in, we were just preparing a bit of supper.”
Armada’s dour expression must have told Jose that this was no social visit. Armada had hoped to catch him alone, away from his family, in private. But those hopes were soon dashed as Armada entered the house to find Esmerelda, Jose’s two children, and several other relatives he recognised from the meal at the cortijo. All of them welcomed him warmly, asking him how he was.
Armada answered no one, keeping his gaze firmly on Jose. If this was the way God demanded it be, then so be it.
“Is there something you want to discuss in private?” Jose asked.
“There is no need,” Armada said. The entire house had gone quiet, watching the two with rapt attention. “Jose Padilla, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Amparo Rodriguez.”
Armada heard gasps. Esmerelda held her hands to her mouth, then embraced her young daughter, who was more focused on a small wooden toy in her hand, oblivious to the gravity of the situation. The boy, who was older, standing in the corner, stared at Jose with a look of contempt. For he knew what Armada was there to do, and would probably hate Armada the rest of his life for it.
“Now come on, Armada. Where did you get that idea?” Jose said. “I didn’t kill anyone.” Jose laughed and glanced nervously about the room. Armada began to doubt himself. Should he have pulled Jose outside? It would have avoided embarrassing him in front of his family. But the alternative seemed worse— clasping Jose in irons and hauling him away in private without his family being aware. It seemed somehow cowardly. There was just no easy way to do this, Armada concluded. Best to get it over with quickly.
“Now is not the time to discuss it,” Armada said. “Please don’t resist. It will only hurt your case.”
Esmerelda, in tears, ran to embrace her husband. “You can’t. You can’t take him away. He wouldn’t hurt anyone!”
Armada wondered if her words were meant more for herself than for him.
It was painful for Armada to watch the warm hospitality fade from their faces, slowly turning to anger and hatred. Armada knew the hospitality would never return. It saddened him, and he wished he could convey that to them. He would have loved nothing more than to sit at the table with these people and enjoy another uproarious supper with them, telling stories, drinking wine, and enjoying life. But it would have been impossible—Miguel would have never been far from his thoughts, casting a heavy dark cloud over his mood.
“At least let me enjoy one last supper with my family,” Jose said. “We were just about to sit down.”
In the middle of the room was a large wooden table covered in tin platters that held various breads, cheeses, and slices of meat. He could smell the smoke of a cooking fire burning away somewhere in the back, and as well as the aroma of stew.
“Come on, Greensleeves, be a human being for once. Let the man eat with his family,” said one of Jose’s brothers.
“Yes, it’s only right,” said another man.
Armada had expected this. It was in every man’s nature to delay paying the consequences for one’s actions. And as a younger man Armada might have agreed to such an innocuous request. But hard experience had told him it would only make the eventual arrest worse. Besides, he couldn’t risk giving Jose’s family a chance to think about what to do. He knew from the party that Jose had not been the only one to have fought in the army. With enough time, someone might even try to make an attempt on Armada’s life. It was too risky, and only put off the inevitable.
“I’m afraid not. He must come with me immediately. My cart is waiting outside. I’ll give you a few minutes to say goodbye.”
Armada felt the tension in the room rise. He had brought a small dagger, hidden beneath his coat in his waistband. There may have been a few in the room who had already spotted it. He hoped desperately not to have to use it.
Esmerelda embraced her husband tighter. “No, no.”
“No, Esme, I must,” Jose said. “It’s all right. Armada’s a fair man. He’ll see the mistake he’s making soon enough. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Jose went around the room, trying to calm the others’ anger toward Armada, telling them not to make things worse.
Soon Armada was escorting Jose outside, where Lucas waited with the heavy metal irons they’d brought.
“I normally lock my prisoners in the cage for the ride to their jail cell. For you, however, I offer the choice of riding up front…in irons, of course,” Armada said.
“I can’t figure you out, Armada,” Jose said. “You break into my home, arrest me in front of my family, and only now you are concerned for my dignity.”
“Do you wish the irons or not?”
Jose held up his wrists and Lucas clasped the irons on him, locking them tight. He helped Jose on to the bench and gave him a blanket to hide the binds. Armada saw little need to announce what was happening by dragging Jose past the entire pueblo in irons. There were Brothers who enjoyed such spectacle, and found a kind of sick glory in it, but Armada had always found it unnecessarily demeaning.
Not that it mattered, as the once-quiet neighbourhood had suddenly become aware of what was happening. As Lucas pulled the reins and beckoned the mule to turn the cart around, Armada was aware that eyes from nearly every house were now watching them from behind slightly-opened shutters. Word would soon spread to the entire pueblo.
The ride to the castle was discreet, their movements hidden by the stream of merchants heading for the road that would take them out of town. The market had ended, and many had already loaded up their carts and making their way down to the delta, heading for the coastal path that would take them to Motril, where the next market would open in a few days.
Jose said little as they arrived at the gates and were met by a blond-haired soldier. It was hard to see faces in the encroaching darkness, and he only recognised Jose after coming up to the cart. There was shock, as Armada had only told him a new prisoner would be arriving this night, with no mention of who it was. Armada couldn’t risk the soldier plotting anything, which was always a concern, no matter how much Armada would pay him.
The soldier helped Jose off the cart and Lucas released him from his irons. The moment his hands were free, Jose turned and lunged for Armada, his hands reaching toward Armada’s neck, his eyes wild with fury. Armada was able to move quickly enough to thwart Jose’s grip. Jose instead threw a wild punch toward Armada’s chin and knocked him backward.
Armada stumbled, but was able to stay on his feet. He looked up in time to see Jose coming straight for him, using one of the unlocked irons as a weapon. In a flash, Armada unsheathed his dagger and instinctively brought it close to Jose’s neck, holding back the urge to slash his throat. He needed Jose alive.
Jose gave the dagger little notice and forced Armada up against the castle wall, then stopped, looking He looked down at the blade Armada now held tight against his neck.
“I knew it, Armada. I knew it!” Jose said, loosening his grip. “You’re just like me. You pretend to be something else on the outside. A lawman. I pretend to be a family man. But we both know the truth. Underneath we’re nothing but soldiers. We kill. That’s what we do. And it’s all we’ll ever be, no matter what we tell ourselves. You think arresting me is going to redeem you? You can cat
ch a thousand killers—it won’t do anything.”
Armada pushed Jose off him, grabbed the irons, and quickly re-clasped Jose’s hands. Jose seemed unaffected by Armada’s rough handling, an apathy born of experience. Armada tried to do it calmly, but found it difficult as his hand was trembling again. Memories were returning. He was not only fighting to control the irons, but his own mind as well.
“The war never ends for men like us, Armada. Never.”
Armada lost his patience. He felt a fury build in his stomach toward Jose and knew the faster he got this man in prison, the better. He had so wanted to keep his dagger sheathed. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d brought it out, and was proud of how long it had been. He always tried his best to never resort to violence. He especially didn’t think he would have to use it against Jose. But perhaps that was the point Jose was trying to make. They were men for whom violence tended to follow, no matter how far they tried to run from it.
Armada finally managed the irons and pushed Jose into the castle. He caught Lucas’ stare, which was one of deep concern. For a moment, he saw himself through Lucas’ eyes; just an old man, struggling to control himself. He must have looked a bit silly, not much different from the haggard old beggars they’d periodically meet on the roads that sat at the base of olive trees muttering to themselves, shaking their fists, or shouting at a stone, unaware they were being watched by passers-by. How different was he from that?
The thought helped to clear the rage from Armada’s mind. He decided it was best to remain at the gate and let the blond-haired soldier handle the prisoner. For he doubted Jose would give him much trouble now. The man had made his point to Armada. There was no more reason to fight.
The soldier made sure that Jose went without further struggle into the castle. Armada and Lucas were left alone now and Armada waited for the inevitable asking if he was all right. He could see the question in Lucas’ eyes. The boy burned to ask him. And what kind of an answer would he give? His hand was still trembling, his heart was racing, and he was fighting off the sudden desire to take a large stick and beat the iron cage of their cart while screaming at the top of his lungs. His hatred for Jose was overwhelming. But somewhere underneath, he knew it wasn’t really about Jose. It was hatred for himself.
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