Francisco’s words hit her in the chest like a stone. The shock of it was making her woozy again.
“What…?”
“Are you all right? Here, sit down.”
Francisco stood from his chair and motioned for Elvira to take it. But she remained on her feet, still contemplating what he’d told her.
“But Gregorio told me…he always reads lectures on Tuesday nights. Ever since he started here…it’s been every week….”
“I’m sorry. I’ve never seen him. And this is the only way into the university building at this time of night. Last I saw him was when he came in this afternoon. Said he needed something from his office.”
“But…,” Elvira said, turning from Francisco. It was all so embarrassing. Gregorio had lied. And he’d been lying for three years. How had she not known? And more importantly, why? What had he been doing on Tuesday nights all this time? Was he down at the tavern right now, carousing with his friends, laughing at how much his wife didn’t know about him?
Or was it worse than that? Was he seeing another woman? Did he have another family somewhere? It wasn’t unheard of. But how could he possibly have made that work?
Whether it was true or not, Gregorio had lied to her. About this, and about knowing someone like Teo. What else had he lied to her about? How much did she really know her husband?
Elvira pushed it all from her mind. She knew Gregorio. She’d known him for fifteen years. None of that was possible, which meant there was another explanation to all this. One that made more sense. There had to be.
“His office…,” she said. “He must be in his office.”
“That was a long time ago. He can’t still be in there.”
“He’s in his office!” Elvira screamed. She surprised herself as much as Francisco.
“All right…it’s all right,” Francisco said. “Go on in.”
Elvira realised Francisco was gesturing for her to enter. She took a moment to compose herself, smiled at him, then walked calmly into the university building.
It was a typical, quadrangle building of two stories, built around an indoor courtyard containing crumbling black and white tiles and a fountain that rarely had water running in it.
She took the stairs to the second floor and turned down the long dark corridor where most of the faculty offices were located. It was a dark, dank place with few windows and a lot of dust from all the papers stored within the thick oak doors.
As such, the corridor should have been completely black. But at the very end, in Gregorio’s office which was shared with two other professors, she could see a candle burning.
Elvira felt a rush of relief at first. So, he had been at his office all day! Whatever the reason, it was at least an explanation.
As she approached, however, she became aware of a whimpering sound echoing in the corridor. A dark mass on the floor gained form as she approached it, and she could soon make out that it was a man, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, crying into his hands.
She knew those bony, knuckled hands. They were those of Gregorio’s colleague, Enrique. Elvira had always found him a bit strange and off-putting, but she had felt obliged to let him into their social lives anyway, for her husband’s sake. He was always either bragging or complaining, always with just a bit too much intensity.
That was why this display was so odd. He hadn’t seemed the type capable of expressing such emotion.
“Enrique…? What is wrong?” she whispered.
Enrique was startled and pulled his long, bony fingers away from his face. He looked at her with total anguish, then returned his face to his hands, unable to speak.
That’s when Elvira became aware of a smell emanating from inside the office. It was a fleshy smell, like what you would get a whiff of while looking over the carcasses of a meat seller. But this was much stronger, much more intrusive.
Elvira pushed the office door open, realising her hand was shaking. The candle she’d seen was sitting on Gregorio’s desk. It was nearly burned out, with just a glowing wick perched atop a pile of burned wax. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to see that Gregorio was indeed there. He was seated behind the desk, leaning far back in his chair. In his chest was a dagger. The blood around the gaping wound had begun to congeal, but not before blood had pooled on the floor, filling in the missing bits of grout between the old tiles.
But the blood had also made it to the walls, and it was smeared over the desk and the papers that had been scattered about. The feeling in the room was of pure savagery, and her husband, her poor husband, had been the victim of it.
Elvira let out a scream, then put a hand to her mouth as if trying to stop it. But the horror was too much. She screamed again and again, trying to use her voice to blow away the shock of what she’d seen.
But it was futile. The horror sank its teeth deeper and deeper into her heart until she knew it would remain there forever.
Chapter Two
Armada bristled at the sensation of the corregidor’s clammy hand in his own. It was hot in this office, even though the large windows overlooking the plaza outside were open. A century ago, the view would have been grand—the city’s main cathedral looming over the east, with the tranquillity of the plaza below. The plaza was filled with students and faculty discussing the big ideas of the day, all under the protection of the blooming magnolia trees above their heads. But that tranquillity had been shattered now that the construction of the new cathedral had begun in earnest. The building was sprawling and ambitious. It would take decades, perhaps centuries, to complete, and it had taken over much of the old city centre. The plaza’s beauty was now ruined by piles of earth and stone, and sweaty men grunting and clanging tools all day, a perfect representation of man’s restless desire to build ever bigger and greater, never able to enjoy what already existed.
The man in front of him was no different. He was ambitious, as evidenced by the red satin shirt with overflowing sleeves, velvet jacket dripping in embroidery, black hosiery and high leather boots. Every effort had been made to show off his wealth and status. Men like this were never satisfied with what they already had. Armada rarely had time for officials like him. Their ambitions usually meant their loyalties lay with themselves or with anyone who could help their careers, not the case at hand. They inevitably ended up an impediment to finding justice, and Armada knew it wouldn’t be long before they were enemies.
“You must be constable Domingo Armada,” the man said, extending his hand. “I am Don Arturo Francisco-Gutierrez, corregidor of the University of Salamanca. Thank you for getting here so quickly. It must have been quite a trip from Granada.”
“It was no trouble,” Armada said, lying. The trip had been arduous to say the least, as the spring rains had come to La Mancha and made navigating the deep-rutted roads there almost impossible.
“I was told by the majordomo of the Holy Brotherhood here in Salamanca that you were the best at this sort of case.”
“What sort of case, exactly?”
There was a burst of laughter in the corridor from some professors having a loud discussion outside. This startled Arturo, who went to the office door and closed it. With the threat of being overheard removed, he finally allowed the worry he’d been feeling to show on his face.
“Three days ago, one of our junior professors was found dead in his office. His name was Gregorio Cordoba. I knew him. A family man and a good Catholic, but he was never destined to go much further in his career. He was terrible at talking to other people. He had no patience for them. But he could be funny when he wanted to be. And he did try sometimes. It just wasn’t enough. And he had a family…a beautiful wife, and three daughters….”
Arturo lost himself in his thoughts and let his gaze drift out the window at the construction happening nearby. Some large stones were being moved about, kicking up lots of dust that drifted in through the office window and filled the room with a chalky powder that made it hard to breathe.
Arturo realised he hadn’t said anything for a moment and turned away from the window.
“He didn’t deserve that.”
“Deserve what?” Armada asked.
“What that monster did to him. I was here in the office the night it happened. The porter found me just after ten. I was getting ready to go home. He said something had happened in Gregorio’s office. His wife was there. She was hysterical. I ran down there as fast as I could. I wish I hadn’t…I wish I hadn’t gone in there and seen what I saw…you can’t imagine—”
“I think I can,” Armada said. “I’ve seen the aftermath of many murders.”
“No. Not like this. Gregorio wasn’t just killed. He was mangled, as if attacked by a wild beast. The blood, it was everywhere. What kind of a human can do this? You’ve never seen brutality like that before…at least, I haven’t…and I was a soldier once…not even in war do you—”
“So why call me?” Armada asked. “Bringing me here is quite expensive.”
“Money isn’t my worry, Armada,” Arturo said. He sprang up from the chair and went over to a cabinet that had been built into the book case along the wall. Inside was a brown bottle and a set of four small crystal goblets, two of which he grabbed with his fingers and dropped down on his desk. With practiced skill, he poured the brown liquid into them and handed one to Armada.
Armada sniffed it. Sherry, and quite high quality as well. He downed it in one gulp.
“The officials here in the city are fools,” Arturo said. “Damned fools! They think they’ve already got the man who did it. They’ve arrested him and will be hanging him soon. In their minds, that will be the end of it.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“I know the man they’ve got in custody. Enrique Talaveras. He’s a colleague of Gregorio’s. They were always competing with each other whenever a new post opened up. He’s not well-liked here, always complaining about how successful other people are. He’s a weak-minded fool if you ask me. But a killer?”
“Why do they think he did it?”
Arturo took a long swallow from his drink and refilled his glass. “He was there that night. Sitting outside Gregorio’s office, crying like a baby. The tonto wouldn’t say anything about what happened. He was too shocked. Who wouldn’t be, after seeing that…?”
Armada finished his drink and eyed the bottle, wondering if etiquette would be breached if he poured himself another. He decided to play it safe for the moment and simply gesture with his empty glass, hoping Arturo would notice.
“You haven’t answered my question, corregidor. Why go through all the expense to bring me into this? I have little jurisdiction here. The Holy Brotherhood is generally delegated to the towns and villages of the countryside. This is a matter for the city authorities. You should tell them of your doubts.”
“You think I haven’t tried that? They don’t care. They want this matter resolved. This university draws a lot of money from the local nobility. Tuition, housing, the market, the taverns. They all make a lot of money off those boys. If their parents were to decide it was too dangerous to send their kids here, they would send them to the universities at Alcala or Valladolid, or worse—France! This city’s economy is at risk here, so all they want is a nice, quick resolution. They want to be able to tell everyone they caught the killer and there is no reason to worry. Which is why they’re going to hang him next week.”
“But you’re worried.”
Arturo answered Armada with his eyes. Just a quick glance, showing the fear that had plagued his thoughts for days.
“What if it wasn’t Enrique?” Arturo finally said. “I just can’t see that little weasel doing something like this. And if I’m right, if it wasn’t him—”
“Then it was someone else.”
Arturo took a drink from his sherry, but he forgot about it halfway through, letting the sherry swish around in his mouth, distracted by his thoughts.
“What I saw in that room, Armada…that wasn’t someone just killing for one reason or another. They enjoyed it. They made a big spectacle of it. They’ll do it again. I know they will. And when they do, and everyone here realises they hung the wrong man and that the killer is still on the loose…well, they’re going to need someone to take the fall for that, aren’t they? I don’t have enough friends in the city to keep it from being me. It will all fall on me. They will blame me. and my career, my reputation…it will all be over.”
Arturo could have said he worried for the killer’s next victim. For they, like Gregorio Cordoba, did not deserve such a fate, nor did their grieving family. Nor did the thousands of people who would lock themselves in their homes at night, afraid to go out, when they heard of a killer on the loose.
Instead, like most men in his position, Arturo worried mostly for himself. Armada couldn’t help but notice the wedding ring he wore, along with the many others. And yet he hadn’t even mentioned being worried for them.
“I’ll be honest, Armada, jurisdiction is going to be a problem with this case.”
Armada didn’t need to be told that. In fact, calling it a problem was probably an understatement. Enforcing the law was a lucrative business in a city like Salamanca, and as such, competition amongst royal, city, and ecclesiastical law enforcement authorities could be intense and confusing. And none of them had any patience to compete with the Holy Brotherhood as well.
“So why bring me in at all?”
“Because I don’t trust anyone here. I need someone who doesn’t have a stake in this. That way, when you find evidence that Enrique is innocent, like I know you will, the officials here will have a hard time disputing it.”
“What if I don’t?”
Arturo took another sip of sherry and stared at his empty glass.
“You will.”
Armada put his empty glass down, then began to pace about the room as his mind began to work. “Does this Enrique Talavera have any kind of history of violence?” he asked. “Have there been complaints?”
Arturo was startled by Armada’s sudden movement, which broke him from his trance. “None that I’m aware of.”
“How long has Enrique been employed by the university?”
“Not long. Just over a year.”
“Had he and Gregorio had any conflicts in the past? Did they ever argue?”
Arturo hesitated for a moment.
“I need to know everything, corregidor. Even if it doesn’t help.”
Arturo sighed. “The night before Gregorio was killed, they were seen in a tavern having it out. From what I heard, they nearly came to blows.”
“Do you know what it was about?” Armada asked.
“I imagine it was about the election coming up. One of our university chairs is retiring. Gregorio and Enrique were both planning on running for it. I don’t think either had much of a chance, if I’m honest. Neither has the support of any of the colegios, who are usually the ones to decide these things. But I think they both thought they could win it. These kinds of disputes are common during elections, but they’re rarely fatal.”
Armada struggled to see how a simple election could lead to such brutality. “Would you say you were friends with Gregorio Cordoba? Did you know him well?”
“No more than with any of our other professors. I saw him at social occasions periodically, but he never stayed long.”
“How did Professor Cordoba get on with his students? Did they like him?”
“When he was there, yes. But he was always going off to Madrid, trying to make some connections there and secure himself a position on a council somewhere, or get an appointment as a judge. I told him several times it was too early. I told him he needed to work at the university for a while, build up some esteem, spend a few years teaching first. He also needed to get better at talking to people, especially important people who could help his career. He was too brusque with them, demanded too much too early. Didn’t know how to be diplomatic about anything. So, I told him to get himself a university chair position
first. Then, once he had a bit more clout, he could go to Madrid with the other leeches and try and get something better. But he wouldn’t listen. He wanted it now, so he was always disappearing off. It’s not unusual, really. All of our more senior professors do it. It’s just the way of things. A university teaching post is just a step to bigger things.”
It didn’t make sense. If Gregorio Cordoba was trying so hard and failing, why would someone want to kill him over it? It was clear someone was being threatened by all this. And there was something else bothering Armada.
“What about his finances? How was Gregorio Cordoba doing for money?”
“You would have to ask his wife. But their house is paid for, and he doesn’t have any debts. He certainly wasn’t a gambler. In fact, I know he was putting a bit away for a dowry, although I think it was wishful thinking. That daughter of his is an odd one, and probably not the marrying kind. But it wasn’t my place to tell him that.”
Armada was struck by how well Arturo knew Gregorio’s finances, since he had admitted to not knowing Gregorio well. Armada couldn’t help but wonder if there was a connection, perhaps to Gregorio’s wife. Who else would know the finances that well? Could it be that Arturo knew everything she did? In which case, the only explanation was if Arturo’s relationship with Elvira Cordoba was more intimate than it should have been.
Armada leaned against the desk, thinking.
“So? Will you take the case?”
Armada felt tired. He hated arguing about jurisdiction. He hated working cases that involved such brutality as this. He hated when he had to work under such a deadline. He only had until next week, and if he got it wrong, an innocent man could be hung by the neck. Conversely, he could pronounce a guilty man innocent and let a killer free. Why couldn’t he ever work a case where he actually had the time to do it properly? To interrogate each suspect and witness at his leisure, to be sure about them before moving on. To have all the pieces of the puzzle in place before doing anything.
The Domingo Armada Mysteries Box Set Page 54