The Domingo Armada Mysteries Box Set

by Jefferson Bonar

  “Of course,” Armada said, then held out his glass to make it clear he wanted more sherry.

  Chapter Three

  It was always the smell that one noticed first. Armada and Lucas came back out through the main entrance of the university building, which deposited them back on the Rúa de San Martín. The traffic was merciless. One was constantly stepping out of the way of carts and wagons, all pulled by a succession of stoic-looking horses, donkeys, and mules that saw little reason to be quiet about it. Most were overloaded with a wide variety of goods, on their way to the daily market in the massive Plaza de San Martin just to the north. The air was heavy with a strange mix of fish, rotting meat, exotic North African spices, charcoal, and animal dung, all of which made Armada hungry and ill at the same time.

  A donkey snorted behind them, and Armada and Lucas stepped aside to let it pass.

  “Lucas, which way is it back to the stable? I’ve gotten a bit turned around.”

  “We have to go west, sir,” Lucas said, pointing toward a small open plaza across from the university. “If we can cross through there, it might be a shortcut.”

  They had left their cart in a stable just a few streets away, as they didn’t yet know where they would be staying. It had been easy to find their way to the university, as the large engraved façade that hung over the front entrance loomed high above most of the other buildings in the area. But finding their way back to the stables, which was lost in a sea of crumbling stone walls and clay-tiled roofs, would not be easy. At least, not for Armada.

  Lucas led the way as they entered into a small plaza surrounded by low-lying university buildings. The only way out was an opening on the far side to the left, which Lucas seemed to believe would allow them a more direct route. Just through the opening, however, was a set of small arches, beyond which was a large courtyard surrounded by more university buildings. A sign proclaimed this the Patio de Escuelas Menores. It was a dusty, bare-earth courtyard meant for the students of the university who were not yet old enough to study for their graduate degrees in the main building.

  There were no other entrances to this courtyard, so it would not work as a shortcut, as Lucas had hoped. Armada turned around to return to the Rúa de San Martín but could see that Lucas was not following. Lucas stood still, just under the arches of the entrance, gazing at some older boys who were kicking a ball about in the centre of the courtyard.

  The boys looked to be in their twenties, much too old to be attending the classes given here. They must have come purely for use of the courtyard, as it was one of few places around that wasn’t crowded. The boys were draped in fine clothing that made it clear they were children of nobility, but they did little to protect these fine fabrics from the rigours of their game. They wore white shirts with flowing white sleeves that were becoming badly soiled with sweat and earth, breeches covered in dust, and velvet jackets with missing buttons and ripped embroidery that had been left for a servant to repair later.

  Lucas watched their game closely, as if trying to work out the rules. Or perhaps that was what he was telling himself. In truth, Armada suspected, he was more watching the boys themselves. They played rough, and whenever one of them got hurt, a volley of taunts and insults would be hurled at them, followed by raucous laughter.

  But also, affection. It always ended with one of them helping their injured friend to his feet, and the game would continue.

  Lucas watched with a quizzical look. It must have all seemed so strange to him. He’d never really had friends in his life. At least, not since his parents were killed. It was the one thing Armada could never give him. Lucas saw so much of the world, more than most of these boys would ever see. The boy had travelled to almost every corner of every kingdom, met so many people, and seen things these boys couldn’t imagine.

  And yet friendship had remained impossible. When the case was over, they always had to leave. He was never in one place long enough to form any lasting bonds. Armada remembered how important those bonds were when he was a soldier in Peru. His friends there kept him going during some very dark times. He couldn’t have survived that time without them.

  Lucas had seen the horrors of the human heart as well, but there was no one there for him but Armada. The only friends Lucas remembered were back home in his village. But that seemed like such a long time ago, and they were already slipping from his memory. In fact, much of his life back then seemed so far away, yet it had only been about four years since it happened. The things Lucas had seen in those four years would freeze anybody’s heart, and Armada hoped it didn’t freeze his own.

  “Lucas,” Armada said, not wanting to startle the boy.

  Lucas whipped around, his trance broken.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry. I don’t think this courtyard goes through.”

  “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  Armada expected the boy to run off again, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the game.

  “I don’t understand, sir. I can’t figure out the rules. They just seem to be kicking the ball about randomly.”

  Armada smiled. “That’s probably what it’s devolved into. It’s how these things go.”

  “So, what’s the point? How do they win?”

  “Winning isn’t really important here. It’s more about….”

  Armada stopped. He knew how Lucas’s mind worked. All the explanation in the world probably wouldn’t satisfy the logic Lucas was looking for. He wanted there to be a clear end goal in a game that was designed not to have one. It was about having fun, Armada wanted to say. About being with your friends. About showing them who is the strongest and the fastest, and proving yourself to them.

  But Armada had suddenly become aware of the time.

  “I’ll have to tell you later. We need to get moving. There is someone I want to speak to today before it gets too late.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lucas said, and then he led the way back to the Rúa de San Martín.

  Lucas eventually found their way back, and they picked up their cart and took it to the accommodation the corregidor had arranged for them. It was a modest room in a house normally filled with students, but most has returned home for the summer holiday so it was now mostly empty. There were two beds: a large, wood-posted one in the corner, with a mattress of goose feathers and a set of freshly-cleaned linens; on the other side of the room, a smaller one with a broken leg and a flea-ridden mattress of straw that smelled like a donkey. The bed of a page boy.

  “I’ll see if I can sort out something better, Lucas. This is—”

  “It’s fine, sir.”

  Not being sure how to argue the point further, Armada left Lucas and returned to the streets of Salamanca, trying desperately to follow the map that Arturo had scrawled for him showing where the house of the Cordoba family was. He found the parish of San Polo to be a busy place, as it stood just in front of the Puerta del Rio, the main gate in the town’s southern defensive wall through which much of the merchant traffic entered after crossing the old Roman Bridge over the Tormes River.

  Careful to avoid the mountains of animal dung that littered the cobbled roads, Armada eventually found his way to a house set on the corner of two busy roads. The noise was deafening as he approached the door and beat on it a few times, unsure if the occupants inside could hear him.

  A moment later, it was opened to a tall, thin woman with a gracefulness about her. Everything about her was slender, from her cheekbones to her shoulders, to her long fingers with perfectly manicured nails. She wore a long, flowing black dress to indicate she was in mourning, yet she still greeted Armada with a warm, hospitable smile.

  “Señora Elvira Cordoba?”

  “I am.”

  “I am Domingo Armada, constable of the Holy Brotherhood. I am here to ask you a few questions about your husband.”

  “The Brotherhood? I apologise constable, but I thought you mostly worked in the countryside.”

  “My services were requested as a special favour to the university. May
I come in?”

  Armada had a hard time reading the woman. There was a moment of confusion, which was quickly washed from her expression and replaced with a warm smile. Elvira let him in and filled his ear with platitudes as she led him up the steep stone stairs toward the level above.

  Armada knew Elvira’s wariness may not be coming from a suspicious place. Generally, the green sleeves that burst forth from the arms of his leather waistcoat made everyone nervous. The Holy Brotherhood had a reputation for being corrupt, overly violent, arriving too late to be of much service, and for mostly being interested in fees rather than justice. Armada understood this and it always made his job that much harder. But it did also lend him the authority to get to the truth like no other organisation could.

  Armada reached the upper level of the house and saw it offered a view of little beyond the three-way intersection below and the windowless, stone buildings opposite. There was the constant hum of pedestrians, horses, and other traffic that echoed off those walls and into the room, leaving Armada to wonder how it was that Elvira wasn’t driven mad by it.

  “I had some questions regarding your husband’s death. It would help to resolve the matter.”

  “Of course. Although, I was told my husband’s killer had already been arrested.”

  “I’m just clearing up a few details. For the report.”

  “Of course.”

  Armada had no report. It was just something official-sounding so he could get on with the conversation. a little trick he’d picked up years ago to keep a witness focused on answering questions and not on asking their own.

  “I want to know more about this upcoming election he was involved in. This was for the chair of the law department, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Enrique was a rival for this position?”

  “There are many rivals. It is a prestigious role and therefore quite valuable for anyone looking at a career as a letrado. Even if you wish to be something as lowly as a clerk or a notary, you need the privileges and connections that such a position brings,” Elvira said, settling down on a couch just opposite the wooden chair Armada had found. There was a single rip in the cushion, the only blemish, and she sat in a slightly awkward position, as if to use her body to cover it.

  “So, if there were many rivals, then getting rid of just one of them would not have helped Enrique very much, would it?” Armada asked.

  “I can’t imagine what that man was thinking when he killed my husband,” Elvira said. “He’s obviously evil.”

  “How did your husband feel about the upcoming election? Was he nervous? Did he think he had a good chance of winning?”

  “I’m not sure. He didn’t talk about his work very much. I know he was hopeful. But that’s all I know.”

  “What about these trips to Madrid? I was told he often went to try and secure a post of some kind outside the university. But these were never successful?”

  Elvira took a small sigh. Was it frustration? Was Armada perhaps prying a bit too much?

  “Not as far as I know. But I wouldn’t know much about that, as Gregorio rarely spoke of them. You would have to talk to his assistant, a boy named Aurelio. He is with the colegio mayor of San Bartolomé. Gregorio mentioned he accompanied him on those trips sometimes.”

  “How often did your husband take these trips?”

  “Every few weeks, más o menos.”

  Every few weeks? Armada thought. That seemed excessive, even for someone more ambitious than Gregorio Cordoba.

  “And you don’t know what he was doing there? Or who he met?”

  “Are you suggesting someone he met in Madrid may have been responsible for this?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m only trying to get all the facts first.”

  “I don’t know the people he knew in Madrid. He never mentioned them.”

  Another thought occurred to Armada, but he wasn’t sure he should say it. There was always the possibility Gregorio was in Madrid to see another woman. It made sense. If he had wronged her somehow, perhaps she followed him home and did the deed? Finding her would be next to impossible if Gregorio kept his life in Madrid this discreet.

  “What about this argument in the tavern the night before he died? Did he tell you about that?”

  Elvira looked up at Armada with piercing eyes. It was shock, which startled Armada. Had she not heard?

  “My husband did not go to taverns. He was far too busy with his career. And when he wasn’t working, he was home with my daughters and I.”

  Armada decided to let this go for now. He was getting the sense that there was quite a lot Gregorio never told his wife about. One of those secrets had gotten him killed, but that also meant the answer was probably not going to come from this woman.

  “Did Gregorio have any enemies you were aware of? Anyone he was having a dispute with? Anyone who might be especially angry with him?”

  Elvira’s eyes darted about the room and she put a finger to her chin.

  “Yes,” she almost whispered. “But it made little sense.”

  “Who?”

  “You have to understand, constable. My husband was a good man. I’ve always prided myself on being able to sense people, and what kind of a heart they have. I sensed in Gregorio Cordoba a good, Catholic heart. We never missed a mass, we always gave to the church, no matter how little we had left. And he lived his life to provide for his family. Everything he did, he did it for us. That is not the behaviour of a man without a heart.”

  “I understand,” Armada said, confused.

  “But my husband sometimes made mistakes. Like all men do. And one of them seems to revolve around a horrible man who came to the house the night Gregorio was killed. I don’t know why he thought Gregorio owed him money, and I’m not sure I wish to. But I can tell you where to find him, if you wish. He is still in town and under the delusion that I am going to pay him soon.”

  “I would very much like to speak to this man,” Armada said, realising he may have been wrong.

  Perhaps this woman had more answers than he thought.

  Chapter Four

  Armada was tempted to go straight over to the house Elvira had described to meet this man, Teo. It was highly unlikely he was the killer, as he wouldn’t have risked going to the Cordoba house demanding money if he knew Gregorio was already dead. But it might shed a little light on what Gregorio had been up to in Madrid.

  Yet Armada felt he still didn’t have a firm enough hold on what actually happened the night of the murder. What he needed was to talk to the first person to arrive at the murder scene after the killer, the one who had the freshest eyes on what happened.

  Which was why Armada was speaking to the jailer at the door of the ayuntamiento and slipping him a small bag of gold coins. Armada was led down into the basement, where little light penetrated beyond the bottom of the stone staircase. There were only two small windows here, barred, that overlooked a small plaza outside. The windows faced north, which meant they received very little light outside of the height of summer, and it left the room with a damp, mouldy smell.

  Armada was pointed toward a cell in the back, where a man in his thirties was sitting with his head in his hands. He was dressed in the robes of a professor, although they were badly soiled and tattered after a few days in a place like this. The lack of callouses on his hands, together with their milky smoothness, suggested a life spent inside libraries and lecture halls rather than in the fields.

  “Professor Enrique Talavera?” Armada asked.

  Enrique looked up to reveal a face made of sharp cheekbones and eyes that opened wide, their size skewed by the magnification of his spectacles. His hair, grown long in the front, flopped over to one side of his head as he stood up, his body wiry as it moved about in sharp, erratic movements.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I am Domingo Armada of—”

  “The Brotherhood?” Enrique said, glancing down at Armada’s sleeves. “Did Arturo cal
l you? Is that what this is?”

  “Yes. I wanted to speak with you about the night of Gregorio Cordoba’s murder.”

  “Why? I don’t know anything. I just discovered the body. It doesn’t make any sense why I’m here.”

  “What were you doing there that night?”

  “I went to apologise. We’d had an argument and I felt bad for some things I may have said. Then, I found him like that. I swear!”

  “The city authorities seem to believe that you killed him. You certainly had motivation to.”

  “What? You mean the election?” Enrique said, chuckling sarcastically. “Why would I kill him? No, it’s those students you have to look at. Not me. They’re the crazy ones. These elections always bring out the worst in them. Especially that Julian.”

  “What would the students have to do with this?” Armada asked.

  “It’s a student election! They’re the ones that vote for the university chair. And all the different colegios want one of their own to win it. It’s a point of pride for them. There is no manner of deviousness they won’t try.”

  “Including murder?”

  “I wouldn’t be that surprised. They do everything else. They threaten, they bribe. Last year, the boys of Cuenca even resorted to kidnapping. There is a lot of buying of votes, bringing in older students who should have come off the rolls, that sort of thing. They do it all.”

  “Who is Julian?” Armada asked, trying to keep up. Enrique’s mind worked fast and he spoke faster, having little patience to go slower for others to catch up. His lectures must have been a challenge.

  “Julian de Benaudalla. His father is the Duke of Frades and very wealthy, which is how he got into the colegio mayor of San Bartolomé. That is Julian’s little gang, and Gregorio wasn’t part of it. In fact, he was like me—he wasn’t a part of any of the colegios. Francisco Vergera. That’s their man. Gregorio and I, we were just getting in their way. Julian seemed to really have a problem with Gregorio. Don’t know why. There was always something strange between those two.”