The Domingo Armada Mysteries Box Set

by Jefferson Bonar

  “So why take it?”

  “I was desperate!” Enrique said, sounding honest for the first time. “You don’t understand how hard it is to make a living as a junior professor. The pay is a pittance! And I’m not rich enough to have gone to one of those colegios, so I didn’t have any students willing to fight for me. But I needed that university chair! I was a junior professor at Valladolid for ten years. Ten years! Nobody stays a junior professor that long! It’s pathetic! But I’m no good at making friends with the chairs. I tend to make enemies, or people think I’m a bit odd. So, I get passed up for promotions all the time.”

  Enrique’s twitchy movements returned as he paced about his cell.

  “I lied to the dean at Salamanca and told him this was my first job. I had to start over somewhere. This time, I vowed to do better, to socialise, to make the connections I needed to make in order to advance. It was the only way not to die in poverty.”

  Enrique found himself tiring and held on to one of the bars after suddenly getting to his feet.

  “But it was the same all over again. I tried, I really tried. But when I talk to people, it just comes out odd. The last time I spoke to the dean, I accidentally insulted his wife. I was just trying to make a joke! But he never forgave me. I knew he would never help me after that. So, my only hope was the student elections. He’s not allowed to interfere in those. If I could just win this damn election, I could get what I need to get a proper job in government, or at a law office somewhere, or something. I need to get out of academia, or I’ll just wither away.”

  Enrique moved toward Armada now, putting his face against the bars as if to make his point.

  “I figured my only real competition was Gregorio. We were the same, him and me. He didn’t have a very good relationship with our bosses, either. But he’d been a professor here for three years already. He had seniority. If I could have convinced him to drop out, I would have had a shot. I knew I would! My students like me, Constable. It’s the one advantage I had. And I have large classes, which means I could have had a shot at defeating those colegials Gongora and Vergara as well. They only have their colegio boys behind them. Yes, they lie and cheat, but it’s only because they don’t have the numbers. I have the numbers. I could have won! If only I hadn’t been put in here….”

  Armada was now even more sure Enrique hadn’t done it. But one part of the story didn’t make sense.

  “If Gregorio Cordoba was so obsessive about keeping this key, how did you ultimately get it off him?”

  Enrique smiled. “Put it in your pocket.”

  Armada did and Enrique came toward him, slowly putting both his hands up on the bars of the cell where they could easily be seen.

  “I may not be good talking to people, Constable. But I have watched them my whole life. I’ve gotten to know how they work very well. And the biggest lesson I’ve learned….”

  Enrique reached through the bars slowly and patted Armada on one cheek, grinning.

  “…is that they are easily distracted.”

  With that, Enrique held up his other hand, in which he held the key he’d just taken from Armada’s pocket.

  “I wasn’t always a junior professor, you know. There was a time in my life when I had to live a bit more…creatively.”

  Armada took the key back from Enrique. He had tired of the spectacle. He gestured toward the guard to unlock the cell door and Enrique bounded out, glaring at the guard in triumph.

  Armada grabbed his arm.

  “I wouldn’t celebrate quite yet, Señor Talavera. For if I find out you lied to me about not knowing what this key goes to, you will come right back in here. And this time, no one like me will come to release you.”

  Enrique threw off Armada’s grip and followed the guard out of the cell.

  Armada realised there was a lot about Enrique Talavera he didn’t know. How was it he rose from a pickpocket to a university professor? He suspected there was a lot more to that story. It also meant Enrique was no stranger to crime and grifting. But just how good was he, exactly? Had everything he told Armada been a con? Enrique had the advantage of looking uncomfortable and awkward no matter who he was talking to, making it impossible to read his body language one way or the other. No one could know if he was lying. Was Enrique aware he had that power?

  Armada looked down at the key. It was no mystery what it unlocked. No, the real mystery was who else knew Gregorio’s secret? And would any of them be willing to murder to keep it?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lucas winced from the pain and bit his lip to keep from crying out.

  “You have to hold still,” Julian said, and he plunged the tip of the knife in deeper.

  Lucas nodded and tried to keep his arm flat, as he’d been instructed. Lucas felt the knife carve his flesh and cried out anyway.

  “It’s done. Look,” Julian said.

  Lucas looked down at his bloody arm to find Julian had carved a small “V” shape into the underside of his forearm, just above the wrist.

  “It stands for vizcaíno, which makes you one of us. If it heals over, you have to cut it in again until it scars. Eventually, it will look like this.”

  Julian rolled up the long white sleeve of his shirt until it revealed the pasty whiteness of his right shoulder, in the middle of which protruded a scar, made long ago, in the same V-shape.

  Lucas looked down at his forearm in pride.

  “That’s for kicking the pants off that Arzobispo cabron last night.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now those manchego rats will know who you are next time. So, make sure you’re never caught alone by them when you’re walking around the university grounds.”

  “I will.”

  That’s when Lucas sensed a shift in Julian’s mood. He walked silently over to where he’d kept a bottle of brandy and two dirty glasses to celebrate when the deed was done. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, Lucas thought. Weren’t all initiations like this?

  But Julian was lost in his thoughts as he returned and poured out a glass of brandy for each of them. Julian downed his drink, not bothering to toast or wait for Lucas to sip down his own. Instead, he poured himself another and stared at the floor.

  “You should know, joven, that sometimes being in San Bartolomé…it can get a bit dangerous. Are you ready for that?”

  “I…I think so.”

  “You have to be sure,” Julian said. “Because being a part of this colegio, it’s not all fun and games and brandy. In fact, it can be….”

  Julian was lost in his thoughts for a moment.

  “What?” Lucas said.

  Julian glanced back at Lucas, as if forgetting he’d started to say anything. “It can be frightening…for a boy of your age, I mean. Until you get used to it.”

  “Do you still get scared?” Lucas asked. He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. He was worried his question would be interpreted as an accusation of cowardice, which was the last thing he’d intended. In fact, it also made Lucas sound like one as well. He didn’t know why he’d even asked it, but he couldn’t take it back now.

  Julian cradled his brandy the way a child cradles a favourite toy while they sleep.

  “Sometimes…,” Julian said in almost a whisper. “We have so many enemies, joven. And they can take things too far. Our work here is important, but it’s not worth….”

  Julian interrupted himself with another mouthful of brandy, which he let slosh around in his mouth, giving him an excuse not to speak for a moment.

  A thought occurred to Lucas, but he was torn whether to say it. Julian seemed in a mood to reveal something personal, but Lucas didn’t want to push it too far. He could very easily imagine himself being shouted at, grabbed by the collar, and violently chucked out into the corridor, never to return.

  But Lucas had never seen Julian in such a reflective mood with any of the other boys, whom they could hear playing about in the common room just down the corridor.

  “Are yo
u talking about Gregorio Cordoba?” Lucas heard himself say. “Did your…our…enemies do that?”

  Julian looked up at him with a flash of anger in his eyes. Lucas recoiled, ready for whatever came next. How could he have been so foolish as to ask that? What could possibly have driven him? Was Gregorio Cordoba’s murder really worth sacrificing so much? Lucas felt so confused all of a sudden. But something deep in the back of his mind wanted to know. And it was a part of his mind that wouldn’t be ignored that easily.

  “No….” It was all Julian said before returning his gaze to the floor.

  “Did you know him at all?”

  Julian looked up at Lucas, looking him over.

  “No, not really. He was just a professor whose lectures I never attended.”

  Lucas’s mind filled with more questions as Julian broke himself out of his trance, stood up, and held his glass aloft.

  “To the newest member of San Bartolomé!” Julian said loudly, as if trying to shout over the din of his own thoughts.

  Lucas held his own glass up, but before he could drink, they were interrupted by a loud banging on the door.

  “Julian! Is that lazy bellaco cleaning boy in there with you? I can hear you two talking!” Ambrosio’s hoarse voice shouted through the door.

  Lucas couldn’t help but leap to his feet. He had been neglecting his duties a lot lately and had no defence for it.

  There was a jangling of keys outside, and before they could do anything about it, Ambrosio burst in through the door.

  “There you are!” Ambrosio said, pointing one of his fat, stumpy fingers at Lucas. “Have you done anything today? Because the house is a mess and thanks to your not having gone to the shops, dinner will be late as well. If you want any kind of wages today, you’ll get back to work right now and not stop until everything you were supposed to do today is done!”

  “Venga, Ambrosio!” Julian shouted. “This place was a mess before he ever got here! It’s not like you ever did any of the cleaning. Look at my bed. When have those sheets ever been washed? I have to get Federigo to take them home to my parents to wash them, and they are supposed to be paying you to do it!” Julian said.

  “Also, your meals aren’t fit for a donkey and they are always late. Every night! So don’t go shouting at my friend Lucas for not doing something that you never did yourself. And if you keep it up, I’ll be telling my mother about you!”

  At the mention of Julian’s mother, Ambrosio stopped talking. The memory of the woman was not a pleasant one.

  “I’m employing you, boy. If you want your wages, you will get back to your duties,” Ambrosio said.

  “He will,” Julian said. “But today, he’s coming with me. I need him.”

  Lucas said nothing and just followed Julian out of the room, surprised that Ambrosio did nothing to try and stop either one of them. The power that Julian had was still amazing. No one ever seemed to question him. Were his parents really that rich and powerful?

  Soon, Lucas was out in the street with Julian.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a friend waiting for me in a tavern on the other side of the cathedral. He lives in one of those hospederías where all the other graduates live while they’re waiting for their first post at the university. He’s San Bartolomé, like us. And is going to help us with the election. Venga!”

  Life had returned to Julian’s demeanour. The sparkle in his eyes was back and brought with it that sense that he was always in motion, always moving on to the next Big Important Thing. The drink that was starting to make Lucas a little dizzy had done little to temper Julian’s enthusiasm.

  Julian had already started up the street and Lucas had to race to catch up to him. They headed east across the main plaza and followed a road that took them around the back of the sprawling construction site that would someday be the new cathedral, which was oddly deserted at the moment. It was a part of town Lucas hadn’t been to before, and he stayed close to Julian, whose stride was fast and felt almost like jogging.

  They reached a tavern with a decaying sign hung over the door that read, “The Sheep Well,” and went inside. It took a moment for Lucas’s eyes to adjust, as the only light was the white-hot mid-morning sun that streamed in through the panelled windows that lit up the dusty earth floor. The tavern was massive, so big that the light from the windows didn’t reach into the furthest corners, leaving parts of the dining hall in darkness.

  Most of the tables were taken by men whose faces were covered in dust and grime and sweat. They gulped down the last of the weak ales that were served with the midday meal they’d come for. Few dawdled about with the business of eating, for they had little time. Lucas reckoned these must be the workmen from the cathedral, whose time here was probably closely watched by a foreman somewhere.

  With this many men, the din of conversation was quite loud, and he didn’t hear Julian, who had tried to tell him something and then began weaving his way through the tables. Lucas struggled to keep up, occasionally kicking the back of someone’s chair by accident and fending off annoyed stares as he tried to not get lost.

  Julian crossed the whole of the tavern into one of the darkest corners, where there was a table that had been squeezed in against the back wall of the kitchen into a space barely wide enough to fit the table and a few chairs.

  Sitting in the back of this table was a man a few years older than Julian. Although he was still young, his hairline had already begun receding to reveal a pinkish white forehead above a wide, flattened face, with deep set eyes and ears that seemed to erupt like geysers from the side of his head. The man had a pleasant, intellectual look about him, with nice clothes that had once been fashionable but were now ruined by patches.

  Julian and the man greeted each other, then turned to consider Lucas.

  “Lucas. That’s his name. He’ll be voting for us in the election as well.”

  “They get younger every year,” the man said. “I’m Emiliano.”

  For much of the next hour, Lucas watched quietly as Julian and Emiliano discussed a plan they’d hatched to help swing the election.

  “It all depends on how many you can afford, Julian. These boys are from all over the region, but some of them have to come a long way to get here. Not everybody stays in Salamanca after they’ve enrolled.”

  “But they are enrolled?”

  “I have a friend in the university’s registry office. I’ll confirm their enrolment before election day, so we’ll have an accurate count. I always ask them if they told the university they dropped out before I reveal anything. You have to be smart about these things. But it’s going to cost you.”

  “Don’t worry about the money,” Julian said, giving a quick side glance to Lucas. “It will be there. I just want to know how many are going to show up.”

  “I can’t tell you that until election day. But it will be enough to make it worth the money. Trust me.”

  Lucas pieced together that Emiliano was a graduate who had left his name on the rolls just for the purpose of voting in elections like these, even though it was technically illegal. But what was more illegal was him rounding up local students who were too poor to live in the pupilajes around campus and giving them a bit of money to show up on election day and vote for the San Bartolomé candidate. It was election fraud, pure and simple. And apparently it was a given that Arzobispo would be using the same kind of trickery to get their candidate elected, so it was now a question of numbers rather than ethics.

  But Lucas could also tell that these two men had known each other a long time. Perhaps Julian had been young once and it was Emiliano who had shown him around. There was a tight bond between them, one which Lucas could easily imagine between him and Julian once Lucas was old enough to attend university.

  After the details of the plan had all been discussed at length, Julian rose to get drinks for everyone, leaving Lucas alone with Emiliano.

  They sat in silence for a moment as one question began swimming abo
ut in Lucas’s mind. He wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the case. It was just curiosity, really. Something about not having the answer bothered him.

  “Is there anything about being in San Bartolomé to be afraid of?” Lucas asked.

  “Afraid of?” Emiliano asked, surprised. “The occasional Arzobispo boot to the face, but otherwise, no.”

  “Julian said that there could be. It was just after he gave me this.”

  Lucas rolled up his sleeve and showed Emiliano the V-shaped wound in his forearm.

  Emiliano found this strangely amusing. “From the look of it, you’ve already gone through the most frightening part.”

  Emiliano raised up his own sleeve to show the V-shaped scar on his shoulder, high up, where Julian’s was. “It hurt worse than any beating I ever got. But it was worth it.”

  “So why would Julian say that?” Lucas wondered.

  “Don’t let Julian get in your head. I think he’s just reeling from something himself. He probably forgot you were even in the room for a minute. He does that sometimes.”

  “Did something happen to him?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody does. All I can tell you is that there was a professor whose lectures he really liked. He was always raving about him. But about a month ago, Julian barricades himself in his room. Won’t talk to anybody. I finally convinced him to let me in, and he was as white as his shirt. Hadn’t eaten or drank anything for three days. He won’t tell me what was wrong or what happened, but I did notice that was when he stopped going to that professor’s lectures. A few days after that, Julian just seemed to return to normal. But you still see it sometimes, in his eyes. He’ll just kind of drift away for minute. But he always comes back.”

  Emiliano stood up from his chair and leaned over the table in order to look round the wall toward the bar area, where Julian was paying for the round of drinks that would be appearing any minute. Satisfied that Julian wouldn’t overhear, Emiliano sat down and leaned over the table so he could keep his voice down.

  “I did think it was odd, though, that a few weeks later, his professor ended up with a knife in his chest.”