He trotted down the street away from his lodgings, in a direction that he hoped would take him through local farms. As he ran, he realized Manchiego perched on a knoll. The last stretch of his run would be all uphill. He quickened his pace and soon found himself outside of town, surrounded by olive groves, rustic farmhouses, and what he thought was barley. Here and there a farmer tried his hand at grapes, he assumed for wine making.
Duncan spotted a low point ahead, from where he would have to run uphill. A small stream created this nadir, and as he crossed a stone bridge, sounds from below caught his attention. A herd of sheep gathered to drink along the bank of the brook. A young shepherd, wearing black knickers, a crisp white shirt and embroidered suspenders guarded the herd. Duncan waved and the herdsman nodded in reply.
Duncan's breathing grew more labored as he ascended what he thought was the wheat covered hillside he'd seen from his balcony. This was his goal for the morning's run. The hill was void of trees and the sun beat on Duncan as sweat poured down his face. He wiped the salty water from his forehead with his shirt and continued. Nearing the top, he paused to the side of the road and looked back towards Manchiego, trying to spot the casa. He wished a breeze would kick up, but the air stayed still and so did the wheat. No wind created artistic patterns in the crop this morning. As he jogged in place, scanning the village, he thought he could pinpoint the casa. He waved in that direction on the off chance that Mary was looking out the kitchen window, and thought about heading back down the hill.
He glanced at the surrounding countryside. This hilltop stood at about the same elevation as Manchiego and thus was a high point of the area. In one direction, the terrain flattened into a plateau and continued on that way as far as his eyes could see. In the other direction, the hills continued, no doubt formed by small streams and rivers. He guessed that was the direction of Toledo and Sunny's home, while the raised flat areas ran towards Madrid. Tired of squinting, Duncan decided to jog back.
He passed the creek where the sheep still drank and bleated riotously. He imagined they were cheering him on. The rest of the jog was uphill and quite the workout. He arrived at the casa and said, "Good morning," to Mary before climbing the stairs to his shower. His calves felt tired and worn after running those slopes.
After cleaning up and polishing off the water in the pitcher on his nightstand, he donned a suit in anticipation of his meeting with the police. His apparel was not as stylish as Frogo's sleek Italian suits with their V-shaped jackets, high notched lapels and tapered pants. He scrutinized himself in the mirror. He didn't resemble Nigel Carlyle either. Nigel wore a structured Savile Row suit to their meeting in Edinburgh. Not as hip as the suits Frogo wore each day, Nigel's was a conservative power statement in heavier cloth, pleated pants, and structured coat. Duncan tugged at his jacket made with high armholes. It no longer fit properly. He could thank all the exercising he'd done the past six months for that. His pants were cut full and a little too loose. Someone had once told him this was an American-style suit. That irony wasn't lost upon him now.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, Mary had his place set with a bowl of hot chocolate and the same fried dough sticks he'd seen Frogo consuming at the academy.
"What are these called, Mary?"
"Those are churros, Señor Duncan. We dip them in hot cocoa for breakfast." Mary added, "Very good."
Duncan dipped an end of a churro in the hot liquid and took a bite. The chocolate was thick and rich.
"Mmmm, delicioso, Mary."
Duncan ate three of Mary's homemade churros and finished his hot drink before breaking the news to his housekeeper that another guest would be arriving at the casa tomorrow.
She took it in stride with her usual, "Very good, Señor Duncan."
He would have liked to say that Angus would be no trouble, but he doubted that was true. After thanking her for breakfast, he left in good spirits for the academy.
Manchiego appeared just as sleepy in the morning as it did during siesta. Its charm never diminished. Duncan wondered when its citizens left for work. He only saw them out and about late at night. He picked up his pace as the academy came into view. He'd managed to run, shower, have breakfast, and get to work by nine-fifteen.
"Hallo, Frogo. How are you this morning?" Duncan asked, standing just outside the director's office.
"I'm well, and you, my friend?"
"Wonderful!" Duncan responded. "I hoped you could get me an interview with the police today," he added.
Frogo's eyebrows knit together and Duncan noticed he pursed his lips as if under some kind of stress.
"Hmm. Let me see what I can do. I'll call the policía municipal. The garrison is on the outskirts of town and since they speak little English, you might prefer I accompany you."
"Thank you. I would appreciate that, Frogo." He continued, "Do you have a moment?"
He intimated he had time, waving Duncan into his office with a smile. Duncan took a seat opposite the director.
"I took a jog this morning and the only soul I saw was a shepherd. Then on my way here, I didn't see anyone either. Where is everyone during the day?"
Frogo chuckled. "Ah, let me teach you about the Spanish work schedule. I see you have much to learn, Señor Dewar." Frogo continued in his genial manner, "The sun does not rise this time of year until seven because we sit on the rim of a time zone. Most Spaniards head to work around ten a.m., grab a coffee en route, and eat breakfast at work around eleven. Then, we head to siesta at noon, eat lunch at two p.m. and work again from four until at least eight. We do not consider the afternoon over until nine."
Here, Frogo held up his hand as if to stop Duncan's next question.
He continued, "I am an exception. My days are filled with personnel issues, so I arrive early to complete paperwork, go over my correspondence, et cetera. Makes sense, no?"
"I imagine it does," Duncan said.
He added, "We are very social people. We like our dinners out in restaurants, cafes, or bodegas. Many people do not come home until three or four in the morning. Because I arrive at the academy early, I try to get home around one in the morning. I can catch up on my sleep during the weekend, like most Spaniards. Also, it is imperative to conquer the siesta. One must learn to sleep in the afternoon."
"Now I see how you can last until two p.m. for lunch. But my housekeeper is up early and has breakfast ready for me then."
"She knows you are English."
"Scottish," Duncan corrected Frogo.
"Forgive me, Scottish, British, no? You like the bangers early in the morning, the mushrooms, tomatoes, the fried sheep organs."
He chuckled at Frogo's references to sausage and haggis.
The director continued, "She is adjusting to your schedule. She does not serve the organs, does she?"
Duncan was laughing out loud now. Frogo did make his favorite breakfast sound terrible.
"No, no, she's been serving me typical Spanish breakfasts. I think I'm going to need two breakfasts, though, to tide me over until lunch."
"That is fine. Mondo keeps everything available in the dining hall until noon. We can grab something together later, if you like. I'm sure Mondo is anxious to see you again. What term of endearment did he call you yesterday?" the director asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Duncan replied, "Peasant," and rose to leave the director's office, still laughing.
"Yes, that was it. Peasant," Frogo repeated between guffaws.
He settled himself in his office and tried to stop chortling. The director had a good sense of humor and now he had a proper sense of how things worked in Spain…. Out late, up late, eat late.
He opened his email, hoping his detective had some answers for him. There were no messages from the private investigator, but there was an email from Angus. It read,
Hello, Brother. My flight (No 345) arrives at Madrid-Barajas 10:00a.m. Will catch train from Atocha Station at 11:00 & be in Manchiego by noon. Send me address so I can find you & keep your cel
lular turned on! Looking forward to seeing you & the sun- Angus
Duncan ran his fingers through his hair. He had not seen a train station or a train track, for that matter, anywhere in or around Manchiego. He shot his brother a reply,
Angus, not sure the train comes to Manchiego. Let me know if you need me to pick you up at Adolfo Suárez Madrid-Barajas Airport. -Duncan
He turned his attention to the data needed for his second fault tree analysis. His first had already eliminated lever failure as the cause of the accident. He began the tedious process of entering facts into the program. The analysis tree started with a top event, in this case Ella's death, and continued down through components, or events, leading finally to the basic cause of her demise. It resembled a decision tree, albeit a complicated one. Once Duncan entered enough pertinent information, the program could interface with other programs. They in turn produced probability measurements and even an animated scenario of the incident.
He set up the fault tree with Peña crushed by oven as the top event. He still had to obtain many of the components to fill in the tree branches beneath his top event. But he entered whatever data he could and saved the information. Completing the entries would take several hours as he set boundaries, ensured his methodology was accurate, and narrowed his tree components.
He'd been at it about a half hour when Frogo entered his office.
"We have an appointment with the gendarmerie at eleven. Let's grab a bite downstairs and go," he stated.
Duncan checked the time, ten-thirty.
As the two walked to the dining room, Duncan asked, "Is the gendarmerie the same as the policía municipal?"
"Sí, sí. The policía municipal work in all towns with a population of 5,000 or above. We have several names for them such as gendarmerie, policia local, and guardia civil. The names are interchangeable, but can vary depending on the region. Their uniforms also change some by area."
"This might get confusing," Duncan mused, almost to himself.
"Don't worry, my friend. I will be there to help," Frogo said as they entered the hall.
Duncan followed the director as he proceeded to a breakfast station filled with lemon cupcakes, churros, and sweet rolls. They each poured a coffee, chose a treat, and sat down at one of the many tables. The dining room was almost deserted, save for a couple of artists. Juliette was nowhere to be seen, but Duncan caught a glimpse of Isabella Ramon looking sour. He got the impression she was watching him.
They polished off breakfast and left for the garrison post. Frogo drove the academy vehicle, a compact that fit in the tiny streets of Manchiego. The director managed to squeeze the automobile through several narrow lanes before arriving on the edge of town opposite Duncan's casa. He rolled to a stop in front of a modern looking building and turned to Duncan.
"I hope this won't take too long. I have to handle a delicate situation back at the academy before lunch," he said, stepping from the car.
Sliding glass doors painted with the words Casa Cuartel, or Garrison Post, glided open at their approach. Upon entering, Duncan realized they'd utilized the rear entrance of the police station. They walked through a short hallway into a large area filled with desks. Across the room, he spotted the waiting area. A general cacophony filled the air. Keyboard tapping, voices arguing, an occasional laugh, even the audio of video footage from computer screens added to the din. He observed police officers of all different ages throughout the station. He glimpsed uniforms of navy and light blue trim with gold insignias on the shoulders. The policemen wore a variety of hats. Some resembled cricket caps while others looked like typical police hats, but with a checkered band of dark blue and white squares around the crown. Frogo veered to the left and knocked on a wooden door. A brass plaque at eye level read Comisario.
"Entrar," a voice from behind the door commanded.
Frogo rolled his eyes heavenward as if to say, Here goes nothing, and pushed the door open. He entered the office and Duncan heard "Hola," exchanged between the comisario and the director of the academy. A short discourse in Spanish followed after Duncan passed through the doorway and sat beside Frogo on a chair opposite the policeman.
The law enforcement official talked over a speaker with someone as Frogo recounted what was happening in a whisper.
"I've explained our situation. He's summoning the oficial de policía who was present after the accident."
Duncan noted the comisario's epaulets were covered with gold embroidery. He wondered if he was the highest ranking official in the garrison. A young man entered the room just as Duncan was observing the older officer's sumptuous waistline. More Spanish passed between the ranking officer and his subordinate, as Frogo nodded in silence.
When there was a pause Frogo said to Duncan, "This is Fernando Torrez. What would you like to ask the oficial de policía?"
Duncan smiled and said, "The report shows that some of the workers stated they halted the job because of equipment failure. Yet the operator claimed it was to comply with labor laws. How did you reconcile these differing stories?"
He looked to Frogo who translated for the young policeman.
The wide-eyed officer began, "El operador de la grúa pensó la tripulación demasiado…"
Duncan waited for the translation. After several sentences the oficial de policía would pause and allow Frogo to catch up. The young man seemed nervous and his voice shook from time to time. All the while, the comisario sported a look of disapproval at his inferior.
"The crane operator thought the crew too simple to understand labor laws, so he told them there was an equipment failure. We did not figure this out until two days after we first interviewed the workers. At first, we thought they were lying because we separated them for questioning," the director translated.
More Spanish followed until the officer paused again.
Frogo continued, "It is true that there are labor laws governing how long one can operate equipment. Driving a truck counts towards those hours and the crane operator reached his limit before the job was finished that day."
After a moment of silence, Duncan assumed the young man had nothing more to add. He asked another question.
"Was the operator surprised that the lever failed?"
Frogo translated the question into Spanish and the officer began, "No sabía lo que pasó. Pero, desde la puerta de la cabina… "
This time the oficial de policía didn't break for translation and Duncan listened as the nervous officer rattled off a long explanation in Spanish.
"He says that the crew did not know what happened, but since the door to the crane cab was locked, everyone assumed the knob failed, dropping the stove on the victim."
"When did the police contact the crew? How long did it take to get them back to Manchiego?"
Again Duncan waited for the translation process to complete.
"They contacted the owner of the Grúa y equipos de Alcalá empresa…" Frogo stopped speaking as Duncan raised his hand to interrupt.
"English, por favor, Frogo."
Everyone in the office laughed. That released some of the stress building in the room.
Frogo continued, "The owner of the Alcalá Crane and Equipment Company, he gave the gendarmerie the names and phone numbers of the crew. Oficial de Policía Fernando Torrez summoned them back to Manchiego himself. They all returned by Saturday afternoon."
"Is there any chance that one of the crew could have returned Friday night with the key to the crane and dropped the oven on Ms. Peña? Do we know how many keys existed?" Duncan asked.
After translations, Frogo said, "Only the operator and the owner have keys. The operator accounted for his time. He was home with his wife and children. He brought the key with him when he returned to Manchiego and said it had not left him in the interim. The owner said his spare key was locked in his office. Also, the owner had witnesses to account for his whereabouts during the hours in question."
"Well, I think that's all for now. Will you please thank them for
their time and ask if I might call upon them should I think of another question?" Duncan said, directing his words at Frogo, then smiling and nodding at the two Spanish police officers.
"Sí, sí," the comisario replied, intimating that he understood some English.
He dismissed the younger man who was happy to leave. Then, he said something else in Spanish to Frogo and both the Spaniards laughed. The comisario then rose, gesturing towards the doorway with a grin. Even Duncan didn't need a translation for that. It was their signal to leave.
"Gracias," Duncan said before departing.
He took one more look around the central room. It teemed with activity and noise, just as when they arrived an hour ago. Duncan spotted Fernando Torrez and mouthed Gracias to the young man and waved. He seemed far more relaxed now.
At the car, Duncan asked, "What were you and the old man laughing about in there?"
"Oh, he was just explaining how Oficial de Policía Fernando Torrez is fresh from his training at Ávila Police Academy. Cadets spend many months there before their on the job practice. He had only just completed that when the accident happened. I'd wager that's why the young fellow was so nervous."
"I see," Duncan said, sliding into the automobile.
He was lost in his thoughts on the return drive. There were so many holes in the official investigation. The crew missing in action for all those hours was a major problem. Another key might have been made during that time and given to someone who entered the crane and dropped the stove on Ella. Duncan didn't notice that Frogo sped through the streets on his way to the academy.
The director parked the car in front of the courtyard and leapt from the automobile. He didn't look back as he moved towards the colonnade at a quick clip. Duncan followed, inquisitive of Frogo's rush. His curiosity was almost immediately sated.
He heard yelling coming from the building before Frogo reached the colonnade. The director spouted something in Spanish, Duncan assumed it was a curse, and broke into an all out run for the academy. He picked up his own pace, guessing what was in store for them.
Mystery: The Cook's Comeuppance: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder and Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 3) Page 6