A Murder Most Spanish

by Jefferson Bonar

  “But you did it anyway.”

  Miguel shrugged. He couldn’t think of an answer for the constable. Even Miguel wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe he didn’t want to disappoint Jose. Or maybe he was hoping Jose would be his friend if he complied. Jose had been so friendly when he’d asked Miguel if he wanted to earn a bit of extra money during the harvest. How could he have said no?

  “You needed the money,” Armada said. “That’s fine. I’m not here to get you in trouble over it. I just wanted to know how Amparo felt about it.”

  “I tried not to talk to Amparo,” Miguel said. “I didn’t like working with him.”

  “He was a cruel man, I know, but…” Armada began.

  “No, it was because he and Jose were always arguing.”

  “About what?”

  Miguel tried to cast his mind back to those long nights he spent in the muddy field. He’d hated the work. It was cold, and he knew he would be tired the next day. And the shouting. He’d sensed Amparo and Jose were old friends who had known each other a long time, but those nights, when there was no one else around, they seemed so mean to each other. The sound of their shouting still sent shivers down his spine.

  “Money.”

  “How so?” Armada asked. He seemed particularly interested in Miguel’s answer. Miguel suddenly realised he was important to the case, and this made him slightly nervous.

  “Amparo wanted more. He was always arguing about it.”

  “But Jose didn’t want to pay him?”

  “I don’t think so. He mostly called Amparo a lot of bad names.”

  “Was Amparo threatening him as well?”

  “He said he was going to tell.”

  Armada’s body stiffened and he leaned in closer to the bars of the cell. “Tell what?”

  “Tell who we were stealing from.”

  “This is very important, Miguel, so I need you to think back very carefully. Are you saying that Amparo Rodriguez knew who owned the fallow field you were digging on?”

  Miguel’s nervousness increased and he began to mix up his memories. He was desperate to not to pass out again like he had with Madalena. He could feel how important this was to Armada and he didn’t want to disappoint him.

  But Armada was patient and willing to wait. Miguel could sense that and he was able to calm himself and hold the dizziness in his head at bay for a moment.

  “Yes,” Miguel whispered.

  “Did he say who it was?”

  “No. At least, not while I was around.”

  Armada turned around and leaned against the bars, taking in what he’d just been told.

  “What is it?” Miguel asked.

  “Just a crazy theory that is looking more and more to be true,” Armada said. Then he smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

  Armada left the room for a moment, then returned with one of the guards, who proceeded to unlock the door and swing it open for Miguel.

  Miguel stood inside the cell, not daring to move.

  “It’s all right, Miguel,” Armada said. “I’m releasing you.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. This isn’t a trick, I promise,” Armada said, gesturing for Miguel to come out. “I don’t believe you had anything to do with Amparo Rodriguez’ murder. And I don’t see a reason to keep you in here any longer.”

  Miguel cautiously stepped forward, and wouldn’t have been surprised if the guard pounded on him and proceeded to beat him again. It was just the kind of trick they would have played when he’d first arrived.

  But instead, Armada escorted him out of the room, up the stairs, and all the way out of the castle. If it were a trick, he was going to a lot of effort to fool Miguel. And Miguel didn’t care anymore. He was outside, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and head again. It was worth a beating, just for a few more minutes of sunshine.

  Armada escorted Miguel down to the tavern where he bought a menu del dia. Miguel scarfed up the food the moment it was served, as well as the warm, watery ale accompanying it. There was only a scattering of other men at the bar, and they now glared at him. Miguel realised he must have looked quite a sight. But he knew that wasn’t why these men were staring. It was because of the stories that had been circulating around town about why he had been imprisoned. Miguel shuddered to think about what they’d been saying, but going by the men’s faces, it wasn’t good.

  Armada didn’t seem to notice this. He appeared too wrapped up in apologising for Miguel’s incarceration and reminding him not to leave town as long as the case was still pending. He offered to put Miguel up for the night, then saw Miguel was tensing up and decided without asking to get another round of ales to put his mind at ease.

  Finding himself momentarily alone, and seeing Armada wrapped up in a conversation with the barman, Miguel rose from the table and quietly snuck out of the tavern. He would apologise later, but he just couldn’t stand those cold hard stares of the other men any longer.

  Without knowing where else to go, Miguel went back to the room he’d rented in a small house at the back of El Brocal when he’d first arrived. Jose had told him about it. It was a place that always rented to labourers who drifted into town for the harvest season, and the woman he’d rented from seemed nice enough. She even gave him a good price.

  But that all changed when he returned. The landlady was not as nice as she’d been, and to his horror all of his things had been removed and sold to pay his bill. And he was certainly not allowed to rent a room again. The landlady knew he had no money and accused him of being a morisco and she said she didn’t rent to such people. Miguel had tried to tell him he wasn’t, but his protests fell on deaf ears.

  With nowhere else to go, Miguel wandered out of town and down to the delta where he found a stable with a door he could slip through. Inside, he found a flea-ridden blanket and a pile of straw, as well as a mule who seemed grateful for a bit of company.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lucas arrived back at the inn shortly after Armada did, his eyes wide with excitement. It made Armada suspect at first, since not once in the history of Spain had a person fresh from a town archives, having spent the day culling through poorly-written records, ever returned in such a state. It seemed a waste of youthful energy, but Armada was hoping it would be useful. And going by how Lucas seemed to bounce off the walls, it was promising.

  “I went to the town hall like you said, sir, to try and look up who owns that fallow field,” Lucas began. “I dug through their archives and apparently it hasn’t changed hands for a long time. The only mention I found of it was a declaration of inheritance for tax purposes. It looks like the previous owner died and left it to his son.”

  Armada let his eyes glance over the notes Lucas pointed to. To him, it seemed a jumble of random words, phrases, and unidentifiable scrawl that made little sense.

  “There wasn’t much information in it, sir. Mostly just some vague descriptions of boundary markers, and some calculations of possible crop yields used to calculate the taxes, which I noted here in case we need it.”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it, Lucas. How does any of this help us?”

  “Well, it took me a while to find the name of that son who inherited it, sir. But I did. And you’ll never guess who it is.”

  Lucas ran his finger down to the bottom of his notes where a name had been written and circled several times.

  Pablo Ortega, alcalde of Salobreña and the most powerful man in town.

  Armada let his memory roll back to when Ortega had come to visit him at the inn. The man had seemed so eager for Miguel to be charged and for the case to be resolved. Not eager. Worried. The man had come looking for reassurance the case would play out as he’d planned. At the time, Armada hadn’t been able to figure out why. Was it out of concern for the town’s welfare? Or was it something more personal? He didn’t know Ortega well enough to tell.

  “Do you think Jose Padilla knows, sir?” Lucas said.

  “Perhaps. But that’s not the que
stion on my mind. No, I’m more curious to know if Amparo Rodriguez knew.”

  “Why?”

  “We know that Amparo Rodriguez was an ambitious man. He constantly fought with Jose over money, which means we can assume that was a clear motivation in his life. But Amparo couldn’t get what he wanted from Jose simply by asking. So what if he tried to force Jose to give it to him?” Armada said.

  “Blackmail.”

  “It certainly fits. Jose has a lot to lose if Ortega found out he was stealing water from him. Ortega is a wealthy man and could easily have ruined Jose, either through criminal charges or a civil suit with the Royal Chancery. Either way, Jose couldn’t possibly afford to defend himself. If Amparo knew that, he would simply have had to threaten Jose with exposing his crimes to get whatever he wanted.”

  Lucas looked over his notes.

  “But sir, look how difficult it was for me to find out who owned that field. Nobody had looked at those records in years. So how would Amparo have known?”

  “A very astute question, Lucas. And there is only one way I can think of getting the answer. Which I will, first thing tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, I’d like you to return to the archives and continue your work.”

  “What am I looking for, sir?”

  “I’d like to know if Pablo Ortega owns any other fields around here. And more importantly, what he’s doing with them.”

  “That might be difficult, sir. The archivist there was already a bit wary of letting a young person like me see sensitive records like that. I’m not sure he will,” Lucas said.

  “Then there is a life lesson to be learned here, Lucas,” Armada said. He grabbed a small purse from his jacket pocket and plopped it on the table, causing the coins inside to jangle.

  “There will always be people in this world who require a bit more convincing,” Armada said.

  The next morning Armada walked along the ancient cobbled street just up the hill from the plaza that ran west, along a route that had once been the location of the medieval wall that had surrounded Salobreña so many years ago. The wall was considered obsolete after the last of the Moorish rebellions had been quashed. Any threat to Salobreña’s hilltop fortress now would come from the sea, not the land. The ancient wall had been allowed to fall into ruin, with large sections having been pillaged for building materials and the rest allowed to erode away with each successive rainstorm.

  The section of the wall that Armada now followed, however, had been preserved as it created a main thoroughfare into a large open square where buildings had been forbidden. It was here, in the part of town called the Medina, where the monthly market was now taking place. Armada was far from alone, as the road heaved with townspeople and overloaded carts pulled by exhausted mules who brayed in protest as they clopped their way past Armada. Merchants and traders from all over the region had come, some with fruit and vegetables of every variety, others with nuts or spices. Some specialized in clothing and came with carts stacked high with merino wool or dyed fabrics from Seville, while others brought leather goods and animal hides, freshly tanned, or wooden farming tools, as well as barrels of iron scrap.

  Salobreña had become a very noisy, crowded place as the streets filled with shoppers from town, as well as the myriad of little villages in its municipality including Ítrabo, Molvízar, and Lobres. Adding to this din were the local residents who stood about on their front stoops, chatting with neighbours and watching the parade of carts slowly shuffle past their doorsteps.

  Armada pushed his way through the throngs of people and came to the Medina, an open bit of land just beyond the wall that was now overcrowded with stalls, each with merchants haggling over prices with shoppers.

  Armada searched the narrow lanes between the stalls of the market, ignoring the wares on offer and eyeing the people. Many brought baskets made of reeds or wicker to carry their freshly-bought goods, while others filled canvas sacks thrown over their shoulders. A few women were content to hold up the front of their long dresses and fill them with carefully selected produce.

  She had to be here. And if he could catch her, the setting would be perfect. If she’d been here long enough, it would tell him everything he needed to know.

  After a bit of searching, Armada finally spotted her. She was in the far corner of the market, dressed in a modest grey dress, her hair tucked under a matching coif with a white neckerchief folded into the collar, her shoes simply a pair of mules. This was a woman dressing not to be noticed in a crowd of peasants and Armada had nearly missed her.

  Madalena was looking over a trader’s selection of bodices he had brought from Seville. Many were made from fine silk and kept in shape by the whalebone embedded in the fabric, designed to wrap tight around the woman’s middle, keeping her back straight and holding her bust up.

  Armada watched Madalena for a moment, finding that the crowd of shoppers allowed him to stand quite close to her without being seen. She was holding a modest basket, which held no food, but instead a few bits of silver jewellery, some red satin fabric, and now a new bodice, for which she had just paid the merchant and now placed in her basket. Madalena drifted away and Armada took a closer look at the bodices for himself. Very fine silk indeed, he could tell, likely from Granada. And with the whalebone inserts quite expensive, and more than she should be able to afford.

  Seeing the confused stare the merchant was giving him, whose buyers were exclusively women, Armada moved on.

  He soon caught up with Madalena, who was now browsing a stall filled with a selection of pungent brown spices displayed in old wine barrels.

  “How long are you planning to follow me around today?” Madalena asked over her shoulder.

  “I apologise, Señora,” Armada said. “But I had a few more questions for you. Is there somewhere more private where we can speak?”

  “I don’t have time for this, Constable. I’ve just bought some very expensive flower bulbs, which I must plant in pots as soon as possible.”

  “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 sh
ifted 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.”