Chapter Thirty-Eight
Armada and Lucas arrived at Jose’s cortijo by late afternoon, preferring speed over discretion. Their escape from the castle had been straightforward, as Lucas had found a way where the soldiers didn’t bother to guard. It was rare that they had prisoners, and even rarer when those prisoners tried to escape. It was a simple matter of climbing over a part of the castle wall where a row of houses had been built on the village side, making it easy to climb down from the ramparts and on to the roofs. They’d attracted a bit of attention, and a few annoyed neighbours had shouted at them as they scampered down the walls and out into the street, but there had been no trouble.
It had been a brisk walk, almost a dead run, all the way here. It was imperative, Armada figured, that he speak to Madalena before Bresson caught up with him, which was inevitable. Time would be limited.
Armada arrived at the front of the cortijo to find Madalena resting on a chair under the protection of the patio roof. Jose was there, his harquebus at the ready, but he put it down when he saw Armada enter.
It was an awkward exchange, one which could have ended in violence if the events of the day hadn’t required both men to put their petty squabbles aside for the moment.
“Armada…” Jose said.
Armada could see Esmerelda behind Jose. This was no heartfelt family reunion. Esmerelda kept her distance not only from Armada, but also from her husband. It seems they had not come together out of love, but out of necessity. And now the man that Esmerelda blamed for breaking up her family was here too. She proceeded to the back bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
“She’s just a little shaken. I think we all are,” Jose said, more to himself than Armada. It was then that Armada noticed Miguel standing in the shadows in the back, hunched over, as if wanting to somehow curl up into a ball from the guilt that showed all over his face.
Armada went straight to Madalena, who was sitting up in the chair, her right arm wrapped tightly in bandages against her chest, with more bandages around her left shoulder.
“Señora Rodriguez. It’s me, Armada. I heard what happened.”
Madalena tried to shift her position, but it pained her. She looked gaunt and pale, as if she’d lost a lot of blood. Armada could see signs of it everywhere. On the wood table, on the ground, on the pile of blood-soaked clothes in the corner. How Madalena had survived was nothing short of astounding, but it had taken its toll. She seemed dizzy, and it pained her to move at all. She tried sitting up.
“No, don’t move. It’s not necessary,” Armada said. “Would you like a bit of water?”
Madalena nodded and Lucas ran off to get some.
“Tell me what happened,” Armada said. “If you have the strength. Who did this?”
“I don’t know…I’m sorry…” Madalena said. It hurt to speak as well, but Armada could see the determination in her eyes. She wasn’t about to let her injuries stop her.
“He was too fast. He came in the night. I tried to fight him off.”
“Was he armed?” Armada asked. “What did he use to do all this?”
“I didn’t see. A dagger, probably. That’s what it felt like.”
“And he came in the middle of the night?”
“He just came rushing in. I didn’t have any warning,” Madalena said as Lucas arrived with the water. She sipped a bit, but had difficulty swallowing. “I had already gone to bed. Before I knew what was happening he was already attacking me.”
“Did any details stand out to you? What he was wearing? What he smelled like, perhaps?”
“Yes,” Madalena said, but she seemed to be getting dizzy again. Armada helped her into a position where she wouldn’t have to hold her head up.
“The hair,” Madalena said. “He had very long, blond hair. It must have been a wig. And a dress. He was wearing a blue and grey dress.”
Armada saw Jose and Miguel look at each other.
“How do you know it was a man?” Armada asked.
“He was too strong to be a woman. I fought back…felt his chest…he could not have been a woman.”
“But he wanted you to think he was, dressed like that,” Armada said.
“I think so.”
Miguel was staring at Jose, looking guilty.
Armada stood up and confronted Miguel, positioning his body so his gaze couldn’t catch Jose’s.
“You might as well tell me, Miguel. I’m going to find out anyway. And it will make my job much easier,” Armada said.
“The killer I saw…Amparo’s…he was wearing it too…”
Armada gave a disappointed sigh. “Anything else that you should have told me from the beginning?”
Miguel shook his head. “I’m sorry. I was…”
“It’s all right,” Armada said, then turned his attention back to Madalena. “I only have one question, Señora. If you have the strength.”
Madalena smiled meekly. “Of course.”
“It’s the only question I’ve ever had for you. You still haven’t answered it.”
Madalena tried to laugh, despite her pain. “You are a determined cabrón, aren’t you?”
“If you want to help me find out who did this, you’ll answer it.”
“Pablo. That is who I am blackmailing. Pablo Ortega. All the money came from him. All of it. The dresses, the bed, everything. Are you satisfied now?”
Although Armada had finally gotten the answer he’d wanted, it felt hollow. There was little chance she was Amparo’s killer. The motivation didn’t make sense. Even if she did kill Amparo out of greed for the blackmail money, why had she been attacked? Were there two bloodthirsty killers in Salobreña? Killers this savage would be rare anywhere. The chances of there being two here were slim. Whomever had attacked Madalena had also killed Amparo. It couldn’t be Madalena.
“So you blackmailed Pablo Ortega with the knowledge of the bones Amparo had discovered.”
“That’s right,” Madalena said. “But before you go thinking I’m a greedy woman, I’m not. This was never about the money.”
“You sure lived like it was,” Jose said.
“Why not? All that money was stolen to begin with. I might as well have a bit of fun with it. Especially since Ortega was forced to watch me. He would give nothing but annoyed looks as he watched me go about town frittering away his hard-won fortune on dresses and expensive flower bulbs and other trifles. And it drove him mad to not be able to say a word. It was worth it.” Madalena put her head down, seeming to have another dizzy spell.
“Wait,” Armada said. “What do you mean this was never about the money? What was it about?”
“Justice,” Madalena said. “If it was up to me I would have thrown all that money into the sea. It was dirty money, tainted with sin.”
“I see,” Armada said. “It wasn’t that you wanted to be rich. It was that you wanted him to be poor?”
“I wanted him to bleed,” Madalena said. “He didn’t deserve any of what he had. He’d killed for it. Split this town apart with all that morisco nonsense. All so he could become wealthy.”
“No,” Armada said. “That’s not justice. That’s vengeance. There is a difference.”
“I don’t care. I wanted him to pay,” Madalena said. “Once we found those bones, that’s all that mattered.”
Jose kicked the ground. “I told him to keep quiet about it. I told Amparo not to say anything to anybody. If he had just kept his mouth shut, none of this would have happened.”
“Coward!” Madalena said. “You knew what those bones were! And you would have let Ortega get away with it just to save your own life?”
“No, it’s because I knew this would happen! You think Ortega is just playing around? He’s going to ruin all of our lives to keep what he’s got! Especially mine! I told Amparo to stop with that blackmailing. He was going to get us all in trouble, but he was just too greedy, wasn’t he? He didn’t care what happened to the rest of us!” Jose shouted.
“I see,” Armada said.
“Hence your argument with him that Enrique witnessed. You were trying to get Amparo to stop blackmailing Ortega, not you.”
“Ortega would have figured out what happened pretty easily,” Jose said. “He would have known it was my crew that dug those canals. He would have ruined me. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done such a thing. I’ve already lost my family,” Jose said, looking toward the door where Esmerelda had squirreled herself away from the drama. “I can’t lose my field as well.”
Then Armada saw it. There was sympathy as Madalena gazed at Jose. She understood his plight. She felt badly for him, which was why she let the matter drop. The empathy that Armada had felt from their very first meeting, buried so deep below, had been unearthed. Armada was careful to conceal his relief at that.
“I don’t understand,” Armada said to Madalena. “Why is it you care so much about this? You said you didn’t care about the money, so why is it you care so much for justice? Did you know Cristina Lopez?”
“Yes,” Madalena said. “She was my mother.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Armada and Lucas approached the door with trepidation. It had been left open slightly, its solid metal lock now useless to keep any valuables inside from being stolen. Jose and Miguel hadn’t given much thought to closing it again, as at the time they were more concerned with getting Madalena to the cortijo. It had been a wise move on their part, but it also left Madalena’s possessions vulnerable.
But there was little chance anyone in the neighbourhood would have stolen anything, not with the gruesome scene that awaited inside. It was the kind of scene Armada had seen far too many times in his life.
Armada looked at Lucas, who was becoming pale. He had seen his own fair share of blood, including that of his parents, a sight that Armada knew would haunt Lucas for the rest of his life. For it had been Lucas who had found his parents after they’d been murdered, something no child should ever have to witness. Lucas never spoke of it, which suited Armada fine. But someday, Armada knew, he would have to reckon with what he’d seen. Perhaps it wouldn’t be for years, but eventually Lucas would have to let himself remember it, to speak of it, if he wanted any hope of it not destroying him.
And what lay behind Madalena’s door would remind him of everything.
“You don’t have to go inside, Lucas,” Armada said. “I’m happy to do this alone.”
“No, sir. I think I should. There might be clues in there.”
“And there may not be. If it’s too much…”
“Sir,” Lucas said, looking at Armada. The boy wanted to go in. He had his own reasons, reasons that Armada couldn’t understand at the moment. But Lucas looked determined to face it. Armada was not going to stand in his way.
Armada took the lead and pushed open the large, crafted wooden front door. The scene was as gruesome as he’d expected. Blood was everywhere, much of it having turned a burnt amber as it dried in the summer heat. Much of it was pooled on the bed, and on the floor below. There were swatches across the white plaster wall, and two handprints on the wood frame of the bed. The flies had arrived and now buzzed about Armada’s head, while the smell nearly made him ill. Dried blood mixed with dusty soil was one of the worst odours Armada had ever experienced, and yet it seemed to follow him everywhere. He could only put a rag to his mouth and nose, but that did little to help.
In every corner, the house looked as though it had been robbed. Furniture had been turned over, and clothes and smashed pieces of pottery littered the floor.
It must have been quite a struggle, Armada thought, trying to picture it in his head. Madalena could be fierce. He had always sensed that. And the killer had forced the worst out of her. It must have taken every bit of strength for the killer to get the job done, and he’d still failed.
He could hear Lucas enter just a few steps behind and gasp. Then a strange gurgling sound erupted from Lucas’ stomach. The boy turned away, facing the wall.
“You should get some air, Lucas,” Armada said.
A box of letters had been kicked about from deep under the bed. The box was old and had broken apart, sending the rolled-up letters everywhere. Armada hadn’t seen them before as they’d been wrapped carefully in a sheet so as to appear like a stack of clothes. Someone had gone through a bit of effort to hide these, so they grabbed Armada’s attention.
One of the letters had Amparo’s name written prominently at the top.
Armada knew he shouldn’t read it. They were only here to collect information about Madalena’s attacker, not to rifle through her personal things. There was a moral question involved, and one Armada knew he might feel guilty about later. But given the extent of Madalena’s injuries, anything he could find that might help would ultimately be justifiable. At least, that’s what he told himself.
Armada peeked at one of the letters. They were all from Amparo, dated from before Madalena had come to Salobreña. At first glance Armada assumed they were love letters and hesitated to read them, but soon realised that they were written in a very practical language. The words contained no terms of endearment for Madalena, no affection. Just discussions of their living situation and money, as if they were negotiating a contract with a lawyer. There wasn’t even a mention of Amparo looking forward to seeing her.
The other letters were mostly the same. All from Amparo to Madalena over a period of several months, each one written in a hasty scribble and responding to endless requests for information about where they would live, how money would be earned and other practical matters. Armada would have given anything to have read Madalena’s letters to Amparo, to get the other side of the conversation. But going by these, it wouldn’t have been much different. There had never been any love between these two, these letters proved it, and yet quite a lot of discussion had gone into planning their union. Only one letter contained anything intriguing, a sentence scribbled at the end in which Amparo wrote, “Happy to finally be doing the right thing.”
The note made little sense to Armada, given the couple had no children, and Madalena had never been pregnant as far as he was aware. Could they have been talking about something else?
There were no more answers to be had in the letters. Amparo had been careful not to reveal too much, probably believing they would be found someday. Little did he know they would indeed be found after his own gruesome death.
Armada gathered up the letters and stuffed them back into the box, then shoved it back under the bed. There was no reason to leave them lying about should her neighbours decide to come in to clean, or to steal.
For a few minutes, Armada kicked the debris about with his toe, hoping to find something else that might shed a bit of light on Madalena and her motives, but found little else other than expensive clothes, fitted shoes, and slices of jamon that had been ruined by being stomped into the earthen floor by a bloody shoe.
Armada looked over to where Lucas stood by the open door with his back to him.
“It is fine if you are ill, Lucas. No one will blame you for it. Very few people have the stomach for scenes such as these,” Armada said.
“It’s not that, sir. Look.”
Armada went over to see Lucas playing with the large keyed lock on the door and inspecting the door frame.
“It’s the lock, sir. It was open.”
“Yes, I imagine it was.”
“Well, why?”
“What do you mean?”
Lucas ran his hand over the outside edge of the open door. “The door is undamaged, sir. So is the frame. The way Madalena Rodriguez described it, I just pictured the killer kicking the door in and attacking her.”
“As did I.”
“But look, sir. He couldn’t have. The door is fine. So is the doorframe. And when we got here, the lock was unlocked. So either she left the door open the night she got attacked…”
“Or the killer had his own key.”
“It’s the only way he could have gotten in,” Lucas said.
“Could he have picked his
way in? I’ve heard of those who are talented enough to do that, sometimes with just a rusty nail.”
Lucas kneeled down and peered into the lock. “Possibly. But I doubt it, sir. Watch.”
Lucas went outside and closed the door behind him. Then a loud clanking sound came from the lock. A moment later, Lucas opened the door again.
“That’s what it would have sounded like,” Lucas said. “And it takes a few minutes to do.”
“She would have heard it quite clearly,” Armada said. “Let’s get back.”
A short while later, Armada and Lucas were back at Jose’s cortijo just as Esmerelda was feeding Madalena a bit of broth. Some colour had now returned to Madalena’s face, but she still appeared dizzy and had trouble standing. Her bandages required constant changing as she was still bleeding. Yet she seemed in good spirits, though she needed constant rest.
“Are you certain you didn’t hear anything before you went to bed? No strange noises from the door?” Armada asked her.
“I live alone. I would have heard something.”
“And you’re sure you locked the door?”
“I always do. I don’t trust those others. Especially Melchora. She’s had her eye on my dresses all year. I wouldn’t put it past her to steal them if she could,” Madalena said as she sipped her broth.
“When you locked the door that night, where did you place your key?” Armada asked.
“Under my pillow, where I always put it.”
“And you’re certain of that?”
“Of course. I’m a very meticulous person when it comes to such things.”
“Is that the only key?”
“No. Amparo had one as well.”
“Where is that key now?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it since he was killed.”
Armada stood, his mind racing. He picked up a glass of cheap brandy that Jose had poured for him and took a swig. The taste was harsh, and burned the back of his throat. It was a poor substitute for his sherry, but it would have to do.
A Murder Most Spanish Page 25