A Murder Most Spanish

by Jefferson Bonar

  Ines confessed with an ease of a hostess, as if she were relating a funny anecdote regarding a recent trip to Madrid. One could almost forget she was talking about cold-blooded murder.

  “How did it feel to kill Enrique?” Armada asked. “The other two, you hired someone else to do it. No need to get your hands dirty. But Enrique, you watched him die with your own eyes. Did you feel nothing?”

  Ines took in a long breath. “It’s not my job, Constable. That’s for my husband to worry about. We both have our little roles in this marriage. My husband is the showman, the loutish bore who can rile up the emotions of everyone in town, speak to their hate, their anger, their morality, and mould it into whatever we need it to be. My job is to do the dirty work. To quietly remove the obstacles that stand in our way in a manner that is not distasteful to anyone. It’s how things have always worked in civilized society and thus far, Constable, I don’t see anyone but you having a problem with it.”

  Armada rose to his feet, as if he were about to go. “Then it is a good thing my opinion is the only one that counts.”

  Armada grabbed the irons Lucas had been holding and held them up.

  “I wasn’t going to use these, but I feel they are warranted now. Ines Ortega, I am arresting you for the murders of Amparo Rodriguez and Enrique Talavera and for your attempt to murder Madalena Rodriguez.”

  “Is this really necessary?” Ortega said.

  “Yes,” Armada said. “And you shouldn’t tempt me to clasp them on you as well. For it was to protect her that you were very nearly responsible for the death of another man—Miguel Guillen, an innocent man who has been to hell and back because of you.”

  Armada made sure the irons were on tight.

  “How could you, Ines?” Ortega said feebly. “Armada, I had no idea what she was doing. You have to believe me.”

  Armada gestured for Ines to walk ahead of him outside, where his prisoner transport cart was waiting, as well as a group of neighbours wanting to see what all the excitement was about.

  “Lucas,” Armada said.

  “Yes, sir.” Lucas pulled out a second set of chains.

  “What’s this?” Ortega asked. “You can’t be thinking…”

  “Pablo Ortega, it gives me pleasure to arrest you for the murder of Cristina Lopez.”

  Ortega’s eyes went wide with fear. He was sweating now, the most powerful man in Salobreña, a man who had been a paragon of power and influence. And now here he was, no different from a mouse chased into a corner by a cat.

  “I don’t know who that is,” Ortega declared, as if he were already standing in front of a judge.

  Armada suppressed the urge to hit the man for attempting to lie his way out of a situation once again. All he could think of was Madalena’s tears when she had finally told him about her and Amparo Rodriguez. Two innocent children, forced to spend their lives dealing with the consequences of this man’s greed.

  Armada leaned in close, his words only for Ortega’s ears. “Then I suggest you find out. Because for the rest of your life, her name will forever be associated with yours. History will not record your wealth, nor your power, nor your status, nor any of the other things that you believe are so important. You will only be remembered as the killer of an innocent woman. Nothing more. I will make sure of it.”

  Armada marched Ortega out the door, where Bresson and a crowd of people with torches to light the way were waiting. Ines had already been loaded into the iron cage of the cart and now her husband was pushed inside along with her. Gasps and whispers filled the air as Armada and Lucas hopped on top of the cart.

  Lucas grabbed the reins, and they left Albaycín for the last time, with Bresson on horseback behind them.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  It was quite late by the time Armada got back to Jose’s cortijo. Despite the excitement that was now filling the town as the news of the arrest of their alcalde began to spread, it was quiet down on the delta. Only the sound of the waves on the shore could be heard, a far off distant hush that seemed almost in sync with the gentle breeze that blew over the land in small gusts.

  Armada entered the cortijo to find everyone had gone to bed. The bedroom door where Esmerelda and her son and daughter were was closed, with several piles of children’s clothes just outside where they’d been dressed for the night. The door to the back shed was unlocked and open, and Armada could see Jose’s foot sticking out. He’d cobbled together a makeshift bed from the hay inside and was now snoozing away. Although he was not yet back with his wife, he was at least allowed to stay in the room next door. There was hope yet for Jose’s family, even if it did look a bit silly at the moment. Most marriages did at some point, Armada knew.

  But Armada had not returned here to speak to the Padillas. He crossed over to a couch where Madalena was softly breathing. She was lying on her back awkwardly, her head propped up on a pillow. She’d once been wrapped up in a thick blanket which had now fallen on the floor, and now only a thin sheet protected her broken body from the wind that was blowing in under the patio roof.

  Armada quietly picked up the heavy blanket and was about to place it back over Madalena’s body when he saw her eyes had opened.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Armada whispered.

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” Madalena said. She heaved a long sigh. Her voice was gravelly, her eyes red and puffy. The colour had not yet returned to her face and it seemed painful for her to move.

  “How are you feeling?” Armada asked.

  “I feel nothing. I can’t. I don’t dare.”

  Armada noticed a plate of food and some water sitting on the floor next to her, food that had been left there for some time. But it was untouched.

  “It might be because you are cold. Please, let me put this on you,” Armada said. He placed the heavy blanket over Madalena, who did not resist.

  “I have some news that might help,” Armada said, crouching down on the floor next to her. “I have arrested Pablo Ortega tonight. I’m charging him for the murder of your mother.”

  “What?”

  Although the moon was only a sliver, the clear sky and bright stars seemed to light up the landscape in its absence. Armada found he could clearly see the outlines of Madalena’s face, a face that was now staring at him with hope.

  “Ortega and his wife, who was the real mastermind. I’m taking them back to Granada tomorrow, where they will face the consequences for what they have done. All their possessions and wealth will be confiscated, and Ortega will of course lose his position. And my guess is that they both will eventually hang for their crimes.”

  Madalena’s breathing quickened and she stared out at the night sky, her eyes becoming shiny with tears.

  “More importantly, before I leave tomorrow, I will make sure everyone in town knows the truth. The truth of who your mother was, of what happened to you, what happened to Amparo, and all that Pablo Ortega did. It will all come out.”

  Madalena was now crying. Armada comforted her, moving closer, and letting her rest her head on his shoulder. The cries became sobs now, her entire body convulsing, as she finally let out the pain she had been feeling for so long. It flowed out of her body, and into the room, into Armada, and out into the night sky. Wave after wave it came, everything that Madalena had kept bottled up and hidden for so long, all came rushing to the surface so fast that she couldn’t contain it. And for the first time in so many years, Madalena didn’t have to hide any of it. Here, curled up on Armada’s chest, was his first glimpse at the real Madalena Lopez.

  She wept as though she were that frightened young girl again, reliving that fateful night, and watching her mother get taken from her. Armada understood. It must have felt as though the real Madalena Lopez died that night too, with only the twisted, blackened remains of her soul left behind. A soul that knew it could never be a normal person. Armada had felt that during his return voyage to Spain all those years ago and wished he could sob along with her. But his own soul had hard
ened too much for that.

  Madalena sobbed until she had nothing left, and soon the strength had drained from her body.

  “Thank you, Constable.”

  “Domingo. My name is Domingo.”

  “Mine is Celestina,” Madalena said and smiled, the light still reflecting off the tears that stained her cheeks. “I’m am so very tired. I need to sleep.”

  “Of course,” Armada said. “I will see you in the morning.”

  The next morning, Armada woke to a scream. He sat up, his back sore from having slept on a hard bench in the corner of the cortijo, just a short distance away from Madalena. Although his help wasn’t necessarily needed as Esmerelda was there to watch over her, he still had felt compelled to stay close.

  Armada sat up to the sound of sobs coming from Madalena’s direction and he turned to see Jose, Miguel, and Esmerelda all standing around Madalena with shocked and saddened expressions.

  It was clear Madalena had passed away. Her eyes, now lifeless, gazing up at the ceiling, still wrapped up in the warm blanket Armada had given her. Esmerelda stood a short distance away holding her hand to her mouth while Jose pulled his two children away, who tried to catch a look at the body.

  Armada sat on the couch next to Madalena and gently closed her eyes.

  Over the next few days, Armada worked to fulfil the promise he’d made to Madalena and began with a long conversation with the pastor. After a bit of convincing, it was decided, and Armada was able to post an announcement that the joint funeral of Cristina and Celestina Lopez would be held the next day at midday. There were people in town who had no idea who either of them were, but it was well known they were somehow connected to all the excitement that had happened recently.

  The next day, the pastor told Armada that he’d never seen the church so full. It was as if every man, woman, and child had showed up. The pews had filled quickly, and the standing room against the back walls was gone as well. Even the old men, who generally milled about outside during mass, now arched their heads over the parishioners who crowded the doors, as Armada began to address the crowd.

  He thanked them for coming, and then relayed the whole story, leaving out only a few of the more gruesome details. Many in town knew bits and pieces, but few knew the whole story. It seemed an odd thing to do, as Armada generally didn’t take the time to fill in everyone about what had transpired during a case. But this was personal. It was what Madalena had wanted. It was what she had lived the last week of her life for. And he wasn’t about to let her down.

  When Armada finished, the pastor then began the service. Armada realised that this service wasn’t for him, it was for Salobreña. It was for a pueblo beginning the long hard process of healing. Armada slipped out a side door and found himself alone in the courtyard, under the shade of the two olive trees.

  He had never experienced such stillness. A deathly silence had fallen over the town, completely emptied of its residents, nearly every last one of whom was now inside the church. There were no fires in the delta, no one in the plaza, no one in the streets. But this wasn’t the first time Salobreña had been this quiet. The last time, undoubtedly, was after the Moors had been expelled, centuries ago. Salobreña had been completely emptied of people for a time, a ghost town left to rot for fear of the Muslims who once lived here helping to reclaim it in the name of Al-Andalus, the Moorish kingdom it had once been.

  But no reinforcements ever came, and soon the Catholic Monarchs saw fit to repopulate the town with Catholic settlers, selling off the vast tracts of sugar cane on the delta left behind by the Moorish farmers to anyone wealthy enough to buy them. And thus Salobreña came to life again, reinvented, with every sign of its Moorish roots buried and forgotten. Just as it probably would again now that the Ortegas were gone.

  Armada realized that Lucas was standing behind him.

  “It’s a nice service, sir. You don’t want to hear it?”

  “The service is for the pueblo, Lucas. Not for you nor for me. It seemed rude somehow to be there. As if I were peeking in through a window I shouldn’t be.”

  “I felt it too, sir.”

  The two men stood on the edge of the courtyard, which offered a view of the entire north side of town, a random jumble of rooftops made of clay tiles that all overlooked the delta and the green mountains beyond. With the smoke now cleared, Armada had never seen the colours this vivid.

  “At least it was one promise I was able to fulfil.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Armada couldn’t bear to bring himself to face Lucas. The boy was smart, he obviously knew what Armada was referring to. He hated bringing it up. It felt so uncomfortable. So many cases, and yet there was always one he couldn’t speak about with Lucas. The one that was too close to home.

  “You do know, Lucas, that… well…when it comes to your…parents…”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I just wanted to say, Lucas, I…” But the words wouldn’t come. And Armada was feeling awkward now, and he could see the boy was too.

  “Maybe we should go back inside, sir. I’m sure it’s fine if we…”

  “Now wait a minute, Lucas. Wait,” Armada said, grabbing the boy’s arms. “This is important. I…”

  Armada sighed. It all suddenly sounded so empty. But something inside told him to say it anyway.

  “I just wanted to say…well…I haven’t given up. Your case, I mean. It’s not over.”

  Lucas stared at the ground. Armada knew that Lucas carried around a lot of emotions, emotions he had never spoken about to Armada. The boy probably didn’t trust him to understand. Perhaps he wouldn’t. He certainly had never pressed the issue. In fact, the two of them usually avoided it altogether. But the events of the recent weeks had made this necessary somehow.

  “Yes, sir,” Lucas said. But the way he said it, there was obviously so much more that remained unsaid. Armada wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear it.

  Armada then looked back out over the town, his body announcing he was through talking about it.

  “Perhaps we should go back in, Lucas. I think I’ve had enough of the view.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And the two of them went back inside.

  After the ceremony let out, Miguel found himself alone in a sea of people. He wasn’t sure he’d wanted to go to the church. He mostly dreamed of returning home, putting the whole ugly affair behind him. He missed his parents and his home village. Being somewhere that didn’t have a castle on the hill. He never wanted to see another castle as long as he lived. Armada had been kind enough to give him a bit of money, enough to return home on. He’d only stuck around to see the funeral, to hear the whole story the same as the rest of the town. It had been curiosity. But now that he knew everything, he wished he didn’t know. He wished he’d never left his hometown and promised himself once he got home that he would stay put.

  The courtyard filled with people and buzzed with excitement. Now that everyone knew all the details of the case, there was so much to discuss. Opinions and theories and conspiracies were traded around like currencies. Miguel pushed his way through the crowd toward the front of the church where it joined up with the road when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  Miguel turned to see Jose smiling at him. Esmerelda was also there, along with the two children, and they were all dressed in their finest clothes as if it were Sunday mass. But it was only Tuesday. It was a very strange day.

  “Miguel, you’re not leaving, are you?”

  “I want to go home.”

  “Come back to the cortijo with us. We’re all having a drink to Madalena.”

  Miguel shook his head. “No, I’m a bit tired.”

  “Come on, come back with us. Then you can leave. I’ll even give you a ride to the other side of the delta,” Jose said.

  It was tempting, as it would be a long walk back to his hometown. But the thought of being around everyone was too much for Miguel now. He’d been having strange conversations all day with people
he didn’t know coming up to him, apologising. He wasn’t sure for what, but many had invited him into their homes, wanting to know more about what Armada was going to say at the ceremony. Miguel knew they were angling for inside information, wanting to know just a bit more about the murders than their neighbours. He knew how that worked and he didn’t want to get involved. Besides, he didn’t know much more than Armada could tell them anyway. He’d been in the dark about what was happening for most of it.

  “Leave him be, Jose,” Esmerelda told her husband. “If he doesn’t want to come back with us, that’s all right.”

  “Miguel, don’t be silly. You shouldn’t even be leaving town at all. I can still use you. You’re a good worker, and I need someone to help me. I’m thinking of pulling up the sugar cane and growing something else next year. Vegetables, maybe. I hear the price of potatoes is going to go up in the next few years.”

  As Jose talked and Esmerelda argued with him, Miguel suddenly caught the eye of Francesca, the woman from long ago that he’d met at the lavadero. He hadn’t seen her since the whole incident had happened. But she had lost none of her beauty. It was as though she shone just a bit brighter than everyone around her. He had dreamed of talking to her again, but never dared hope it would actually happen.

  Now she was just a few steps away. She was real, not a fantasy meant to keep him going through those long, dark days in the castle when he thought his life was about to end.

  Then Francesca caught him looking at her. She did little to hide her interest. She was with her parents, who were too busy talking excitedly to their friends to notice that she had left.

  Francesca began walking toward Miguel and he suddenly had the urge to run away. He wasn’t ready for this. What would he say? Was she coming over to slap him in the face? What did she think of him after all that had happened?

  “I have to go,” Miguel told Jose and turned away from him. Jose tried to follow but Esmerelda stopped him and their conversation became an argument.