Manuel said goodbye to Alfredo at the church door. He watched the gardener set off toward the path under the shelter of his black umbrella. Manuel turned back toward the church interior, after first closing the door and making sure it was locked.
The tiled floor amplified the sound of his footsteps, reflecting them to the vaulted ceiling as he walked to the altar. He noticed the tiny red lamp flickering in the chapel. He used the flashlight app of his cell phone and took a close look at the altar monstrance. The carved central panel was dedicated to Saint Clara, perhaps an evocation of the original name of the estate. On either side stood candelabra of antique silver, elaborately crafted and more than three feet tall, each supported by four massive metal feet. Manuel put a finger to the core shaft of one candelabrum and gave it a push. It didn’t budge, for it was indeed extremely heavy.
A low door to one side of the main altar led to the sacristy. He had to stoop to enter. The interior was entirely of wood. Even the ceiling was covered with elegant wood paneling, almost certainly chestnut. There were no windows. He found the light switches behind the gray metal panel of a switch box incongruous in that setting. Each was labeled. He flipped the one for the sacristy; he bent to look out through the low door to make sure that none of the other lights had come on.
A heavy wooden table stood in the center of the sacristy space, surrounded by chairs upholstered in red. A row of heavy wooden lockers, chest high, ran all the way along one wall. On the table was a relatively stark reproduction of the main altar along with several sets of liturgical chalices and patens.
He checked the interior of each locker. One contained heavy boxes, some of which were difficult to open. He found paraffin candles and votive lights, reserved no doubt for special occasions; matches, lighters, and a collection of antique candle snuffers. Another of the lockers contained religious images, missals, and various Bibles—both for personal use and for the mass—and fine altar linens wrapped individually in clear plastic bags. The next locker was used to store large glass vases.
The last locker in the row appeared empty, but he was intrigued to note that it wasn’t as deep as the others. He had to kneel in order to determine that the rear panel was, in fact, hinged, with a keyhole. Bright scratches on the metal showed it had been recently opened. He worked a finger into the keyhole and pulled, but nothing happened.
He turned his attention to a clothes locker with a collection of white vestments; an upper compartment held a colorful collection of chasubles, the outermost clerical garments, all carefully folded. And nothing else.
He knelt once more before the locker with the false back. He rapped softly and heard it was indeed hollow. He rose again and left the sacristy. He spent some minutes inspecting every inch of the floor beneath the pews, working his way eventually back to the main altar. He set his phone against the altarpiece.
With great care he placed one of the candelabra on its side and looked for the silversmith’s mark, almost always placed in some concealed part of the artwork. This smith’s chosen mark was a star somewhat resembling an asterisk, the points of which expanded into shapes that looked like ax blades. He set his cell phone camera to macro mode and took several photos. He did the same with the other candelabrum.
He checked his contact list and telephoned Gri?án. The administrator’s amiable voice greeted him immediately. “Good morning, se?or Ortigosa. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Manuel smiled, reproaching himself for his own susceptibility to the administrator’s affable manner. “Gri?án, do you remember you told me there’d been a theft from the church not long ago?”
“Yes, I don’t know what the world is coming to. Somehow nobody was looking when someone got in and carried off two very valuable ancient silver candelabra. We don’t know exactly when, but it came to light as they were preparing for the mass for the holy day of Saint Clara, patron of the church. As I explained, the church is opened only for special occasions.”
“Yes, I do remember that. And you said Santiago moved heaven and earth to locate similar ones.”
“Correct. He took personal initiative in replacing them as soon as possible. He found others that were very similar. Of course, they weren’t as valuable as the originals.”
“How do you know they were less valuable?”
“Because I authorized the payment, and they cost only a couple of hundred euros. And that’s not taking into account the historical and artistic value of the originals; the silver alone was worth more than a hundred and fifty euros per pound. And they were very heavy.”
“I assume they were insured.”
“Yes, of course. We maintain a detailed record of all the estate’s artworks. They’re inventoried every other year. And the record is updated for each new acquisition.”
“That leads me to suppose you’d have photographs of the stolen candelabra so you could make an insurance claim.”
“Yes, of course. Although in that case don Santiago preferred not to file a claim; he was concerned they might increase the premiums, since only a few months earlier don Santiago lost a watch for which we did file a claim.”
“Do you know if the theft was reported to the police?”
“Well . . . I suppose so.”
Manuel said nothing for a few seconds. As he took time to reflect, he was aware of the unease of the administrator on the other end of the line.
“Listen, Gri?án, I need you to do me a favor and to be very discreet about it.” He added the caution more as a warning than anything else, and he knew Gri?án understood as much from the tone of the man’s reply.
“Of course. You can be sure of that.”
“Get me copies of the photos of the stolen candelabra and the invoice for the new ones that were purchased.”
The long silence that followed confirmed to him that the administrator was dying to ask him why; but the man replied only, “I’ll take care of it personally. Right away—but it might take me a while.”
“Gri?án . . . I’ll do my best to express my appreciation.” Manuel ended the call. He didn’t need to see the administrator to know that the man’s face had just lit up.
He returned the candelabrum to its original position, and then on a sudden hunch he returned to the sacristy, knelt before the locker with the false back, and put Samuel’s key into the lock. It fit perfectly, with none of the looseness he’d noted in the lock of the church door. He turned it entirely around and heard springs cede as the door opened. He was annoyed with himself for not having thought of it earlier. It was logical that such a ceremonially significant key would serve as the master for all the church locks. He pocketed the key again and put his fingertips into the gap to pull the door open, for there was no handle.
A round bundle of smooth fabric fell out of the locker. Its brilliant red reminded him of a theater curtain, but when he extracted it he saw a zipper and realized it was a sleeping bag. Just behind it were two glasses and a couple of bottles of unopened wine someone had carefully placed on their sides to keep the corks moist, a packet of wet wipes, a package of condoms, and a piece of carefully folded cloth. At first he didn’t know what it was, but when he took it in hand he recognized it instantly. It was the cloth Santiago had been pressing to his face when Manuel saw him weeping alone in the church. The shiny fabric slipped between his fingers with the silken feel of lingerie. He raised it to his face and caught the smell of masculine perspiration and perfume. The fabric was still wet with Santiago’s tears.
He laid out all these things on the floor and photographed them from various angles. He returned them to their cache within the locker and folded the chemise. After a moment’s thought he opened the adjoining locker, took one of the linen altar cloths out of its protective bag, and used the bag for the garment instead. He folded the packet into a small tight anonymous shape and tucked it beneath his shirt.
He buttoned his jacket and closed the locker door. He turned off all the lights and left.
A SCHEME