“Yes,” said Nogueira. “The fact that To?ino had the key strongly suggests that he had something to do both with Fran’s death and with the disappearance of those silver antiques.”
Manuel enlarged the screen image of the silversmith’s mark. “Gri?án told me that Santiago used his own funds to replace the stolen candelabra. Silversmiths have very distinctive hallmarks, like this one.” He tapped the image, somewhat like an asterisk, with which the smith had signed his work. “So I asked Gri?án to provide the photos they took of the originals for the inventory and insurance. I was sure whoever did the inventory would have recorded the mark. Antiquities are valued far more highly for the artist and the age of the piece than for the mere value of the metal.” He then tapped his photo app. “I was in the church this morning, and I took several pictures of the ones that are there now.” He again held out the phone. “Compare these with these photos taken for the insurance policy.” He alternately displayed the photo app and the text attachments.
The two men studied the photos and looked up in amazement.
Nogueira took the phone in hand and looked closer at the silversmith marks. “They’re identical!” Nogueira looked first at Lucas and then at Manuel.
Manuel leaned back in his chair with a smile as he took a sip of his coffee. It was cold. “Because they’re the same candelabra.”
Lucas shrugged and threw up his hands. “Are you sure?”
“At first I wasn’t. I thought maybe the original set had included four candelabra and Santiago had somehow managed to locate the other two. But the certificate of authenticity submitted to the insurance company with the photos is very clear. The master craftsman created a single pair.” He pointed to the screen. “This pair.”
“You think Santiago faked a robbery so he could defraud the insurance company? And then after collecting he put the original pair back in place? That’s a typical insurance scam,” Nogueira responded.
“No, I think they really were stolen, and Santiago knew who did it. That’s why he didn’t go to the police or to the insurance company.” Manuel was relishing the look of confusion on his friends’ faces. “He managed to get to the thief, and he bought them back. álvaro hadn’t been at As Grileiras since early July, and the candelabra turned up missing in mid-August, so álvaro hadn’t seen the new ones. But as soon as he did, he knew something was wrong with that tale about a theft. He went into the kitchen and accused Santiago in front of Herminia: ‘Who do you think you’re fooling with this story about the candelabra?’”
“Why would Santiago do such a thing?” Lucas asked.
“Obvious. He was protecting someone.” Nogueira stared at Manuel. “Someone very important to him.”
Manuel nodded. “He was protecting his lover, the person he’d been meeting in the church sacristy for some time, the person he suspected of the theft.” He took his phone back from Nogueira and swiped again until he came to the photo showing the contents of the sacristy locker.
“A hooker?” Nogueira asked, raising a hand to his mouth in astonishment. “Sorry, Lucas, but it’s obvious. This is a fuck pad.”
“In the church . . .” murmured Lucas, scandalized.
“It was the perfect place. No one would disturb them there. As you know, family tradition dictates that only the males of the family have the key to the church, and it’s buried with them when they die. The old marquis had his, Fran lost his, and álvaro provided his own so that it could be buried with Fran. That accounts for three. Only little Samuel’s was left, and that’s the one I used. But until now it has been kept in a display case, and Santiago knew that Elisa would never use it. That reduced the count of the remaining keys to only one, his own.”
“So let’s suppose he wasn’t meeting a prostitute, since after all he was going to the roadhouse once a week or so; he’d just gotten his wife pregnant; and in addition it looks like he was having an ongoing relationship with some other woman—good God, what a sex drive!” the cop exclaimed. Manuel laughed out loud at that while Lucas tried to hold an expression of disapproval. “My hero!”
“No, not a prostitute. Not at all,” Manuel continued, despite the interruption. “Someone who’d been seen by many, a regular at the estate. By Damián, by Herminia. The person Fran saw by the church, the reason he got so upset. That’s what Fran hinted at in his confession, Lucas. He wasn’t entirely certain by then, but he did suspect something terrible was going on, so much so that he told álvaro that day by their father’s grave. The gravedigger overheard them.” He paused. “When you told álvaro that Fran was terribly upset, álvaro thought you knew. Fran had drawn the obvious conclusion: the dealer was lurking around the estate because he was going to meet a client. Maybe Fran saw them meet or go into the church together.” Manuel’s face was grim. “Fran blamed himself for allowing a demon access to their home. Richie told us To?ino still had business at As Grileiras, so we thought he meant drugs. I even began to think álvaro might be involved. But To?ino wasn’t selling drugs; or at least that wasn’t all he was doing. ‘You don’t kill the cow if it’s still giving milk.’ Remember?”
Nogueira stared at him but said nothing. He was thinking. Manuel saw disbelief and acceptance contesting one another in his eyes. The policeman’s expression darkened with gathering suspicion. “The lock hadn’t been forced,” he said.
Manuel nodded. “And Santiago wouldn’t have left the church door open.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Nogueira said it. “Santiago knew immediately who’d done it: the only person who didn’t need to break in because he had a key. And he had it because Santiago had given it to him.”
Manuel nodded again. “To?ino. That’s why he still had it on him.”
Too agitated to sit still, Nogueira got to his feet to light a cigarette. He looked around as if seeking somewhere to go, but the rain steadily falling beyond the awning offered no escape. He was limited to the sheltered space beneath the umbrella. Seeking some release for his nervous tension, he resorted to shifting his weight from one foot to another as he stood there smoking.
“Even so,” Lucas responded, “they’ve been trying for some time to conceive, and his wife was pregnant. You two told me that he goes every week to that roadhouse.”
“Right, and he has to stoke himself up with drugs to get through it,” Nogueira said, remembering what he’d learned from one of the women at the pickup joint.
Lucas couldn’t believe it. “Manuel, are you sure of all this?”
Manuel reached into his jacket and took out the parcel wrapped in plastic. He unwrapped it before their eyes.
“Along with the sleeping bag, the wineglasses, and the condoms, I found this,” he said. He shook out the garment and placed it in a heap on the table.
Nogueira took it in his hands and lifted it to see it better. As he stretched the woven garment it unfolded completely, and Nogueira found that what had at first looked like a woman’s camisole was actually a man’s sleeveless undershirt, the garment commonly worn by waiters in low-life bars.
“Shit!” the lieutenant exclaimed in disgust and dropped it on the table. “It’s from some man and it’s all wet!”
“With tears,” Manuel replied. “Santiago was terribly upset and sobbing into it the day I saw him in the church. I thought it was because of his brother’s death.” He remembered his feeling of sympathy for such suffering. “He’d probably been secluding himself in the church to give free rein to his grieving, greater with each passing day after To?ino disappeared. I asked Gri?án for a copy of the bill from the place where Santiago bought back the candelabra. An antique dealer in Santiago de Compostela. If the store owner identifies him, we’ll have something to go on.”