“Do you think he discovered the same things in the sacristy that you did?” Nogueira asked.
“I’m sure of it. And he needed to come here to confirm it, just as we have. He’d heard of Fran’s fears before his brother died, and maybe for a while he dismissed them. But he was no fool. If he suspected there was something unusual about Fran’s death, he was going to connect the dots. The blackmailer was the one his brother saw prowling around the church.”
They went out and found the sky heavy with rain clouds. They made their way with some difficulty through the tourists who crowded the noisy streets around the cathedral. Nogueira checked his phone as they avoided tour groups trailing after their guides. Four thick heavy drops of rain were all the warning they got of the sudden downpour. It burst upon them, prompting cries and curses from tourists, who scrambled to shelter in doorways along the streets of Santiago de Compostela. The three men opened their umbrellas and quickened their steps up the center of the suddenly empty street. The rain was pounding down by the time they reached the parking lot. They tossed soaking umbrellas into the trunk and jumped into the car. The roar of rain against the roof was deafening. Manuel started the engine and turned on both the wipers and the windshield defogger, for the windows had misted over. Nogueira’s phone rang. They sat in the motionless vehicle as he listened intently, thanked the caller, and then broke the connection.
“This is good news, Manuel,” Nogueira said, waving his cell phone. “That was Ophelia. Her colleagues confirmed that the Burger King video clearly shows To?ino at 2:28 a.m. He was alone and showed no signs of contusions or bleeding. Whoever beat him and killed him did it later, so álvaro’s excluded as a suspect both for the beating and for the murder. Because álvaro was already dead by then. It doesn’t clear To?ino of álvaro’s murder, though it’s fairly unlikely that he would commit such a crime and then drive around for two hours and buy hamburgers as if nothing had happened. That’d require someone very cold and controlled; and believe me, that doesn’t fit To?ino’s character at all—he tended more toward the hysterical type—nor does it correspond to his behavior in the video. So we’re back to someone unknown who first killed álvaro and then murdered To?ino, most likely with the same weapon, just two hours apart. They estimate it’s twenty minutes from Burger King to the place where they found the boy’s body.”
Manuel nodded, his face serious, but then smiled in relief when he sensed the weight of Lucas’s hand on his shoulder. He said nothing, as if the rhythm of the windshield wipers had hypnotized him.
“Are you all right, Manuel?” asked Lucas.
“There’s one other thing I can’t figure out. It has to do with the other night. You told me Santiago called you to go with him to the hospital, because they’d just advised him his brother had been in a traffic accident.”
“That’s right.”
“Did he say they told him there’d been an accident, or did they tell him álvaro was dead?”
“That there’d been an accident. It wasn’t until we got to the hospital they told us he’d died. I’ll never forget the expression on Santiago’s face.”
“What time did he phone?”
“Five thirty in the morning. I picked him up at the manor house at six. We used my car. He told me he was too upset to drive. That didn’t surprise me.”
“You said that when you accompanied him to the hospital, you noticed that his hands were swollen. You even insisted he should let you to take him to a doctor.”
“Yes; well, you know, that’s how he reacts. He draped his overcoat over his right arm and hand. I saw that he was injured, but he covered it up and didn’t want to talk about it. It was only later I learned what had happened.”
“But Herminia told me he came into the kitchen when he got back from the hospital. She said that’s when he punched the wall—when he told her álvaro was dead.”
“That means his hand must have been injured before he went to the hospital,” Lucas said, suddenly aware of the inconsistencies in the story.
“But he wasn’t yet aware his brother was dead.”
Lucas hesitated, frowned, and obviously examined the possibilities, shaking his head each time he discarded one. Finally he said, “I’m sure that his hand had already been hurt when we got to the hospital. I don’t know if it was serious, because he didn’t let me examine it.”
“Remarkable, wasn’t it, that he asked you to drive?” Nogueira added.
“For the love of God!” Lucas was in great distress.
Manuel sympathized. “When Santiago got back home he realized he had to manufacture an excuse for the unfortunate state of his hands, and he played out that farce for Herminia.” Manuel remembered the bloodstains bleached out of the wall and imagined the intense pain those blows must have inflicted. Perhaps very little faking was required.
“Well,” said Nogueira, “so we know who bashed To?ino’s face in. Which hand had the plaster cast?”
“The right one,” replied Manuel, remembering the moment they’d shaken hands at álvaro’s funeral.
“All right, then. That corresponds with the trajectory of the blows to To?ino’s face. It was Santiago; and Santiago might have killed him as well.”
“Ophelia was suggesting the stab wounds could have been made by a left-handed assailant.”
“Or by someone who had to use his left hand, because he’d already injured his right,” the lieutenant countered. “If you think about it, that’s very like Santiago: he’s always been known for his fits of temper. Just the other day he slammed his fist into a wall while he was arguing with Manuel. And the Burger King visit fits as well. Who else could To?ino have been buying food for? He had a date with his lover.”
Manuel remembered the Raven’s tale of Santiago destroying his toys and then weeping over them for hours. Was that what he’d seen in the church? A spoiled child crying over a broken toy? He was weeping for a dead lover. And maybe for his dead brother or for his victims.
Lucas seemed very downcast. Nogueira raised a quizzical eyebrow.
Lucas’s expression was compassionate. “It’s horrible to think that someone may have lived like that his whole life. Pretending.”
“I believe that the blackmail attempt made him lose control of the situation. We know the origins of his pain. For most of his life he hid the truth about what happened that night in the seminary. I think álvaro told To?ino he wasn’t going to pay and he didn’t care if it came out that he’d killed a rapist while defending his brother. He had nothing to be ashamed of. But things were different for Santiago. He’d spent his whole life trying to please his mother and father, doing his best to play the perfect son, trying to distinguish himself from álvaro. He couldn’t bear the idea of what he saw coming. After he kills álvaro he arranges a meeting with To?ino to try to convince him not to use the information, but To?ino refuses and that sends him off the deep end.”
“Maybe,” Lucas responded. “But I don’t believe To?ino really intended to make it public. There’s a big difference between making threats to get money and actually carrying them out. I think To?ino knew that sort of information is valuable only if it’s kept secret. If the truth came out, his uncle would go to jail. His aunt would see that as a terrible disgrace, and he himself could wind up in prison for blackmail. If Santiago had intended to kill him, he could have done it any time after To?ino asked for money. álvaro wouldn’t necessarily have ever found out. And look at what Santiago just tried to do. For the love of God! He’s tried to kill himself. The man is suffering.”
“Look here, priest, I know a lot about suicides and confessions,” Nogueira replied. “Plenty of times a suicide is as good as a confession, at least in my experience.”