“Just one more thing,” Manuel said. “Why are you two doing this? I know that it’s the right thing to do and all that, but even so you yourself admit you might get into a lot of trouble.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I know it may sound like a cliché if I say my job makes it my duty, but that’s the truth of it. Every time I have a victim before me on the autopsy table, I fully assume my professional responsibilities. If I don’t fulfill those obligations, nobody else will.”
The doctor was right, and her motivation was entirely credible. Manuel nodded and caught Nogueira’s look of disapproval. The man clicked his tongue in displeasure. But what was the policeman’s own motivation if he didn’t feel a sense of obligation to the victim, a sense of duty? Manuel had no idea, but the man’s motive had to be a powerful one. After all, the lieutenant was doing his best to stifle his contempt for the upper classes, his homophobia, and his rebellious tendency to question the established order. Manuel hoped the police officer’s motives weren’t both covert and malicious.
“Anything else?”
She nodded. “Professional responsibility, added to the fact I don’t like anyone interfering in my work or subverting my authority. The decision whether an autopsy is required is a matter of routine legal procedure, but once the body is on my table, I’m in charge. I don’t like it when someone interferes with my business and tells me what to do.” She glanced at Nogueira. This time he approved.
Ophelia served another round of coffee. They drank in silence. The main business had been dealt with, and the gathering drifted into that inevitable feeling of uneasiness that arises when strangers are brought together by chance or fate. Manuel rose and shook the doctor’s hand and thanked her again for her willingness to help. On the way to Nogueira’s car he saw that the dogs were sprawled on the porch, drowsy in the afternoon sun, apparently having lost interest in Ophelia’s visitors. At the front door Nogueira took leave of Ophelia with a quick kiss on the lips and a light pat on the rump. She smiled and closed the door. Manuel wondered if the easy affection between the two might also have influenced the doctor’s decision. He assumed it had, at least in part. What was still unclear to him was the lieutenant’s motivation. He still had the feeling the man was up to no good.
THE SECRET GARDEN
Manuel woke very early. The television was still on. After two frustrated attempts the night before, he’d given in to the obvious: he wasn’t able to sleep in the foreign silence of the inn, because it echoed with the mix of inconclusive conversations he’d sat through. And he kept hearing in the distance the insistent weeping of a six-year-old boy. He’d turned the television volume down low and left it on as background noise, a bridge and an escape to the everyday, available if anguish overwhelmed his dreams. Over the preceding hours the dead weight of Eastwood’s advice had been replaced by a sort of spiritual mission, a justification for staying.
He’d eventually collapsed into five hours of dreamless sleep that brought rest, relief, and nothing to remember. He showered, shaved, and took out his last clean shirt, just as wrinkled and unpresentable as the one he’d worn the day before. It looked passable after he covered it with his double-breasted jacket. He took a last look at the list he’d drawn up before going to bed, then folded it together with the copy of álvaro’s phone bill the hotel manager had printed out for him. When he put them in his pocket he encountered the gardenia, now soft and limp. He put the fading flower on the coffee table. He was ready for the meeting he’d set up with Gri?án by phone the night before. At the last moment, just as he was about to leave, he came back and shut the flower in a drawer.
Gri?án’s Audi was parked at the entrance to As Grileiras. Manuel started to pull in behind it, but the administrator reached out and waved him on into the drive. The two vehicles stopped next to the hedge that enclosed the manor house.
The man got out and hurried to open Manuel’s door, a satisfied smile sketched upon his face. He’d made no comment the previous evening when Manuel said he’d decided to stay a few more days and visit As Grileiras. When they agreed on a time to meet, Manuel could almost see a smile spread across the face of the man on the other end of the line. Manuel hated being predictable, but even more he hated seeming so. Nevertheless, he decided not to contest Gri?án’s probable interpretation of his motives, since it provided cover for doing what had to be done. He intended to finish this business once and for all, as quickly as possible.
“So you decided to stay?” Gri?án didn’t hide his satisfaction that Manuel seemed attracted by the property.
“I think perhaps that’s saying too much, but the truth is I’m curious. I’d like to see the place where álvaro grew up.”
Gri?án stood there staring at him. Manuel strode away along the path to escape his scrutiny.
“That’s all?”
“And perhaps to take the opportunity to learn a little more about his family.”
“Oh, unfortunately I expect that that’ll be more difficult,” the administrator apologized. “Santiago and Catarina left on a trip this morning, and the dowager marquess has been secluded since the funeral.”
In Manuel’s mind arose the memory of the matriarch leaving the cemetery, ignoring the arm her daughter-in-law offered, erect of posture as if she didn’t need support, walking toward the manor without looking at the younger woman. His disbelief must have been visible in his face, for Gri?án was quick to explain. “I telephoned to announce you yesterday after you informed me of your intention to visit. I hope you don’t mind. I did so with the intention of avoiding unexpected encounters that might have been distressing to both parties. His excellency the marquis asked me to convey his regards. He requests you excuse him, because today’s engagement was made some time ago.”
So good old Gri?án with his friendly winks and flattery had already chosen his loyalties. He’d lost no time finding an opportunity to be useful to his new master, who in the passage of just a few hours had become his excellency the marquis instead of Santiago, and very conveniently happened not to be at home today. And the worst of it was that Manuel hadn’t asked to call on the family; he’d only expressed his desire to see As Grileiras. So here they were.
The drive ran past the caretaker’s lodge into an open area and curved into a horseshoe shape where a stone entryway invited them to approach the horse stalls of the main stables. Two men were inspecting the rear hooves of an impressively handsome horse.
“That’s the veterinarian,” Gri?án explained. “The last horse Santiago bought has been nothing but trouble since the day it arrived.”
“An unfortunate purchase?”
Gri?án grimaced and tilted his head to one side to signal something between agreement and uncertainty, but he didn’t elaborate. “The man with him is Damián, the caretaker, who’s a jack-of-all-trades: stableboy, gardener, minor repairs, and maintenance. He locks the manor gates at night and opens them in the morning so the nonresident staff can get in. This is where he and his wife, Herminia, live. She’s the cook and housekeeper. She was nanny to all three children when they were small, and she still manages the household.”