“I should have thought of that,” the officer said, annoyed with himself. “Give me the keys, and I’ll ask a police friend of mine to bring it here and leave the keys at the bar. I’ll take it from there.”
Manuel looked away for a moment, inhaled deliberately, and slowly let the air out before answering. He was finding it difficult to admit he’d been deceived. “They gave me two cell phones. I recognized one but didn’t know the other one existed. It seems to be the one he used for his business here.” He took the iPhone from his pocket and placed it on the table, unable to suppress the vision of Mei answering that strange call. “His setup here is a network of private companies running all of the real estate, the ranches, the dairy, and the agricultural operations. Nothing to scoff at.” Manuel pushed the phone across the table to Nogueira. “His personal calendar shows all his visits here. They were noted as meetings with The Hero’s Works.”
Nogueira took the phone but observed Manuel closely as he continued filling in the lieutenant.
“The Hero’s Works is the enterprise that manages all the rest, as well as two wineries and a company that exports Galician wine. Phone usage was billed to his office, so I never had a clue. And that,” he added with a bitter smile while pointing at the iPhone, “is how I found out about all those meetings with The Hero’s Works. álvaro’s secretary recorded them on his business calendar, along with meetings with other clients. Every other month, like clockwork, álvaro left for a couple of days to meet a VIP client who happened to be himself. Every other month for the last three years.”
The arrival of the waiter with the drinks plunged him into a dark silence that echoed with Mei’s words: He knows you killed him. He sipped his beer and ignored the inevitable plate of snacks that materialized with every order in that place.
He wondered whether he should tell the officer what Mei had said. He was undecided. He knew it was significant, but on the other hand he realized that in the lieutenant’s eyes the reported fragment of conversation would be enough to condemn a Mu?iz de Dávila once and for all. He looked up to see Nogueira peering at the iPhone calendar, repeatedly swiping a finger across the screen. The officer looked up, rose, and moved his chair next to Manuel’s.
“Look here.” He pointed to the screen. “Just like you said: he had regular meetings with The Hero’s Works, two days every other month except each September. In September the calendar is blocked out up to five days, see? Always around the same time of month. The most recent meeting was scheduled for the second and third of July. But none after that until the end of September.”
“Gri?án told me about the schedule for meetings. He also said álvaro didn’t ask him to attend, so he didn’t have any of the particulars.”
Nogueira sighed. He put down the cell phone, finished off his little plate of snacks in two bites, and had another swallow of beer. He eyed the other saucer. “You’re not going to eat yours?”
Manuel shook his head and watched the lieutenant gulp down a concoction that looked like macaroni with meat and tomatoes. Only after finishing it, lighting another cigarette, and taking another deep drag did the man seem satisfied.
“Did you get a list of the calls for this phone?” he asked.
Manuel took the cell phone, turned it on, and examined the icons. “No need. The phone has an app that lists all calls made and received, even if they’re deleted from the main listings.”
The history showed a fair number of calls had been made with this cell phone, but there were few incoming calls: three from a four-digit number, most likely the odd number Mei had mentioned, and two others from a different number without caller ID. All on the day álvaro had left for Galicia.
Manuel lifted his eyes from the screen. “What do you think?”
“The four-digit number’s a pay phone,” Nogueira said, confirming Mei’s hunch. “We might be able to identify it, but that wouldn’t be much help. We’ll try anyway. Maybe its location will give us a clue. The other’s from a landline, and it’s from this area code.”
Nogueira had taken out his notebook and scribbled down the numbers. He took out his own phone and punched the digits. He lifted it to his ear and then passed it to Manuel quickly enough to convey the end of the recorded message: “. . . the administrative offices are open from eight in the morning to four in the afternoon. If you wish to make an appointment, please leave your number after the beep, and we will return your call.”
Manuel held out the phone as the familiar beep sounded. Nogueira ended the call.
“Administrative offices of Adolfo Gri?án. Don’t you think it’s a very interesting coincidence that his administrator happened to call and he decided to travel that same day? And according to his own declaration,” Nogueira continued, “Gri?án was the only one who could reach álvaro on this number. álvaro was there because Gri?án called him. Maybe Gri?án was the one using the pay phone.”
Manuel thought about that. Mei was sure the caller wasn’t Gri?án. And then, those words: He knows you killed him. Sharing that confidence with Nogueira would amount to an accusation that would tarnish álvaro without opening up any other options.
No, not yet.
“All right then, tomorrow, first thing, without calling ahead,” Nogueira ordered him sternly, “I want you to go to those offices, interrupt whatever our friend the administrator is up to, and demand an explanation. Don’t give him time to think up an excuse. Just tell him you know álvaro was here because Gri?án called him, and see what he comes up with. I said already I didn’t care for him one bit.”
Manuel agreed with a pensive nod. This wasn’t a triumphant discovery, as Nogueira seemed to think, but at least it was grounds for a bluff.
“And go back to As Grileiras. What assholes! You have every right to; after all, you’re the legal owner. Surely without that clown Gri?án hanging over you, someone will be willing to open up.”
Manuel gave Nogueira álvaro’s car keys, the two cell phones, and the rest of the personal items, and watched the man leave. He thought of Gri?án and the man’s eager servility. He also told himself he wouldn’t mind going back to As Grileiras.
The office receptionist smiled to welcome him. He returned the courtesy and walked down the hall to Gri?án’s office. He nodded left and right, greeting those in the office, both secretaries and the senior staff. It seemed they’d all heard the rumor that he was a famous writer, given their eagerness to see him. His unexpected appearance elicited those shy smiles and admiring looks he’d seen so often.
Doval intercepted him at the door to the office with a smile. “Se?or Gri?án didn’t tell me you were coming this morning,” he said.
“That’s because he doesn’t know I’m here.”
Doval was momentarily perplexed but quickly recovered. “Oh, then please be so kind as to have a seat here in the waiting room. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“No, I don’t think I’ll be so kind today. It seems my kindness is all used up.” He pushed past the secretary and put a hand on the doorknob.
“But you can’t just—” Doval protested behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
Manuel went rigid, let go of the knob, and slowly turned around. “Keep your hands off me.” There was a threat in his voice.
Doval pulled his hand back as if he’d received an electric shock.
The door suddenly opened, and he found himself face to face with the executor, who failed to conceal his consternation.
“Se?or Ortigosa! I wasn’t expecting you. What can I do for you?”
“For starters, you can begin by not lying to me anymore,” Manuel replied with a hard look.
Gri?án’s usually affable expression vanished. He looked at his assistant posted close behind Manuel’s back and said, “Doval, I’ll take care of this. I’d forgotten I had something I needed to discuss with se?or Ortigosa. Bring us coffee.”
He stepped aside so Manuel could enter and closed the door behind them.