Manuel was the first to speak. “I’ve thought about it, and I think you’re right that Nogueira didn’t fully consider Fran’s behavior that night, including the fact of his confession. He might even be assuming Fran was clearing his slate before taking his own life. It’s known that some individuals intending suicide put their affairs in order before taking the last step.”
“But not out of concern for others. Those who kill themselves lack the empathy to put up with life and with other people. A good deal of what was troubling Fran had to do with the family, and he felt deeply responsible for them. Whatever was on his mind, he wasn’t ignoring a problem; he was trying to solve it. It’s a sad truth that I’ve known individuals who decided to end their lives, but never, not one single time, did I see that attitude. And I chatted with him for a full hour after his confession.” He paused to recall the conversation. “Mostly about his father, his brothers, and his childhood. All his happy memories. We even had a good time laughing at some of his mischief. He said that when his father died, he realized how important it is to have someone close to you. He realized the instant his father’s hand slipped from his that he was nobody’s son anymore. He was alone. And at the same moment he saw Elisa sitting at his side, he saw that bulge in her belly where their baby was growing. He said he knew then that his role had changed. From then on he was the father. It was his responsibility to take his child’s hand.
“He’d finished the sandwich when I left, and I saw the expression of a man beginning a new life. Not of someone about to end it all.”
“Then how do you explain what happened?”
“Certainly not as suicide.”
“An accident perhaps?” Manuel recalled Nogueira’s theory. “Maybe he was looking for relief, something to take the edge off, and he got his dose wrong.”
“You weren’t there, Manuel. I was and I saw him. He wished me good night and said he was going to stay a little while longer to put out the candles and lock up.”
“You’re suggesting that someone . . . ?”
“I have no basis for such an allegation,” the priest replied gravely. “But under seal of confession he told me certain things that may have put him at risk.”
“You’re referring to whatever was worrying him about his family?”
The priest nodded.
“Did he provide details?”
“No. Just that the person or persons involved might have been there and he knew about it.”
“Person or persons,” Manuel repeated impatiently. “Who?”
“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew!” responded the priest in an offended tone. “Let me remind you I’m strictly forbidden to reveal secrets learned during a confession. But the truth is that he didn’t say.”
“But you said he confessed!”
“The sacrament of confession is completely different from a police interrogation. The individual is invited to relieve his conscience, and that’s no easy matter. Sometimes a full confession requires several sessions. Fran hadn’t taken communion for years, and I wasn’t about to pressure him, especially when I saw a lost sheep returning to the fold. I assumed there would be plenty of time for him to work through his concerns and quiet his conscience.” Lucas paused. “In any case, and this is just my impression, I felt he was still letting things come to a head. He said he was afraid something terrible might happen. He wasn’t entirely sure of his suspicions. That may be why he was measuring his words.”
“And after that? You said good night and left him there alone?”
“Well . . .” The priest seemed to be wrestling with something.
“No?”
Lucas hesitated a long time as if trying to decide whether to put it into words. Manuel was expecting a tremendous revelation.
“I took the unlighted path through the trees. I used my phone as a flashlight. I thought I heard a sound, so I looked back. I saw the figure of someone going into the church.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. I was probably two hundred yards away in almost total darkness. The only light inside the church came from candles. The door opened, and I got only a glimpse of someone going in. Then the door swung shut.”
“You know who it was,” Manuel said.
“I’m not sure. That’s why I chose not to mention it.”
“Who was it?” Manuel insisted, determined to have an answer. “Tell me!”
“I thought it might have been álvaro.”
Manuel stopped short.
“That wouldn’t have been strange,” the priest quickly added. “I already told you that on the morning of their father’s funeral álvaro told me how worried he was about his brother. I remembered that when I heard Fran had died. The more I thought about it, the less certain I became, and finally I wasn’t prepared to declare I’d seen álvaro.”
“And?”
“So I asked him.”
“You asked álvaro?”
“I did. He said it couldn’t possibly have been him, because he’d been nowhere near the church that night. So I decided I must have been wrong. I don’t know who it was. Someone I confused with álvaro, that’s all.”
“He told you he hadn’t gone to the church, and you believed him.”
“álvaro never lied.”
“You’ll forgive me, Lucas, but from my current perspective that sounds like a bad joke.”
Lucas pretended not to have heard. “I told him Fran was worried about something having to do with the family. In other circumstances I wouldn’t have said even that much, but Fran had just died, and . . . well, álvaro needed to know. He’d become the head of the family. He listened carefully, and his reaction suggested to me that he knew what Fran had been talking about.”
Manuel stepped in front of the priest and stopped, determined not to allow him to evade his responsibility. “Let’s recap. Fran tells you he’s worried something very serious might be going on, and then he turns up dead. You tell álvaro as much, and now he’s dead too.”
Lucas scowled. The very idea was deeply repugnant to him. “The deaths weren’t related. That night was three years ago, and álvaro died in an accident.”
Manuel knew that trusting someone always means taking a leap of faith. It’s like throwing oneself off a precipice. He could rely only on pure instinct, the quality that had brought the human race through ages when a wrong choice meant death. He felt himself reduced to the primitive hunter who persists within us all. The last five days had utterly destroyed the world he’d thought solid and lasting, leaving him at the mercy of a numbing inertia. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Manuel shut his eyes and released a steady stream of air that curiously resembled a prayer of appeal. “Maybe not.”
“But . . .”
“It’s what keeps me here, it’s why I can’t leave. There are certain things that suggest álvaro’s death wasn’t an accident.”
Lucas’s expression was sympathetic. “Manuel, I know that sometimes it’s difficult to accept.”
“Goddamn it, listen to me! I’m not talking about some fantasy of mine; there’s a policeman who finds it suspicious. Otherwise I’d have gotten the hell out of here long ago.”
Lucas spoke to him slowly and patiently, as if addressing a child. “I accompanied Santiago to the hospital. I was there with him when they confirmed that álvaro was dead. The police said it was an accident. His car ran off the road, a straight stretch, with no other vehicles around. It was an accident, Manuel.”
“Sure, Fran’s death was accidental, too, even though he’d been knocked on the head and his shoes were scuffed because he’d been dragged. The church door was locked, and no key was found. Even though the boy couldn’t hold himself up. I have the distinct impression that for this family there’s always been a deep dark gap between the official version and the truth. Don’t you think so?”
Lucas’s face lost all its color. “I didn’t know that.” He took a deep breath and released it in a rush. “What do they think happened to álvaro?”