Manuel slipped on the jacket and zipped it up all the way. When he thrust his hands into the pockets, his jaw dropped in surprise. He didn’t have to look to recognize the firmness of the petals or the creamy smoothness perched on the hard woody stalk. Daniel was piloting the craft, apparently unaware of his consternation. Manuel was quiet for the rest of the trip, studying the silent waters. He made an unsuccessful effort to see the place as sinister, but he simply became more profoundly aware of its beauty.
On the drive back from the jetty, Manuel looked at the enologist. He had no reason to distrust Daniel. They’d become acquainted only this afternoon. What could have motivated the cellar master to stuff gardenias into the pockets of the jacket he’d brought for Manuel?
Daniel let him off next to his BMW and set a time to pick him up the next morning. “Keep the boots and jacket. You’ll need them tomorrow.”
“But aren’t they for here?” Manuel pointed toward the stables.
Daniel’s expression was pained. “No. Those are álvaro’s. He always took them when he went out to the countryside.” Something seemed to occur to him. “And by the way, he didn’t find the dog along the highway.”
“Excuse me?”
“Café . . . That’s the official version. But actually álvaro saw that little dog every time he drove to the winery. The poor thing was always tied up outside a shack by the road. No water or food. Belonged to a despicable old fellow who lived alone. One afternoon on our way back to the estate, álvaro stopped and walked into the yard. I saw him yelling at the old geezer, then he took out his wallet and gave the man some money. I have no idea how much. álvaro came back to the fence, untied the dog, and had to carry him to the car. I was sure the animal wouldn’t survive the night. And yet,” he added, turning to Manuel, “there the little fellow is.”
Café sat turned away on the path, head lowered, watching them sidelong.
“Thanks for telling me,” Manuel murmured.
Daniel lifted a hand in farewell and disappeared into the darkness.
Manuel stood there in the dark for a time, letting his eyes become accustomed to the low orange light cast by the lamps around the manor, far too dim to light the drive. As he took out his phone to use his flashlight app, he noticed he’d missed a total of five calls from Nogueira. He felt a malicious satisfaction at not responding.
He walked a few steps toward the stables and then realized Café wasn’t following. He turned and used the flashlight to locate the dog squatting beside the car. He hunched down and held out his hand. The little animal nuzzled his palm. Manuel sighed, stood up, and opened the car door.
Café jumped up and almost made it inside. The scrabbling pooch wound up hanging from the passenger seat. Manuel gave him a little boost and watched him curl up there.
He looked one last time at the manor before he started the engine. On the second-floor terrace he saw the profile of a dark figure that remained motionless as he rolled out onto the drive on his way to the highway.
He drove through the night regretting his decision every minute of the way and asking himself what on earth he was going to do with this dog.
Back at the inn he gratefully accepted the blanket, a pitcher of water, and a beefsteak the innkeeper’s wife had saved for him, along with some scraps for the dog. Those looked almost as appetizing as his own meal. After dinner he laid out the blanket for Café, put the television on at reduced volume, and telephoned Nogueira.
“Goddamn! I’ve been trying to get hold of you all afternoon. Where are you hiding?”
Manuel pressed his lips together in spite and shook his head in annoyance. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy,” the officer echoed with that tic that he found so annoying. “Were you at As Grileiras?”
“Yes, but before that I went to see Lucas. Father Lucas. I had lots of questions for him after you and I spoke yesterday.”
“I knew it!” exclaimed a jubilant Nogueira. “And thanks for the initiative. I don’t know what he told you, but your priest telephoned me after your visit. He gave me a detailed account of the night Fran died. What they discussed and what he thought about it. Not a word, of course, about what Fran said in his confession.”
Suddenly alarmed, Manuel quickly said, “I didn’t give him your name.” He wondered if the priest had mentioned seeing someone go into the church and his guess that it was álvaro.
“Never mind. It’s not much more than what we knew already, but I have to admit that he’s reinforced my doubts about a suicide. But it doesn’t disprove the theory of a simple accident. Father Lucas is almost certain Fran wouldn’t have been so stupid as to get mixed up with drugs again, not with all the pressure he was under. But one thing is sure: he’s convinced Fran didn’t kill himself, and I’m inclined to credit his theory, at least for now. All the more so, considering that someone else went into the church after the priest left.”
Manuel held his breath as he waited for Nogueira’s next sentence, all the while reproaching himself for caring what it might be. What did it matter to him if suspicion fell on álvaro? Hadn’t he been the first one to think that? Could he face the possibility that álvaro might have been implicated in Fran’s death? He resisted the thought, but after all, didn’t he have every reason to draw that conclusion? álvaro had hidden him away like some shameful secret. How important had it been to his husband to keep up appearances? Did álvaro feel as strongly as his father had about keeping the family’s reputation untarnished?
You know he didn’t, his conscience admonished him.
And he heard again Elisa’s declaration about Fran: I knew him better than anyone else in the world.
Hush! he ordered his conscience.
“Lucas said he wasn’t close enough to see who it was,” Nogueira continued. “But it still changes things. That person had to be the last one who saw Fran alive. But no one mentioned it when the boy turned up dead the next day.” He sighed. “Oh, well—what did you get from As Grileiras?”
Manuel breathed normally again, feeling both relieved and guilty. “Santiago wasn’t at all pleased to see me there. Even less so when I asked him about the money. He started to say I had no right to demand explanations.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Nogueira with great satisfaction.
Manuel could hear the smile in the man’s voice. That amused him; the policeman was pleased to hear of the humiliation of a Mu?iz de Dávila. Manuel didn’t disagree, and wondered why he felt the same way.
“Finally he admitted he’d asked for the money. Santiago says—and Gri?án confirms—that over the last year they’ve been acquiring horses to build up the stables. He claims there was a sudden opportunity to buy a horse, and that’s why he needed the cash.”
“Three hundred thousand euros for a horse?”
“An English racehorse. A year ago Santiago bought another that cost them almost as much.”
“Fuck!”
“But that deal was a fiasco, because the horse has a congenital defect and it’ll never be able to race. For some reason he had no recourse, so the investment went right down the toilet. After that álvaro refused to let his brother buy any horse unless it was first certified in writing by an expert. The vet and Gri?án both told me so, so his story about álvaro coming to look into the possible purchase of a horse is completely unbelievable. They both say Santiago knew álvaro wouldn’t agree. Without a certification from the vet he wouldn’t even have considered it.”
“So little brother was telling a lie.”
“Well, he’s not that reckless. He covered himself, since he admitted álvaro would have refused him the money for that reason.”
“But he already knew there’d be no money without the vet’s approval. His brother wouldn’t even bother to consider it. So why even ask? What sense would it make for álvaro to come all this way just to confirm that?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Manuel said.
“Anything else?”
“Let’s see . . . there’s the fact that Santiago doesn’t like to see his wife working.”