A cover-up; the concealing of a murder. But if so, a murder committed by whom? Manuel had been asking himself that question all day long, and the obvious answer, the one he still refused to accept, resounded in his mind along with the words Mei had reported. He was haunted by that insistent voice from a phone booth in Lugo. Someone had tried to warn álvaro not to take a threat lightly because someone else was aware of it. Someone knew he’d killed and had proof of it.
He was tormented by the knowledge that he was withholding Mei’s report. He looked at the two men at the table with him and felt he was both their ally and a traitor to them. But despite the terrible impact of Mei’s report, he was unwilling to share it. Especially now that it would seem even more damning, given the horror of what he suspected had happened that night. It was possible, just barely possible, that a distant night of horror might explain álvaro’s silence and his estrangement from that eerie world. Manuel’s reason and his whole life hung in the balance. If only he could stop asking himself whom álvaro could have killed! Fran, his own brother? Verdaguer? Both of them?
Lucas silently studied the photo displayed on Manuel’s cell phone, the heavy black censor lines, and the signature. “Do you think To?ino found this?”
“No. When I asked Brother Julián if To?ino had access to the library, he practically split his sides laughing. He said the boy was there to paint a couple of guest rooms and the prior’s office, that’s all.”
“So he must have found the document there,” Nogueira concluded.
“If so, it wasn’t this version.” Manuel pointed at the screen. “It might have been the uncensored original. This one would have been useless unless he already knew the details. Given the dire nature of the events, the prior would’ve had every reason to keep it under lock and key in his office. It’s highly unlikely To?ino would have come across the censored version in the mass of scanned documents.”
Nogueira agreed. “Whatever To?ino came across had to have been clear as day. He has no way to contact álvaro, so he approaches Santiago and demands three hundred thousand euros for it, an amount his buddy Richie said would allow him to start a new life somewhere else. Santiago has no way of directly contacting his brother, either, so he calls the administrator and makes up this tall tale about a horse, knowing perfectly well his brother will call. As soon as they talk, álvaro comes here and goes directly to the source—that is, he goes to see the prior. They talk, the prior makes the connection. As soon as álvaro leaves, the prior goes to the nephew’s house, throws a fit that the neighbor overhears, and after he leaves, To?ino drives off in his car, a white car—but not the same model as the monastery pickup with the dent corresponding to the one on álvaro’s car.”
Lucas turned off the phone and carefully placed it on the table. He pushed it away from him. He looked directly at Nogueira. “Do you think To?ino could have killed álvaro?”
The lieutenant thought about it. “I’ve known the boy for years. He’s never been involved in violence, and he doesn’t seem the sort to get aggressive. He’d be more likely to run for his life. But everything suggests that álvaro was very angry, so if álvaro caught up with him, there could have been a confrontation. And anything could have happened.”
Don’t you threaten me. Manuel recalled those words. Was To?ino the one who was threatening? Did To?ino call from the phone booth?
“And how does the monastery pickup truck fit into all this?” Lucas asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Nogueira said, “but the witness heard the prior shout that this could be the end of him. If álvaro threatened him—well, it all depends on how desperate the man felt.”
The restaurant owner came to the table looking extremely concerned. “Gentlemen, what’s the problem? Is something wrong with the meat? Would you prefer something else?”
The trio looked down at the platters of untouched food.
“Man, we’re sorry,” Nogueira apologized. “We were so caught up in our conversation we didn’t even notice.” He took a slice of meat.
The owner examined the spread, frowned, and gathered the platters. “But, gentlemen, it’s stone cold! Give me a moment, and I’ll bring you more, straight from the grill. But please eat. Such waste is a shame, and you’ll find nothing better than what we serve.”
He returned shortly with other trays and stood over them long enough to make sure that they actually did dig in.
Manuel was the one to break the silence. “I’ve been puzzling all day about what could have happened. I haven’t been able to keep that censored report out of my mind. I’ve been speculating all sorts of horrible things.” He put down his fork.
Nogueira responded. “You said you wrote down the information about that Ortu?o guy.”
Manuel nodded.
“Give it to me. I’ll call someone.” Nogueira took the notebook page with the information, got up, and left the dining room.
He was back in less than five minutes with a grin on his face. “Good news! Turns out that the guy still lives at the same address. He was there the last time he renewed his ID card a couple of years ago. Of course when we visit we might find he moved or even died since then.”
Lucas’s eyes lit up. “Are you planning to go?”
“You can come, too, unless priests aren’t allowed to take time off.”
Lucas smiled. “I can arrange it.”
When they left the restaurant Lucas gave Manuel the same wondering look as at the start of the evening. “Manuel, that jacket you’re wearing . . .”
“It was álvaro’s. Daniel gave it to me the other day for a trip down the river.”
“I know. I remember seeing you wearing it once, and when you came in, that jogged my memory. That’s the coat he had on the night I thought I saw him by the church. He had the hood up, and I recognized it from the fur lining.”
“But anyone could have been wearing it,” Manuel reflected. “Daniel took it from the stables. When I took it back, he said no one would miss it. álvaro left it there so he could pick it up to go out to the countryside.”
Manuel parked in front of Nogueira’s house and waited in the car while the officer went to fetch Café. He smiled when he saw the man carrying the little dog.
“Goddamn! Can you believe the child had it in her bed? And my wife didn’t say a word.” He put the dog into the car.
“And I’m sure you didn’t complain, did you, Café?” Manuel reached back to pet the animal.
“They didn’t complain either. They’ve already planned what they’ll do tomorrow when you drop him off again. I’m telling you, they don’t make plans like that with me.”
Manuel gave the lieutenant an earnest look. “Nogueira, I hope it didn’t bother you that I took Laura and the girls on the boat trip. When I left the monastery I was so upset I felt almost destroyed, and I needed to spend time with real people. Normal people. To preserve my sanity.”
Nogueira nodded, moved Café to the backseat, and took the passenger seat. He left the door open. “Sure, I understand. Lots of times after work I felt like that.”
“I’d promised Xulia a reading list and some advice, and it seemed like a good idea.”
“Don’t worry. Sounds like they had a real good time.”
Manuel turned to face him. “You and Laura should talk.”
He shook his head. “Drop it, Manuel.”
“Laura is very special,” Manuel persisted. “I think many men would be proud to have her at their side.”
That irritated Nogueira. “You think I don’t know it?”
“It gives me the creeps to see you fooling around with Ophelia and going to that crappy roadhouse.”
“Drop it, Manuel,” he said again.
“Talk to her.”
Nogueira shook his head, stubborn as a bull.
“Why not?”
Nogueira blew his top. “Because I don’t want to, Manuel!”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t know a goddamn thing! You met us two days ago, and now you think you can swoop in here and fix everything.” Nogueira leaned back and when he spoke again, his voice was calm. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I thank you for it. But it won’t work.”
“No, it won’t,” Manuel replied. “Not unless you’re willing to try.”
“She hates me, Manuel,” he complained. “My wife despises me.”
“I don’t believe it,” Manuel replied obstinately.