“What?!” Manuel exploded. “A child who refuses to shoot a dog, for God’s sake! No matter how you look at it, that counts in his favor. He was just a little boy.”
She rejected that, desperation in her voice. “A little boy who aimed a gun at his father; a little boy his father called a murderer; a child they feared so much they sent him away forever. His mother told him to take charge of his brother because Fran had become an inconvenience. An obstacle.” She looked from Manuel to Lucas. “And neither of you believes Fran committed suicide.”
Manuel was stung. “That has nothing to do with it.”
“Then why did you ask me if I’d seen álvaro that night?”
Manuel saw Herminia start in surprise. He’d asked her the same question.
Lucas raised a hand, almost as if asking permission to speak.
“Because I thought so too. In fact I saw his jacket or at least someone wearing his jacket, but that proves nothing. The jacket was kept in the stables, and just as you said, it was cold that night. Anyone at all could have put it on and gone to the church. In fact . . .” His words slowed and took on a sarcastic tone. “It seems that at any given time that night every one of you intended to go, or actually was there, or was lurking somewhere in the vicinity.”
None of them replied, but they all lowered their heads as if to acknowledge the truth of his charge.
Manuel’s fury grew. The silent cloud of suspicion hovering over them sparked with tension, like an impending thunderstorm.
He looked from one to another. Damián with the cap of quality cloth his employer had given him; his enigmatic lowered gaze was evidence of prudent discretion born of those many years of service to authority. Herminia, grieving and in tears, had always striven to be a mother, through good times and bad. Elisa, the intimidated and frightened little girl who let others make decisions for her.
He got up, crossed the kitchen in three long strides, and swiftly disappeared up the stairs.
“Where are you going? What are you going to do? Manuel!”
He took the steps two at a time, ignoring the protests behind him. He turned into the dark hallway lined with heavy closed doors and marched to the one at the far end. He knocked sharply, hammering the way the police did to make it clear he expected to be received immediately.
The marquess herself opened the door. “Se?or Ortigosa, I was expecting not to have to see you here again. Apparently I didn’t make myself sufficiently clear.”
A television in the sitting area was on, and the nurse was seated in the same armchair as before. Manuel assumed it was her usual place. The attendant didn’t bother to get up. Her only greeting was a vague glance, the sort one gives to an intruder who won’t be staying long. Manuel was satisfied to see that the marquess wasn’t going to invite him in.
“No, you didn’t. You weren’t at all clear,” he said as he surveyed the woman standing before him.
She listened with her head slightly tilted and a bored expression on her face.
“What is it you want, se?or Ortigosa?” she said at last. Her tone was impatient.
“You stated that your husband’s choice of álvaro as his heir was a good one, and that álvaro had fulfilled your expectations of him.”
She wrinkled her brow and shrugged at the obvious.
“Why did you send a child of twelve away from his home?”
“Because he was a murderer,” she answered coldly.
“That’s not true,” Manuel protested.
Her attitude was that of someone weary of being retained at a function with a predictable outcome. She leaned against the door, looked past his shoulder, and saw the group that had stopped at the landing. She smirked. “Don’t try to play games with me. The prior called me yesterday. You forgot to delete the computer history of the searches you made. You already know the truth. álvaro killed a man in cold blood.”
Manuel felt his own blood boil, but he lowered his voice to a whisper to keep those huddled at the far end of the corridor from hearing him. “You knew that? You knew what had happened, and despite that you punished your son and left the younger one there, pretending nothing had happened?”
“The only thing that happened is that álvaro killed a monk, a good man dedicated to teaching and to God.”
“That good man, as you call him, was a monster, a child abuser. álvaro was only defending his brother, and you two sold him out in exchange for some miserable goddamn land.”
“The contracts negotiated by my husband were entirely unrelated.”
“So it’s true? You left Santiago there, in a place that was a hell for him, and you sent álvaro away from his family never to return, exiling him from the only world he knew. That was his reward for saving his little brother from a rapist.”
She shook her head with a mixture of boredom and impatience. She even turned to glance at the television screen before speaking to him.
“Yes, a very fine story, but what can’t be denied is that he didn’t act like a twelve-year-old. He misinterpreted the situation. Children get carried away and imagine things. But he didn’t run to fetch an adult, he didn’t shout or strike the man; he seized him from behind and strangled him to death. Did you ever stop to think how long it takes to die that way? And if that’s not enough for you, after he’d been in the house for a week after that incident, he was two seconds away from killing his father.”
“He refused to shoot a dog,” Manuel said in disgust.
“We got rid of him because he was a murderer,” the marquess declared with the finality of someone who has just concluded a conversation. She straightened up and made a move to close the door.
“And why did you bring him back?”
She lifted one eyebrow as if the question were absurd. “For the same reason. We knew what would happen. From the moment his father died, everything began to fall apart. And he took on the job of setting the family’s affairs in order. And I’m not referring only to the businesses, although, as I said, he accomplished that to my entire satisfaction.”
“What do you think he did? What do you think you saw?”
She bowed her head before answering. “I saw álvaro approach his father’s grave. I saw him convince Fran to stop acting like a fool and go into the church. I saw him take care of the matter.”
Manuel listened but shook his head in amazement. He’d reached his limit with this woman’s wickedness. She discussed horrors with the same cold tone she probably used to give orders about housework.
“And you believe álvaro killed him? You’ve thought that all this time? You actually believed álvaro had murdered his brother to rid you of an annoying problem? You didn’t know him. You had no idea of who álvaro was!” His voice dripped with contempt.
“And you did?” She sneered. “That’s why you’re wandering around here like a soul in purgatory? Gathering up crumbs from álvaro’s life and trying to make sense of them?”
Her metaphor disconcerted him, for her reference to the insignificant bits that he’d been collecting matched almost exactly his thought about Hansel’s trail of bread crumbs. He’d been reluctant to dismiss the marquess as a self-centered monster, but Lucas was right. She had a sort of sixth sense for any human weaknesses she could exploit.
As if to confirm that thought, she added, “Look, se?or Ortigosa, I understand human weakness because I grew up surrounded by it. I’ve observed it all my life. I don’t know if you think you’re fooling anyone with your posturing and pretending to be outraged, but you don’t fool me. I know that deep down you’re perfectly aware of what álvaro was.”