Authors: Rebecca Pawel
When the two men made their way back up the incline, damp-faced and in a spirit of peaceable accord, they found Elena sitting in the front seat, staring straight ahead. Tejada retrieved his coat from where he had flung it, shook out the wrinkles as best he could, and put it on again. “What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath and a cup of coffee!” he said cheerfully. “We’ve only got a few kilometers to go. You won’t mind a bit of a walk, Meyer?”
“Not at all. It looks like it will be a beautiful day.” The classics professor also seemed in a better mood. He leaned forward and tapped Elena on the shoulder. “Lieutenant Tejada has suggested that you tell the manager of your hotel that you met friends and have decided to stay with them,” he said. “We can meet at the station then, and head south. And he thinks that you may change the francs I have brought. I cannot, without papers.”
“How typical. Lieutenant Tejada thinks of everything.” Elena had spoken in Spanish, and Meyer, only half understanding the words, assumed that the remark was not primarily addressed to him.
Tejada, who had no trouble with the language, was considerably surprised by Elena’s tone of voice. He turned toward her in astonishment. “Are you—?” he began.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” she snapped. “Do you want to send us into a ravine?”
Tejada scrupulously returned his eyes to the road, trying to figure out what was the matter with Elena. Had they been alone, he would have simply pulled to one side, and demanded an explanation, but it seemed discourteous to quarrel in front of Meyer. They drove in silence for perhaps ten more minutes. Then Tejada pulled off of the road for a final time. “All right,” he said quietly as the professor scrambled out. “If I were you I’d keep off the road, Meyer. You’re not likely to run into a patrol, but better safe than sorry. And there’s no point in your being seen with Elena.”
“Understood.” The professor nodded and turned to Elena, who had climbed out of the truck unassisted, pointedly ignoring Tejada’s outstretched hand. “We will meet at the station, then? Shall we say at one o’clock?”
“Yes,” she agreed.
Meyer turned back to Tejada. “You are a good man, Lieutenant. Thank you.”
Tejada gripped the professor’s outstretched hand. “You’ve thanked me already, remember?”
“Yes,” Meyer smiled. “But that was for my life. This was for your razor.”
Tejada laughed. “Good luck, Meyer. And remember, if you’re picked up: Law of Return.”
“I will. Good-bye, Lieutenant Tejada.
Au revoir
, Helena.” Meyer turned, and began heading up the slope away from the road.
Elena marched toward the highway without a word. Tejada took her arm. “I’m sorry I can’t take you all the way,” he said.
“That’s all right.”
She had stopped walking. “I’m afraid it will be better if we don’t see each other too much until Meyer’s safely away,” he said apologetically. “It would be a bit embarrassing for me to not notice his presence in your house if I were a regular visitor there.”
“It certainly would.” Her tone was at odds with the growing warmth of the morning.
He raised one hand to touch her cheek, and she turned her head away. “It’s only for a few weeks,” he promised. “And then . . . well, Old Cathedral or New?”
“What about them?”
Tejada gave a somewhat forced laugh. “Did you think I wasn’t serious when I said I wanted to marry you?”
She shrugged. “What for? You’ve already gotten what you wanted from me, haven’t you?”
“Elena!” Tejada was shocked. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Oh, nothing.” Her voice was brittle. “I had hoped you’d spare me the humiliation of continuing with this affair when I returned home, but I suppose that’s too much to ask from a guardia civil. I imagine rubbing my parents’ noses in it will be your favorite part.”
“What?” Shock was giving way to anger. “What are you talking about?”
“It must be very satisfying for you to have a Republican’s daughter for your whore,” Elena spat, all pretense at coolness gone. “Oh, that was very noble of you last night, to put us completely in your power! It would have been kinder to have just turned us over to the French!”
“Meyer wouldn’t have thought so!” Tejada retorted.
“I know that! Why do you think I let you blackmail me like that?”
“You
asked
me to stay with you last night!”
“You knew I would!”
“No, I did not. Most women of my acquaintance are decent.”
“Then marry one of them!” Elena cried. “And leave me alone!”
She pulled free of him, and plunged up the slope after Meyer, knowing that Tejada would have to leave the truck to pursue her, but suspecting that he was unlikely to do so. He could, she knew, overtake her on foot fairly easily. If he really wanted to, he would, she thought, and then struggled onward with even more speed, goaded by the fear—or hope—that he was pursuing her. She stopped, panting, when she reached the top of the ridge, and looked down at the road. It was empty, except for a single jeep, crawling carefully around the curves. Elena sank to her knees and sobbed. Then she wearily got to her feet, and began making her way back to the roadway. Meyer would be waiting for her in San Sebastián. It was time to start being a grown-up again.
T
he Guardia Civil post in San Sebastián was just beginning to stir to life when Tejada drove up and climbed shakily out of the borrowed truck. His brain was still numb but his body piloted itself towards the canteen for breakfast. He was intercepted. “Lieutenant Tejada?” A guardia saluted, looking both respectful and questioning.
“Yes?”
“Captain Alfanador wants to see you, sir. Immediately.”
Tejada’s first thought was that the Gestapo in Biarritz had been unexpectedly efficient. He followed the guardia to the captain’s office, wearily reflecting that his career, and probably his life, was about to end ingloriously for the sake of an ungrateful little bitch who actually believed that he would stoop to forcing her into bed with him . . . He stopped. She had
not
believed that. She couldn’t have believed it. This morning, when she had tottered out from under the ridiculous tarp, and into his arms, she had been . . .
frightened,
said a treacherous voice in his head.
Still in your power, and still afraid for Meyer. It got to be a strain for
her, but she kept up the charade until he’d gotten away. She’s not in love
with you. How could she be? She fears you. And you took advantage of
that. And now she hates you.
The fury and confusion that had left him speechless when Elena had fled were beginning to recede, leaving a dull, throbbing ache behind his eyelids.
“Lieutenant.” Alfanador nodded at him when he came in. His voice was not the voice of an officer who has discovered treason in one of his subordinates. “I’m glad you’re back so quickly. There was a phone call for you from Salamanca, just after you left.”
Tejada blinked. “Sir?”
“A Sergeant Hernández,” the captain explained. “He asked you to call as soon as possible. I’ll put the call through now, if you like, and you can make your report while we wait.”
“Yes, sir,” Tejada managed.
“Fine.” The captain picked up the phone on his desk and spoke into it briefly. Then he signaled Tejada to go ahead. The lieutenant gave a carefully edited account of his hours in France, still half-wondering if his activities had been discovered and the invitation to make a report was designed as a trap. Alfanador listened without much interest. Tejada had just finished when the telephone rang again. The captain raised the receiver. “Yes? . . . Yes, thanks . . . Captain Alfanador, at San Sebastián. Your Sergeant Hernández put in a call yesterday . . . yes, to Lieutenant Tejada . . . Yes, he’s here now.” Alfanador held out the phone to Tejada.
The lieutenant took it, and was rewarded by the sound of Captain Rodríguez’s voice, slightly tinny, and thoroughly annoyed. “Hope you’re enjoying your vacation, Tejada! You’ve wasted enough time!”
Tejada gritted his teeth. It was too early in the morning. “At your orders, sir,” he said, hoping that the phone disguised his tone of voice, and too tired to care if Captain Alfanador overheard him.
“The orders are to return immediately, Lieutenant.” Tejada suspected that Rodríguez would have dearly liked to slam down the phone at that point, but there was an indistinct noise on the other end of the line, and then the captain added, “And Hernández here can tell you why!”
“Sir?” It was a relief to hear Sergeant Hernández’s voice, which was not only friendly, but even contented.
Tejada made an effort to match the sergeant’s good humor. “Good morning, Hernández. What was urgent yesterday?”
“We’ve identified Manuel Arroyo’s body, sir.” Hernández definitely sounded like a cat with cream. “Positively.”
“What?” Tejada gave brief and fervent thanks that Professor Meyer had firmly declined to be arrested as an accessory to Arroyo’s disappearance. Then he felt a rush of anger that the body had not been identified quickly enough to spare him the trip north, and his encounter with Elena. “How?”
“Well, you remember Saturday night, sir, I couldn’t go to the Otero’s party because of my tooth?”
“Yes. I’m glad you’re feeling better, Sergeant, but—”
“Well, I finally got it pulled on Monday. And Dr. García was chatting a bit—he says he always does, to try to relax his patients, you know—and he started talking about how he never forgot the inside of a mouth. It seems that dentists take a lot of pride in their work. He says they’re like jewelers, and that any dentist can recognize a tooth he’s crowned. Something about shape, and color and all that. Quite an art form, according to Dr. García. So that gave me the idea. Because Arroyo’s face was pretty smashed up, but his teeth were still there.”
“You found his dentist?” Tejada interjected, interested despite himself. In a just world, he thought, men like Hernández would rise quickly.
“Yes, sir.” Hernández sensed his commander’s interest, and expounded happily, eager to share his discovery. “I got Señora de Arroyo to give me his dentist’s name, and it turns out he had a whole fancy set of false teeth. Dr. Vargas took one look at the inside of the corpse’s mouth and right away started matching it with his records. So it’s absolutely positive. From now on I’m always going to find a dead man’s dentist, sir!”
“Good work, Hernández.” Tejada smiled, silently blessing the sergeant not only for conscientious police work but for cheering him up. “It looks like this was a wasted trip, then. But I did find one thing that might be interesting, so it’s not a total loss.”
“Very good, sir.” Hernández sounded pleased. “And I’ve been going over the records, and there are a few interesting patterns there too, sir. Can you make it back to Salamanca this evening? We can compare notes.”
“I’ll be on the next train,” Tejada promised. He was eager to leave the border country for both practical and emotional reasons.
The long train ride was not pleasant for the lieutenant. He had entered the station in San Sebastián with his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, and had minutely inspected the tiles by the ticket booth, the treads on the stairways, and the stripe along the platform, afraid that if he looked up at any moment he might encounter Elena and the fugitive professor. When he finally boarded the train, he realized with horror that he might have to spend several more hours staring downward if Elena was in the same car. Fortunately, she was not. He wondered if she was on the same train, or if she and Meyer had taken a later one. She would, he knew, have had to check out of the Hotel Maria Cristina, offering some excuse to the suspicious manager for her prior absence. Not that he would care, once he was paid, if Alfanador’s guess was correct.
Tejada’s own journey south had been delayed by Captain Alfanador’s casual comment that hoteliers liked to be paid. He had left the post in San Sebastián, after thanking the captain with as much grace as he could muster. Before purchasing his ticket, he had stopped at the telegraph office, and wired what seemed like a safely obscene amount of money to the Hotel Miramar, care of Alain Yves, along with a mostly truthful note: “THANKS FOR HOSPITALITY. STOP. FATHER-IN-LAW’S CONDITION REQUIRES IMMEDIATE RETURN HOME.” The expense eliminated the modest surplus provided by his monthly salary, but Tejada felt that allaying possible suspicion was worth the price.
The train chugged up into the golden Castilian plains, leaving the cool green of the coast behind. Tejada hoped that the warm, dry air of the desert would clear his brain. The dark, rain-blown madness of the night seemed ridiculous here, where the sun’s harsh spotlight illuminated a blond landscape under a cloudless blue sky. Tejada started to sweat slightly. He pulled out his notebook and began to review his notes on the Arroyo case, determined to avoid thinking about Elena. We can’t establish an exact time of death, Tejada thought. So it doesn’t make sense to ask who could have killed him. Better to figure out who wanted to. He began to scribble in his notebook. Two hours later, he had filled several pages:
Sra. Otero de Arroyo—she’s anxious to inherit his money. Did she know he was sending it to Switzerland? Would she have the codes for his accounts? Why would she want his money now? Were they estranged?
Judge Otero Martínez—was embarrassed by Arroyo. Probably knew his brother-in-law was transferring money abroad.
Protecting his sister???? Wanted to manage investments??? Weak case.
Tomás Rivera—body was found in his warehouse. Resented Arroyo’s position and prestige? Weak. But why was body found there? If a false lead, why did murderer think Arroyo might be linked to Rivera?
Arturo Velázquez—Protecting Rivera???? From what????
Guillermo Fernández Guillermo Fernández—No known motivation.
Unknown—Someone who Arroyo knew was a Red, and could have denounced. (Rivera?? Velázquez?
Another petitioner??
)
Someone who knew about Arroyo’s connections in Switzerland. (Blanes, at BBV? But would he kill a client to prevent him from withdrawing funds???) Inheritance???? Blackmail? But wouldn’t it go the other way?
Tejada frowned at the notes. They made little sense. It was warm in the railroad car, and he knew that he would be wise to catch up on a little of the sleep he had lost the previous night. He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and opened his mouth slightly, allowing his jaw to relax. The rhythmic clatter of the train and the murmurs of his fellow passengers began to sound further away, and his mind relaxed.
It must be very satisfying
for you to have a Republican’s daughter for your whore!
His jaw snapped shut on the memory of Elena’s words.
He spent much of the next hour with his eyes resolutely screwed shut, thinking of the various cutting replies that he had been too surprised to make. She was, he reminded himself, not worth the effort of thinking about. She was a Red, and a subversive, and he had always known it, and he should consider himself lucky that she had not decided to blackmail him for the help he had given her and Meyer, and if she
did
hit on the idea of blackmailing him he would cheerfully . . . he would definitely . . . probably . . . he would pay. For Meyer’s sake. And for Professor Fernández’s sake, since he seemed like a decent old bird. Not that Elena would stoop to blackmail. At least, he didn’t think she would. But a woman who could feign passion as she had feigned last night . . . If she had been pretending. How could he not have guessed something of her feelings earlier . . . but if she really was so devious there was no reason to feel guilty . . . Tejada’s thoughts scurried around the question like a hamster on a wheel all the way back to Salamanca.
Sergeant Hernández met him at the station. “Good trip, sir?” he asked, as the two men headed back to the Plaza de Colón.
“Yes,” Tejada lied. “Tell me about what you found in the records.”
“Well, once I knew that it was Arroyo that we were dealing with, sir, I thought it made sense to look at his records as far back as we have them,” Hernández explained. “And there’s precious little really, but way back in ’36, in the inactive folder, I ran across an interesting connection.”
“Yes?” Tejada prompted, on the edge of irritability. It was only kind to allow Hernández to tell the story in his own way, but the lieutenant was not in the mood for discursive narrations.
“Arroyo was seeing Tomás Rivera,” Hernández said simply. “And according to your interview with Rivera, they hardly knew each other. And he was found in Rivera’s warehouse. So Rivera’s lying about something.”
“What do you mean he was
seeing
Rivera?” the lieutenant asked.
“It’s in the surveillance file, if you know where to look,” Hernández explained. “He had some kind of appointments with Rivera. Every week at three o’clock for nearly three months.”
Idiot,
Tejada thought, depressed. That’s another thing I’ve overlooked. I’m supposed to be in charge of the files. I should have picked it up. I should have gone back to the older files. “Good job,” he said, although the words tasted like sawdust in his mouth. “Have you talked to Rivera?”
“No, sir.” The sergeant was apologetic. “I only picked it up on Tuesday, sir, and then yesterday what with meeting with Dr. Vargas and all, I didn’t follow up. I should have, I know.”
“No, it’s fine,” Tejada said absently as they reached the post. “You’ve done a lot more than I have.”
Hernández hesitated. The lieutenant looked tired. He might reasonably want to take a few hours off, go to dinner, and then catch up on paperwork without further discussion of the Arroyo case. But Hernández was proud of his initiative, and unwilling to let it go. Tejada headed automatically for his office, and the sergeant, taking this as a sign that his superior intended to keep working, followed him, and risked a question. “You said you’d found something interesting, sir?”