Death on a Galician Shore (40 page)

He straightened up and rang the bell.

‘Who is it?’ said a man’s voice.

‘Inspector Caldas.’

‘Who?’

‘Inspector Caldas. The police,’ he added.

‘I’ll be right out, Inspector,’ said the voice. Caldas assumed that the automatic gate mechanism must have been damaged as well.

While Valverde made his way out, Estevez went to turn off the car headlights. When he got back he raised his arms and rested his hands on the top of the gate. ‘If he wanted to get in, he could just have jumped over. It’s not very high,’ he said, saying what Caldas had been thinking since seeing the damage.

‘He probably didn’t want to get in,’ said the inspector.

‘You think it was just a warning, like the graffiti?’

‘Could be.’

They heard Valverde’s footsteps on the gravel. Then the gate opened inwards with a creak.

‘What brings you here?’

‘This,’ said Caldas gesturing at the gate.

‘It’s just a bit of damage to a couple of the panels. I’ve already called a carpenter to come out and patch it up,’ said Valverde, dismissively. ‘I’m having an alarm installed tomorrow. It’s not as safe round here as it used to be.’

‘Do you really think whoever did this wanted to get in to rob you?’

‘You don’t?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Caldas. ‘Why would someone bother to break down the gate when it would be less effort to climb over?’

Valverde stared at the damaged panels.

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ he said, but his tone suggested otherwise.

‘Will you be staying here tonight?’

‘No,’ said Valverde. ‘My wife is scared. We’re going to spend a night, maybe two in town, until we get the alarm fitted.’

‘You don’t believe it was a burglary either, do you?’

‘What?’

‘I meant that you know this wasn’t done by a burglar.’

‘I don’t understand why you think I—’

‘Nobody would leave their house if they thought someone was going to try to break in,’ interrupted Caldas.

Valverde snorted. ‘We’re leaving because of my wife—’

Caldas cut in again: ‘Who are you afraid of?’

‘Please don’t push me, Inspector. We’ve been over this already.’

‘I’m just trying to protect you. I don’t understand why you won’t let us help.’

Valverde was silent and Caldas knew he wouldn’t get any answers this time either.

‘Fine,’ said Caldas. ‘If you decide you want to speak to us, you know where to find us. Think about it, before it’s too late.’

They went back to the car and heard the gate creak shut and the sound of Valverde’s footsteps receding on the gravel path.

‘If you wanted to scare him, you succeeded,’ said Estevez.

‘Yes.’

With the gate closed and no room to turn the car around, Estevez started reversing up the hill but stopped a few seconds later.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Caldas.

‘There’s a motorbike coming.’

Turning, Caldas saw a headlight a couple of metres away from the car.

‘It can only be going to Valverde’s house,’ murmured Estevez.

‘Well, let it pass,’ said Caldas.

Estevez edged the car up close to the wall on one side of the street and the motorbike slipped past on the other.

The rider was wearing a dark helmet. He stopped at the gate, turned off the engine and dismounted. He raised the seat and pulled out a metal box, placing his helmet in the empty compartment. Then he turned towards them.

The policemen recognised the red beard of the carpenter they’d seen working on boats at the yacht club. He, however, dazzled by their headlights, did not recognise them.

‘Is this where they need a carpenter?’ he asked, shielding his eyes with his maimed hand.

‘Yes,’ said Caldas, leaning out of the window. ‘You have to ring the bell.’

Estevez pressed down on the accelerator and the car reversed up the hill, the engine revving so loudly that Caldas only just heard his mobile phone ring. It was Olga.

‘Are you still at the station?’

‘I’m going to be here for a good while longer,’ she sighed, and
went on to explain why she’d called: ‘The superintendent wants to know if you want the search for the Land Rover extended to Portugal.’

‘In theory, no,’ said Caldas. ‘Let’s wait until we hear from Quintans.’

‘He just called, actually.’

‘Quintans?’

‘Yes,’ said Olga. Caldas wondered why she hadn’t told him at the start.

‘Did you give him my mobile number?’

‘No. He said he’d call back in the morning.’

‘He didn’t tell you anything?’

‘Yes, he said he’d found the son. Neira.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know. He just said he’d found him. Apparently he had an accident a few years ago.’

‘The son?’

‘Yes, of course, I suppose so.’

‘Have you got his mobile number?’

‘Whose?’

Caldas sighed. It was this sort of thing that made him sympathise with Estevez. ‘Quintans’.’

‘No, but I can get it from Ferrol,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you right back.’

Caldas hung up and clicked his tongue. ‘Damn, it can’t be,’ he muttered.

‘What’s up?’ asked Estevez.

‘I think the gap was for someone to get into the house,’ said the inspector. ‘We need to go to the harbour.’

‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

‘Yes, but let’s get back on the road first,’ urged Caldas.

In his mind’s eye he could see the ball, the black dog and the boy in the wheelchair.

Once Estevez had manoeuvred the car out of the narrow street, Caldas repeated what Olga had just told him.

‘Apparently Diego Neira had an accident a few years ago.’

His phone rang. It was Olga again.

‘Did you get the number?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Have you got something to write it down on?’

Caldas jotted Quintans’ phone number on his cigarette packet.

‘An accident?’ asked Estevez once the inspector had hung up.

Caldas responded with a question. ‘Have you noticed a boy in a wheelchair on the beach these past few days?’

Estevez stared at him in disbelief.

‘So that’s why he had to make a hole in the gate: he can’t jump over,’ he said.

Caldas nodded and dialled the number Olga has just given him. It was engaged.

‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Estevez, and accelerated hard.

Caldas still hadn’t got through to Quintans when Estevez drew up at the harbour. They got out of the car and headed towards the Refugio del Pescador. Games of dominoes were in progress at all the tables by the window. The waiter who had described what Castelo was wearing on his last evening there was at the back, behind the bar.

‘Good evening, Inspector.’

Caldas asked him if he knew the young man in the wheelchair.

‘I know who you mean, Inspector. He’s not from the village. He’s only been around for a few weeks.’

Caldas went over to one of the tables. The old sea dog was playing with three other fishermen. He gave the inspector a sidelong glance, as if he feared retaliation for his teasing that morning. The captain’s cap lay on a corner of the table.

Caldas waited as the clacking of dominoes on marble speeded up and then subsided before asking, ‘Do you know where I might find a boy who goes down to the beach in a wheelchair?’

‘With a dog?’ they all asked, as if the inspector’s description had not been precise enough. Caldas wondered how many other boys in wheelchairs there were on the beach at that time of year.

‘Yes,’ he replied.

‘He’s not from around here,’ they chorused.

‘But do you know where I can find him?’

They looked at one another.

‘He was around just now,’ said one, waving towards the window.

Another one turned and interrupted the game at the next table.
‘Do you know where the disabled lad lives, the one on the beach in a wheelchair?’

The four men at the other table also required greater precision. ‘The one with the dog?’

‘That’s the one.’

One of the men scratched his chin with a domino. ‘I think he’s renting one of Pepe O Bravo’s houses,’ he said, slamming a double-four down on the table.

‘And where’s that?’ asked Caldas.

They all replied together, ‘Do you know the cemetery?’

The policemen went back to the car.

‘Do you know how to get there?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Estevez. The inspector tried Quintans’ number again. It was no longer engaged. ‘It’s Leo.’

‘I called you at the station a little while ago.’

‘I know,’ said Caldas.

‘Diego Neira was working in Ares until three years ago. Did Olga tell you?’

‘She didn’t say anything about the name of the village, but she mentioned he’d had an accident,’ said the inspector. ‘I think we’ve found him. I was just calling to say thanks.’

‘You’ve got him?’

‘Yes,’ said Caldas. ‘We’re on our way there now. Do you know, earlier this evening he prised open part of a front gate so he could break in in his chair.’

‘What do you mean, chair?’

‘Isn’t he in a wheelchair?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Quintans. ‘At any rate, he didn’t need one three years ago.’

‘I thought you told Olga he’d had an accident?’

‘Yes, but it was just to his hand, Leo. He lost a couple of fingers using a circular saw.’

Caldas felt the blood pounding at his temples. ‘What?’ he stammered.

‘He lost several fingers,’ repeated Quintans. ‘He was working in a carpenter’s workshop, building wooden boats. From what I’ve heard, he’s quite a craftsman.’

The tyres screeched at every bend, but Caldas didn’t complain. ‘Hurry,’ he kept saying, face raised towards the partly open window, gripping the door handle with both hands. ‘Hurry until we get to the turn-off.’

Estevez braked suddenly, making the car skid, before turning down the narrow street that led down to the gate.

Caldas opened his eyes.

‘Take it slowly now.’

As they came round the bend, their headlights lit up the motorbike, parked where its owner had left it. The carpenter was crouched, with his back to them, as if he really were inspecting the damaged gate. He held a torch in one hand and a tool they didn’t recognise in the other.

For a moment he froze like a cat in the glare of the headlights. Then he stood up and turned round.

The inspector looked at his bearded face and swallowed hard. He wasn’t as he’d imagined, but it was definitely Rebeca Neira’s son, the man he was looking for.

Estevez stopped the car. ‘Are we going?’ he asked, flicking the safety catch on his automatic pistol.

‘You don’t need that,’ said Caldas.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Rafa, I’m sure. We’re not going to hurt him.’

They opened their doors and got out slowly. The headlights were still on.

‘Diego Neira?’ Caldas called out.

The carpenter looked up, trying to see who had called his name, and Caldas saw his neck muscles tense.

‘Diego,’ he repeated. ‘I’m Inspector Caldas, of the police. We’re here to arrest you.’

The man did not reply or shield his eyes from the lights, which must have been dazzling him. He stood before the gate, face blank, arms slightly bent in a defensive position.

The policemen both moved forward until they were standing in front of the car.

‘Put what you’re holding down on the ground, Diego,’ said the inspector, but the carpenter remained motionless.

‘Didn’t you hear the inspector, son?’

Neira slowly lowered his arms, but at the last moment he jerked his arm forward and flung the torch into the air. In an instant, while the policemen had their eyes on the torch, Neira had rolled on the ground and disappeared through the gap towards the house.

They went after him. Caldas followed Neira through the hole while Estevez vaulted over the gate.

By the time the inspector had crawled through, Neira was on the ground gasping for air, pinned beneath Estevez’s bulk.

‘Don’t hurt him,’ said Caldas.

While Estevez handcuffed Neira and took him to the car, Caldas approached Valverde. The developer had watched the carpenter’s arrest from a distance.

‘Who is that?’ he asked.

‘His name’s Diego Neira.’

Valverde shook his head, as if the name meant nothing.

‘He used to live with his mother in Aguiño,’ said Caldas.

They watched the man being led away, head bowed and hands cuffed behind his back.

‘Is he that girl’s son?’ said Valverde at last.

‘Yes.’

‘Why me?’ he whispered. ‘I had nothing to do with it.’

‘That’s not quite true, you did have something to do with it.’

‘Nothing,’ he said adamantly.

‘Sometimes that’s not enough,’ said Caldas. ‘You knew what
happened that night. You could have confronted the killer, turned him in to the police.’

Valverde looked up and gave a long snort, trying to release some of his tension.

‘Confront him?’ he said. ‘And end up at the bottom of the sea like Captain Sousa?’

Caldas reflected that he himself had floundered in this case just as Sousa must have done in the waves all those years ago.

‘We’re going to look into the events of that night,’ said Caldas. ‘But there’s still time for you to speak to us voluntarily.’

The developer gave such an extended snort that this time he almost winded himself.

‘I’ll be going to see my lawyer tomorrow,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe I’ll call in at the police station afterwards.’

The next morning, Caldas sat facing the carpenter, still trying to extract a confession. He hadn’t managed to get a single word from him the night before. He’d mentioned Panxón, the graffiti and Justo Castelo’s death before moving on to the subject of Aguiño. The response had always been silence.

The inspector had hoped that a few hours in a cell would make him more willing to talk, but the man continued to stare at the white wall ahead of him almost without blinking.

‘I’m not like Somoza,’ said Caldas. ‘I’m certain your mother didn’t leave you. The men you saw at your front door were at the Bar Aduana the night she disappeared. She met them there.’

Still Neira said nothing. But the look in his eyes seemed to convey that thirteen years was too long.