Law of Return (31 page)

Tejada nodded. “It was smart of you to ask for the number
or
numbers
. I thought Arroyo might have been blackmailing Crespo based on one account. It didn’t occur to me that Crespo might have been handling a large number. It makes sense though.” He sighed. “Crespo told me that his clients would have been uncomfortable with a man of Arroyo’s political sympathies working for him. I should have guessed that maybe it wasn’t Arroyo’s politics that was the problem.”

Guillermo frowned slightly. “But most of them are probably men in good standing. They’ll be hard to arrest. Especially only on my word.”

“We won’t get all of them,” Tejada said frankly. “But we’ll get Crespo.” He fell silent, and realized that Elena was regarding him steadily. He flushed. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“Why does getting Crespo matter to you?”

Tejada considered. “I didn’t particularly like Arroyo Díaz,” he said at last. “He struck me as a windbag when I knew him and he was certainly involved in illegal currency transfers. But he stuck up for his friends. For Unamuno, of course.” The lieutenant smiled briefly. “And then for Tomás Rivera.”

“For Doctor Rivera?” Guillermo interjected. “What do you mean?”

“He knew Rivera was broke in ’36,” Tejada explained. “So he went through some kind of analysis with him to funnel a little money his way. He was very clever really. He told Rivera he had to do it because he “
hat einen Vogel
.” And that was the exact truth, in a way. He did have a banker, named Vogel, who provided him with enough spare cash for a little charity. And I think . . .” Tejada paused.

“Yes?” It was Elena who prompted him.

“I think he was very . . . loyal.” Tejada tested the word like the rung of a shaky ladder. It creaked under his weight but held firm. “He called Rivera again, a little while before he died. I think he’d found out about Crespo’s accounts then, and was trying to decide what to do about them. He might have tried to blackmail Crespo, but I think he might have just decided to keep quiet too. He was loyal to Crespo for giving him a job . . . even though the job wasn’t much better than an insult.”

“But if he just kept quiet, why did Crespo kill him?” Guillermo protested, unwilling to let the lieutenant romanticize his late colleague.

“Rivera says Arroyo called him on a Monday evening,” Tejada said quietly. “I think he called from Crespo’s offices. And I suspect he was overheard.” The lieutenant’s mouth twisted bitterly. “At any rate, the last time his wife saw him alive was on his way to Crespo’s offices. They would have been empty. And he was an old man, and unarmed. It was easy enough for Crespo to club him and then dump the body in a place where it would implicate Rivera, or at the very least cast doubt on anything Rivera said, just in case he’d gotten too much information from that phone call. And it was even easier for him to suggest that Arroyo had been planning to disappear and send me running off in the wrong direction. Especially since we didn’t even notice that he was dead for two weeks, thanks to an administrative screwup!”

Elena put one hand on his arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tejada shrugged, impatient. “I know. As I said, I had no opinion of the man. But he didn’t sell out his friends. And he deserved better than to be murdered by a former protégé who didn’t even think to keep a clear desk because it didn’t occur to him that someone who had once been a professor might still be able to read.” The lieutenant lowered his voice, a little embarrassed at his own vehemence. “It’s bad enough that Crespo killed him. He didn’t have to humiliate him as well,” he finished illogically.

“Anyone who gets mixed up with the Reds runs that risk, you know,” Elena reminded him quietly.

“Arroyo wasn’t really a Red,” Tejada protested. “He signed a petition. That was all.” Skeptical silence greeted his remark. He shook his head, flushed. “It’s not the same thing. Anyway, Arroyo wasn’t a hypocrite like Crespo. And he wasn’t a coward!”

“That Fernández has guts, I’ll say that for him,” Sergeant Hernández remarked a few days later.

“I don’t think he would have signed that petition in the first place if he didn’t,” Tejada commented thoughtfully.

Hernández shot a surprised look at the lieutenant. Tejada had been odd and abstracted for the last several days, he thought. Ever since they had planned Crespo’s arrest. He said, “Well, his testimony ought to be worth something, anyway, even if he is a Red.”

Tejada winced slightly. “Have you dropped the surveillance on him?” he asked.

“Yes, ever since Crespo’s arrest.” The sergeant looked thoughtful. “Was that how you got him to agree to act as a decoy, sir?”

“Not exactly.” Tejada shook his head.

“What then?”

The lieutenant aligned the folders on his desk with mathematical precision. “Favor to a family member,” he said, eyes on the folders.

Hernández looked surprised. “Is he a relation, sir? You never mentioned it before.”

“I’m going to marry his daughter,” Tejada said, still avoiding his subordinate’s eyes.

“What? You’re joking!” The lieutenant’s head shot up, and Hernández realized that he had crossed a line. “I mean . . . I mean . . . congratulations, sir. But . . . But have you thought about . . . well, about the implications?”

“That any chance of promotion will be extremely slim; that I’ll be pitied or despised by friends and colleagues; that I’ll be considered untrustworthy at best and a traitor at worst?” Tejada ticked off the list on his fingers.

“Well . . . no, I meant . . . well, yes.” The sergeant was embarrassed.

“No, I hadn’t thought about them,” Tejada said dryly. “But my fiancée has spelled them out for me.”

“Oh.” Hernández coughed. His superior’s last statement had glowed with the sort of possessive pride that told him, far more than any words could have, that his incredible statement was true. The sergeant hesitated. Tejada was sitting quietly, apparently unconcerned by his fellow officer’s reaction. But his knuckles, gripping one of the folders, were white. Hernández took a deep breath, conscious that his own career might well be affected by his next words, but too curious to remain silent. “Why don’t you bring her to dinner sometime,” he said, with forced casualness. “I’m sure my wife would love to meet her.”

The lieutenant relaxed his grip on the folder. “Thanks, Hernández,” he said quietly, expelling a silent breath. “We’d love to come. That is if you’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?”

Hernández shrugged. “You’ve never met
my
in-laws,” he said.

Tejada laughed. The telephone on his desk rang, and he picked it up, still smiling. “Guardia Civil, Tejada . . . Yes . . . Yes, Your Honor, thank you for the clarification. . . . Thank you, I’m honored. . . . Yes, Your Honor. . . . Good-bye.” He hung up the phone, and his smile gained a touch of malicious satisfaction. “Speaking of in-laws,” he said. “That was Judge Otero. His Honor is worried that we are under a misapprehension as to his relationship with Eduardo Crespo. He called to reassure me personally that any steps the Guardia needs to take to discover the identity of his brother-in-law’s killer have his full approval.”

Hernández smiled back. “Let’s go have a little chat with Crespo,” he suggested.

“My thoughts exactly, Sergeant.” Tejada stood. “Before Judge Otero finds out about Elena,” he added.

“My thoughts exactly, sir,” the sergeant admitted, as he followed Tejada.