Murder at San Miguel, page 15
“But,” the sergeant began, “maybe the Professor —”
“Notes, Ortega! Notes. Just that. No talking, just notes. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“A la orden, mi capitán.”
I felt sorry for the poor sergeant and wished he were handling the investigation alone. It was clear that Sánchez didn’t care much for the junior officer and left no room for him to contribute to the investigation.
“Now, we’ll interview you and Señora Forster first. It’s just a formality. I don’t really believe that you or your wife did this. Your wife couldn’t have done it alone, and you, sir, do not seem the type.”
“Is there a type?” Bill asked, sounding defeated.
“There’s always a type,” the captain said with a conspiratorial wink.
“Wouldn’t it be best to keep an open mind?” I asked. “Really, anybody could have done it.”
“Señora, you must not worry. Trust me. I’m very good at reading people. We’ll have this solved in no time. Where can we conduct the interview?”
“I suppose it would be all right if we used the office again,” I suggested.
I didn’t think anyone would mind under the circumstances.
The captain nodded, and we walked in silence to the house. Inside the office, Sánchez ordered Ortega to clear off the chairs and arrange them around the desks. Sánchez poked around at the desk while the sergeant piled books and papers on the floor.
“Quite messy in here,” the captain commented. “This would never pass at the garrison.”
The Civil Guard was military in nature, and I imagined that life was highly regimented for anybody who signed up for service.
“Let’s get started,” Sánchez said as soon as Ortega placed the chairs next to the desks.
We all sat down, Ortega with his notepad and pen before him.
“When was the last time you saw the victim?” Sánchez began, leaning back in his chair and looking at Bill.
“I suppose it would’ve been after dinner,” Bill replied. “Angela was unwell in the morning, but she did join us for dinner. After dinner, she worked with Beatrix in the kitchen, along with some of the other students, and then Patrick, another student, played some music for us before we went to bed. Beatrix and I retired to our room after that, and I imagine the students weren’t long behind us.”
“So they’re not supervised at all hours?”
“No, they’re all adults attending university. They can do as they please in their free time, with the exception of a few rules.” Bill sounded a bit defensive, as though the captain was accusing us of being negligent parents.
“And what are these rules?”
“No alcohol, no drugs, no smoking in the house. No girls in the boys’ room and vice versa. Everyone should be back in their rooms and quiet by eleven o’clock. No entering rooms that are off limits. No engaging in anything but platonic relationships. I think that’s about it. Beatrix, did we have others?”
I shook my head.
“Eleven o’clock?” Sánchez scoffed. “Many people have their dinner at that time or later here.”
“Of course,” I said, knowing very well that we did things earlier than the locals. “But we need to keep everyone on the same schedule here. I don’t imagine Maite would want to have people dining whenever it pleased them.”
“It was only a comment, Señora Forster. No need to get defensive.”
Again, I bit my tongue.
“Who, exactly, was here last night?”
“The students,” I told him. “There are eight of them; ourselves; our teaching assistant, Archie; Maite, a local woman who helps with meals; Ignacio, the sanctuary’s caretaker; and fathers José María and Pedro.”
“Quite a full house. So you didn’t see the girl or anybody else between when you went to bed and when you discovered the body this morning?”
“I didn’t.” Bill looked at me. “Did you, Beatrix?”
I thought about it for a minute. Even on my last trip to the bathroom before getting into bed, I hadn’t seen anybody. I shook my head.
“That should be enough to get started,” the captain declared, rising from his seat.
“You don’t want any more information?” I asked, surprised that he didn’t want us to talk about the characters of the students. “Nothing about what people here are like?”
“Not to worry, señora. You’ll see I can make my own determinations about people.”
I pursed my lips but said nothing.
Chapter 32
i’d hoped that Bill and I would be left to our own devices after the captain finished interviewing us, but that wasn’t to be. Sánchez insisted that we be present to help with interpretation, as neither he nor Ortega spoke any English. He made a point of adding that although Bill was expected to translate, I should remain in case anybody should become overly emotional. At least, I thought, we’d hear what everyone had to say. Bill suggested he might want to speak with Miriam first, as we’d done, since she knew Angela better than anybody else. I was concerned he’d not be open to the advice, but he accepted the recommendation. Bill went to find Miriam and let the others know not to go anywhere, as they’d each be interviewed by the police.
Miriam’s eyes were red and puffy when she entered the office. She sniffled and dabbed at her nose with a soggy handkerchief as she sat down. Her dark hair was tangled and messy. My heart went out to her, the poor thing. I sat down beside her, adjusting Muffin into a comfortable position on my lap, and squeezed her arm gently. Miriam patted her lap to coax Muffin over to her, and I scooted the dog in her direction. Miriam was going to need all the support she could get.
“Señorita Berger,” the captain began, leaning toward Miriam. “Tell me what happened last night after dinner.”
“Well, after dinner, Angela, Patrick, Eduardo, and I helped Mrs. Forster with illustrations in the kitchen. Then Patrick played some music for us. After that, Angela said she wanted to go for a quick walk before bed to clear her head, even though it was rainy. She likes wandering around the mountain, says — said — it gave her space to think and breathe. I stayed in the kitchen with Helen. I don’t know where the rest went. When Angela came back, we got ready for bed as usual.”
The process was slow, as Bill was interpreting everything that was said.
“You’re sure she was alone?” the captain asked.
Miriam glanced at me, then looked down at the floor. “Yes.”
“Did you hear Angela leave in the night?”
“No.”
“So you saw her just before going to bed, and that’s it?”
“Yes.” Miriam stroked the patch of black fur on Muffin’s back, running her fingers quickly and repeatedly over the same spot.
“Miriam,” I prodded her gently, “it’s important that you tell the captain everything.”
“Señora Forster, leave the questions to me. Please, just let your husband translate. Do not add your own commentary.”
“It’s just that —”
“Just translating. That’s all I need. Perhaps you’re too emotional to be here. Perhaps you’d like some tea in the kitchen.”
Sánchez produced a cigarette case from his trouser pocket, pulled a white cylinder from the contents, and placed it in his mouth. He snapped his fingers, and Ortega obediently lit the cigarette with a lighter.
“I think we’re done here,” Sánchez stated. “Thank you, Señorita Berger. You may leave.”
I was appalled. If the man would just let me speak, perhaps Miriam would reveal what she was hiding. Of course, the captain didn’t know she was hiding something, nor would he allow me to tell him she was keeping a secret for Angela.
“Who’s next?” Sánchez asked Bill.
“Just a moment,” I intervened, switching rapidly between Spanish and English. “Miriam,” I said sternly, “It’s imperative that you tell us the whole story, even if it means breaking your word to Angela. It’s incredibly important that we find out who did this. We’ve spoken to Janis, and it seems very unlikely she would’ve done something like this in a conscious or semi-conscious state. So if we don’t get the whole story from you, it’s unlikely that we’ll solve Angela’s murder.”
Miriam burst into tears. I hadn’t meant to be harsh, but I wanted her to see how desperately we needed to know everything. At this point, only she knew what Angela had been doing in her free time.
“He wouldn’t have hurt her,” she sobbed.
“What —” the captain began.
I held my finger up to silence him. This time he didn’t object. Perhaps he sensed this information was important, even if he couldn’t understand what was said.
“Who wouldn’t have hurt her?” I asked.
“I don’t know who it was. She wouldn’t tell me his name. She was worried they’d both get into trouble, but she told me he loved her, and I believed it. He wouldn’t have hurt her. I know that.”
“Why don’t you start from the beginning, Miriam, and Professor Forster will translate for the officers?”
Miriam began to cry even harder, gasping for air. She grasped the fur on Muffin’s legs, pulling the long hairs unconsciously as she tried to gain control over herself. I rubbed her back and, from my pocket, handed her a fresh handkerchief that I’d retrieved earlier from my room, intended for my own use.
“There, there, you poor child,” I soothed her. “You’re doing the right thing.”
Bill told Sánchez what Miriam said while I tried to get her to take deep breaths.
“I don’t want to get anybody in trouble,” she sputtered, moisture collecting around her nose.
“Nobody will be in trouble, Miriam,” I said. “Except the person that hurt Angela.”
Miriam nodded. She inhaled deeply, her shoulders shuddering as she exhaled. “I’ll tell you everything I know,” she said, folding and unfolding the handkerchief in her right hand. “It started just after we arrived here. She’d go off on walks by herself. She’s always been like that, so I didn’t think much of it. But then she told me that sometimes she wasn’t alone. That she was meeting someone. She told me she loved him, and that after the field school was over and a little time passed, they were going to be married. She’d never tell me who he was. She was worried he’d be in trouble, that their relationship would jeopardize him, and that she’d be in trouble too. She didn’t want to get kicked out of this program. We all knew that any kind of relationship would be frowned upon, by you and the university. She didn’t want to risk anybody finding out. And, there’s something else…”
“What is it, Miriam?” Bill asked.
She hesitated, shaking her head. “I don’t want to say.”
“It’s important,” I pleaded with her.
This was our first breakthrough. We needed her to tell us what she knew. She looked at me, tears in her eyes once more.
“She was pregnant,” she whispered.
“Goodness,” I said, shocked by the news.
I tried to process everything that Miriam just revealed. Angela had been seeing someone, someone we knew but whose identity she’d hidden, and she was pregnant. Suddenly, there was a possible reason for her illness and it had nothing to do with witchcraft.
“Miriam, were you really sick yesterday?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“I wasn’t. I just said I was sick to make it seem that Angela wasn’t the only one. I was worried you might figure things out if she was the only one sick. Helen just said she was sick too. She didn’t know anything about Angela being pregnant. She just likes to fit in with everyone else. There was nothing wrong with her.”
“So Angela was suffering from morning sickness?”
Miriam shook her head again, her face pinched with grief.
“That’s what she thought. At first. It seemed normal that she was nauseous. But she had a lot of pain, and then she started to bleed. I don’t know, she said she thought she lost the baby.”
“A miscarriage,” I said. “It’s not uncommon for the baby to be lost in the first few months of pregnancy. What happened after that?”
“Well, she hid the sheets somewhere downstairs. She didn’t say where. She snuck fresh sheets from the linen closet and remade the bed when nobody was around. Her pyjamas were stained but she didn’t want to throw them out, so she stuffed them into the bottom of her luggage to wash when nobody was around. She told Helen she’d gotten her period and that she stained her pyjamas, so that night Helen lent her a nightgown to wear. Helen was the only one that brought multiple sleepwear options with her. I would’ve given Angela something of mine, but I didn’t have anything. Just one pair of pyjamas and my digging clothes.”
That explained why I couldn’t remember Angela wearing the white nightgown when I saw her in the morning. The poor girl, so unwell, having a miscarriage all by herself and far from home. What a terrifying experience it must have been.
“So the girl was a bit of a floozy,” Sánchez interrupted callously. Bill was interpreting for him. “Not much wonder she ended up —”
“¡Basta ya!” Bill thundered, slamming his fist on the desk. Everyone fell silent and turned their wide eyes to my husband, who rarely raised his voice. “There shall be respect. You’re here to investigate a murder, not pass judgment on the dead.”
I turned toward the captain, fearing his response to Bill’s outburst. My gaze flicked from the pistol at his waist to the cold look in his eyes as they locked with Bill’s. Suddenly, Sánchez laughed, his belly quivering beneath the tight belt.
“Forgive me, Professor,” he said. “Perhaps young ladies’ morality is judged differently where you’re from. Here, a woman’s virtue is her value. But you’re right. I’m not here to judge the girl. I’ll leave that to the priests and their commander-in-chief. Anyway, what young man didn’t find himself in love with a girl like that in his youth?”
He took one last puff of his cigarette, allowing the smoke to escape from his lips slowly, deliberately, and then he stubbed the cigarette out on the wood of the desk.
Chapter 33
we sent miriam back to her room, giving her instructions to rest. I needed a moment to consider what we’d just learned. I couldn’t imagine Angela having a secret rendezvous with any one of the young men of our acquaintance. She’d always been so quiet, so amenable to the rules, never complaining, never causing a fuss. Yet it would seem that she had, in fact, been sneaking around with someone. I did not expect that from her, perhaps one of the other girls, but not Angela.
Then again, perhaps my own perspective was poisoned by the same societal norms that pervaded the captain’s own beliefs. Nice girls didn’t get pregnant before marriage. What did this say about the progress of society and its views of unwed mothers? Had we more charitable views, would Angela still be alive? Was she killed because someone knew she was pregnant? The father, perhaps? Was he afraid the scandal would ruin his reputation or future prospects? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had fallen victim to the man who’d professed to love her before she got into trouble. Or was Miriam right, and they really had loved each other? Then, in that case, who killed Angela? Someone who was wildly jealous of this relationship? And was her death related to the vandalism of the sarcophagi? Was someone trying to scare us off the mountain and had gone to extreme lengths? There were still so many questions, and so few answers. The next step would be to determine who the father was and whether he knew Angela had a miscarriage. At least in this, all the women at the sanctuary could be eliminated as suspects.
There came a soft knock at the door to the office.
“Entre,” Sánchez said curtly.
We’d all been lost in thought.
Maite slowly opened the door and popped her head around the corner. “I apologize for interrupting, but I’ve prepared lunch for anybody who’d like it. I know it’s late, I just…I’m very sorry. I understand if you don’t wish to eat anything. I thought I’d check just in case.”
She looked fearful, as though the Civil Guard came to question her specifically. I doubted she had any motive to hurt Angela, but Sánchez might have other ideas. Time would tell.
“Señora,” the captain was suddenly all charm. “Please, come in. We’d gladly partake of the meal you’ve prepared. I’ve no doubt it will be lovely, and a welcome break at that.”
“It’s only a simple meal,” Maite said timidly, then disappeared from the office.
She was normally a straightforward, bold person. Not reserved at all. For many people, the Civil Guard sparked fear in the heart. Their reputation for being heavy handed preceded them, and I knew Maite held no love for this particular arm of the law. I couldn’t blame her. Sánchez inspired little confidence in my mind.
lunch was a quiet, sorrowful affair. Nobody spoke, except the captain from time to time, exclaiming that the soup was particularly good or trying to draw Maite out of her deep silence. It was no use. Maite was in her fifties, with grey hair and heavy creases around her eyes and mouth, she was still a very attractive woman. The captain was apparently well aware of this fact, and despite being married, he felt no shame in very publicly trying to make a pass at her. His disregard for her discomfort was obvious. After the things he’d said about poor Angela, I was appalled. But then, hypocrisy was most often lost on the hypocrites themselves.
After the meal was finished and the students and Maite began to clear the dishes away, Sánchez remained at the table. He produced the cigarette case once more and began to smoke. I didn’t bother to remind him that one of the rules had been no smoking in the house. I imagined he believed our rules to be trivial and his right to act as he pleased incontestable. He was right about the latter. There was little we could do about his behaviour.
