Inspector.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said without hesitation, and pointed to the dead fisherman’s rowing boat, swaying on the water by the buoy. ‘El Rubio’s boat is that tiny one over there. If there’d been anyone in it with him I’d have seen.’
Caldas looked at the dead man’s rowing boat. Hermida’s wife was right: there was no way anyone could have hidden in such a small craft.
‘Weren’t you surprised to see him rowing out to his fishing boat?’
‘Why would I be surprised?’
‘It was a Sunday morning and it was raining,’ said Caldas. ‘It wasn’t a day for putting out to sea, was it?’
‘If they stayed at home whenever it rained I don’t know what we’d eat, son.’
‘But fishing is banned on Sundays.’
‘I thought he was going to fetch something from his boat. Ernesto often forgets his keys and has to go back to the boat to get them. He grumbles about his joints, but I think it’s his brain that’s bad. Even though he doesn’t drink any more.’
Caldas smiled to himself and continued questioning the woman.
‘Did you see him again after that?’
‘Yes, a few minutes later. When he switched on the boat headlight.’
‘Was there anyone else on board?’
‘I already told you there wasn’t,’ she said unhesitatingly. ‘I may be old but I can still see fine. I don’t even need glasses for sewing.’
‘Did you see anything else?’ asked Caldas.
‘No. I went to the kitchen to make coffee,’ replied Hermida’s wife, before lamenting: ‘Poor lad! If I’d known the foolishness he was planning I’d have woken Ernesto.’
‘There was no way you could have known …’
A teenage boy came up the street and attached a flyer to the door of the fish market with four strips of adhesive tape.
‘There’s the death notice,’ said Hermida’s wife.
They crossed the road together. The name of Justo Castelo, aged forty-two, was printed in large letters, beneath a cross, followed by the announcement that the funeral would be held that afternoon. Caldas thought of the sadness in Alicia Castelo’s eyes as she had asked when the body would be released, and he was pleased that the coroner hadn’t delayed things longer than necessary.
‘I feel sorry for the mother, you know. She lost her husband when she was young and brought up those two children on her own,’ said Hermida’s wife, after crossing herself. ‘El Rubio was always a good boy – quiet, kept himself to himself. But he went through a bad patch. His mother neglected her own health to take care of him, but getting your son well again is more important than being able to walk, don’t you think? She’s been disabled for years now and lives with her daughter. The son-in-law is at sea so they keep each other company. I don’t understand how El Rubio could have done this to them now.’
Caldas did not reply. He turned towards the end of the jetty. Estevez was talking to the fishermen.
‘Can you tell me which is Castelo’s house?’ Caldas asked the woman.
‘El Rubio’s?’
Caldas nodded, and the woman pointed towards the street leading up to the Templo Votivo del Mar.
‘Just before you reach the church, turn left. El Rubio’s is a one-storey house painted green,’ she said. ‘You can’t miss it. It’s the only green house in the village.’
The Green House
Castelo’s house was easy to find. Set into its green façade were a white wooden door and a window with a black wrought-iron grille. A local policeman was standing at the door, smoking a cigarette.
‘Inspector Caldas,’ said Caldas.
‘Like the one on the radio?’ asked the policeman.
‘That’s right,’ Caldas replied, entering the house.
He found himself in a simply furnished room. A picture of the Virgin of El Carmen hung on the wall, her dark eyes fixing whoever came through the door. To the right there was a beige sofa and a coffee table. A glass-fronted shelf unit contained a television, stereo and stacks of
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said without hesitation, and pointed to the dead fisherman’s rowing boat, swaying on the water by the buoy. ‘El Rubio’s boat is that tiny one over there. If there’d been anyone in it with him I’d have seen.’
Caldas looked at the dead man’s rowing boat. Hermida’s wife was right: there was no way anyone could have hidden in such a small craft.
‘Weren’t you surprised to see him rowing out to his fishing boat?’
‘Why would I be surprised?’
‘It was a Sunday morning and it was raining,’ said Caldas. ‘It wasn’t a day for putting out to sea, was it?’
‘If they stayed at home whenever it rained I don’t know what we’d eat, son.’
‘But fishing is banned on Sundays.’
‘I thought he was going to fetch something from his boat. Ernesto often forgets his keys and has to go back to the boat to get them. He grumbles about his joints, but I think it’s his brain that’s bad. Even though he doesn’t drink any more.’
Caldas smiled to himself and continued questioning the woman.
‘Did you see him again after that?’
‘Yes, a few minutes later. When he switched on the boat headlight.’
‘Was there anyone else on board?’
‘I already told you there wasn’t,’ she said unhesitatingly. ‘I may be old but I can still see fine. I don’t even need glasses for sewing.’
‘Did you see anything else?’ asked Caldas.
‘No. I went to the kitchen to make coffee,’ replied Hermida’s wife, before lamenting: ‘Poor lad! If I’d known the foolishness he was planning I’d have woken Ernesto.’
‘There was no way you could have known …’
A teenage boy came up the street and attached a flyer to the door of the fish market with four strips of adhesive tape.
‘There’s the death notice,’ said Hermida’s wife.
They crossed the road together. The name of Justo Castelo, aged forty-two, was printed in large letters, beneath a cross, followed by the announcement that the funeral would be held that afternoon. Caldas thought of the sadness in Alicia Castelo’s eyes as she had asked when the body would be released, and he was pleased that the coroner hadn’t delayed things longer than necessary.
‘I feel sorry for the mother, you know. She lost her husband when she was young and brought up those two children on her own,’ said Hermida’s wife, after crossing herself. ‘El Rubio was always a good boy – quiet, kept himself to himself. But he went through a bad patch. His mother neglected her own health to take care of him, but getting your son well again is more important than being able to walk, don’t you think? She’s been disabled for years now and lives with her daughter. The son-in-law is at sea so they keep each other company. I don’t understand how El Rubio could have done this to them now.’
Caldas did not reply. He turned towards the end of the jetty. Estevez was talking to the fishermen.
‘Can you tell me which is Castelo’s house?’ Caldas asked the woman.
‘El Rubio’s?’
Caldas nodded, and the woman pointed towards the street leading up to the Templo Votivo del Mar.
‘Just before you reach the church, turn left. El Rubio’s is a one-storey house painted green,’ she said. ‘You can’t miss it. It’s the only green house in the village.’
The Green House
Castelo’s house was easy to find. Set into its green façade were a white wooden door and a window with a black wrought-iron grille. A local policeman was standing at the door, smoking a cigarette.
‘Inspector Caldas,’ said Caldas.
‘Like the one on the radio?’ asked the policeman.
‘That’s right,’ Caldas replied, entering the house.
He found himself in a simply furnished room. A picture of the Virgin of El Carmen hung on the wall, her dark eyes fixing whoever came through the door. To the right there was a beige sofa and a coffee table. A glass-fronted shelf unit contained a television, stereo and stacks of
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