Death on a Galician Shore (37 page)

The music was still playing and thoughts were still swirling in the inspector’s head. Diego Neira had to get Justo Castelo to say who had gone into the house. Could it be that he hadn’t intended to drown the fisherman? That he’d only wanted to scare him, to make him reveal the murderer’s name? Why not? Caldas reflected.

The graffiti proved that Diego Neira had been near the fishermen on other occasions. He could have spent months going to Panxón without arousing suspicion. If he’d wanted to kill them he could simply have shot them and gone home. Nobody would have made a connection between him and the crew of the
Xurelo
.

The thought that Diego Neira might be innocent made him feel better. Maybe the fisherman had jumped overboard out of fear. Maybe, when he’d jumped, he’d been tied to a buoy or a float that had later disappeared beneath the waves.

Caldas looked at his watch, longing for the show to end so that he could go and see the pathologist again.

Losada pressed the button turning off the red light and microphones.

‘What the hell are you doing, Leo?’ he asked.

‘Huh?’ said Caldas. Then he smiled. He was whistling the tune.

As he descended the stairs at the radio station he felt convinced that the graffiti and cable tie had had the same aim: to scare El Rubio and force him to reveal the name of his crewmate.

By the time he reached the lobby, he was determined to find Diego Neira and stop him blighting his life even further in his desire for revenge. There would be time later to find his mother’s killer.

Out in the street, he phoned the pathologist.

‘Could the fisherman have hit his head jumping from the boat?’ he asked without even saying hello.

‘Jumping?’

‘Throwing himself into the water. Maybe he struck a handrail or something else on the boat.’

‘What do you mean “throwing himself from the boat”, Leo? His hands were tied.’

‘Even so,’ said Caldas. ‘I think he may have jumped.’

‘To commit suicide?’

‘To escape.’

‘From whom?’

‘It’s a bit of a long story, Guzman,’ said Caldas. ‘Is it possible?’

‘Is what possible?’

‘The blow to the head,’ he said. ‘Could he have hit his head on some part of the boat?’

‘No,’ replied the pathologist firmly.

‘No?’

‘No, Leo. He was hit with the spanner you brought in the other day.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely. I compared it to the marks on the corpse and there’s no doubt. It’s what he was hit with.’

It didn’t change things all that much. Maybe Neira had struck the fisherman with the spanner to subdue him, so he could tie him up without a struggle.

‘The spanner’s from a large car,’ added Barrio. ‘A 4x4. They have bigger wheel nuts than ordinary cars.’

‘Right.’

After a silence, the pathologist asked, ‘Have you spoken to Barcia? She called you a little while ago.’

Caldas had seen he’d missed two calls, but hadn’t had time to check who they were from. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve only just come off air. Do you know if she’s looked at the security camera video?’

‘That’s why she wanted to speak to you.’

‘Has she found something?’

The pathologist replied with a question. ‘Can you drop by here?’

Caldas checked his two missed calls, in case Inspector Quintans had left a message that would help him track down Diego Neira, but both were from Barcia.

He crossed the Alameda and walked back to the police station along the Calle Luis Taboada. Instead of heading for his office, he went straight to see Estevez.

‘Coming?’

Estevez rose to his feet. ‘Where to?’

‘To Forensics. They’ve got the footage from the house in Monteferro.’

‘Anything there?’

‘Seems like it.’

They got into the car and the inspector opened the window slightly before closing his eyes.

‘Diego Neira may not have killed El Rubio,’ he said, eyes still closed.

‘What?’

‘He tied him up to get him to talk, but he didn’t throw him into the sea.’

‘So who did?’

‘Castelo himself.’

‘You think he committed suicide?’

‘I think that when he found out who the boy was, he thought he’d rather jump than stay on the boat.’

‘Because of what Neira might do to him?’

‘Or because of what might happen if he talked.’

They were heading up the Calle Colon when Estevez asked, ‘Is that what really happened, or what you’d like to have happened?’

‘Can’t it be both?’

‘It’s not exactly a tape,’ explained Barcia as she switched on a monitor on the wall. ‘It’s a bit more sophisticated than that: the camera’s got a motion sensor and night vision. It stores everything it records on a hard drive.’

Caldas and Estevez listened, sitting at the desk.

‘So it only records when something moves?’

‘That’s right,’ said Barcia, then she pointed at the lower right-hand corner of the screen. ‘It shows the date and time of recording here.’

The policemen nodded.

‘For instance, this is from 3.05, a few hours before Justo Castelo put out to sea.’

Suddenly a black-and-white image of a house and garden appeared on screen. In the foreground there were some bushes and a path leading to the front gate. The wall on either side of the gate was so high that almost nothing beyond it was visible. But above the gate they could see a section of the road leading to Monteferro and the pavement on the other side. That was where the dog that had triggered the recording was walking.

‘It’s really clear,’ said Estevez.

Caldas was also impressed with the quality of the picture.

‘You can play around with the picture. See?’ said Barcia, zooming in on the dog.

The animal became more distorted as its image grew on the screen. Once it moved out of camera range, the screen went black again.

‘The next recording is from 5.40.’

The fixed shot of the garden reappeared and a light-coloured car drove past, crossing the screen from left to right.

Barcia wound back the recording and paused it when the car was level with the front gate. They could see the driver.

‘It’s not the man we’re looking for,’ said the inspector. ‘Castelo didn’t set sail from Panxón until six thirty. And, anyway, this car’s heading towards the lighthouse and we’re interested in what’s going the other way.’

The door of the viewing room opened suddenly.

‘Have you shown it to them?’ asked Guzman Barrio, sitting down beside the policemen.

‘We’ve only just started,’ said Barcia.

The pathologist glanced at the paused image of the car on screen. ‘That’s the first one, isn’t it?’ he said, and Barcia nodded.

‘The first one?’ said Caldas.

‘Wait and see.’

‘So, as I was saying, this was taken at 5.40,’ said Barcia. ‘The next one is from 6.05.’

Again, the fixed shot of the garden. This time it wasn’t a car that passed but the head of someone walking along the pavement closest to the house, wearing a light-coloured hood. Barcia forwarded and reversed the footage in slow motion.

‘This guy’s definitely coming from the lighthouse,’ said Estevez.

‘It’s still too early,’ the inspector pointed out.

‘Be patient,’ the pathologist said with a smile.

‘The next shot is at 7.03,’ said Barcia. Estevez turned round in his chair, alert. Caldas didn’t move.

But this was still too early. Ernesto Hermida’s wife had maintained that El Rubio had left port only half an hour earlier. You could get from Panxón to the lighthouse by boat in fifteen minutes but, if Caldas was right, Neira would have had to knock out El Rubio and wait for him to come round before trying to get him to confess. And, anyway, it would have taken him some time at the rock pool to make a hole in the hull and collect rocks to weight the boat. You couldn’t do all of that in half an hour.

‘Pay attention now,’ Dr Barrio murmured.

A car drove past the gate of the house, a light-coloured 4x4 in the
lane furthest from the entrance. The passenger seat was empty, and the driver’s face was obscured by the roof of the vehicle.

‘Did you notice?’ asked the pathologist.

‘I noticed that seven is too early if the fisherman was still alive at six thirty,’ said Caldas.

‘Well, that’s all there is,’ said Barcia.

‘There must be something.’

‘No, nothing,’ she said. ‘The next bit of footage is at 11.08. A family driving past towards the mountain. They come back soon afterwards. Do you want to see it?’

Eleven was too late. The tide would have made it impossible to get into the pool at that hour.

‘There’s no car heading towards the lighthouse with one person in it and returning with two?’ asked Caldas. ‘Or anyone heading back from the lighthouse around seven thirty or eight?’

‘You’ve seen all there is, Inspector.’

‘But didn’t you notice?’ insisted Barrio.

‘Didn’t I notice what?’

‘You explain,’ said the pathologist. Barcia zoomed in on the image of the car driver, but it became distorted. She zoomed out gradually and paused it when she thought it sharp enough.

‘Look at the anorak of the 7.03 driver,’ she said, placing a finger on the screen. ‘The sleeve’s got two dark stripes down it.’ Then she rewound the recording. ‘This is the car that went past at 5.40,’ she said, again zooming in on the driver. ‘See the same stripes on the sleeve?’

‘Yes,’ said Caldas and Estevez together.

‘Now look at the driver’s head.’

When the head filled the screen, Estevez asked, ‘What’s he wearing – a hat?’

‘A hood.’

‘In the car?’

Barcia nodded. ‘And there are two dark stripes around the edge.’

‘It’s the same guy,’ said Estevez. ‘He drove to the mountain and back again. There’s nothing odd about that.’

‘Let’s see if you find this odd,’ said the pathologist, as Barcia fast-forwarded the recording and paused it at the person who walked past the house.

She didn’t need to zoom in – the stripes on the hood were clearly visible.

‘Is it the same man again?’

‘Strange, isn’t it?’

‘Let’s see if I can get this clear,’ said Caldas. ‘A car goes past at 5.40 and the driver returns from the mountain on foot. At what time?’

‘At 6.05.’

Twenty-five minutes was enough time to park the car at the lighthouse and walk back. ‘Then, an hour later, he goes past again in the car. Is that right?’

‘That’s it: at 7.03.’

‘But he didn’t walk back to his car …’

‘Maybe he went cross-country. Otherwise the camera would have caught it.’

Caldas stared at the picture on the screen, seeking an explanation.

‘Sure it’s the same car?’ asked Estevez.

‘Certain,’ said Barcia, rewinding the recording and stopping it at the car heading towards the mountain. ‘Look at the aerial. It’s bent. And the paintwork is scratched at the back there.’

Then she wound forward, and Caldas saw that the car driving back also had a bent aerial and scratched paint. There could be no doubt: it was the same car.

‘And remember the spanner, Leo,’ said the pathologist. ‘It’s from a big car like this one.’

Caldas did not reply. He was resting his elbows on the desk, cupping his face in his hands. He clicked his tongue.

‘What’s up, Inspector?’ asked Estevez.

‘Nothing,’ he said, then added: ‘He’s fooled me. He’s fooled us all.’

‘Clara, I need you to do me a couple of favours,’ said Caldas. ‘First, get hold of the telephone number of a man from Panxón called Ernesto Hermida, and a bar in the village called the Refugio del Pescador.’

‘And the second favour?’

‘Let me see the report on the recovery of Justo Castelo’s body.’

She found him the report first.

‘Thanks, Clara,’ said Caldas, starting to leaf through it. When he found what he was looking for, he sighed and leaned back, fingers laced behind his head. He had the feeling that a huge wave had, at last, set the investigation moving, dragging it towards its final destination. Unfortunately that wasn’t where he’d expected it to end up.

‘Are you going to tell us what’s going on?’ asked Estevez impatiently.

‘Yes,’ said Caldas, looking at the frozen image of the 4x4 driver on the screen.

He rummaged in his pocket for his cigarettes and turned towards the pathologist. ‘Mind if I smoke? I’ll open the window.’

Dr Barrio shrugged. ‘Go ahead – no need to open it. My patients won’t complain.’

Caldas smiled and held the lighter flame up to a cigarette.

A moment later, Barcia returned with the telephone numbers jotted down on a Post-it note like the ones Olga left all over his desk.

Caldas picked up the phone. The cable was all tangled up. ‘Could you put it on speaker phone?’ he asked Barcia before dialling.

A woman’s voice answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Is that the home of Ernesto Hermida?’

‘Who’s calling?’

‘It’s Inspector Caldas of Vigo Police. Do you remember me?’

‘From
Patrolling the Waves
?’ asked the fisherman’s wife.

Dr Barrio, Barcia and Estevez smiled as the inspector confirmed that it was indeed him.

‘My husband’s out at the moment, setting the traps.’

‘That’s fine. It’s actually you I wanted to speak to.’

‘To me?’

‘It’s about Justo Castelo. Do you remember telling me you saw him from your window, rowing out to his boat?’

‘The day he died?’

‘Do you remember?’

‘More or less.’

‘Can you tell me what he was wearing?’

‘What they all wear.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Waterproofs.’

‘Do you remember what colour El Rubio’s were?’

‘Yellow, maybe?’

Caldas was sure that was the colour.

‘You don’t by any chance remember if he had his hood on?’

‘Of course he did,’ the old woman replied without hesitation. ‘He was well wrapped up. It was pouring.’

‘What the hell is going on, Inspector?’ asked Estevez when Caldas hung up.

The inspector slid the report towards him across the desk, open at the page with the description of Castelo’s clothing.