Watcher in the Pine (29 page)

“With all due respect, Colonel, I didn’t condone any of these activities,” Tejada reminded his commander.

Súarez considered. “Do you think anyone else at the post is involved with the maquis, besides Márquez?”

Tejada blinked, horrified by the idea that he might have overlooked another conspirator. “I don’t think so,” he said, after thinking for a moment. “Ortíz is local, of course, so he probably knows some of them from before the war. And Torres would play checkers with the Devil himself if the Devil entered a tournament. But I don’t think they’re either of them a security risk.”

“What about this Battista? Your report says that he disarmed you?”

Tejada shook his head. “I honestly think he was just caught off guard by Sergeant Márquez, and tried to use his best judgment to obey orders.”

Súarez steepled his fingers. “Well, that’s a relief to hear, Lieutenant, but it brings us to another interesting question:
Would
you have given the maquis the arms in exchange for your wife’s safety?”

Tejada stared straight ahead. “That would have been a gross violation of the Guardia’s guidelines for dealing with hostage situations, sir.”

“I’m glad you’re aware of that,” Súarez said dryly. He closed both folders. “If you can find any proof about the murder or about smuggling, pass it along, Tejada. But in the meantime, I think we’ll proceed with a very quiet court-martial for gross insubordination. Your testimony and Corporal Battista’s should be enough to insure a lengthy prison term.”

“Yes, Colonel,” Tejada said with relief.

“We’ll have to proceed against Battista, too, but we can make it a slap on the wrist, if you like.”

Tejada thought a moment. “Demotion?” he suggested. “Ortíz is well known in the mountains, and pretty well liked. I think he’d be a good interim corporal.”

Súarez nodded. “Demotion and transfer, I think. And that’s a good idea about Ortíz.” He sighed. “I don’t know what it is about the Potes station. First Calero, now you and Márquez. Everyone who gets sent up there somehow manages to get into trouble.”

“I think it’s who we’re working with, sir,” Tejada said.

“Maybe,” the colonel admitted. “If you’re right about the way the maquis are getting arms we can cross off the foreign angle, and I can get Madrid off my back.” He stood up. “Thanks for the report, Tejada. If it turns out you’re right about this it will look good in your file.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Súarez saluted. “Have a good trip back, Lieutenant.
Arriba España
.”

Tejada collected Ortíz, and the two guardias headed back to Potes. The sky was orange and pink by the time they reached the town. “Make a report to Battista,” Tejada ordered, as they climbed out of the truck. “I’m going to ride up to see how my wife’s doing.”

“Yes, sir.” Ortíz coughed. “It will be dark by the time you come back, sir.”

Tejada snorted. “I can ride in the dark, Guardia.”

“I know, sir. Only,” the guardia hesitated. “if you wait a bit I could go with you. I know it’s not a guarantee, the way the maquis have been behaving lately, but it’s something.”

“Thanks, Ortíz.” Tejada smiled, touched. “But the corporal should have that report as soon as possible, and I don’t want to wait. I’ll be careful, though.”

The guardia’s concern turned out to be unfounded. Tejada rode up to Antonio’s pasture without incident, and found his wife in the process of changing a dirty diaper. “Milagros showed me how,” she explained, in response to his question. “But they need to be washed, and we’re running awfully low. Do you think we could find someone who would do the washing for a few weeks?”

“I’ll talk to the women who do the Guardia’s laundry,” Tejada promised. He told her about his trip to Santander, and dutifully conveyed Dolores’s message. He considered telling her that Vargas had also expressed concern for her well-being, but decided against it. Then he told her about his meeting with the colonel, and about Márquez’s imprisonment. She was interested, and genuinely pleased on his behalf, but she did not grow really animated until she was able to explain how many times Toño had been up in the night, and how well he had eaten that morning, and about his brief fussiness later in the afternoon before he settled down to nap. After a few minutes holding his son, Tejada decided that her day really had been more interesting than his own.

Elena was impatient to be home, and Tejada was feeling increasingly guilty about imposing on Antonio, so they decided that the lieutenant would borrow a cart the following day and take it up to the hut to bring Elena and the baby back to the
fonda
. Tejada reluctantly said good-bye to his family and went back to Potes, happy in the knowledge that the following day he would not have to leave them halfway up Monte Viorna. He returned his horse to its stable at the post without meeting anyone, but when he reached the
fonda
Ortíz was waiting for him at the bar. “I’m glad you’re back, sir,” the guardia said in a low voice. “Go on up to Bárbara’s apartment. She wants to talk to you.”

Tejada raised his eyebrows, but he made no comment. He climbed the stairs at the back of the restaurant, and then paused on the landing, uncertain whether to knock or to wait for some signal from within. He was still hesitating when Ortíz joined him. “Bárbara.” The guardia knocked confidently. “It’s us. I’ve brought the lieutenant.”

The door opened, and Bárbara Nuñez de Montalbán gestured them silently into her living room. Tejada stood, waiting to be offered a seat. Ortíz settled himself comfortably on the couch. The widow returned to her rocking chair and did not speak. “You had something you wanted to tell us?” Ortíz prompted.

The woman looked up at Tejada. “I’ve heard Sergeant Márquez was arrested yesterday.”

Tejada nodded, neutral. “That’s correct.”

“They say he wasn’t following your orders.”

“Yes.”

“And that he was mixed up with kidnapping your lady?”

Ferreira must have talked
, Tejada thought.
Or else Antonio and Milagros spread the word. Damn
. “We have several charges against Sergeant Márquez at the moment,” he said aloud.

Bárbara met his eyes with an expression of concentrated hatred. “Do you want to get him?”

Tejada was unsettled by the intensity of her gaze. He gambled on honesty. “Yes.”

Bárbara Nuñez laughed bitterly. “Well, I can tell you that Márquez was as crooked as a snake. He used to drop in for a drink quite a bit, and didn’t he always have news for Anselmo! My husband learned about every shipment that was coming to Devastated Regions through him. And every now and then Anselmo would slip the sergeant a little something, a gift on the house, he used to call it. Oh, yes, Márquez knew that materials were being stolen from Devastated Regions. He was running the whole show and he got a nice cut in return! And I’ll swear to that in court, if you need me to, Lieutenant.”

Tejada blinked.
Such good luck it’s almost divine providence
, he thought. And then, cynically,
And what’s the catch this time
? “Why?” he asked aloud.

Bárbara misunderstood the question. “Because he didn’t have any choice except to smile and shut up about it! Anselmo told me he had something on Márquez that was as much as Márquez’s life was worth.”

“Why are you suddenly willing to swear to this now?” Tejada amplified.

Bárbara’s smile was unsettling to see. “Because Anselmo knew when he took to the hills that Márquez was going to try to kill him. He said he couldn’t make contact with anyone because the sergeant might find out where he was. But it didn’t do any good. Márquez still killed him. And guardias don’t go to prison for murder. But you put them in prison for double-crossing their own, don’t you, Lieutenant? I’ll testify that Márquez was helping us steal from Devastated Regions if it will punish him for killing Anselmo.”

“You didn’t come forward with this information before,” Ortíz said, a little reproachfully.

“The lieutenant wouldn’t have believed me,” Bárbara pointed out, turning to the other guardia. “Even you wouldn’t have believed me.”

There was a small silence while Tejada considered. Then he said quietly, “If I found out that Márquez had—for example— killed a member of the Guardia, a superior officer maybe, I could guarantee a firing squad.”

Bárbara dropped her eyes. “I don’t know anything about that sort of thing, Lieutenant.”

Tejada had a sudden vision of Elena cradling Toño and cooing to him. He imagined the woman in front of him cradling a child. “Your son, Jesulín,” he said. “He was your youngest, wasn’t he?” A tremor of emotion crossed her face, but she said nothing. “Your baby,” Tejada continued, relentless. “Would your husband have killed for him? I know that
I
would see any man dead who harmed my son.”

Bárbara put one hand to her mouth, and Ortíz made a protesting noise. “What did your husband know about the sergeant that was ‘as much as his life was worth’?” Tejada demanded.

Bárbara stood up rapidly, without speaking, and left the living room. Tejada took a few steps after her automatically, and then stopped as he realized that she had only gone toward her bedroom. “She won’t try to get away, sir,” Ortíz mumured. Abashed, Tejada took a seat on the sofa beside him and waited.

The innkeeper’s wife returned a moment later, carrying a much-creased envelope. She held it out to the lieutenant, but addressed herself to Ortíz. “Pepe, explain to the lieutenant about Laura.”

The guardia coughed and shifted uncomfortably as Bárbara resumed her seat. “Señorita Laura? I-I don’t really know what to say about her. I tried never to listen to gossip—”

Tejada cut him off. “Laura Román Márquez,” he said, reading the return address on the envelope. “The teacher’s sister. I already know.” He ignored Ortíz’s amazed embarrassment, and inspected the envelope. It had been mailed from the
zone libre
of France, the preceding summer. Someone had slit open the top. He pinched the ends between his fingers and slid out two sheets of paper, both covered with neat, tiny handwriting. He unfolded both, and read the larger one first.

23 August 1940

Sare (France)

Dear Bárbara and Anselmo,

I hope you and all our friends are well, and that you have had good news of Baldo. Please give my respects to everyone, especially Maya and Paco.

I hope things are well in Spain. Jesusa and I are both in good health, thank God. She is walking very well on her own now, and she can say “mama” and “hello.”

I am actually writing on her behalf. It has been a little difficult here, especially since June, and I am afraid of her going hungry. You and my other friends in Potes have already been too kind to me, and I would not dream of asking for more. So I have decided to ask you for something that I hoped I would not have to. Would you please take the enclosed letter to Sergeant Márquez? Forgive me a thousand times for the request.

Love,

Laura

Hardly knowing what to think, Tejada turned to the second sheet of paper. It, too, had been written from Sare at the end of August. It was brief but every word tasted bitter on the tongue:

Dear Uncle,

Forgive the imposition, but I have no one else to turn to, and no honest way left of making a living. Can you wire money to the post office in Sare? I hate to ask the favor, but I will do whatever I must to keep my daughter from starving, and the Guardia Civil owes me that much at least.

Your niece,

Laura Román Márquez

Tejada shut his eyes for a moment, and then handed the letters to Ortíz without speaking. He remembered Márquez’s shortwave radio again, and wondered if the sergeant had answered Laura Román’s plea. Ortíz read, and swore softly. “Did your husband show these letters to Sergeant Márquez?” Tejada asked.

Bárbara’s face was bitter. “He did. The sergeant threw the letter back in his face and told him that he wanted nothing to do with a niece who was Red. He said he’d kill Anselmo if he ever told anybody that there was a family connection. And then”—her laughter was a cruel sound—“then he asked Anselmo if Jesulín and Laura had ever been married, and asked what concern a Red whore’s bastard was of his!”