Water-Blue Eyes (12 page)

Sitting in the shade under the back porch of the doctor’s imposing house, Leo Caldas and Rafael Estévez awaited Dimas Zuriaga. Estévez, panting, said that that morning, when he had looked out of the window to see what clothes he should wear, he had only seen grey mist. Now at noon, the May sun shone on his corduroy shirt, and he was boiling.

The inspector was looking at the photograph of Luis Reigosa when an elegantly dressed woman came out of the house through a sliding door.

‘Good afternoon,’ she greeted them.

As if a colonel had turned up in front of two recruits, both policemen stood to attention, and Caldas returned the picture to his pocket.

‘Good afternoon,’ they said back.

‘Please, don’t get up,’ said the woman, matching her words with a soft gesture of her hand. ‘They’ve told me you’ve come to see my husband. Would you like anything to drink while you wait? Knowing him, it wouldn’t surprise me if he takes his time to come down.’

‘Well …’ Estévez’s imploring eyes sought his boss. To no avail.

‘We’re fine,’ stammered Caldas, who was a bit surprised that Dimas Zuriaga was married to such a woman.

‘I’m Mercedes Zuriaga,’ she said, offering her hand.

Caldas shook her long fingers gently.

Before his turn, Estévez wiped his sweaty palm on the leg of his trousers.

Mercedes Zuriaga was tall and slender. She was wearing a cream dress with a belt that hugged her waist. Her décolletage exposed her collarbones, and she had a long elegant neck.
Her dark hair was tightly combed back and tied into a
ponytail
. The inspector guessed she must be in her late forties, but whatever her age she was still very attractive. Perhaps even more attractive than she had been as a young woman.

‘Do sit down, please,’ she said, and the policemen obeyed even though she remained standing.

‘You referred to yourself as inspector. Are you policemen?’

Leo’s awkward frown confirmed it; he knew that police visits had the same terrible reputation as that of the albatross on a boat at sea.

‘Has anything happened?’ asked Mrs Zuriaga anxiously.

‘No, nothing to worry about,’ said Caldas reassuringly. ‘We’d only like a word with your husband. We were at the Foundation, and as we missed him there we took the liberty of coming over.’

The woman nodded with an oscillation of her heron’s neck, and the inspector went on:

‘Your niece already told us that Doctor Zuriaga …’

‘My niece?’

‘Isn’t the girl who works at the management office a niece of yours?’

‘Oh, Diana, of course.’

‘That’s right, Diana,’ confirmed the inspector. ‘We saw her this morning. She’d warned us that Doctor Zuriaga was a bit unwell. I hope it’s nothing serious – we wouldn’t want to trouble you.’

‘Don’t worry, inspector. These days my husband says he’s ill, but I don’t think he’s got anything, really.’ Mercedes Zuriaga gave him a slightly conspiratorial smile. ‘It’s often just an excuse to work from home, without phones ringing or people interrupting him.’

Caldas took this in a spirit of sportsmanship.

‘I’m not surprised he prefers to stay in. You have a
beautiful
house.’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ replied Mercedes Zuriaga looking at the garden that dropped off into the sea. ‘Quite beautiful.’

When Leo Caldas finally saw the doctor he was slightly
disappointed
. He’d been expecting an inner voice confirming Zuriaga was the person he had noticed at the cemetery, but no such revelation occurred. Although he knew that its absence proved neither one thing nor the other, it was a small drawback for someone who trusted his instinct.

Dimas Zuriaga was wearing a loose white shirt, which he hadn’t tucked into his blue trousers. His dark-rimmed
tortoiseshell
glasses were hanging on his chest by a brown piece of cord. His nose was large, and his hair white. Very white.

He approached the porch and, after greeting them politely, asked in a deep voice:

‘Haven’t they offered you anything to drink?’

‘They have, thank you. Your wife insisted, but there’s no need.’ Caldas looked around for the doctor’s wife, but she had withdrawn as silently as she had appeared, leaving the three men on their own. ‘We won’t be long.’

Dimas Zuriaga sat down, and the policemen did likewise.

‘They called me from the Foundation to inform me of your visit. I expect they treated you well,’ he said, and Caldas nodded. ‘I would have seen you myself, but as you no doubt know, my health is not at its best these days. I hope you’ll excuse me.’

‘Of course, doctor. They’ve told us you haven’t left the house for a few days. Are you feeling better?’

‘Well, no worse than usual,’ he replied.

He obviously didn’t understand the reason that had brought the policemen to his home address, so he added:

‘I gather that they gave all the information you were
looking
for at the Foundation. Is that so, inspector?’

‘Indeed, your niece was very kind,’ replied Caldas laconically.

Dimas Zuriaga waited a few seconds for another answer that might explain the presence of the policemen there, but was greeted with silence.

‘Is anyone going to tell me the reason for this visit?’

Estévez, as eager for an answer as his host, fidgeted in his seat, making its wicker creak unpleasantly. Caldas decided to get straight to the point and show Zuriaga the picture of Reigosa. He slid it on the table, as a croupier would a card, in the direction of the doctor.

‘Do you happen to know this man?’

Estévez’s chair creaked again when Zuriaga took the
photograph
. The doctor put his glasses on his protruding nose, screwed up his eyes and, after a few seconds, shook his head.

‘I don’t know him,’ he said, returning the picture to Caldas.

‘Are you sure, doctor? Perhaps you’ve bumped into him at an official occasion hosted by the Foundation …’ insisted Caldas.

‘Completely sure. I don’t deal with many people,
inspector
. So I hardly ever forget a face.’

The instinct that had failed to materialise when Doctor Zuriaga appeared suddenly sprung up in Caldas: it told him that Zuriaga was not telling the truth. Almost without
thinking
, he took a chance.

‘How do you explain that we have a witness who’s
prepared
to testify that you and this man knew each other?’ he lied.

‘I don’t know, you tell me,’ replied the doctor, in the scandalised voice of someone unused to being contradicted.

Leo Caldas hesitated, but once on the offensive he couldn’t beat a retreat. He doubted he’d ever have another chance to confront the eminent man face to face. Stepping down would mean letting him get away.

‘Were you at a funeral yesterday, Doctor Zuriaga?’

‘I’ve already told you that yesterday, like the day before and today, I was indisposed,’ replied the doctor without
batting
an eyelid. ‘Do you understand, or would you rather my lawyer explained it to you, inspector?’

The car was making its way towards the exit among the hundred-year-old trees of the Zuriaga residence.

‘What the hell was that all about? You can’t think Zuriaga is involved in this? We’re talking about a murder. And what was all that about the witness? Could you explain that, chief? You know as well as I do how powerful that man is. He can crush us just by picking up the phone. Besides, hadn’t we agreed our man is gay? Doctor Zuriaga has a willowy
brunette
for a wife, inspector, you saw her as well as I did. Do you think anyone can be gay with a lady like that at home? Really, chief, I don’t know what went through your head, but we’ll get a right bollocking for this.’

Caldas remained silent, sunk in the passenger seat with his eyes closed. He had gambled – and he had lost.

Rafael Estévez wound down the car’s window.

‘Bloody hell it’s hot!’

He had remembered his lunch engagement at the last
possible
moment. He was now hurrying down Arenal Street – and he was late. A few seconds later he pushed a glass door and rushed into the restaurant, his eyes darting from table to table. Once he found the right one, he went over and sat down in front of an older man who smiled at him.

‘Leo!’

‘I’m sorry I’m late, Dad.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ his father said and then
whispered
, ‘but you asked me to meet you at a place where they don’t have my wine, and that is unforgivable.’

‘What do you mean they don’t have it? I always ask for it when I come here.’

‘Well, today they don’t have it,’ his father insisted.

Caldas didn’t want to add wine to his long list of problems.

‘Excuse me, Cristina!’ he called out.

The waitress approached the table.

‘Hi, Leo, how’s it going?’

‘All right, I suppose. But my old man here is a bit
disappointed
, as he thinks you don’t have his wine. I told him I always drink it, but …’

‘I’m afraid we had until a few days ago, when we sold our last bottles. Now we’re waiting for the distributor to bring us some more.’

‘You see, they usually have it,’ said Caldas to his father, who didn’t seem too pleased anyway.

‘But today they don’t.’

‘If you like I can bring you any other one. They’re not as delicious, but they’re not bad either. I can offer you a variety
of labels or the house wine‚’ explained the waitress, handling the situation with aplomb.

‘Which one’s better?’ asked Caldas’s father.

‘There’s no chemistry involved in the house wine,’ she started explaining.

‘Of course there’s chemistry involved,’ interrupted the old man. ‘Or what do you think fermentation is? There’s
chemistry
in everything, my girl. What that house wine of yours lacks is controlled fermentation, or bacteria filters, or proper stationing in casks, and many other things which are needed for a good wine as much as grapes. But chemistry …’

‘So which one will it be?’

‘Oh, well,’ said the older man theatrically. ‘The house wine.’

‘And to eat?’ asked Cristina.

‘I’m in charge of oenological matters,’ replied the father, raising the palms of his hands and waving towards Leo, as if fanning the air between them. ‘The rest I leave to my son.’

As a starter Leo Caldas ordered half a kilo of goose
barnacles
which he had reserved over the phone, and as a main course a huge sole he chose from the display counter. He requested that it be boned after frying, so that he and his father could share it more easily.

At these restaurants in the harbour you had to eat on a paper tablecloth, amid much noise, and sometimes even sharing a table; but they had fish and seafood fresh from the generous Galician
rías,
instead of the bland ones trucked over from distant seas, as in other restaurants. ‘How can you ask for goose barnacles, darling? Haven’t you seen the sea today?’ Cristina had scolded a few times when, in spite of the bad weather, he asked for his favourite dish. The food was
that
fresh.

Over the next fifteen minutes, father and son barely exchanged a word. They both concentrated on opening the goose barnacles with their fingernails and wolfing them
down before they got cold. Caldas closed his eyes every time he put one in his mouth, as if the briny flavour of the black crustaceans might evaporate through his eyes if he kept them open.

Once the sole was on the table, the inspector’s father
expatiated
on how stupid, in his view, it was to live in the city, and how people slip into moral decline when they lack the time to enjoy a glass of wine in the shade. He’d found his son a bit depressed, and put it down to the city rush, the noise and the toxic fumes from the cars.

The inspector didn’t want to worry him further by adding that, barring a miracle, he’d just ruined his career in the police force. He listened quietly as his father told him that some recent rains had coincided with the flowering of the vine, making trouble for the following harvest. The autumn harvest, he lamented, would be smaller than previous ones.

‘God will have to do something about it,’ he said with a serious expression. ‘Less wine means less happiness in the world.’

‘By the way, yesterday I saw Ramón Ríos at Riofarma,’ interrupted Leo. ‘He asked me if there’s a chance you might send him a crate before it’s sold out. It seems he ordered a couple last year, but in the end he never received them.’

‘Does he do an honest day’s work these days?’

‘Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn’t. You know, he takes his time. So anyway, what about the wine?’

‘Tell me where I should send the crate and I’ll do it as soon as I get back to the vineyard.’

Leo Caldas nodded and grabbed his mobile.

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll ask him for the address now. That way you can sort it out yourselves without me in the middle,’ said Caldas as he dialled his friend’s number.

‘Hi, Moncho, it’s me, Leo. Is this a bad time?’

‘Not at all. I’m only working,’ joked Ríos.

Caldas was glad to find someone in a good mood amidst the tempest which seemed about to blow up over him.

‘I’ve got my father here. He’s asking me where you’d like to have that wine sent. Riofarma?’

‘No way. This place is full of thieves. I’d rather he sent it to my home. And could I have two crates?’ he added, and dictated his details.

‘Well, that was all, really …’ said Caldas after writing down the address on the back of a card. ‘And thanks again for your help. Isidro Freire was very kind to us, and gave us all the information we needed.’

‘You know, this morning I wanted to ask him what he’d thought of the man from
Patrol
on
the
Air
in person, but I couldn’t find him. Apparently he hasn’t come to the lab. I hope you haven’t scared him away,’ said Ramón Ríos in a humorous tone.

‘I don’t think so, Moncho. Perhaps he’s followed your example and jumped on a boat with a mermaid.’

‘Well, I don’t know about Freire, but in ten minutes I am repeating yesterday’s sexy naval shenanigans.’

Leo Caldas’s father had fond memories of the disobedient child who, despite being from a different background, had spent so much time with his son.

‘What was that crazy bugger saying?’ he asked as Leo put the phone on the table.

‘The usual nonsense,’ replied Leo, and passed his father the card with the address where the wine should be sent. ‘And a guy I saw yesterday at Riofarma has not turned up for work today, so Moncho was blaming me for his absence.’

‘As eccentric as ever,’ smiled his father.

Leo looked at his watch. It was past four.

‘Are you going back to the vineyard? After lunch, I mean.’

‘Yes, I finished my errands here this morning. You know, the less time I spend in the city the better.’

‘Would you mind dropping me off a bit beyond the
station
? You’ll have to make a detour, but that way we’ll have
more time to finish our lunch and I’ll save myself the walk uphill on a full stomach.’

‘Sure‚’ his father agreed. ‘I’ve got nothing else to do. Where are you going?’

‘I’ve arranged to meet someone for work at the cafeteria of the Mexico Hotel,’ he said, steering clear of any specifics. ‘I don’t want my assistant to be there before me, as you never know what might happen when he’s on his own.’

His father nodded. He’d heard how impetuous his son’s new subordinate could be.

‘Talking of being on your own – is Alba back at home yet?’

‘No,’ said Caldas, staring at the sole. ‘She’s not coming back.’

They drove uphill away from the
ría.
They passed the train station on their left, and kept on climbing with the traffic towards the aptly-named
Calvario
– Stations of the Cross. They had to dodge a few barriers marking off potholes, which were already part of the urban scenery. The inspector’s father was flabbergasted at how pedestrians negotiated the obstacles on the pavements while sweating under the fierce afternoon sun.

‘One day you’ll have to explain to me what stuff these people take to be able to go on living here, Leo.’

The inspector refrained from reminding him that he had spent several decades himself in the city he now loathed. Caldas just kept silent, hoping his father wouldn’t ask him any questions concerning his job or insist on discussing his relationship with Alba.

He checked his watch and saw it was two minutes past five. He was late for his appointment with the DJ from the Idílico.

‘In the countryside you can watch the days go by,’
speechified
his father. ‘Here, apart from the fact that you’re
surrounded
by all this rubbish, you rush through the days
without seeing anything. Haven’t you thought of that, Leo? I bet you’ve never thought of that.’

‘When you put it that way …’ replied Calda tersely.

‘Do think about it.’

‘I’ll get out here,’ said the inspector, seeing an opportunity now the car had stopped at a red light, ‘so you don’t have to turn round and can escape even sooner.’

‘Already?’ asked his father, surprised at his sudden
farewell
. ‘When will you come down to visit me, Leo?’

For no particular reason, the inspector usually lied when he said goodbye to his father. But this time he thought he might be making an accurate prediction about how soon he’d have some time off.

‘Next week I’ll come to the vineyard.’

‘Promise?’ his father asked him, as if he were still a child.

‘I’m afraid so,’ he said, opening the door. ‘I’m pretty sure I’ll find the time.’

‘Leo!’ his father stopped him before he got out and, as he turned round, added: ‘You know, it’s not good to be alone.’

The inspector gave him a hug, and closed the door behind him.

The traffic lights turned green, and several drivers started beeping their horns so that the ones ahead would move.

Leo Caldas saw his father lose himself in the traffic, and wondered whether he might not be right.