Death on a Galician Shore by Domingo Villar Read Free Book Online Page B

drugs?’
    Alicia looked down once more. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been told, Inspector, but Justo gave them up a long time ago.’
    ‘How long is a long time?’
    ‘Years,’ she said. ‘He did it for our mother. He came off all that junk because he wanted to stop hurting her. That’s why I know he’d never have committed suicide while she was still alive. Never.’
    ‘Can you think of anything that might have made him …?’
    Caldas didn’t finish his sentence. He saw the grief in the woman’s eyes and decided not to push her further. He knew there was no point in continuing to question her when she was like this. Alicia Castelo needed time to rest if she was to think clearly and provide answers. Caldas granted it to her.
    ‘Don’t worry. I’ll give you my number in case you think of anything,’ he said, handing her his card. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to trouble you again. I hope you understand.’
    Alicia Castelo put the card away without looking at it. ‘Do you know when we’ll be able to bury him?’
    ‘Soon,’ the inspector assured her. ‘Though it’s up to the pathologist and the coroner.’
    While they were seeing her out, Estevez placed one of his great big hands on her shoulder as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Try to get some rest, Alicia,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a difficult day ahead of you tomorrow.’

El Eligio
    ‘At least someone doesn’t mind all this rain,’ said Estevez, indicating the statue as he stopped the car.
    The inspector looked up. Through the rivulets coursing down the glass, he saw the merman on his pedestal, illuminated by streetlights. Estevez was right. With the scales of his tail glistening in the rain, the half-man, half-fish seemed to be smiling down on the city.
    Caldas got out of the car. He made his way briskly down the Calle del Principe, turned right into the first side street and pushed open the wooden door of El Eligio.
    ‘Good evening, Leo,’ chorused the group of academics sitting at the table nearest to the bar.
    ‘Good evening,’ he called back, struggling to remove his wet raincoat. When he’d succeeded at last he hung it on the coat rack beside the iron stove and approached the bar.
    Carlos was totting up a customer’s bill. He always jotted down orders in pencil directly on to the marble counter. Once he’d finished he brought out a bottle of white wine and poured the inspector a glass.
    ‘Everything OK?’ he asked. Caldas responded with an ambiguous gesture.
    Oroza, the poet, was standing at the bar beside him. He’d enjoyed the radio show that afternoon.
    ‘That story about the man who was breathalysed every time he took out the car was very clever,’ he remarked.
    Caldas no longer bothered explaining that it wasn’t his show and that the calls to
Patrolling the Waves
were unplanned and unscripted.There had been a time when he’d tried to convince people of this, but he’d given up, realising it was futile.
    ‘Thanks,’ he said simply, and saw Carlos smile behind his moustache.
    He was planning to have something quick to eat and then go home to bed. Estevez would be picking him up at seven the next morning for the drive to Panxón. The fish market opened at eight, and Caldas intended to get there in time to speak to the dead fisherman’s colleagues. He also wanted to see the beach where the body had washed up and go to Castelo’s house. He’d had it cordoned off until he could get to inspect it.
    Dr Barrio would be releasing the body to the undertakers specified by the family in the morning. Unless absolutely necessary, Caldas preferred not to question the sister again until she’d had a little time to recover from the funeral.
    ‘Have you got anything to eat?’ he asked.
    ‘How about some of the veal with chickpeas left over from lunchtime?’
    Eating pulses late at night didn’t agree with him, but the Eligio’s veal with chickpeas was hard to resist. He’d been there a few times when they were preparing it