Chapter 20 Cards on the Table
Cards on the Table
Once he started speaking, it was as if a wall inside him had come tumbling down.
As he recounted the chain of events since his arrival, he became aware of just how much had happened in the space of only six days.
But when he got to the part about Luis Docampo murdering Víctor Pampín in cold blood, Antía’s reaction reminded him that he wasn’t the only one caught up in it all.
“Oh my God!” She covered her mouth. “But then, that means—”
“Diego didn’t kill Pampín,” he said, finishing her sentence. “Your brother isn’t responsible.”
Antía stood there, staring at Roberto wide eyed as she processed the information.
She then launched herself into his arms, hugging him so tightly that he was forced to take a step back.
He returned her embrace awkwardly as her perfume, mellow and sweet, invaded his senses.
When they eventually separated, she looked up at him with glistening eyes.
“It’s the best-possible news,” she said, wiping away her tears. “You can’t imagine the weight you’ve just taken from my shoulders.”
“There’s still a murderer in our midst,” he said somberly. “Or two, most likely. I don’t believe that Luis Docampo’s killed one of his own, especially not like this.”
“No, of course not.” She grimaced. “Do you think this killing has anything to do with the money?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.” He held her gaze. “Could one of your family have had something to do with it, as a way of getting hold of the money?”
“Of course not!” she cried. “They’re far from perfect, but none of them would do such a thing, especially without my mother’s say-so.”
“Then we really have a problem,” Roberto mused. “Not only is there the money; someone else on the island is clearly willing to kill, and we currently have zero sense of the motive.”
“That’s not the worst of it.” Antía’s voice was bitter. “The money means everyone’s on edge. This death, with the beheading . . . it could mean all-out war.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“Just think about it,” she said. “Our families have been at each other’s throats for so long that no one really remembers how it all started. Every now and then, something comes up to stoke the hatred, but now with this money in the mix . . . it changes everything.”
Roberto could see what she meant. There was a long-running feud, but both sides were trapped on the island. It couldn’t ever go beyond contempt, harsh words, or unpleasant gestures, because the families shared the same space.
But now, if one of the parties was able to claim the money, it would put them in a position of definitive strength.
They were sitting on a powder keg, and the tiniest spark was all it would take. With the island cut off by the storm, and the atmosphere heightened by the appearance of the money, this cruel murder might be quite sufficient.
“And that’s not all,” he added.
He then proceeded to tell her about his encounter with the lighthouse keepers and the threat to report them if they didn’t hand over a third of the loot.
“Another complication.” Antía shook her head. “Please tell me there’s nothing else I should know.”
Roberto decided against sharing what he knew of the tryst between Helena Freire and Tristán Docampo. Not only had he promised the lovers he’d keep it a secret, but he also doubted very much that the revelation would be to anyone’s advantage in that particular moment—just more wood for the fire.
“No, that’s all,” he said. “But we’ve got to be careful how we break this to the Docampos.”
Coming to the village, the rain coming down hard, they turned onto the dirt path that led to the Docampos’ house, their boots saturated.
The Docampo home was just as large as the Freires’, but by contrast it was a relatively new construction, painted ochre yellow and with aluminum-framed windows. Antía, sheltering on the porch, knocked on the door and waited.
The door opened, and Amaia, Luis Docampo’s wife, stood on the threshold. She eyed them suspiciously. If she was surprised to see the pair together, she didn’t say as much.
“What do you want?” she spat.
“I need to talk to Ramón, Amaia,” Antía replied calmly. “It’s urgent.”
The woman gave them another suspicious look but nodded, and, without asking them in, shut the door. A short while later, the door opened again, and the head of the Docampo clan stood before them.
“Antía,” he grunted, and his gaze shifted to Roberto. “Lobeira. Well, what is it? Something happened with the money?”
“No, it’s not about that,” said Roberto. “It’s better if she explains.”
He had to admit, Ramón kept very cool as Antía quietly delivered the news. He paled slightly when she handed over the blood-soaked wallet, but managed to contain himself. Only the white of his knuckles betrayed the emotions presumably raging inside him.
“Wait here,” was all he said before the door closed in their faces for a second time.
Roberto and Antía stood sheltering on the porch, not quite knowing what to do next. From inside the house came a muffled female scream, but nothing more. After a moment, the door opened again, and a large group of Docampos rushed out, led by Luis.
As he passed by, he looked resentfully at Antía. “If you had anything to do with this,” Luis hissed, “my cousin’s blood won’t be the last that’s spilled on the island tonight. That’s a promise.”
“It wasn’t us,” she said, trying to stay calm.
“Oh no?” Luis brought his livid face close to Antía’s. “Who did it, then, huh?”
“Luis, that’s enough,” Ramón’s steely voice cut in, giving Antía no chance to reply. “Go get our boy and bring him home.”
“This isn’t the last you’ll hear of this,” growled Luis, casting a final, hate-filled look at Antía before moving off.
Only then did Roberto notice that Luis had a hatchet hanging from his belt, and he wasn’t the only one.
A shiver ran through him. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like this, and he knew from experience how it usually ended when things began to spiral and people took justice into their own hands.
“Antía, go back home,” he whispered, squeezing her arm. “And call your mother. Tell everyone else to stay inside. If they run into the Docampos, it could get ugly.”
“But what about you? What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Take shelter somewhere, I guess.”
“Why don’t you come with me?” she suddenly suggested. “Better than being all alone in that cottage—”
“Lobeira, I need to talk to you,” came a gruff voice from behind him. “Right now.”
Roberto turned to find Ramón Docampo glaring at them. He had no way of knowing if he’d heard their exchange, but he couldn’t snub the man without the risk of making things worse.
He exchanged a look of mute understanding with Antía before separating from her.
“Take care,” she whispered, turning to leave.
“You too,” he said, watching her slip away into the night. A feeling of dread came over him.
“Come on, then,” snorted Ramón Docampo, pointing inside.
Roberto stepped uncertainly into the house.