The priest looked like he was nursing an awful hangover, and perhaps that was his remedy.
“What about the car?” Ulises asked, and he lit a cigarette. “Sarita was telling us it might not be towed until a couple of days have passed.”
“That’s true,” Beto said. “We might not tow it at all. Lifting a person is one thing, but a whole car is another. The important part is having a body to put in a coffin.”
“I still think we ought to bring the car up,” Bartolo said. “It would be proper procedure, especially if there’s an inquest.”
“An inquest?” Ulises replied, surprised by the young policeman’s choice of words.
Bartolo nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. We need to determine the cause of death.”
“It’s obviously an accident,” Ulises said. “I hope you’re not implying anything more sinister.”
“I wouldn’t want to imply anything, sir.”
Beto clapped the other police officer on the shoulder and laughed. “He reads detective stories, our Bartolo, he wants to handle a serious case.”
Ulises had the most awful sensation, like someone had spilled freezing water down his back. He had been counting on the inefficiency of the local police force, but now this boy was keen on showing off his detective skills. He pictured him looking at tire marks, analyzing the blows to Cándido’s head and face. Dear God, the blows! If he paid attention, he’d notice something suspicious. What had Cándido looked like when they shoved him in the car? His head was not split in two, but Ulises had hit him ferociously.
The memory of the murder made his fingers shake and he dropped his cigarette. He felt like retching, like he had after they killed Cándido. By the end of the evening Ulises had an awful headache. He went to bed, but did not sleep—his mind was filled with the most bizarre and chaotic images, the car, Cándido, but also pictures from the war far away, his own father in his coffin—and as soon as he thought it was safe to sneak out of his bed, he hurried into Inés’s room.
She was awake. He lay down next to her and she gave him a shove.
“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to seduce you,” he told her.
“Then what are you doing, sneaking in here?”
“I need a minute to rest.”
“As if you can’t sleep in your room. Get out.”
“I said rest, not sleep. It’s been a damn long day, and I need three minutes with a friend, if you can pretend you’re one for that long.”
She didn’t say anything, though she shifted her position; Ulises felt her eyes on him while he stared at the ceiling.
“You’re feeling guilty?”
“And worried. You’re not? They’re saying they might pull up the car, launch a whole inquest. What if they find our footprints in the mud?”
“With this rain?” She scoffed. “All footprints must be washed away, same for the tire marks.” She began to run a hand through his hair, rumpling it. “I thought you were a professional when I met you. I thought you wouldn’t feel guilty like that.”
“It’s different stealing a lady’s money than killing a man.”
“Why? Don’t you think you hurt them when you took their savings? Maybe they wished they were dead after being cheated like that.”
“Sure. I’m a bastard. It doesn’t make murder any easier.”
“Maybe if he’d been a good man I’d feel bad about it. But he was a rotten fellow. He started pinching my ass when I was fifteen and my aunt wasn’t looking. Then again, in a place like this most of them think they can pinch and prod and a young woman will not complain, especially when she’s a nobody.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it.
Her hand went from his hair to his chest and lingered there, fingers splayed. “You ever wondered if you’d go to hell for what you do?”
“I don’t believe in hell. Do you?”
She shook her head and curled up next to him. He breathed in deeply, let his mind go blank for a couple of minutes as he listened to the sound of the rain that fell upon the windowpanes. Her fingers wandered up his throat, settling on his lips.
The springs of the bed were old and rusty and would play a symphony if they dared to make love on it. So they didn’t, contenting themselves with the lightest of touches. He caressed the curve of her hip bone; in turn her fingers crept under his shirt, unbuttoned it, and bared his abdomen.