Diego, who was standing next to the fallen man, stared at him, unable to process what he had done. His gaze shuttled between the man and the hammer in his hand, and back again, as he searched for the connection between the two things. Suddenly, it hit him like a bolt of lightning, and he began to shake uncontrollably.
“Diego!” groaned Antía, still reeling from the blow to her ribs. “Diego! Oh dear Lord! What have you done?”
The boy was shaking like a leaf, his mouth opening and closing silently, the expression on his face that of a cornered animal. A dark stain began to spread across his crotch, and Roberto realized that the boy had just pissed himself.
Rosalía Freire had dragged herself to where Pampín lay and was checking for his pulse.
“He isn’t breathing,” she muttered. “He’s dead!”
“Fucking hell, the moron’s killed Víctor Pampín!” Luis Docampo broke the silence. “Who would have thought he had the balls!”
“Shut up, Luis!” shouted Antía, hugging her brother, who was weeping inconsolably.
“I didn’t mean to ... I didn’t mean to ...” He looked at his sister with eyes brimming with tears. “He was hurting both of you ... I didn’t mean to ... no, no, no, no ...”
“Shh, honey, shh.” Antía held him tight as he sobbed. “Don’t look, darling. Don’t worry, it’s all over.”
Roberto racked his brains, trying to make sense of what had just happened. In a flash, things had taken an unimaginable turn. Not only were seventy-five million euros of dubious origin piled up next to him, but now they were accompanied by a corpse. Things could hardly be worse. They were all up to their necks in it.
Diego had reacted impulsively, driven by his limited capacity for reason. He had sought to neutralize a threat, without understanding the scope of his actions. As a result, a dead man was lying on the ground.
“Antía, Helena, get the kid out of here.” His voice conveyed a confidence that he did not feel. “Now.”
“What are we going to do?”
“For now, just try to calm him down.” Roberto’s mind was whirring.
“I won’t let them take him to prison.” Antía’s ferocious tone, like a lioness, startled him. “It was an accident.”
“Nobody’s going to take him,” Roberto replied, although he knew that wasn’t true. “Get him out of here. We’ll take care of this.”
“I’m serious. I won’t let them arrest him.”
“And I promise that nothing will happen. Please, get him out of here. Now.”
Antía looked at him uncertainly until an expression of relief filled her eyes. She whispered a silentthank you, and the three women—Helena, Rosalía, and Antía—took Diego away up the path. The boy had entered a catatonic trance, and his head nodded backward and forward as he emitted terrifying, incoherent sounds.
“I can’t believe it.” Luis Docampo had bent down to pick up the bloodstained hammer, and inspected it, still in shock. “It was all so fast ...”
“What will happen to him?” asked Tristán Docampo, who hadn’t opened his mouth until then. “Is what Antía says true? Will he go to prison?”
“I don’t have a clue.” Roberto shook his head. “I doubt it. They’ll take his circumstances into account.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“I don’t know.” He pressed his fingers to the side of his head, detecting the first signs of a migraine. “We need to think.”
“Not so keen to call the police now, are we?” mocked Luis Docampo. “Bit of a different picture now, isn’t it?”
Roberto wasn’t sure what to say. The man might be cruel, but he was right.
It had been an accident, with a whole crowd of witnesses who could testify to it. But that would be the least of their problems when the Guardia Civil’s green uniforms appeared on the island. Maybe Diego wouldn’t go to prison, but he would certainly end up in some kind of juvenile center or health-care institution, far from the island and his family, swallowed up by the system.
It was a cruel fate for a kid who had only wanted to help; a kid who, just a few hours earlier, had saved his life.
He couldn’t let that happen to him.
And yet, there was no alternative.
