“Let me guess,” said Roberto. “The money you built up then is also running out.”
“Indeed. But there were years when we were the Freires’ equals. What happened after isn’t our fault.”
Something in his tone made Roberto distinctly uneasy. “After?”
“When we pulled out of the smuggling business, Antía’s father went to the drug smugglers and said the Freires would happily take our place.” A baleful smile flashed across his face. “By then they were pretty broke and desperate.”
“What happened?”
“One moonless night, trying to get away from the Guardia Civil, he crashed his speedboat into a boat moored out in the middle of the estuary,” Docampo spat. “He died on the spot. The Freires blame us; they think we ratted him out.”
Another piece of the complex puzzle of island relationships fell into place. The roots of mutual resentment spread like a weed that could clearly never, ever be pulled up.
“Just to be clear.” He leaned over to Ramón. “Why are you telling me all this? Don’t you realize you’ve just confessed quite a number of crimes to me?”
Docampo rubbed his chin, eyeing Roberto. “Everything I’ve told you is ancient history,” he said. “It all happened a long, long time ago, and the only one still standing from the smuggling days is me. I don’t mean to brag, if that’s what you’re imagining. No, what I want is something else.”
“What?”
“That you understand what’s about to go down,” he said darkly. “And make the right call.”
The ball of ice in Roberto’s stomach grew a little heavier.
“I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean.” He shook his head. “That’s crazy.”
“The other day, when you pulled that bundle out of the water, I saw that all my prayers had been answered.” A coldness had entered Ramón’s tone. “Fortune had finally smiled on us, and the ticket off this island was being offered on a platter. And not only that, but also the chance for revenge on the Freire family.”
“Revenge? For something that happened eighty years ago?”
“To right an injustice,” he replied. “You’re rich, so maybe you don’t get it, but that money will change lives. Our lives.”
“You want to keep all the money?” The words caught in his mouth. “Go back on your agreement with the Freires?”
“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” Ramón replied. “Decades ago, the Freires reneged on an agreement. Now we’ve got a chance to collect the debt. If we don’t act, they’ll only do it again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Open your eyes!” Ramón smashed his fist down on the coffee table, causing the glasses to jump. “Right now, my boys are out there retrieving the mangled body of one of my kin! It was the Freires. They’re trying to play us—again! But not this time! Do you hear me? Not this time!”
Roberto looked at him, feeling helpless and overwhelmed. He was sure that Ricardo Docampo’s death had nothing to do with the Freires, nor with the money in the church, nor the deep-seated family feud. It was just too gory, too sadistic. It didn’t fit.
There was another force at play on the island. But he could see there would be no way to bring Ramón around. The man’s every word was freighted with paranoia, fueled by years of rancor and distrust. He was convinced that the Freire family intended to annihilate his own in order to keep the money for themselves, and there seemed nothing he wouldn’t do to stop them.
He thought he was about to throw up. He saw the bloodbath that was coming and, like someone on a mad roller coaster, felt like a powerless observer, swept along by events.
“What you’re saying is insanity,” he said desperately. “When the storm passes, the authorities will get here, and the moment they find out what’s happened, you’ll be done for. The Docampos won’t get the money, only jail, only more pain.”
“Nothing of the sort.” Ramón reached over and closed his hand tightly around Roberto’s wrist. “Because you’re going to stop that from happening.”
“Me? How?”
“You’re Roberto Lobeira, well-known journalist, bestselling author.” Again, there was that icy smile that made Roberto’s hair stand on end. “When the Guardia Civil show up, you’re going to tell them that the Freires took the money, without our knowing anything about it. Later, the narcos whom it belongs to will come, and they’ll take them out, every last one, to get back what’s theirs. We’ll save our skins by just keeping out of the way. They’ll believe you. You don’t have any ties to either family. You’re the perfect witness.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” said Roberto stubbornly.
“Oh, but you will,” Ramón said simply. “Sometimes we have to do the right thing, even if we don’t want to. And this is the right thing to do, especially for you.”
“I don’t see what’s right about making myself an accessory to a crime!”
