“You’ve already been through this with my son, if I’m not mistaken.” Ramón’s smile widened. “Something about a hammer covered in fingerprints, if I remember right.”
Roberto held his gaze.
“Listen, Lobeira,” he said, his tone more conciliatory. “I’m giving you the chance to be on the winning team. Accept my proposal, and I promise a couple million will go to you, as compensation for your trouble. Refuse, and I swear to God you’ll be coming down with us.”
There was a determination in his voice that seemed maniacal. Roberto saw in his eyes that he was absolutely resolved, and nothing Roberto could say was going to change his mind.
“You’re crazy,” he retorted. “Totally insane.”
“Sanity is usually associated with making the right decisions.” Ramón stood up, indicating that they were just about done. “Do the right thing, for your own sake.”
Ramón held his hand out across the table for Roberto to shake. Roberto stared at it for a long time but refused the offer. The old man sighed and lowered his hand, ignoring the snub.
“Go back to your little cottage,” he said. “Lock yourself in and don’t come out, whatever you hear. Before the storm passes, this will all be done, one way or another.”
Ramón went over to the desk and rang a bell. The door opened, and Amaia, Luis Docampo’s wife, appeared—so quickly that Roberto suspected she had been eavesdropping on the whole conversation.
“Mr. Lobeira is leaving,” he said gently. “See him out, please.”
Roberto descended the stairs in a state of total confusion, ideas buzzing in his head like a swarm of angry bees. The enormity of what was about to unfold was more than he could even think about. Just when he’d thought he might take a measure of control, there was this new twist.
He caught sight of a spacious kitchen through an open doorway. Around the table, several of the Docampos were busy cleaning some old shotguns. Dozens of red cartridges, with their brass heads, were set out in rows alongside the gleaming guns. The stony-faced men and women, deeply absorbed in the task, did not so much as notice him passing.
Amaia Docampo saw him to the door, and he stepped out into torrential rain once more. The wind was so strong that it was a struggle just to stay on his feet. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, as if a ghostly photograph were being taken of the island, as if some bloodthirsty god wanted a memento of Ons just before the madness unfolded.
Roberto let out a groan that was a mixture of horror, despair, and impotence.
He couldn’t have the deaths of any more innocent people weighing on his conscience. He just couldn’t.
You know it’s the right thing to do. Do it.
He took out his phone. He knew that once he made that call, his life would become a nightmare. Nothing would ever be the same. He would have to answer for Pampín’s death, even if he wasn’t the killer. His life, his career, it was all going to be totally and utterly ruined.
But he had no option.Sometimes we have to do the right thing,Ramón had said,even if we don’t want to.Roberto smiled sadly at the irony of it. He was going to take the old man’s advice but not as intended.
With trembling fingers, he called the emergency number for the Guardia Civil. It rang a couple of times; then there was a click at the other end of the line.
“Guardia Civil, Bueu Station,” said a voice. “How can I help you?”
“Hi. Well, you see . . .”
Another, particularly intense, bluish flash of lightning streaked across the sky. And just before the thunderclap, Roberto was rocked by a huge explosion. He looked around in confusion, and a cry of helplessness caught in his throat.
“No!”
At the top of the hill, the cell tower had been struck by lightning. He watched as it collapsed before his eyes and was engulfed in flames.
23
Erundina
Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, or at least so it felt to Roberto as he stared at the collapsing cell tower. All he could do was gape at the flaming wreckage at the top of the hill as he tried to process what had just happened.
He realized he still had the phone clasped tightly in his hand. He shook his head like a wet dog, trying to clear his mind.
“Hello? Can you hear me?” he shouted into the device. “Is anyone there?”
But there was no answer, and although he walked about holding the phone up in the air, he couldn’t get a single bar of signal.
