Death of a Matador (Inspector Ruiz Mystery Book 4) by James Garcia Woods

Author:James Garcia Woods [Woods, James Garcia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2022-06-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday 14 May 1937

Eleanor Roosevelt was an example to them all, Paco thought. Two days earlier, she had been happily clucking away in her mountain retreat. Then, without warning, she had been hen-napped by an overweight ex-policeman, crammed into a sack, and, after being given a bumpy ride on the back of a clapped-out old motorbike, had arrived in the city. Most people he knew would still have been in a state of shock, yet the chicken looked completely at ease, and – from the way she cocked her head to one side when he drew close to her – was very receptive to whatever it was he wished to say.

‘Why do I always end up with the cases that are almost impossible to solve, Eleanor?’ he asked. ‘In the last few months, I’ve dealt with the murder of an unknown girl in Retiro Park, the killing of a Fascist general’s dog behind enemy lines, and the assassination of a member of the International Brigade in Albacete. And that’s all since I officially stopped being a policeman. What do you think of that?’

The hen turned away from him, as if to indicate that his monologue had sounded promising at first, but had quickly grown tedious.

‘Yes, you’re right, Eleanor,’ he said, ‘if I’d just content myself with scratching at the ground and pecking at corn, I wouldn’t have any of these complications. But I can’t walk away from this particular case, you see, because Faustino was a boyhood friend of mine.’

‘You can’t walk away from this case because you’re constitutionally incapable of leaving a murder unsolved – whoever the victim is,’ said a voice from the bedroom doorway. ‘And I’d be very careful if I were you, because there’s an old Chinese saying that goes something like, “He who talks to chickens, ends up with a bird brain”.’

‘You’re making that up,’ Paco said, turning towards her and grinning.

‘You’re right – I am making it up,’ Cindy admitted. ‘It sounded pretty good, though, didn’t it?’ She walked over to the chicken pen, squatted down, and ran her hand through the straw. When it emerged again, it was holding a brown egg. ‘Well done, Eleanor!’ she enthused. ‘What a clever little hen you are.’

‘She who talks to chickens, ends up with a bird brain,’ Paco said softly.

‘What was that you said?’ Cindy demanded.

‘I was just saying that I didn’t mind if you have the egg.’

‘Oh no, you’re the one about to set off on some big manly detective work, so you must have it,’ Cindy said firmly.

‘We’ll split it,’ Paco insisted. ‘We’ll cut it right down the middle, across the yolk. Agreed?’

Cindy nodded. ‘All right – but only because you’ve talked me into it, you smooth-tongued bastard,’ she said.

They were so happy together, he told himself. He wished it could last forever, but he knew that, with the war raging around them, the odds against a fairy-tale ending were pretty damn high.

*

Queues had become so commonplace in Madrid that even when you had to step round them, you didn’t really notice them anymore.

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