It was Jorge who spotted her, disappearing into the forest on the outskirts of the village. He and Gregorio were on the hunt, but it was only by chance that Jorge had his head turned in that direction; the glimpse of a slim brown leg, the flash of a dark plait. What happened next changed Arazuelo for ever, the place that was always supposed to stay the same. The trauma of it rang out, long and ineradicable down the years to come, however hard those who witnessed it attempted silence.
Had he been any further away, Jorge would have lost her; for Teresa was swift-footed and he was much heavier. But together he and Gregorio stalked her through the trees. When Jorge shot his pistol into the air, she spun to face the direction of the sound, and Gregorio took the opportunity to grab her from behind.
She kicked and screamed, but Gregorio did not let go. ‘Where is he?’ Jorge shouted at her, lumbering through the bracken.
‘What do you mean? Put me down.’ Teresa felt as if her heart was inching its way up her body, weighing down her tongue.
‘Where’s your brother?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jorge moved forward, pushing his face close to hers. She could smell the sour catch of old alcohol on his breath. ‘Come on, Teresa, you know everything, little bird-eye. Little spy. Where’s your fucking brother?’
‘I don’t know,’ she repeated.
‘Tie her to the tree,’ Jorge said, but Gregorio hesitated. ‘You heard me. Do it.’ Gregorio didn’t move.
‘I don’t know where he is, Jorge, I swear,’ Teresa said, sensing a chance. ‘You think he’d tell me? No one tells me anything—’
‘Your brother set half the village on fire last night. When we catch him, he’s a dead man. And you’re going to help.’
He began to drag Teresa by her plait towards the tree. ‘Isa’s known you since you were schoolkids,’ she said, gasping at the pain arcing across her skull. ‘Twenty years your friend. How does your mother look you in the face?’ she hissed.
‘At least I’ve got a mother who does,’ said Jorge.
‘You’re shaking, Gregorio,’ Teresa went on at the softer man, out of her wits with fear, but scenting his discomfort.
‘Jorge,’ said Gregorio. ‘We should take her to the station.’
‘Shut it,’ Jorge said.
‘I mean it. I’m not tying her to this tree. Don Alfonso never said – let’s put her in the truck.’
Jorge eventually relented, and they put Teresa in a cell at the civil guard headquarters, and all night Teresa was silent. ‘Check she hasn’t done herself in,’ Jorge spat. ‘Like her mother before her.’
‘What?’ said Gregorio.
Jorge looked at his colleague. ‘Don’t tell me you never knew. Her mother drowned herself. Probably didn’t want to hang around to bring up that piece of shit,’ he added, directing his voice down the dank corridor, loud enough for Teresa to hear.
The next morning, Teresa had barely slept. She had not been wearing many clothes in the first place, and no one had offered her a blanket – but what hurt more, what made her skin palpably shiver, was that no one had come from the finca to speak for her. In the deep of the night, staring up through the bars, thinking of the cruel words Jorge had uttered, Teresa had convinced herself that any minute Olive would come, Olive would call her name, demanding that these brutish boys let her out. Teresa had to believe it, because if she didn’t believe it, then the firing squad would come instead.
But Olive never came – and neither did Harold, even though he would have had more authority than his daughter. And as dawn broke, Teresa began to think, Of course, of course, why would they come? – and she was glad that no one could witness the pitiful embarrassment of hope.
Jorge and Gregorio came into her cell at eight o’clock in the morning, where she was sitting upright on the bed, every one of her vertebrae pressed up against the cold stone of the wall. ‘Up,’ said Jorge.
She stood, and he approached. ‘For the last time, Teresa. Where is your brother?’
‘I don’t kn—’
He whacked her round the mouth and her head flew back, cracking against the wall.
‘I said, where is he?’
Teresa began to scream, until Jorge punched her again and she heard Gregorio cry out before she fell unconscious. The next thing she knew, she was blindfolded, bumping up and down in the back of their truck again, the iron tang of blood