“You can try,” the sheriff said, already heading outside. “Mourners have already started gathering. Daniel Perez was a well-liked man.”

The sheriff accompanied them down a street and across two alleys to a small one-story shack with a sloping roof and a large front porch. Half a dozen men loitered on the porch, drinking beer and playing cards, but no one looked happy. Sheriff Jackson casually shook hands with a few of the men, then asked to be let inside.

“You’ll have to pry Marta from his side,” one of them said.

During the walk, the sheriff had told them about Marta, a young widow with a six-year-old son. Marta had been wanting to get married for years, but Perez insisted he would only marry when he had a house worthy of such a princess. Years had gone by, and she became a laughingstock on the island, but she steadfastly vowed she would someday be Mrs. Daniel Perez.

Their footsteps thudded on the dry plank boards of the porch, and the door squeaked as they stepped inside the dim interior. Every window in the house was open wide, but a foul stench hung in the air. The bedroom lay through an arched opening. A woman knelt by the bed, a rosary dangling in her hands. Two older women and a priest were there as well.

Daniel Perez lay on the bed, watching them approach through glassy eyes. This man was not faking. His bandaged hand lay on a pillow, swollen to twice its size, with angry red streaks leading all the way up his arm. Perspiration soaked the sheets as he lay weakly on the bed.

Sheriff Jackson wandered to the bedside. “These two men are from Washington,” he said gently. “They’d like to talk to you. It would probably be best to send Marta and her aunts out of the room for a spell.”

Perez’s eyes met Nathaniel’s. “Are you from Captain Holland?”

“Captain Holland is in jail,” Nathaniel said gently, watching Perez closely.

Understanding, but no fear, dawned on Perez’s face. He closed his eyes and spoke quietly in Spanish. A moment later Marta rose from her knees and gestured for the two older women to follow her out of the room, closing the door behind her. The priest remained.

“I have already confessed everything to Father Thomas,” Daniel said. His eyes roamed across the shabby room, with its scuffed furniture and thin cotton drapes framing the windows. “I knew it was wrong, but how could I bring Marta to a house like this? I wanted a palace for her. I worked so hard. In three more months I would have had enough for a new house, with space for her boy, with everything she ever dreamed. Now I have nothing to give but thirty pieces of silver.”

Nathaniel sat in one of the chairs vacated by an aunt. “Do you have the strength to talk to us? It will help us understand.”