“He stole my heritage,” Juan said. “Those candlesticks, they came from the convent where my great-aunt is mother superior. My family has always sent our women to that convent, for centuries now. They are simple women. Holy women. I am sure they did not realize the value of what they had. And the convent was badly in need of repair. Mr. Goldman offered them money and they sold their candlesticks. They sold an El Greco painting for pennies. To them it was a Madonna with child, not an El Greco. And that devil boasted he had bought an entire chapel in Spain. He was going to have it shipped here, stone by stone, and rebuilt as his bathhouse. A holy chapel turned into a changing room? That’s when I decided I would take back the things he stole from my great-aunt’s convent. I would do justice on their behalf.”

“So you only pretended to go to bed after dinner?” the sheriff asked.

“Of course. I went to the front door, slammed it, then I went into the library ahead of them and waited behind the curtains in an alcove. When the last men left and Mr. Goldman was alone I decided it was the right time to confront him. I came out from behind the curtains. He was surprised to see me, but friendly. Not worried. ‘Hey there, Juan. Couldn’t sleep after all? Have a brandy,’ he said. ‘Have a cigar. I won’t be a minute while I put these candlesticks back in their box and into the safe.’

“‘You will not do that,’ I said to him. ‘I have come on behalf of the sisters of Santa Theresa to take back their property.’

“He laughed. ‘My property now, son,’ he said. ‘Too late to change their minds. Besides, these’ll look better on my dining table than in their gloomy old chapel.’”

Juan paused, as if in physical pain. “He turned away from me. I picked up the candlestick and I hit him, once across the head. He fell. I dropped the candlestick, appalled at what I had done. Then I crept out down the hallway and hid behind a statue in one of the niches. Then there was a great crash and everyone ran to see what had happened. I took my chance and slipped out and went to bed. And if you ask me if I am sorry—no. I told you. He was a man who deserved to die. I am proud to avenge the honor of my people and my country.”

“You won’t be so cocky when you’re facing the gas chamber,” the sheriff said.

“I spit on your gas chamber,” Juan said. “And I spit on you.”

He spat on the marble floor. Then he turned and ran out of the open front door.

Chapter 30