Sitting on one of the benches in the Retiro, in front of the Crystal Palace, the lawyer spent his time watching the ducks swimming in the pond. His sole purpose was to keep his mind occupied and forget Geovanna's tragic death for a few seconds. Finding a valid answer among so many meaningless questions would be no easy task. It was terrifying to imagine a disaster of this magnitude. Two murders in one week. Two people who shared work and pleasure, deprived of their right to life by a cursed cryptogram, whose message remained a mystery. And, for all he knew, a third person might be in the criminals' sights.
It was Gregory Evans.
When he spoke to him on the phone a few minutes ago, he sensed a certain hidden fear in the vague statements he offered as a response as he explained the details of the terrible crime. He knew he was in Murcia, where he had traveled to search for the bricklayer's diary. His intention, according to Geovanna, was to uncover new clues that would lead them to the institution "Os Filhos da Viúva" (The Widow's Children).
After what happened, continuing the investigation was a priority, as was finding a safe hiding place for Gregory, a vacant apartment far from Madrid. He would need help if he wanted to get to the bottom of the matter before Geovanna's killers found him. She would certainly have liked to lend a hand. Now that she was no longer in charge, he would take it upon himself to protect him. That was why he awaited the arrival of the person who would solve all his problems. It was five in the afternoon. A man in a gray sweatshirt was walking through the park. On the other side of the artificial lake, half-hidden by the foliage of the trees, he noticed a young woman talking on a cell phone. He also noticed children playing with paper boats, allowing them to sail across the murky waters of the pond.
Then, just as he was starting to lose patience, she appeared unexpectedly.
Antónia Sala was late for the appointment. Despite everything, he finally admitted it had been worth the wait, because, although austere and solemn, her other attributes outweighed the rigor of her character. By his standards, eager for commonplace descriptions, she was a unique woman.
— Good afternoon, Nicolas. — He kissed her cheek twice, not even bothering to apologize for being late. "I hope it wasn't inconvenient for you to come here, but as you already know, I have work to do and I'll need your help.
— I'll take care of it, dear... — He gestured for her to sit beside him. — I assume that, after what happened, you'll take steps to prevent it from happening again.
— Don't worry," he said seriously — from now on, I'll be the one making the decisions. The first thing will be to contact Greg and convince him to include me in the investigation... Can you do that?
— I think so — he replied. — His work is funded by the murdered woman's money, which I manage until the will is read. He has no choice but to cooperate.
— However, we must be cautious — Antônia warned. — Under no circumstances should he know who I work for.
The lawyer agreed. It would be best to keep things as they were until now.
— I called a little while ago to tell him what happened to Geovanna. I don't know how he took the news. In my opinion, he was very inexpressive.
— How would you feel if you knew two of your coworkers were killed, when all three shared the same secret?
Antonia's question made him reflect.
— You would be terrified — he replied with complete sincerity.
— That's how Greg must be feeling right now.
— How are we going to convince him to let you participate in the investigation, aside from the financial pressure? — Colmenares asked.
— My knowledge will be of great help to him. I'm sure he'll appreciate my presence. — Nicolas had to admit the importance of that splendid, highly qualified woman to carry out the task imposed on him by his superiors.
He would stake his life on the certainty that Greg would be in good hands.
At that moment, thousands of miles away, Altar got out of the taxi that had dropped him off at the airport, after paying the exact fare. He headed to the terminal to present his boarding pass on time, as there were only a few minutes left before the counters closed. A flight attendant greeted him in the Montreal Air Line area, shortly after giving tickets to a young couple who had decided to go on their honeymoon to Europe. They were the last to board the plane.
Minutes later, as they flew over the east coast of Canada and entered the Atlantic, Altar asked his traveling companion to lend him the newspaper, but not before striking up a casual conversation to break the ice and avoid any awkwardness He had to remain silent the entire journey.
— Do you travel to Spain often? — he asked in fairly perfect French, despite his Latin American accent.
— This is the first time — he admitted frankly.
— Many years ago, I was in Barcelona for the '92 Olympics... — he recalled the past nostalgically. — At the time, I worked for a company in my country, the Iztlán Iron Company... Back then, we were in charge of resolving any technical issues that might arise for the official Mexican Olympic team. You know, I used to fix the other maintenance workers' mistakes.
Altar nodded silently, smiling politely. He hadn't intended to keep spouting nonsense, but his traveling companion didn't share the same opinion.
— And you? What's your job in Spain? — he asked in Spanish, faced with his companion's obvious shyness.
An awkward silence followed.
— My work is identical to what you did years ago — he finally replied. — You could say I'm the company's go-to man, a specialist who solves the problems others create. Quite satisfying work, don't you think?
The man agreed with him, never wanting to contradict the other, because the Canadian's tone of voice made his initial curiosity fade into incipient suspicion: he seemed to be mocking him, but what he never knew was that behind the cynicism of that man with the mocking smile and implacable gaze hid the most terrible truth.