Mystery by the Sea (13 page)

“The truth even though it hurts?”
she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Lorenzo hesitated to answer. He
knew that he had not allowed room to truly accept the possibility that Doris
was guilty. But he also admitted that, if he did, he would not have the energy
and drive necessary to continue. There was no room for doubt.

“But you don’t understand,” said
Lorenzo, trying to explain.

“Don’t underestimate me. How long
have you been married? Seven, eight years?”

“Ten.”

“Thirty-eight. And I was always
ready to do whatever was necessary for him. So, I understand very well the
feelings that must be ripping you apart right now. None of us is perfect, but
we have the duty to expect the best out of our spouses and to support them,
even in the worst moments, like right now for you two,” declared Aurora calmly.

“Doris is pregnant,” announced
Lorenzo, looking directly at her. “I just found out a few days ago, when this
mess began.”

“I see. It won’t be easy for you. I
can assure you of that,” she said, showing an understanding of his situation.
Lorenzo responded, nodding his head yes.

“But that doesn’t change the facts.
You can’t let that cloud your judgment. Do you really believe that your wife is
innocent?”

“I have to…I have to believe,” said
Lorenzo with his eyes on the floor.

Aurora sighed, looking at nothing,
while making her decision.

“Teresa!” she called in a loud
voice, straightening up in her chair.

The young maid instantly appeared,
ready to follow Aurora’s instructions.

“Please, take them to the study and
show them whatever they want,” Aurora ordered in a definitive tone.

Lorenzo and Edgar stood up at the
same time. Lorenzo moved closer to Aurora, outstretching his hand. She stood up
and took his hand in hers.

“Thank you,” said Lorenzo
gratefully. Aurora did not let go of his hand, looking firmly into his eyes, as
if trying to read his true intentions.

“I hope you find the truth that
you’re looking for. Truly. As for me, the only truth I know is that my husband
is dead, and, sadly, no truth that you or anyone else can find is going to
change that,” finished Aurora, letting go of his hand and slowly walking out of
the room through the same door through which they had entered.

Lorenzo remained silent and
motionless, apparently unaware that Teresa and Edgar had already gotten up and
were headed to the opposite side of the room.

“Through here, gentlemen,” the girl
signaled, stretching her arm toward the open hallway. Lorenzo snapped out of
his thoughts and ran to catch up. While they were walking, Edgar moved in
toward Lorenzo.

“Did you notice how she talked
about Pedroza, as if he were a saint or something?” asked Edgar, looking for
Lorenzo to agree.

“Remember that she lost her
husband. You lost your boss. A sick fantasy that many people have. But not
yours, right?”

“Don’t ask,” answered Edgar,
shoving his hands in his pockets.

Leaving the hallway, they entered a
spacious room furnished with a sofa and armchairs, in addition to a dining room
table with space for ten dinner guests. Similar to the foyer, several wooden
doors with large glass windowpanes separated the room from the outside terrace.

“Everyone was seated here? Do you
remember where?” asked Edgar, pointing to the dining room table.

“Mr. Pedroza was seated here,”
answered the young woman. “Next to him was…”

“But that was during dinner,”
interrupted Lorenzo. “The wine tasting was in the dining room, too?”

“No, for that they went out onto
the terrace. Mr. Pedroza liked to be outside,” clarified the young woman as she
opened the doors that led to the terrace. Lorenzo and Edgar walked outside,
following closely behind her. They were both astounded by the view from the
terrace. In the distance, the beach with its tall and majestic palm trees; down
below, the pool’s blue, crystal-clear water; above, the powerful sun shining in
the cloudless sky. All of this accentuated by the caress of a refreshing breeze
and the aroma of saltwater.

“The bread in the world is poorly
divided,” commented Lorenzo wryly.

“No, the
money
is poorly
divided. This is amazing. I don’t want to leave,” said Edgar, astonished and
outraged at the same time.

Lorenzo watched as an employee put
the final touches of paint on the steel-barred fence that separated the
property from the beach. The color was a green tone that Lorenzo found to be
ugly.
Money doesn’t buy good taste,
he thought to himself.

“The metal needs special
maintenance because the saltwater erodes it. Today they’re resuming the work
that had been stopped because of Mr. Pedroza’s death,” explained Teresa, making
Lorenzo wonder if he had spoken out loud. Then Teresa pointed out where each of
the guests was sitting on the night in question.

“Mr. Pedroza was seated here, Mrs.
Alfonso here, Ms. Ronda there, and Mr. Estrada there,” she said, pointing to
each space with her finger.

“What brand was the wine?”
interrogated Edgar.

“What does that have to do with
anything?” asked Lorenzo, somewhat embarrassed.

“Nothing, just curious,” answered
Edgar, shrugging his shoulders and smiling bashfully.

“Château Palmer 2005, among
others,” she answered without hesitation.

“I’ve never heard of it,” answered
Edgar without knowing what else to say. The maid nodded, raising her eyebrows
and pursing her lips. Lorenzo returned his attention to the matter-at-hand.

“According to the testimonies
given, Doris arrived around nine o’clock, correct?”

“Yes, the exact hour is registered
in the guard’s log book,” explained Teresa.

“You greeted her and brought her
out here?”

“Yes, just as I did with you.”

“She had already visited on other
occasions, right? You knew her?”

Teresa answered yes, nodding her
head.

“Did you notice anything different
on that night?”

“Oh, yes, definitely. She was
completely different. She didn’t say hello to me. Her makeup was running down
her face, like she’d been crying. I don’t know. She was very out of sorts.”

“Next, you brought her out here,”
pointed out Lorenzo, signaling with open hands to the terrace.

“She didn’t go out onto the
terrace. She stayed in the dining room,” corrected the maid.

Lorenzo entered the dining area and
stopped in front of the table, looking out toward the terrace.

“Here?” he asked, pointing both
index fingers at the floor.

“Yes,” she nodded as she, too,
entered.

“Okay, she arrived here upset and
with a strange demeanor. What did Pedroza say when he saw her? Did he seem
surprised?” asked Lorenzo.

“I suppose he was just as surprised
as everyone else. But I don’t remember if he said anything in particular,”
Teresa answered, straining to remember the details.

“We can assume that, seeing her in
that state, Pedroza decided not to cause a scene and ruin the evening. He
therefore invited her to come into his study and work the matter out in
private. At least that’s the opinion of the other witnesses. Do you agree?”

“Yes, I think so, too. He didn’t
like to take care of matters in front of others who weren’t involved,” answered
Teresa.

“Where’s the study?” asked Lorenzo.

Teresa directed them toward the
study, heading down the outside corridor, a few steps past the first door on
the right. It was adjacent to the room they were in. Teresa opened the solid
wooden door and entered, followed by Lorenzo and Edgar, who paused momentarily
while passing through the doorway.

Lorenzo made a quick visual
inspection of the space. Pedroza’s desk was facing them and the door, at the
back of the room. It was constructed of wood, elegant and immense. It was
accompanied by a high-quality executive chair lined with genuine leather and
two magnificent wooden executive’s chairs. There were still papers and folders
scattered over his desk, some that would be tended to by others and some that
would forever remain unresolved. Behind the desk was a wall about 14 feet wide,
covered by a clear, cream-colored curtain. Lorenzo could see through the
curtain that the windows were open, letting in the light of the day and a
breeze strong enough to create soft ripples in the delicate fabric.

“You were the one who found him,
right? I mean, after Ms. Ronda,” Lorenzo asked Teresa, the memory that it
provoked clearly affecting her. She answered yes with a slight nod of her head.

“In what position did you find
him…you know?” grilled Edgar while tossing a glance at Lorenzo for approval.
Teresa breathed in before answering.

“Face down, with his head…toward
the…door,” she said, her voice breaking. Lorenzo crouched down in the area that
she pointed to.

“According to the police, he was
struck hard in the head. The trophy was here on the floor next to him. Is that
correct?” asked Lorenzo. Teresa motioned yes. Lorenzo pulled himself upright
and sat down in one of the chairs, carefully analyzing the scene being painted
in his mind with the information that he had at hand. His eyes shifted from
side to side, up and down, as if searching every corner of the room. Edgar put
his hands in his pockets and started to look at the photographs and awards that
were hanging on the walls.

“Look, Pedroza and the mayor. What
year would that have been?” asked Edgar with curiosity as he analyzed some of
the other photographs that showed Pedroza posing with different public
celebrities, both from the political and social spheres.

“It doesn’t make sense,” persisted
Lorenzo in his analysis. “Pedroza was a tall man. He was older, 65 years old,
but he was in good shape and he was in good health. Doris, on the other hand,
is small and not very strong. She could barely lift that trophy. When they
awarded it to her, I was the one who ended up carrying it around all night
until my arm was about to fall off,” remembered Lorenzo. “I find it difficult
to believe that she could have lifted it above her head to be able to strike
Pedroza in the head with enough force to kill him instantly,” analyzed Lorenzo
with the motion that Doris would have made with her arm raised high.

“What are you saying then, that
Pedroza tripped and his head fell into the trophy?” suggested Edgar
sarcastically.

“While anything’s possible, I don’t
think so. Let’s say for a moment that Doris is absolutely
not
guilty.
What other possibility is there? A third party?” suggested Lorenzo, opening his
arms.

“Lorenzo, get your head out of the
clouds. Forget about the ‘who’ and let’s think about the ‘how.’ There wasn’t
anyone else here aside from them. They’re on the books, the witnesses…”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Coming here has made me see the
matter in a different light. I’m really sorry, but…I don’t know,” confessed
Edgar sadly.

“Well, for me, coming here has
helped me understand something. Pedroza had something in common with me. He
loved the sea, being so close to it,” said Lorenzo, stopping in front of the
chair. “This house was designed and constructed with that in mind. Following
his specific orders, without a doubt. Everything here is set up to be able to
enjoy the sea. The outside patio in the center helps to steep the house in the
smells and sounds of the beach. All of the rooms have crystal windowpanes with
a view. What Pedroza must have enjoyed most was working or relaxing here, in
his study facing the sea,” said Lorenzo, taking a few steps toward the window.
“Every day his wife allowed him private time because she knew that it was
something special and necessary for him. It was like a filter that left all of
the impurities of his problems and worries outside, leaving as a result the
husband and friend that she knew and loved. I now understand very well the
contrast between the Pedroza at the office: a demanding tyrant, and the Pedroza
at home: a loving husband, friend, and connoisseur of good wine.”

“I understand all of that, but…”
said Edgar, trying to argue before being interrupted by Lorenzo.

“If I were Pedroza,” said Lorenzo,
standing in front of the window, “and I could build the house of my dreams
facing the sea, I wouldn’t settle for a study with just a view of the sea,” he
said, pulling the curtain open with a tug, revealing that it was not a wall but
several doors with windows that covered the space, just as they had seen in the
foyer and the dining room. He opened one of them and stepped out onto a balcony
with a roof. This balcony was next to the dining room terrace, where they had
been previously. “This is where the third party entered,” asserted Lorenzo with
certainty.

Teresa and Edgar walked out on the
balcony, intrigued. Lorenzo asked her if the door was open or closed when they
found the cadaver.

“It was closed,” she answered hesitantly.
“But that was strange because he always had it open when he was home, without
fail. Sometimes we even had to close it ourselves when he retired to his room,”
added the young woman.

“Someone could have closed it when
they left,” suggested Lorenzo.

“Who?” asked Edgar with a measure
of disbelief. “Look, cameras,” he said, pointing to a security camera installed
on the building’s wall, aimed at the pool. “See, there’s another one and yet
another in the corner. If someone entered there, it would have been recorded.”

“Those cameras didn’t record
anything that night,” clarified Teresa.

“Why not?” asked Lorenzo.

“They’re damaged. Pedroza ordered
new equipment for the whole house, but it hadn’t arrived yet. They were
supposed to be installed this week.”