Mystery by the Sea (9 page)

“Good evening,” greeted the skinny
guy amicably. “I understand that you guys are the ones digging things up around
here, is that right?”
            Lorenzo immediately caught the insinuation but played stupid
anyway.

“No, I think you’re confusing us
with someone else, luckily. Can we go?” asked Lorenzo, forcing a smile.

“Yeah, you can search the car if
you want. We didn’t even bring shovels,” added Edgar. Lorenzo could not tell if
Edgar was trying to play dumb or if he simply did not understand what the
skinny guy was saying.

“No, I don’t think so,” answered
the skinny guy calmly. “It’s you guys. I’m sure of it. Him, he’s not so sure,”
he added, pointing at the tall guy. “He’s never sure. He just does what I say, no
matter what. Good boy,” he said, pretending to be proud.

It was difficult for Lorenzo to
reconcile the fact that his heart was beating so rapidly, but yet he could not
move a muscle.

“You know what?” continued the
skinny guy, “I’m going to give you both a piece of advice, on the house. Look
for another hobby. Digging things up is dirty, disgusting work. You get dirty
and you get other people dirty. It’s very dangerous for your health.
Especially….for your family. You understand me?”

Both nodded their head yes without
saying a word. The skinny guy lowered his head, leaning closer toward Lorenzo.

“I need to hear you clearly,
please,” he requested respectfully.

“Yes, yes,” answered Edgar
immediately. “Or was it no?” he added, unsure.

“Yes or no?” questioned the skinny
guy.

“Yes, we’re going to stop digging
things up, and no, we’re not going to keep doing it,” intervened Lorenzo,
giving his answer.

“Very good! I knew you would understand,”
said the skinny guy, pleased. “That makes us happy because we’re the ones who have
to clean up. It’s good for us when no one gets dirty. When there’s no
commotion. When everything’s peaceful, right?” he asked his partner, who nodded
his head. “It’s been a pleasure, good night,” the skinny guy bid farewell.

Within a few seconds they took off
just as they had arrived, leaving Lorenzo and Edgar surrounded by noise, dust,
and the darkness of the night.

“What now? Eat?” asked Lorenzo once
the only sound left was the waves harshly breaking against the back of the
cliff.

“I’m not hungry anymore. What I
need is a bathroom,” answered Edgar, looking uncomfortable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The air, like every night, was flooded with the thousand and
one smells of food being prepared in numerous restaurants on the road along the
beach. Both tourists and locals were crowding around the restaurants to satisfy
their appetites and please their palates. And there was a wide range of food
from which to choose. Luxury restaurants with chefs, restaurants with Creole
food, and street vendors serving everything from local fried food, meat kabobs,
and sandwiches to pizza, hamburgers, and hotdogs for the less adventurous
tourists.

Lorenzo and Edgar drove slowly past
these restaurants. After the unpleasant encounter with “the tall guy and the
skinny guy,” he had called the police headquarters to tell Detective Zayas what
had happened. The station told him they could find Zayas eating at one of those
places. After two passes, they found him scarfing down some meat kabobs. Zayas’
partner, Gómez, was with him.

Zayas was not at all pleased that
they were spoiling his break with information about a case to which he was no
longer assigned. It especially annoyed him that Lorenzo was basically running
an independent investigation, something that could potentially impede the case.
So, deep down, he was actually somewhat pleased by the scare Lorenzo had
experienced.

“Mr. Almeida, I won’t tell you this
again. It’s for your own good. I’m buried in cases which, as opposed to your
case, are very complicated. I cannot divert my attention from those cases to
tend to a clear-cut case that is no longer assigned to me,” explained Zayas,
watching his tone.

“But they threatened to kill me,”
exclaimed Lorenzo, unable to believe the detective’s indifference.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” said
Gómez, coming to his partner’s aid, whose mouth was full.

“It proves that someone’s getting
nervous. We’re close to something,” harped Lorenzo.

“Questions make everyone nervous,”
answered Zayas.

“It had to be Centeno. He had a
motive.”

“Okay, then, explain to me how he
did it.”

Lorenzo waved his hands in the air
a few times, as if looking for the words to explain himself.

“I haven’t gotten that far yet, but
I’m just about to figure it out,” assured Lorenzo.

Zayas let out a chuckle while
getting up from the plastic chair where he was seated.

“What? You’re not going to help
me?” asked Lorenzo, throwing his arms up.

Lorenzo understood that the case
was one thing, but a threat was something completely different. He realized he
was more alone than he thought.

“Look, I understand that you want
to help your wife, but this is a case that has already been solved and will
have its time in court. That’s it. Try to clear your mind. Don’t you have
anything better to do?”

“Anything better than saving my
family? Let me check…I don’t think so,” answered Lorenzo, offended by the
question.

“Well, you’ve been warned,”
finished Zayas, pointing his index finger directly at Lorenzo before walking
off with Gómez, who was shaking his head and pursing his lips.

“Oh, wonderful! More warnings. If I
had a dime for every warning,” grumbled Lorenzo as Edgar arrived with food for
both of them.

“What happened? They’re leaving
already?” asked Edgar, confused.

“Yes, and so are we. Ask for a
to-go container. We’re going home,” said Lorenzo to Edgar’s displeasure.  

 

•••••

 

As soon as Lorenzo opened the door to the house, Edgar fell
into one of the dining room chairs and started to devour the plate of food he
had ordered. Lorenzo did not even touch his. He walked straight to the bedroom
to look for the invitation. He emptied all of Doris’ purses onto the bed and
rummaged through makeup cases, wallets, containers, and envelopes.

While he was searching, Lorenzo was
transported in his mind back to the first time they used that bed. They had
already been together six years. Back then, they lived in a rental house in a
residential area on the outskirts of town. Doris was still studying at the
university, but she had the day off and had spent it preparing the room for Lorenzo’s
arrival. She rearranged the furniture and romantically decorated it with
candles and flowers. Lorenzo arrived home tired after a long day driving a
machine, exhausted from the heat and noise. She welcomed him affectionately,
giving him a bath and then taking him into the renovated room where she served
him his favorite dish for dinner. He could still recall the clean, pleasant
smell and the softness of the new sheets. They had spent an unforgettable night
together.  Later, on one of their anniversaries, he repeated the surprise for
her. That memory helped him remember why he had married Doris; he simply liked
being with her.

While rummaging through and pulling
things out of drawers, Lorenzo unexpectedly broke down sobbing. It was a deep,
painful sob. It had only been a few days since his world was turned upside down
and he had not cried a single tear. He gasped inconsolably and fell to the
floor. His mind was flooded with a crushing sense of guilt. He realized that he
was the one responsible for Doris’ situation, whether she was guilty or not. He
had concentrated so much on his own misery that he had been careless about
maintaining the relationship that united him to her. Between sobs, Lorenzo
reasoned that Doris would have come to him with any problem if he had been
emotionally accessible and strong. He was not an anchor for her when she had
needed him most, and now it could be too late to be one.

Lorenzo cried silently for a few
minutes longer until his feelings of guilt began to dwindle. The sobbing helped
him to cast out the stress accumulated over days and nights of intense
emotions. His mind cleared up and his heart calmed down. Then he was able to think
clearly about where he needed to search. He remembered that Doris had taken a
shower as soon as she had arrived home that night.

Lorenzo got up off the floor and
headed to the bathroom. He stuck his hands into the dirty clothes in the hamper
and took out a few articles of clothing until finding the pants Doris had been
wearing. He looked in one of the front pants pockets and pulled out a white
card, twisted and folded in half. He unfolded it and read: “
Your presence is
requested at the Seaside Manor, this Friday, July 16th at 7:00 pm.”
Signed,
“
Armando Pedroza.”

Lorenzo left the room and walked to
the dining room without taking his eyes off the invitation. Edgar was sitting
in front of his empty plate with an expression of satisfaction.

“How can you sleep with the noise
from the waves?” asked Edgar curiously. He lived far from the coast and the
waves sounded too loud to him. “Come on, you’re seriously not going to eat? If
you don’t want it, I’d be happy to eat it for you.”

“I never said that. Look, here it
is,” said Lorenzo, showing Edgar the card, which Edgar snatched from Lorenzo’s
hand and brought near the lamp that was on one of the tables to better examine
it. He studied it thoroughly while Lorenzo anxiously looked on.

“There’s no doubt. It’s the same as
the other ones I’ve seen. But there’s something else very interesting. Look
closely at Pedroza’s signature. Look,” said Edgar, pointing to Pedroza’s
signature with his finger.

“What is it?” asked Lorenzo,
setting his gaze on the indicated spot.

“A rubber seal. It’s not signed by
hand,” asserted Edgar emphatically.

“In other words, Pedroza wasn’t
necessarily the one who sent it,” speculated Lorenzo.

“I would dare to say he was
not
the one who sent it. Pedroza didn’t always sign official company documents. But
he always, always signed his own personal documents. This is a personal
document, an invitation to his house. The stamp was for routine business
documents which he delegated to others,” Edgar pointed out.

A slight smile of hope lit up
Lorenzo’s face.

“You’re saying that whoever used
this stamp wanted Doris to show up at the party without being invited and
therefore create an embarrassing and humiliating scene,” analyzed Lorenzo,
walking from one side of the room to the other.

            “And it’s very likely,” added Edgar, “that the
same person who forged the document also got her the pink slip. As far as I know,
only two people were authorized to use this stamp: Irma Alfonso and Javier
Estrada.”

            Lorenzo could not stop pacing back and forth. He
knew that this information, although it would not free Doris from murder
charges, raised a shadow of doubt about a third party. It was a minor detail at
the moment, but he wanted to proceed with caution.

“How can we be sure?” asked
Lorenzo.

“Leave that to me, my friend,”
replied Edgar confidently. Then he sat down to eat dessert. Finally, Lorenzo
could sit down to eat, too.

 

 

The fourth and final level of the Pedroza Enterprises
building was home to the upper executives and a large labyrinth of office
cubicles, where the many employees performed their tasks like lab rats
scurrying from one side to the other. Edgar sat in his cubicle early that
morning, as was his habit. He believed that, to a certain extent, his job was
important. At least it was apparently more important than those of his
colleagues who were laid off during the last wave of budget cuts. Like many
others, the company was not immune to the world’s economic problems.
Nevertheless, he was still there. He was seen as the computer expert, which
helped him greatly. He could “fix anything.” He was the one who kept the
internet working, the one who installed computer programs and printers, and the
one who offered seminars, training, and orientations on cybernetic topics
ranging from very basic to more complex. As long as the world ran digitally, he
would have a secure job there. Unless he was caught doing something
inappropriate, like he was planning to do that day.

One of the advantages of being the
computer
guy
was the placement of his cubicle. He had an extensive view of
practically the entire floor. He could easily access the offices of his
superiors, like Irma Alfonso, who was basically in charge of the entire floor. Irma’s
office was closed, but it was surrounded by glass walls, which gave her the
option of observing her employees or closing the curtains for privacy.
Generally, if she needed Edgar, all she had to do was raise her hand. Edgar
could see that Irma was talking on the phone and had the curtains pulled only
partly open at the moment. In spite of the fact that his common sense told him
otherwise, he decided to put his plan into action.

First, he needed to ask for
someone’s help. Preferably someone naïve and harmless who would do whatever he
requested without asking too many questions. Karen was the chosen one. She was
young, had been in her position for only a short time, and was prone to errors.
They would certainly forgive her. All the more so given that she was only there
because someone had done her a favor and recommended her to Pedroza. Edgar sat
down next to her in her cubicle, where she was preparing an email.

“Hi, Karen. Is everything going all
right?” Edgar asked her kindly.

“Aside from what happened to our
boss, everything’s great,” she answered, arching her eyebrows.

“It’s awful, isn’t it? We never
know if something bad is going to happen to us. Well, sometimes we know it, and
we move forward anyway,” observed Edgar, thinking about his own situation.

“What do you mean?” asked Karen,
lost.

“Never mind. Look, I need you to do
me a favor,” he asked with a tone of secrecy. Even though he did not provide
her with the details or the consequences of the favor, she was happy to help
him.

As soon as he finished explaining
what he needed from her, Edgar headed to Irma’s office. He knocked on the
office door and entered without waiting for permission. Irma still had the
phone to her ear and made gestures at Edgar to get out. Edgar pretended he did
not understand and sat down in the seat in front of the desk. She then swiveled
in her chair until her back was almost to him and muttered something into the
phone. Edgar could not quite make out what she was saying or with whom she was
speaking. On top of her desk was a computer monitor, turned on, and a bunch of
papers, folders, and documents. As soon as Irma spun around in her chair and
hung up the phone she offered Edgar a thin smile.

“Can I help you?” she asked
sharply.

“I came in to discuss the
reprogramming,” answered Edgar in a routine tone.

“What reprogramming?” she asked,
trying to smooth over her aggressiveness.

“They assigned it to me three weeks
ago. What I mean is it was assigned by Pedroza. I wanted to know if I should
continue with what I was doing or if you wanted to make any changes,” explained
Edgar to Irma’s obvious annoyance.

Irma did not remember any
reprogramming. But it was not unusual for Pedroza to order upgrades and
maintenance work for the office computers and communication systems without
consulting anybody.

“Okay, well, let me see…”

The sound of the phone ringing cut
off Irma’s train of thought.
            “Hello,” she answered. “Yes? Now? Okay, I’m on my way.”

She stood up and ordered Edgar to
wait there. As soon as she left the office, though, Edgar jumped out of his
seat, focusing his gaze on the things covering her desk. He sat behind Irma’s
desk and opened the drawers, one by one, combing through their contents. He
picked up papers, folders, and envelopes.

Outside, Irma walked at full speed
until she stopped at Karen’s cubicle.

“Are you sure that it was Luis
Rivera that was looking for me?” she asked with annoyance.

“I don’t know. It was over the
phone and they just mentioned the last name Rivera,” answered Karen, expressing
confusion.

Irma’s cell phone rang in her hand.
She looked at the name of the person calling her on the screen and spun around
to answer it.

“Talk to me...why now? I’m at the
office…Okay, I’m taking off now,” said Irma, trying to be discreet. Completely
forgetting that she was leaving her conversation with Karen in mid-air, she
quickly headed back to her office.

Edgar had looked for the rubber
stamp unsuccessfully and he knew that his time had run out. He could see
through the glass walls that Irma was closing in on the office without
recourse. Just then, his gaze stumbled upon her purse on the floor, propped up
behind one of the desk corners. He did not think twice before bending down and
looking inside. He did not even have time to smile when he found the stamp and,
in three quick steps that looked like one, grabbed a piece of paper, stamped
it, and returned the stamp to its place.

Irma opened the door just as
Edgar’s butt sank back into the seat. Irma jumped when she saw him there.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t I
tell you to leave?” she asked angrily.

“Umm…no, you told me to wait here
and here I am. I haven’t moved,” answered Edgar innocently.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t help
you right now. I have to go.”

Edgar stood up while Irma gathered
her purse from the floor.

“No problem. We’ll leave it for
later,” said Edgar while they both left the office. Once in the hallway, Edgar
met Karen’s gaze, looking up over her cubicle wall. Edgar gave her the “thumbs
up” sign, and she did the same in return.

 

•••••

 

 

A tuna sandwich was disappearing bite by bite in Lorenzo’s
hands. That morning, he stopped by the town coffee shop to try to find
something to eat. Normally, he ate earlier in the day, but he had lost his
appetite due to anxiety and stress. The pleasure that he used to get from
eating breakfast had all but disappeared.

For years he had enjoyed sitting in
that coffee shop every morning to observe the passers-by, listen to the day’s
news, or simply read the newspaper. All of that pretty much came to a halt when
people started reading in the newspapers and talking about the work accident
where he had disabled his co-worker. And although being gossiped about was not
exactly pleasant, what had most affected him about the unfortunate incident was
the fact that he was never able to close the matter with his co-worker. At one
point, he tried to find peace by visiting his injured supervisor at his house.
He was well received and they chatted about a lot of things, except for the
accident. The man’s good attitude led Lorenzo to believe that he did not have
any hard feelings toward him. It looked as if he could finally close that
painful chapter in his life and move forward. Then one of the man’s children
showed up.

“Come ’ere, Luis, this is Lorenzo. He
used to work with Daddy,” said the little boy’s mom, introducing Lorenzo.

“Lorenzo…you’re the reason Daddy
can’t walk? Why’d you do it?” asked the little boy with complete innocence, not
perceiving the immense shame it made his parents feel and the devastating
effect it had on Lorenzo, who could only fake a smile and excuse himself after
just a few minutes.

Sitting once again next to the
coffee shop’s picture window to eat his sandwich was nothing more than
Lorenzo’s attempt at recapturing the simplicity and pleasure of happier times—times
that were free from serious worries. A phone call from Edgar once again woke up
those bothersome butterflies in his stomach, though. With a slightly trembling
hand, Lorenzo answered.

“I’ve got it,” announced Edgar with
triumph. “There’s no doubt. The invitation from Doris was signed using Irma’s
stamp. She invited Doris to Pedroza’s house.”

“Okay, wow,” expressed Lorenzo with
a mix of surprise, relief, and anger. “So, the question now is, why?”

“Exactly. But to answer that we
have to do something else,” said Edgar in a conniving tone.

At that moment, Lorenzo’s eyes fell
upon a well-known figure walking along the sidewalk on the other side of the
street.

“Edgar, you’re not going to believe
who I’m looking at.”

“Who?”
“Your beloved boss.”

“Yeah, she left the office a few
minutes ago.”

“Would it be normal for her to be
strolling along the beach at this hour?”

“Not at all.”

“I gotta let you go. I’ll call you
back,” ended Lorenzo, getting up from the table and throwing his leftovers in
the garbage can. He left the coffee shop without taking his eyes off Irma, who
was walking very hastily.

            Lorenzo walked along the opposite sidewalk,
maintaining a distance that he deemed safe to avoid being seen. He used the
cars parked along the other side of the street as a shield and he stayed
especially alert to any movement that Irma made aside from walking. He also
bent his knees slightly in case he suddenly had to hide.

Irma continued until she arrived at
Costa Linda’s public seaside resort. This beach was maintained by the
government and it included, among other facilities, gazebos, benches, restrooms,
and showers. Irma crossed the parking lot that separated the street from the
beach area. She stopped at one of the empty gazebos and stayed there. She
continually turned her head from side to side, as if she were looking for
someone.

After a few minutes, a man dressed
in a bathing suit and t-shirt came up to her. He was clearly younger than she
was, maybe around thirty years old. He hugged her and she immediately pushed
him off her, alarmed and looking all around. The man let out a laugh. Lorenzo
judged that something about his appearance gave him away as a foreigner. He had
white skin, was of medium height, and wore his blonde hair cut very short,
military style. Lorenzo crossed the street to observe more closely.

After adjusting to his new
position, behind a van in the parking lot, he was able to see Irma take out a
letter-sized envelope from her purse and give it to the man. He opened it,
examined the contents and then stashed it in one of his pockets. Lorenzo could
clearly see that the contents of the envelope were cash.
Cash for what?
he wondered.

When Irma and her companion left
the gazebo, they headed in the direction of the parking lot, directly toward
Lorenzo. He crouched down behind one of the cars to avoid being seen and
continued his pursuit of them in that position. He could feel the effect of
months without exercise in his knees. Why had he not taken advantage of his
time out of work to get in shape?

Lorenzo maintained his painful
position until the pair got in a car, which he had no difficulty identifying as
a rented vehicle thanks to a sticker attached to one of the windows. The car
took off, leaving the seaside resort. Believing that he had been given a great
opportunity that he should not waste, Lorenzo ran to his car, which he had left
parked near the coffee shop. His heart pounded in his chest and his adrenaline
did its job so that Lorenzo arrived at his car just in time not to lose them.

He tried to catch up with them,
swerving between cars headed against the flow of traffic and speeding up past
the speed limit. He did not even notice the traffic violations he was
committing; he was completely focused on the white car that was moving forward.
He was just shy of an accident when, suddenly, Lorenzo hit the brakes, causing
him to skid toward the sidewalk. His prey had made a simple right turn. It was
an involuntary reflex that reminded him of his uncertain nervous state. He decided
not to follow them when he realized that it was the entrance to one of the most
frequented hotels in the area. He felt ashamed for his
paparazzi
action
and abandoned the chase. He was entering Irma’s private life, an area that he
considered to be off-limits.

While he drove back, Lorenzo
mentally pieced together the bits of information he had picked up thus far.
Each one, by itself, did not represent substantial progress in the case.
Therefore, he decided to put together as coherent a picture as possible from
the pieces available, without being worried about whether the result would be
favorable. The important thing was figuring out how his future fit into this
picture.

 

 

•••••

 

 

The sun’s rays soaked through the sheet of paper, making it translucent
to Lorenzo’s view. He held the paper up with his right arm extended toward the
sky and his left arm stretched equally upward, grasping the invitation, made of
thicker paper. He carefully examined every little detail of the imprint left by
the rubber seal on both papers while battling with the strong wind that blew
from the peak of the seaside resort’s observation tower, the meeting place
chosen by Edgar. Trying to make the job easier, Edgar pointed to what was, in
his opinion, the key to the identification: a small slit in one of the letters
on the signature. Specifically, the head of the letter P, which had not
appeared in the imprint that he had retrieved off the stamp that Javier Estrada
used. Both imprints were otherwise identical.