Mystery by the Sea (3 page)

The runaround started and accusations
flew from one side to the other. The injured man was brought to the hospital,
where he was hospitalized for several months. Although he did not die, he
suffered injuries that would prevent him from walking again. Lorenzo was
suspended and shortly afterward he voluntarily resigned.

Who was at fault? That was the
question that Lorenzo heard most, both from others and in his own head for many
months. From his superiors, the attorneys, his family members, etc. Some
assured him that he was not responsible while others said that he was. To this
day, he still was not sure. Could he have taken additional precautions? The
incident was eventually classified as an unfortunate accident that could have
been avoided if everyone, including the injured man, had taken the necessary
safety measures. In any case, the situation weighed on Lorenzo to the point of his
being mentally and emotionally unable to work.

Returning to the present, Lorenzo
put the last bite of cereal in his mouth as his cell phone started to vibrate
yet again, this time on the kitchen table. When he checked it, he realized it
was another text message. The number was showing as unknown. He opened it and
read: “
Please call 444-5665 Doris case info.
” It was the same number as
the previous text message.
Maybe it was a joke made in poor taste
,
Lorenzo thought to himself. People could be very cruel when scandalous things came
into the public eye. But who would know what was happening at that moment aside
from those who were directly involved? As far as he knew, the press had simply
reported Pedroza’s death and had not published the name of any person of interest.

Curiosity won over reason and
Lorenzo decided to dial the number. The call connected, but no one answered. Yet,
Lorenzo could sense that there was someone on the other line, so he took the
initiative.

“Hi. I received a message with this
number,” Lorenzo greeted the speaker.

“Yes, it was from me,” said a man’s
voice. “Thank you for calling.”

Lorenzo was immediately able to
infer that the man was attempting to change his natural tone of voice.

“Who is this?” he asked with
caution.

“I can’t tell you. At least not for
now. Not over the phone. Meet me at the Saltwater Lighthouse in one hour,
please. Come alone. Otherwise, our meeting will be canceled,” he warned threateningly.

“Why should I come? I don’t even
know your name,” said Lorenzo.

“I can only tell you one thing:
Doris is innocent,” responded the man, ending the call. Now Lorenzo had more
questions and was more confused than before, but he also had something that he
considered even more valuable at the moment…a thread of hope.

 

The Saltwater Lighthouse had been built at the end of the 19th
century on rocky terrain in front of an imposing cliff. Through the years, the
waves had smacked against the enormous rocks with such force that they had eroded
and fallen along the shore. The striking view had transformed the lighthouse
and its surroundings into a very busy tourist attraction. In fact, Costa
Linda’s economy depended on this industry. There were several beaches for swimming
and others that were ideal for surfing. A good number of hotels, large and
small, had been built along the coast as well as summer homes, restaurants, and
souvenir shops. Definitely a town that depended on tourism.

Lorenzo felt exactly like a tourist
when he climbed up to the lighthouse along one of the paths that crossed the surrounding
wild terrain. Part of the site’s charm was its inaccessibility by car, which
was appealing to the multitudes of tourists that frequented the site in search
of adventure. Lorenzo did not find it especially appealing, but being
surrounded by tourists reminded him of his past travels and vacations. For a
few seconds he once again felt carefree, suspended in time, as he had during
those unforgettable moments.

When he had been on vacation,
especially traveling, the days seemed longer. He got up very early and
surrounded himself with so many activities that, by the end of the day, he felt
that he had really lived. In contrast, the normal, routine days that filled the
calendar now seemed to fly by at an ever-faster speed. Watching the tourists
that morning, he was briefly infected with their enthusiasm for seeing new
sites and experiencing new adventures.

Lorenzo ended his walk in front of
the building that housed the lighthouse. There was no interior access, but the
lighthouse was functional. Clearly, the site’s attraction was the astonishing
view of the cliff and the rock formations at its base.

Looking around, he noticed a man
standing at the edge of the cliff, dressed in a hat, sunglasses, and jacket. He
was definitely not a tourist. The man made a gesture with his head. Lorenzo
walked toward him and stopped next to him, looking out at the sea. He was a
young man, short and somewhat overweight, who would not stop turning his head
from side to side, looking in all directions. A few seconds went by without
either one of them saying a word.

“So?” asked Lorenzo, breaking the
uncomfortable silence.

“Thanks for coming,” replied the
man, still looking around and examining every person in the area.

“If you really want to help me,
I’ll be the one thanking
you
,” said Lorenzo.

“My name is Edgar. I was a colleague
of Doris’ at Pedroza’s company and I’m convinced that she was fired unfairly.”

“Wait a second…what? Fired?” asked
Lorenzo while a general chill ran through his body.

It was as if a virtual pause button
stopped Edgar for a second.

“You didn’t know? Doris was fired
two weeks ago,” disclosed Edgar, to Lorenzo’s shock. Surprises like that were
not helping him at all. All he could do was turn his gaze to the rocky ground,
given the shame that a total stranger was better informed than he about such
significant events in his wife’s life.

“What they’re saying is that she screwed
up an important financial report that she’d been assigned. And well, you
already know Pedroza’s bad character is legendary,” added Edgar.

“No, I didn’t know,” muttered
Lorenzo without raising his gaze.

“But I say she’s innocent.”

“Why?” asked Lorenzo, intrigued.

“It’s impossible that Doris would
have turned in a report with so many errors. She’s a chronic perfectionist,” Edgar
claimed emphatically.

“You’re telling me,” mumbled
Lorenzo. “But nobody’s perfect, maybe she just made a mistake.”

“No. I was able to see part of the
incomplete report. Someone replaced it,” insisted Edgar, taking off his sunglasses
and slicing the air with his hands for emphasis. When he was finished, he put
his sunglasses back on and hid his hands in his pockets.

“Who?” asked Lorenzo, putting
Edgar’s theory to the test. Just the idea of it seemed absurd to him, but each
question was accompanied by his desire to be convinced by Edgar that it was
worth investigating further.

“Someone who was sufficiently
threatened by Doris’ presence in the company to take that kind of risk,” answered
Edgar, not convincing Lorenzo in the slightest.

It all sounded very interesting to
Lorenzo, but Edgar came across as someone with a screw or two loose. Doris was
a woman who was not only very attractive but especially friendly. She smiled at
everyone and made them feel important. When Lorenzo courted her, he himself had
a hard time being sure that she was really interested in him and that she was
not just treating him like she treated the rest of the world. It would be
inevitable that some people, not able to accept the idea that someone like
Doris could commit such a crime, would try to find a way out of the matter for
her. Although he himself was one of those people, he did not want to get
tangled up in some crazy theory that would derail him from truly helping Doris.

“Look, I appreciate your interest,
but this doesn’t improve our situation. Doris is accused of murder, not of
making a mistake on a report,” clarified Lorenzo.

“The person guilty of getting Doris
fired could very well be the person who committed this crime, too,” replied
Edgar.

“Assuming that Doris is innocent.”

“Oh, you’re not sure?” questioned
Edgar with surprise.

This was precisely the question
running through Lorenzo’s head, like a hamster running on a wheel. He knew that
in the very back of his mind he was wondering the same thing, but he had not
wanted to go there yet. The fact that Doris hid being fired, along with her
other lies, did not exactly fill him with confidence that there was another
reasonable explanation.

“Yes, of course,” he replied, skirting
the issue.

For a few seconds Edgar’s gaze froze
on a man walking toward them. He was still a considerable distance away,
approaching them from the opposite side of where everyone usually climbed up to
the area. He was a tall man, dressed in black denim, a light blue shirt, and
dark sunglasses. 

“I think we’d better take off,” suggested
Edgar, taking a few steps back.

“What’s going on? Do you know him?”
asked Lorenzo, trying to distinguish the man in the distance.

“They shouldn’t see me with you.
It’s not safe. Let’s go,” replied Edgar, picking up his pace.  As Lorenzo
followed him, Edgar took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and gave
it to Lorenzo.  

“Take it. It’s a list of the people
that were at Pedroza’s house the night of the crime. All of them would benefit
from Doris and Pedroza being taken out of the picture. Alongside each name
you’ll find their contact information. Call me if you need additional
information,” finished Edgar when his walk turned into a jog.

“Thanks, yeah, but...” Lorenzo
tried to say, but Edgar was already running away.

“See you later!” said Edgar,
running downhill. He continued his jagged path down the trail until Lorenzo
lost sight of him.

Lorenzo opened the paper and examined
it briefly. Three names. He was sure he had heard Doris say the names at one
point or another. He may have even met them at one of the office functions he
attended with her.

He once again fixed his gaze upon
the man approaching him who had caused such a fright in Edgar. Now he could
distinguish him better. He was running and laughing next to a woman with two
little girls. Tourists…without a care in the world, except for making the most
of their limited time.

Just then, Lorenzo realized that
Doris also had limited time and he did not see how the suspicions of some man
with a persecution complex would help her in that respect. The people on that list
had certainly already been interviewed by the police or soon would be.
Likewise, his attorney would conduct interviews if he deemed it appropriate.
Thinking that it was too good to be true, he crumpled up the paper and stuck it
in his right pants pocket.

His cellphone rang twice before he
could react and answer it. It was the call he had been waiting for from his
attorney Alexis Mojica. Alexis and Detective Zayas wanted him at court to meet
with the district attorney. Hoping that his doubts would finally be cleared up,
he headed over there, unaware that the very foundation of his life would be
shaken like never before.

 

District Attorney Francisco Cruzado’s office was tastefully
decorated and looked very official. Heavy curtains shut out the outside light,
leaving the three table lamps to introduce warmth into the space. It was a
spacious office, with overstuffed furniture upholstered in refined leather. A
dark wine-colored rug imparted the distinguished final touch. Cruzado was
seated behind his wooden desk, adorned with large stacks of documents and
folders that rose up on either side. He was a man nearing 50 years old with
white skin and white hair. With a lot of experience in murder cases unrelated to
drug trafficking, he considered Doris’ case a mere formality. He needed to
quickly get rid of this obligation to move on to the next one.

Seated in the armchairs facing
Cruzado were Alexis and Detective Zayas. With two knocks on the door, Lorenzo
made his entrance, greeting each person in the room with a handshake. Cruzado
invited him to take a seat.

“Mr. Almeida,” greeted Cruzado
without wasting any time on formalities, “we are discussing what action to take
with your wife’s case. She is accused of first-degree murder for the death of
Mr. Armando Pedroza. Based on the evidence that we have, there doesn’t appear
to be any doubt that she’s guilty. I’m very sorry.”

These words were an unexpected slap
in the face for Lorenzo. He had truly hoped that everything had been a
misunderstanding or a mistake.

“But what exactly happened?” he
asked, masking his surprise.

“According to the facts uncovered
in our investigation and the witnesses’ statements,” Zayas proceeded to
explain, “your wife showed up at Mr. Pedroza’s residence around nine o’clock at
night, apparently and in a very bad mood. Given that Mr. Pedroza had guests, he
decided to deal with her in his private office, adjacent to the room where his
guests were being entertained. After a few minutes, Mrs. Almeida left the
office crying and fled the premises. Then one of the guests, Ms. Jessica Ronda,
went to Pedroza’s office to say goodbye because she had to leave. It was then
that she found him lying on the floor next to the murder weapon.”

“What murder weapon?” Lorenzo
asked.

“A heavy crystal trophy awarded to
the most distinguished employee from the previous year. Your wife’s name was
engraved on it and her fingerprints were found on it as well. She had brought
it with her to the house and everyone saw it.”

“Yes, I know which one it is,” said
Lorenzo, remembering the enormous trophy and how happy and proud Doris was the
night they awarded it to her.

“The medical examiner confirmed
that Pedroza died from the blunt force trauma inflicted by that trophy,” added
Cruzado.

“Clearly,” added Detective Zayas,
“your wife went to Pedroza’s residence to let him have it because of her
dismissal. It appears that, in the heat of the discussion, she got carried away
by her anger.”

“It was obviously a fit of rage,”
added Cruzado. “If that’s the case, we need a confession to avoid a
first-degree murder charge.”

“Of course,” murmured Lorenzo
without making eye contact with anyone.

“It’s advisable that she confess. It’s
the best for everyone,” recommended the district attorney in a friendly tone. Lorenzo
kept his gaze glued to the floor, nervously rubbing his hands together in
silence. All gazes were fixed on him, waiting for his reaction. Finally,
Lorenzo raised his eyes.

“But what does
she
say?”

“She insists that she only had an
argument with him. She admits that she hurled the trophy at the floor, hoping
it would break but that she then immediately left,” responded Detective Zayas.

“We want you to speak with her and
convince her. It’s better that she spend only a few years in jail rather than
the rest of her life,” insisted Cruzado.

 Lorenzo tried to make eye contact
with his attorney. He could not decipher Alexis’ silence. Did he have
everything under control? Did he agree with what they were asking him? Or, on
the contrary, was he totally lost? Did he not have the slightest idea of how to
proceed? Maybe Lorenzo had stuck him in waters that were too deep. With his
gaze he asked Alexis’ opinion and Alexis answered him by nodding his head yes.

“That’s fine. I’ll speak with her,”
announced Lorenzo to Cruzado’s pleasure, who stood up from his desk smiling and
opened the door. With one finger he called the bailiff who was waiting in the
hallway and instructed her to take Lorenzo to where Doris was being held.

Lorenzo followed her to the end of
the hallway. The bailiff opened the door and let him enter, locking it behind
him. In the middle of the room rested a large rectangular table with ten
chairs. Doris was seated at the chair closest to the door, with her back to
Lorenzo. He sat in the chair directly facing her, looking her in the face. He
could see that she was happy to see him, almost relieved, as if his mere
presence meant that everything would be all right.

“Oh, Lorenzo, you finally came. Do
you know what they’re saying? That I killed Pedroza,” said Doris, laying her
hands open on the table. Lorenzo did not answer. He just looked into her eyes.

“And is that what happened?” he
asked bluntly.

Doris opened her mouth in
astonishment. Looking at him squarely for a few seconds, she shook her head no.
She, too, had noticed the rift lately, but Lorenzo’s question seemed to come
out of nowhere. She felt utterly alone.

“Is that what we’ve come to? Even
you believe I’m capable of doing this?”

“Oh, now I’m the bad guy? I
believed you when you went out, you
said
to work, when you’d actually
been let go. I also believed you when you said that you went to the movies last
night.”

Doris did not respond. She knew it
looked bad. She had lied, and now everything was blowing up in her face.

“I’m sorry. I was too scared to
tell you. I thought I could fix everything without you finding out. You haven’t
been doing well, and I didn’t want to worry you any more,” she said in a faint,
embarrassed voice.

“Don’t use me as an excuse now. Doris,
you have to tell me,” he insisted.

She was undoubtedly shattered and
Lorenzo wanted her to see that he was the only friend she had. So, he got up,
sat down in the seat next to her, took both of her hands in his, and looked her
directly in the eyes.

“Look at me. Was it you?” he asked.
The question was followed by a pause that felt like an eternity to him.

“No,” answered Doris after a deep
sigh and swallowing hard.

“How do you explain what happened,
then? They have physical evidence and witnesses. And what were you doing there
in the first place?” asked Lorenzo.

Doris shook her head repeatedly,
quickly and sharply, out of control.

“Lorenzo, you have to get me out of
here. I can’t go to jail,” she said in a shaky voice, sweating.

“Don’t worry. I’m with you,” said
Lorenzo, trying to soothe her with his voice. “I don’t want you to go to jail,
either, but you have to help. They sent me here to convince you to confess.
Tell me how…”

“Lorenzo, you don’t understand,”
Doris cut him off quietly. “I can’t go to jail. Don’t let it happen,” she
begged him with a tear running down her cheek.

“You know full well that it’s not in
my hands. What can I do?” explained Lorenzo.

“Whatever you can so that I don’t
end up in jail. I can’t, I can’t go to jail,” insisted Doris, her voice rising
to a plea.

“What do you mean you
can’t
?”
asked Lorenzo, confused.

Doris breathed deeply, as if
gulping, and raised her eyes toward Lorenzo.

“I’m pregnant. I was going to tell
you after fixing everything with my job, but…” Doris broke into a sob. Lorenzo
had seen her cry before, or at least he thought he had. But her sobbing was
completely different this time. It was a bitter sob, an overwhelming sob that
showed deep pain. Her face was so distorted that he felt an unexpected jolt.

Lorenzo tried to absorb the
information that Doris just revealed. It was quite possibly the best news he
had received in a long time, maybe the best news of his life. Or was it the
worst?

“Do you know what that means?”
asked Doris, raising her voice between sobs.

“Okay, calm down,” Lorenzo said in
a soft voice, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m not going to have my baby in
jail! Okay? We can’t allow it! No!” exclaimed Doris, raising her voice to a
shout.

“I know, but lower your voice,” said
Lorenzo, glancing at the door to see if she had attracted the attention of the
guard waiting outside.

“You have to get me out of here!
Get me out,
get me out
!” she shouted hysterically, repeatedly banging on
the table.

Just then, the bailiff entered and
grabbed Doris by the arms, lifting her out of the chair and taking her from the
room while she continued crying inconsolably. Neither she nor Lorenzo resisted
the bailiff’s actions. Lorenzo stood up and left the room, watching in silence
as Doris was directed down the hallway until she disappeared out of sight,
turning left at the end.

Slowly, Lorenzo walked back to the
district attorney’s office. Upon entering, he found Cruzado, Alexis, and Zayas
each talking on their cellphones. When they saw him, they said goodbye almost
in unison and ended their calls.

“So, is it a done deal?” Cruzado
asked Lorenzo, smiling.

“No,” answered Lorenzo to looks of
disbelief from everyone present. The smile dropped from Cruzado’s face and he
sat down at his desk.

“Very well, then it’ll be
first-degree murder,” he declared while writing notes on a sheet of paper. He
did not look at Lorenzo again. Alexis stood up and shook Zayas and Cruzado’s
hands. He walked to the door and, tapping Lorenzo’s shoulder, signaled for
Lorenzo to leave with him.

Outside in the hallway, Alexis
followed behind Lorenzo until they reached the elevators.

“I understand why you’re doing
this. If that’s your decision, I’ll respect it,” said Alexis, pressing the
elevator button. At the same time, he started to draw up a plan of attack in
his head.

“Although you may not believe it,
this isn’t a lost cause. I’ve been referred to a psychologist who has served as
a specialist in other cases and I know that he can help us. A fit of rage can
blind anyone and make them lose their sanity. If she does her part…” Lorenzo
cut him off shortly, abruptly raising his open hand and looking at him sternly.

“Innocent. Okay?” stated Lorenzo
just as the elevator door was opening. He stepped in, leaving his attorney
behind, who was still analyzing just how much Lorenzo had complicated the case.
When he saw that the elevator doors were closing, he jumped in, just slipping
past the doors.

“You know what you’re asking of me,
right?” asked Alexis, adjusting his tie. “If we can’t manage to prove that she
didn’t do it…”

“Jail, I know. All other
alternatives take her there. But there’s one detail that’s compelling me to try
everything possible to avoid it.”

“What detail? I need to know
everything,” inquired Alexis.

“Doris is pregnant,” confided
Lorenzo, swallowing. He was aware that this was not the type of revelation that
would make his attorney’s job easier.

“What?!” asked Alexis, dismayed. “Why
didn’t you tell me before? I need to have all the relevant information if you
really want me to help you guys. I can’t be left in the dark,” he stressed.

“I know. I just found out, too,”
said Lorenzo without taking his eyes off the elevator numbers.

“Okay, okay. I’m going to make a
few phone calls to see how this affects the case, for better or worse. Leave it
in my hands,” requested Alexis, trying to be an oasis in the desert where Lorenzo
now found himself. He understood that it could not be easy for Lorenzo to receive
so much staggering news in such a short amount of time, especially considering his
emotional condition. He needed him to stay out of the matter, for his
well-being and for Doris’.

“What else can I do? My hands are
tied,” said Lorenzo with resignation.

 

•••••

 

Dad.
The word, idea, and concept refused to leave
Lorenzo’s mind for the rest of the day. Seated on the balcony of his house, he
could not stop thinking about the possibilities and consequences that the news
brought. He always expected that finding out something like this would fill him
with an indescribable joy. Well, he definitely felt something indescribable
because he really could not figure out what he was feeling or how he should
feel.

After ten years of marriage and
repeated attempts to have children, he had come to think that they would never
conceive. He thought that maybe there was something physical that was stopping
them. But they had not sat down to talk about the issue and they had not sought
professional help either. Over the past two years he had actually harbored the
hope that they could get pregnant, with the hope that it would put their fizzling
relationship back on the right path. He acknowledged that it was not a
praise-worthy strategy, but at least he had tried. And now he could see the
results. It happened; they were going to be parents. But under the worst
possible circumstances. If the outcome of the entire trial was that Doris go to
jail, Lorenzo did not even want to imagine what that would do to Doris and the
baby.

Throughout the world, pregnant
women have always enjoyed special privileges: they do not have to wait in long
lines, they can use reserved parking spaces, and, as a general courtesy, they
are respected and protected. But not so in jail. A prisoner is a prisoner. A
pregnant belly will not open the gates or reduce one’s sentence. And no one
will satisfy your pregnancy cravings, either. Visits to the obstetrician will
be within the penal institution. And when you finally give birth, the cutting
of the umbilical cord will have a larger, more heartbreaking meaning. There
will not be many opportunities to exercise the rights of a mother, like
breastfeeding. You will have little or no say in decisions about your little
one. You will not be able to pick out baby clothes or a crib. And you can say
goodbye to preparing the room or giving your baby a kiss goodnight. You will
watch your child’s growth from afar and in stages, losing many of those small
moments that make being a mother such a special experience.