Mystery by the Sea (7 page)

On the way back, Lorenzo stopped
the car under a flowering Poinciana tree. From there he could see the whole
town and the coast. The day was so clear and cloudless that he could see all
the way to the area where his house was. That was where he wanted to be, but he
felt he needed a few minutes to analyze the information he had gathered up
until now.

He had interviewed the people who were
with Pedroza and Doris the night of the crime. None of them seemed particularly
traumatized by their boss’ death. On the other hand, there was the annoying
fact that none of them, aside from Doris, were physically present with Pedroza
in his study before the fatal blow.

An unpleasant feeling of failure
and helplessness began to surface in Lorenzo’s mind. He only had his wife’s
word. Nothing else. His wife, whom he had started to feel he did not know very
well anymore. The woman who had hid from him that she had been fired and lied
about going to the movies and God-knows what else.

It was of no consolation to him to
remember the suspicions and theories of her ex-colleague Edgar. Pure
conjectures, but
why, all of a sudden, was her dismissal unfair? And what
about Pedroza’s attorney? He wasn’t even there
. Javier, like the others,
redirected his questions and suspicions while also appearing to care for Doris.

But Lorenzo reasoned that if he
quit without turning over every last stone he would forever be left with the
burden of knowing that he had not done absolutely everything possible to help
the mother of his future child. He had to be able, when the time came, to look
his child in the eye and say that he had done everything, that he had fought to
the end.

He proceeded to dial Alexis’ office
from his cell phone. His secretary answered and in a few seconds he heard his
attorney’s voice on the line.

“Lorenzo, how are you feeling?”
greeted Alexis in a positive tone.

“I need the name of Pedroza’s
attorney and how to get ahold of him,” answered Lorenzo flatly.

“Do you mean Mr. Centeno? What
for?” asked Alexis, worried.

“Because I’ve been looking into it
and apparently he had serious problems with Pedroza. We have a possible
motive,” reported Lorenzo, trying to impose an air of importance over his discovery.

“Lorenzo, wait,” said Alexis, being
as diplomatic as possible. “I understand that you want to know the details of
the incident and everything, and, like I’ve already told you, I can help you
however possible. But I must warn you that questioning other people like that
can cause problems for you—or worse if you’re questioning people like Centeno.
I’m telling you that it’s off limits. I suggest you stay calm. We’re going to
fix this in court. That’s why I’m here.”

“I appreciate the advice, but don’t
worry, I won’t cross the line. I only want to confirm something,” assured
Lorenzo, trying to minimize the matter.

“Lorenzo, we don’t want anything to
affect our case. Really think this through. Okay?” urged Alexis, trying to
change his opinion.

“Yeah, okay. Give me the number,”
demanded Lorenzo impatiently.

“All right, you asked for it. I wish
you would realize what you’re getting yourself into, but I can see that’s not
the case,” said the attorney sadly, proceeding to read off the contact
information after adding another unsuccessful dissuasive remark.

As soon as the call was over,
Lorenzo dialed the number provided by Alexis, where a secretary yet again
answered and informed him that the attorney was out of the office all day. He
was with some clients at the Costero Sports Club. Lorenzo decided to look for
him there and so he took off, ignoring Alexis’ warnings.

 

 

The Costero Sports Club had all the characteristics anyone
could want when looking for a place to play tennis on professional courts, swim
in an Olympic pool, train in a modern gym, relax in a spa, or play an excellent
round of golf. Of course, what most attracted clients to this club was the
ability to enjoy all of these activities surrounded by their equals: people of
power, influence, and money.

Lorenzo did not belong to that
group, nor did he want to. But in small towns you always know someone’s
friend’s
uncle’s cousin.
Which is how, with only a few phone calls, Lorenzo found
someone who worked at the club who could get him in.

During his golf cart ride over the
golf course’s smoothly manicured green hills, Lorenzo organized his questions
and devised a plan of action. He wanted to get as much as possible out of the
opportunity to question Centeno. The chauffe
u
r cut off
Lorenzo’s analysis to signal a couple of men next to the sixth hole.

“There’s Mr. Centeno. The one in
the blue shirt,” identified the chauffe
u
r.

The young man stopped the golf cart
very close to where Pedro Centeno was playing. He was about sixty years old,
tall, and had white hair. His skin had a reddish tint, without a doubt from the
sun that had been beating down on him all day. He was accompanied by a young
man who was helping him carry his clubs and was driving a golf cart.

Alexis’ apprehension that
Lorenzo meet with Centeno was well-founded. Pedro Centeno was a distinguished
figure, not just in legal circles but in the political sphere as well. He had
served as senator for two four-year terms and was an active member of one of
the most powerful political parties in the country. It was said that he was the
architect behind the numerous resounding failures of his political opponents,
whose reputations could never recover from merciless public attacks, paving the
way for his overwhelming electoral victories.

Although Centeno was also the
victim of, according to him unfounded, accusations of corruption, he had the
support of both his party and his town for another term. Nevertheless, he
decided not to run so that he could ‘spend more time with his family.’ Of
course, everyone knew that it was really so he could spend more time with his
clients who, like Pedroza, were well-to-do and influential. He had made out
like a bandit in his private practice and with the political power acquired
after eight years in the public eye, even more so now.

Lorenzo got out of the golf cart
and the chauffeur immediately disappeared from the area. Lorenzo looked on in
silence, trying not to call attention to himself while Centeno took a swing.
The ball appeared to go into the hole but then rolled around the border and
popped out. Lorenzo was surprised that Centeno did not show any negative
emotion after the failure.

“Oh, well.
Bye, bye, birdie
,
”
commented Centeno, giving up.

“You’re improving,” hastened the
young assistant.

Centeno moved closer to the ball
and in one small stroke put it in the hole. He very quietly said something to
the young man, who promptly set about gathering his things and putting them in
the golf cart. Centeno then settled his gaze upon Lorenzo.

“Mr. Almeida,” said Centeno to
Lorenzo’s surprise.

“How do you know who I am?”
questioned Lorenzo while walking toward him.

“You don’t think you could get in
here and walk up to me without my knowing, do you?” asked Centeno with a smirk.

“No, of course not. I’m sorry to
bother you here, but I would appreciate it if you could give me a few minutes
of your time so that we could talk about something important,” requested
Lorenzo as humbly as possible.

“I assume you’re here because of
what happened between your wife and Pedroza, but I don’t see what that has to
do with me,” said Centeno as he headed to his cart, where he took out a bottle
of water. He offered one to Lorenzo, who turned it down with a shake of his
head.

“Well, you were his attorney,”
pointed out Lorenzo.

“Yes, the company’s attorney, not Pedroza’s
personal attorney,” clarified Centeno.

“But you worked directly with him,”
added Lorenzo.

“At times.”

“And you had arguments and
disputes.”

“Yes, that’s true, and we could
fill this entire course with people who could say the same,” asserted Centeno,
stretching out his arm and pointing toward the green space.

“I don’t think that many have had
an argument like the one you had last week over the phone,” Lorenzo blurted
out, knowing that he could not take it back.

With an astonishing calm that made
Lorenzo even more nervous, Centeno responded, “I don’t even remember having
spoken with him over the phone.”

“Maybe the words ‘
I’m going to
destroy you’
will refresh your memory?”

Centeno did not answer, but Lorenzo
could see how he furrowed his brow as he drained the last sip of water from his
bottle.

“Let’s put a stop to this,” said
Centeno sternly. “You’re not a police officer, nor are you an attorney. You’re
not even a private detective. Your insinuations are offensive to me and I
recommend that you stop the conversation here or deal with the consequences,”
said Centeno without hiding his disgust.

Lorenzo could feel the blood
rushing to his head, making his face burn and his legs tremble.

“Are you threatening me?” Lorenzo
managed to ask.

“Oh, no. I don’t threaten. I advise.
Pedroza may have been who he was, but he was my client and I’m very sorry about
his death,” answered Centeno, emotionless.

“Yes, I can see. I suppose that
after your game you’ll go ease your sorrow with a massage and a steam bath,”
ventured Lorenzo.

Centeno took two steps toward
Lorenzo to stand face-to-face with him. He gave him a scathing glare and a
slight, fleeting smile of disdain crossed his lips.

“If you need to get your wife out
of this mess, call me. Although I’m sure you haven’t done so because you can’t
afford it. Good day,” ended the attorney, turning around and getting into his
golf cart, which swiftly took off, leaving Lorenzo in the middle of the field,
completely alone.

 

•••••

 

The flock of doves flew away from the threatening steps of
the three-year-old coming toward them with a fistful of seeds in his hand. His
mom let out a chuckle when the birds’ flight caused the child to cry. She
walked over and consoled him, showing him how to feed the doves without making
them feel the need to escape. On his second attempt, he threw the food and
waited for the doves to come back and peck at their lunch. The little boy
jumped up and down in delight, practically bursting with happiness at the
result and for being considered the birds’ new friend.

On the other side of Costa Linda’s
public plaza, a group of retired citizens was absorbed in the island’s number
one pastime: a game of dominoes. The game ended with the
capicu:
the
winning tile being played and the winning team jumping out of their seats after
crushing the losers. The
expert observers
analyzed and commented on the
outcome while organizing the next game. One of many left in the day.

The bustling activity of the locals
and the perennial enthusiasm of the tourists contrasted starkly against
Lorenzo’s gloomy, depressed appearance. He was seated on one of the plaza’s
benches with his face in his hands. He could not remember the last time he had
sat there just to enjoy the environment and the people. This was definitely not
one of those moments. Anxiety and disappointment were taking their toll.

He felt so dejected that he even
decided it would do him some good to call Edgar and meet up with him to share
the information he had gathered from his interviews. Maybe Edgar would notice
something he had not.

Lorenzo could finally see Edgar
walking toward him. He was walking quickly and frantically. He walked up beside
him and, rather than sitting down next to him, sat down on the bench that
looked in the opposite direction. Lorenzo started to stand up and Edgar stopped
him.

“Don’t stand up,” ordered Edgar.

Lorenzo sat back down.

“Sorry for the delay,” apologized
Edgar.

“Look, if you don’t want me to
stand, then sit down next to me,” suggested Lorenzo.

“No. It’s not safe,” responded
Edgar, looking every which way, except at Lorenzo.

Lorenzo stood up, turned toward the
bench and sat down next to Edgar, who then stood up to leave. Lorenzo grabbed
him by the arm and yanked him down.

In a muffled tone, Edgar shouted, “What’s
going on with you? Don’t you watch TV?”

“Yes, I watch TV, but you obviously
watch too much,” said Lorenzo.

“Okay, whatever you want. But don’t
say I didn’t warn you.”

“I think I have a suspect,”
announced Lorenzo.

“Suspect? Who?” asked Edgar,
impressed.

“Pedroza’s attorney, Pedro Centeno.
Javier Estrada confided to me that Pedroza threatened to
‘destroy’
him.
I spoke with him and he was so uncomfortable with my questions that he even
tried to intimidate me.”

“Please, tell me you’re joking,”
said Edgar, worried.

“Seriously, I spoke with him at the
sports club.”

“Remember, whatever happens, you
don’t know me and I never gave you any names, especially not Centeno’s, which I
actually didn’t give you,” said Edgar, looking like a complete wreck. “Look,
what else do you have?”

“That’s it. The attorney had
motive,” stated Lorenzo.

“But where’s the how, when, and
why? Motive and opportunity. They always go together. You don’t have anything
if you don’t have both,” answered Edgar, crossing his arms.

“Well, um….” stammered Lorenzo at a
loss for words.

“Besides, you couldn’t find any
other suspect? You don’t want to be on someone like Centeno’s bad side. He
could destroy you and without the least bit of guilt on his conscience. I’ve
heard some horror stories that I won’t even tell you,” boasted Edgar without
raising his voice.

Lorenzo knew that Edgar was right.
There was no substance to his findings. Just questions, doubts, and moot
points. He had managed to paint a much clearer picture of the unfortunate
incident from the point of view of Doris’ three colleagues. But he was still
missing the most important point of view: Doris’. He wanted to be able to
question her about her dismissal, the invitation, the reason why she brought
the trophy with her; he wanted details from the person he saw as the most
important witness. While pondering his next step, he felt the unexpected buzz
of his cell phone inside his pants pocket. He stood up to take it out and
answer it.

It was then that Edgar saw
something that seemed physically impossible to him. Lorenzo’s face turned even
darker, as if the life were being sucked right out of him through some secret
and invisible hose. He did not want to, but he had to ask him what happened. Lorenzo
did not respond; he just put away his phone and started walking. Edgar immediately
knew he should not ask anything else. There was only one thing he could do if
he wanted to know more: walk with Lorenzo, wherever that might lead.