by Pablo Poveda
“It’s a poison.”
Then the door opened and I heard steps.
“Mr. Caballero?” a voice asked from the distance. I could recognize it. It was Professor Casavieja.
“Leonor, I gotta go,” I whispered. I slid my hand in my pocket, opened my wallet and gave her my card. “Call me. I’d like to see you again and talk about... other things.”
She smiled. “We’ll see.”
I turned around and saw Casavieja, dressed with a white coat, by the lab door.
“Professor. I was looking for you...”
“Let’s go to a more private place, Caballero,” he replied without leaving the door. “Shall we go to my office?”
17
I FOLLOWED CASAVIEJA to the top floor. We were back in the corridor with all the professors’ offices. Walking in slow motion, the professor looked through the porthole to see if there was someone inside. Then, he stopped at Monica Llopis’ old office, entered the key and opened. He walked in.
The dean’s old room had become the new office for Casavieja. I couldn’t believe it. That was about to confirm all my theories.
I walked in without saying anything. I felt a puff of warm air coming off one of the ventilation ducts. The windows were closed and the air conditioning disconnected. Casavieja’s face was sweaty and shinning, but he didn’t say anything about it. He just sat down on the swivel chair behind the desk. I glanced around. He hadn’t changed the layout. Everything was where it used to be, something I found unusual. He didn’t miss out on the opportunity to appropriate the office.
“Sit down,” he commanded, “You look tired. Would like some water?”
“Yes, please,” I replied. I noticed stupor running down my arms. Something wasn’t quite right. “It’s too hot in here. Would you mind opening the window?”
The doctor looked at me with surprise but didn’t put up resistance. He poured a glass of water from the machine and opened the glass window. The breeze from the street cleaned up the foul air in the room.
“So?” Casavieja asked. “What do you want to talk about? I doubt you came here to flirt with my students...”
The plastic glass full of water was on the desk. Casavieja stared at it as if there was something interesting inside. That caught my attention. My mouth was dry and I felt exhausted due to the long week I’d had, but something was telling me drinking it was not a good idea.
“Botella told me the truth about the tests,” I said, burning hot.
“Are you okay, Caballero?” he said. “Don’t be silly and drink some water.”
“No, thanks.”
The doctor laughed, grabbed the glass and drank it all. “See? Do you trust me now?” He refilled the glass and placed it in front of me.
“You said Llopis had been poisoned with arsenic,” I explained, “Arsenic is a powerful poison that can be provided in several doses until the victim is fully intoxicated without even realizing.”
“That’s true. You did your homework,” he said, leaning back on his seat. “What does that have to do with the water?”
“This is Llopis’ office, a place you’ve had access to the whole time,” I replied, “so I guess you also had access before she died. Everybody is quite fond of you here.”
“Well, that’s an interesting turn.”
“What better way to poison her than a water dispenser? She would never notice. The arsenic is flavorless and colorless. Dissolved in water, she only had to drink it slowly until she was completely poisoned.”
“Very clever, Caballero,” he said with a smile. He looked calm, as if he expected all that. “But, as you may understand, I wasn’t going to let the police find those traces in the water bottle. That’d just save them some work.”
“So it was you who poisoned her,” I answered, tired of it all. “It was you who got rid of her.”
“Please, have some water. You’re going to suffer a drop of blood pressure,” he replied, placing the glass near my lips. I couldn’t hold out any longer. The water cooled me down. I had no choice. Somehow, I had fallen in his trap. “Thanks... You see, Caballero, I know what I’m about to tell you might sound unbelievable, although I don’t expect you to understand nor take my side. Monica Llopis was a bad woman, a real bitch.” The professor was awakening the beast inside of himself.
“But you said...”
“Yes, I know what I said,” he interrupted, “Thanks to her, I got this job, but things changed when one of the research projects took a good turn and crashed against Llopis’ interests.”
“Fharma.”
“That’s it,” he confirmed, “Maciá, that mama’s boy with a good nose for business, didn’t feel any regrets about seducing Monica and brainwashing her. She was a very confident woman, although she had a thing for bad boys. Maciá is the sexist seductive prototype who knows how to manipulate a woman’s mind.”
“Were you jealous?” I asked.
The doctor leaned forward with a reddened neck. “I’d always loved Monica and worried about her,” he replied, suppressing his feelings. “I knew she didn’t feel the same way about me, but I couldn’t allow her to throw away all my research, a project that could save millions of lives.”
“And one Maciá planned on taking advantage of by selling to the pharmaceutical companies.”
“Correct,” he confirmed. “She’d lied to him, to me, to everybody. She’d forged the results of the final tests so that she could give it to that idiot. She pressured and suborned everybody she needed to, so that the results didn’t come to light. All those years of work! Human lives, Caballero! Human lives! That research is all I have left from a career full of mistakes...”
“Monica didn’t seem to care much about the university.”
“Of course she didn’t...” he said. “The rectorate was just a boost for her to widen her connections. She was interested in politics and wanted to start a career there and didn’t care who she took with her alone the way.”
Somehow I empathized with the person in front of me. Monica’s ambition had taken her to a wooden box. However, I couldn’t forget I was talking to a murderer.
“What happened to Botella?” I asked. “The story of the carbon monoxide was quite suspicious.”
“Botella...” he sighed, “the poor man went too far. I couldn’t do anything else.”
“You’re insane, Casavieja.”
“Don’t get me wrong, kid,” he replied. “Botella didn’t suffer. He made the mistake of sharing his discovery with me. He was obsessed with Maciá and wanted to get him behind bars as soon as possible. He found something didn’t match in the tests, which took him to Maciá. I had to stop him before he spoke with him, because it would lead him to me, like it led you.”
“He was your friend.”
“Friendship is such an empty and abstract word...” the professor answered, still relaxed on his chair. “Botella and I had a friendship based on mutual interests, but he did it for Monica and to get a promotion. His career was stuck and, if he’d found out it had been me, he’d be the first one to take credit for it. He was a poor ignorant person who only cared about making women crazy for him.”
“It was you who planned everything, wasn’t it?” I said, finally realizing, and watching the loose ends tie themselves together. “The card from the restaurant, the report with the unknown DNA, your collaboration in the case without interfering much. You knew if we focused on Hidalgo and Maciá, we’d have enough evidence to accuse an innocent man and that would kill our credibility.”
“We don’t even know if Llopis was with those men...” he explained with a smile. “You and Botella were like two dogs searching for a bone.”
“You needed to believe in something.”
“What I never expected was that a little journalist like yourself would end up sitting in that chair,” he said, changing the tone of his voice. “You surprised me, Caballero. You solved the puzzle.”
“You’ll go to prison. I’ll publish this and you’ll end up in prison,” I said.
I was nervous. I felt good, although I doubted he’d taken the bait. “You won’t get me, Casavieja. Nobody can get Gabriel Caballero.”
“I see...” he said without moving. “What do plan on doing now? Writing a page in your journal? Don’t waste your time.”
“You underestimate me.”
“Gabriel, listen, will you?” he said, staring at me. “I’m not proud of what I did, but there are more dangerous people out there. Your story will never see the light of day. The district attorney closed the case forever since there was no evidence.”
“I still have a copy of the forensic reports.”
“They’re fake, just a cheap copy,” he said. “Knowing how trampy Llopis was, it wouldn’t be a surprise if they found more stuff about her.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Don’t get mad at me. Do whatever you want. I’ll stay here. Go to your beloved office, if it’s not already Starbucks by now. Write that article and email me when it’s out. But think about it carefully. You can turn the page and save hundreds of criminals, but you could also waste your time because everything will be in vain. You’ll learn what it feels like to be ignored. You’ll understand how rotten things are in this city.”
18
I DROVE BACK HOME WITH the bitterness of dissatisfaction. Professor Casavieja hadn’t tried to poison me, it wasn’t his mission. Unfortunately, I had to admit he was right; this story wouldn’t go too far, no matter how much effort I put into it. Without Botella’s testimony, there wasn’t a chance. Casavieja had eliminated any possible evidence so the police wouldn’t find anything. Everything would look like a lie created to stain the honor of the Police Department. Asking Hidalgo for help would be in vain since he would only refuse. Casavieja had enough information to ruin my friend’s life and career. Regarding Maciá, not even a chance! Finally, all there was left was Ortiz, who would be more worried about his new position as an associate professor than about getting in trouble with another piece of fake news. I felt betrayed by everybody and miserable for not being able to finish the story. Another file fit for nothing but the office shredder. When I arrived at the fountain in Luceros Square, I knew the best thing was to turn the page, forget everything that had happened and try to put my chaotic life in order.
Destiny took me down Federico Soto Avenue to see the coast and the ocean. To be near the sea gave me some confidence. For some strange reason, I didn’t want to go back to my apartment. I needed to rest, that was obvious, to go to bed, dream about Patricia sleeping between those sheets. I knew it was too much to ask for, but there was still a bit of hope she would take me back. This time I would do it without fake promises. Llopis’ case was over and I was convinced it didn’t make sense to go back to that. Again, the ugly facts and economic interests won over the truth. But I didn’t want to punish myself for that. I had neither the resources nor the help.
“Maybe next time, my friend,” I said to myself, idling at the traffic light. The DJ at Radio3 station played Que hace una chica como tú en un sitio como este by Burning. Watching the people behind my dark sunglasses, I noticed something at the promenade.
Mujer fatal...
I couldn’t believe it. My heart beat faster. I wished the light would turn green so I could speed my way out of there.
It was Patricia. She walked holding the hand of a tall guy with dark hair and aviator glasses. It turned my stomach and a lump grew in my throat.
Mujer fatal...
Patricia hadn’t left me; she had replaced me for a taller, and probably richer, man. For a few seconds, that felt like the longest red traffic light ever. Although we are aware of how the tide can drag us to the bottom, we are never ready when the moment arrives.
“There are many Patricias in this world,” said Hidalgo before jumping into the void.
Perhaps my friend was right. The world —my world— revolved around her and Patricia did nothing but break it into pieces. She’d probably made that decision a long time ago, way before all this was going on. There will always be things I’ll never understand, like loyalty. I had grown up in a perfect world where faithfulness still meant something in a relationship. However, I lived in a modern world where a love contract could be broken at anytime, anywhere.
The light went green. Patricia kissed the guy in the middle of the street like she’d done weeks, months, years, before with me. For a second, I had the feeling our eyes met. Her face cringed and the kiss lose passion, but it was too late. The love ship had sunk so deep in the sea that it wouldn’t be anything but a treasure for collectors.
When I arrived home, before I inserted the key, the idea of everything being just my imagination went through my mind, but I was wrong. The apartment was empty. That mujer fatal, la chica de ayer, was gone. Patricia had taken everything forever.
19
WEDNESDAY MORNING I went to the office. In my hands I held a copy of a three-page article and a USB with a copy saved on it. After thinking about it carefully, I knew that was the last time I’d set foot in that place. The apartment had fallen apart around me as I wrote that story. Despite everything Casavieja had said, I had to shoot the last bullet.
The emotional hemorrhage that Patricia left kept bleeding and it was going to take a long time to heal. I’d decided I didn’t belong there, among newspapers, but away from the city. I’d look for a stable job, far from pernicious surroundings, from vice and long nights. I’d work in advertising or translating press releases in an agency. Any job that didn’t force me to be on the streets would be enough to bring back some order in my life and become accustomed to that mundane and boring routine.
I passed by the office door and saw young unknown faces. I had lost count of how many interns worked for us. That beautiful girl at my desk had been replaced by a blond kid with acne and plastic glasses.
“Good morning,” I said, although nobody answered. They were all typing in front of their screens like lab rats, believing one day they’d be at the boss’s desk. A few years earlier, I’d been one of them, and I would have killed to write the story I had in my hands now.
I knocked on the door with my knuckles. It was strange. It’s never easy to say good-bye.
“Come on in,” said Ortiz. I pushed the door open and saw him at his desk. “Caballero. What do you have for me?”
“As promised,” I said as I gave him the documents.” I’m a man of my word.”
The boss took a few minutes to read the three pages. He didn’t make any sound until he got to the last piece of paper.
“Damn, Gabriel,” he said, calling me by my full name, something unusual. “This is insane... the best thing I’ve read in years!”
“Really?” I asked hopeless, “I thought you didn’t care about anything.”
“I must admit you’ve done a great job,” he replied. “You have talent, style and guts to become a decent reporter.”
“So are you going to publish it?”
“I’m afraid not, Caballero,” he answered and left the documents on the desk. Then he gave me a merciful smile. “The police have been here. The commissioner called me himself. They’re waiting for the new detective and don’t want more lies about Llopis or Botella or any deceased. I’m sorry.”
Casavieja was right. He’d take his secret to his grave since nobody seemed to care about knowing the truth.
“I quit, Ortiz,” I replied. “I’m out of here.”
“Is this another one of your tantrums, Caballero?”
“No. I’m serious,” I said. “Thanks for everything. You’ve been a good boss.”
“But, wait!” he exclaimed, although it was too late. I slammed the door closed and left, looking for a bar where I could enjoy the rest of the day. It was midday and I had time to kill. Maybe it was time for me to write that book I’d been meaning to write for so long. I walked a few meters and took out my phone. There was a missed call from Patricia. I went to the contact list and changed her name to don’t pick up. The phone vibrated in my hand. It was Hidalgo.<
br />
“Hello?”
“Where have you been, Gabriel?” asked a friendly voice. Something was up.
“I just quit my job,” I said, “Patricia left me for another guy and I’m about to get drunk at a bar.”
“Wow, you’re a man of habits,” the voice replied with a giggle. “I’m glad I caught you sober. Would you like to grab a bite with me?”
“Are you buying?” I replied. “My wallet is not ready for the places you go to.”
Hidalgo laughed on the other side of the phone.
HIDALGO WAS HAVING a gin-and-tonic with a slice of lemon at Noray terrace, the bar yacht lovers chose to watch someone else’s yachts. He looked relaxed as if, despite all the crap, his life was in order. I sat down on a metal chair and the waiter came.
“What can I get for you, sir?”
“A vermouth,” I ordered, “big short glass, lots of ice and an olive.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Yes,” I said, “some lupin beans, please.”
The waiter left and I saw Hidalgo’s face as bright as his short-sleeved yellow shirt.
“You’re one of a kind, Gabriel,” he said, holding his drink. It looks like it was the first one that day. “A complete character.”
“Hidalgo...” I complained as the waiter served what I’d ordered. “Damn, there are two olives here. I said one.”
“Easy, buddy,” Antonio said, “Throw one away. Problem solved.”
“Why are you so happy?”
“Because I got tired of being unhappy.”
“It’s good to see you in a good mood,” I confessed. “Actually, I came here to apologize for everything that’s happened. I think karma got me twice over.”
“Apology accepted,” he replied with a smile. “About what happened today... Don’t worry. It’s life. You’ll start enjoying it when you accept its imperfections, Gabriel.”
“Thank God for what we have and what he takes away,” I answered, “I made it to the end of this story at least.”