She wanted to be alone. To close her eyes, eat and cry without feeling observed. And yet, since the rape, she hadn’t been able to sleep at night without feeling a rising panic. So, she stayed out until the sun came up, or else she slipped into Susana’s bed.
While she walked, she saw a few FOR RENT signs that attracted her curiosity. By the third, she wanted to take a look. It was 22 square metres, dirty and narrow, with the shower head above the bath and a windowless bedroom. The second was a first-floor apartment, also windowless, and was so dark she had to turn on the light to see the palm of her hand. When she decided to look at the third and last before continuing on to her lunch with Ramelli, she crossed her fingers.
The façade was better than anywhere she had lived in Bogotá. It had the same bricks, and beige balconies, like the vast majority of constructions. Like other buildings in the area, this one had never even seen better days. She hadn’t let herself believe she was actually looking for a place to live, but when she reached the apartment, she knew what she wanted to say.
A young woman opened the door. She explained to Karen that she and her boyfriend were moving to an apartment where there would be space for their baby, but the contract with the real-estate agent was for three more months.
Karen felt more than satisfied, because three months was the time she needed to save for a bigger apartment, one where there would be space for both Emiliano and her.
It was 40 square metres, with grimy carpet. It had a couple of windows, one in the living room that looked out onto the street and another in the bedroom. The kitchen was open plan and there was a small side table with two chairs, where Karen saw a mug of tea and a history book. The shelves of the bookcase, made with bricks and planks of wood, were crowded with books. Karen went over to peer at them, but didn’t find any of Ramelli’s.
‘I’ll take it,’ she said, ‘I’ll take the apartment.’
‘But you haven’t seen the bathroom yet.’
‘I’m still taking it.’
The girl asked her to pay a month in advance and the other two months in November. Karen accepted. The rent was 900,000 pesos, so she took 600,000 out of her handbag and agreed to bring the rest the next day.
The sun was peeking out from behind the hills. She had the impression that things were starting to go well for her, that from that point forward they could only get better.
22.
Consuelo Paredes had spent the past few days in bed. She was tired of dialling the prosecutor’s number. It always went to voicemail. She also sent him several emails, but they bounced. Three days before, she’d paid a visit to Cojack of the Cojack and His Detectives agency. The name had caught her attention, as her father had never missed an episode when she was a girl; she thought it could be a sign. The original was spelled with a ‘k’, not ‘c’. In contrast to Kojak, Cojack had hair, which he dyed black. He had a serene manner and acne scarring on his skin. He had chosen his profession and the name of his agency for the New York detective his mother used to swoon over when he watched the series with her as a boy. Like him, he wore a suit and tie and never went out without his hat, though on the webpage he appeared in his old Administrative Department for Security uniform.
On the webpage, the agency offered to hunt down missing persons; to locate debtors so their bank accounts could be frozen; to locate accounts, goods and motor vehicles; to investigate crimes, homicides, scams and thefts; and to perform handwriting analysis.
When Consuelo called, Cojack himself picked up. He said he could see her that afternoon. She took a taxi to the Aquarium Shopping Centre in Chapinero. The office was in a small shop, on the far side of the first floor. The man was sitting on a wooden chair with fabric upholstery, with a few diplomas and photographs of exhumations behind him. There was no computer on the desk, only a scatter of papers, magnifying glasses, a skull, an old camera, several lenses and a box of Tums heartburn relief. Everything looked old and anachronistic, like at the Prosecutor’s Office.
Consuelo spoke a long time.
‘I’m afraid there might be a real big shot behind all this,’ Cojack said, lighting a long, cinnamon-coloured cigarette, just like the ones that the protagonist of the series smoked.
‘If someone manages to falsify a medical document in a legal clinic, he’s very powerful. We need to search your daughter’s things. If you don’t mind, tomorrow my men and I will stop by your house and from there we can construct a methodological agenda.’
‘I’ve heard that before,’ said Consuelo, disappointed.
‘Look here,’ said Cojack, opening his eyes wide and pointing at them. ‘I left the judicial system because I was sick of the apathy. Everything I know I learned there. And yet, almost everything I’ve achieved in my forty years in this profession has been as private investigator.’
‘Very well, Mr Cojack, or whatever your name is, it was a pleasure to meet you,’ said Consuelo, irritated, standing up and holding out her hand.
‘Not so fast,’ he said. He had the same cavernous, serene voice as the TV detective. Consuelo sat down again, but this time slumped into the chair and burst into uncontrollable weeping.
‘You’re insensitive,’ she cried as smoke contaminated the air around her.
Cojack handed her a box of tissues.
Consuelo blew her nose. Bit by bit her sobs eased.
‘My name is Obdulio. Obdulio Cerón.’
Consuelo went quiet. Then she said, calmer now:
‘I’d prefer to call you Cojack.’
The man smiled, or so it seemed to her.
‘In other words, there will be no justice for my daughter,’ Consuelo said.
‘Justice, I don’t know, but Cojack and His Detectives at least gives you the opportunity to know the truth.’
‘That name is ridiculous!’
Cojack continued in a deliberate tone, as if he hadn’t heard the insult:
‘I daresay that whoever’s behind this is an egomaniac. They haven’t taken care with the crime scene, yet they don’t fear being discovered, either. My bet is that it’s one or several powerful people, masters of the universe. Sadly, it’s possible it was a night of sex that ended badly.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s a shame the autopsy wasn’t done immediately, as we would have had evidence of rape. Now we don’t. But there is still that possibility.’
‘So how do we find the culprit?’
‘First we have to find a suspect. For that to happen, we need to sift through your daughter’s things. Once that’s done, we can link him to the case.’
‘Is it that simple?’
‘Sadly, no. If justice isn’t on our side, we could come to a dead end.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘As the great Sherlock would say, “There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”’
Consuelo looked at her phone. She had to show a client an apartment a few blocks from here. This man – this clown – was her only hope.
‘I have to go.’
‘I’m leaving, too. If you like, I can come with you and we can keep talking.’
‘You still haven’t told me your rates.’
‘Let me come by tomorrow. After that, we can propose a methodological agenda, and then I’ll tell you how much it might cost to follow it. But don’t entertain any illusions.’
‘Why do you keep insisting it might all come to nothing?’
‘Experience, believe me. I’ve seen cases like this. It can be painful to know the truth, worse than not knowing.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘No, it’s not. Truth is necessary when there’s justice. But truth with no justice poisons the soul.’
‘A philosopher as well as an investigator,’ said Consuelo, getting to her feet.
Cojack took his coat and hat from the rack and motioned for Consuelo Paredes to follow him.
23.
From the terrace of Upper Side restaurant, where he was waiting for Kare
n, Ramelli noticed a corpulent man coming towards him. He looked about forty and had Happiness Is You in hand.
‘Are you Eduardo Ramelli?’
‘I sure am,’ he replied with a smile, lifting his sunglasses and setting them on his shiny, ash-coloured hair.
‘What an honour! You have no idea how important this book has been for me.’
‘I’m so happy to hear that, that’s what it’s all about,’ said Ramelli, nervous.
‘I’m with my girlfriend. Can I tell her to come over? She started with I Love Myself and she was the one who told me about your work. Truth is, it’s changed my life …’
‘That’s what it’s about, isn’t it?’ repeated Ramelli, distracted as he saw Karen approaching the table.
She was looking beautiful. Sensual and elegant at the same time, he thought. The corpulent man’s girlfriend came over and arrived a few seconds before Karen did. Karen felt Eduardo’s eyes running over her.
‘I can’t believe it!’ the young woman said, putting her hands on her face.
Ramelli smiled again.
‘I love it when you talk about being a river that flows … it’s something I try to do every day.’ She had gone red and was blinking.
Karen stayed behind the rosy-cheeked woman, unsure whether to sit down or wait.
Ramelli said something about awakening the soul, got to his feet and gave her an exaggerated hug.
‘Take a seat, please.’
Then he took the copy of Happiness Is You from the man’s hands, which were hairy as well as chubby, and asked who he should dedicate it to.
‘This is a sign, don’t you think?’ the woman said to her boyfriend, laughing. ‘Look, Teacher, I had really low self-esteem, but after reading I Love Myself that changed. I started to understand that I could have everything I wanted in life, so long as I accepted myself for who I am, limitations and all. And that was when I found love.’
Ramelli kept a fixed, exaggerated smile on his face.
The couple looked out of place. Their outdated clothes, excess weight and kind-heartedness clashed with the surroundings. Karen looked around. They were sitting on a fourth-floor terrace with a view of Zona Rosa. The chairs were transparent acrylic, and the tables were metal. Inside, enormous red chandeliers, also acrylic, hung from high ceilings. The place was painted white, and large photos of New York decorated the walls. While Eduardo said farewell to his admirers, Karen looked over the menu, which was mostly in English: suckling pig spring rolls, pepper steak, baked potato, NoLIta-style soup, Manhattan-style burgers, lobster mini pizzas, Waldorf salad, tandoori chicken. She didn’t understand anything. She looked at the French people at the next table, whose meals looked delicious, but she didn’t know what those meals were called, or how to pronounce any of it. Finally, the couple left. Eduardo looked at her with his pool-blue eyes. He took her by the hand and squeezed her palm rhythmically, not saying anything, looking at her all the while. She felt a tingling throughout her body. This was the closest she’d come to a romantic date in her life. Then Eduardo’s phone sounded and he jumped up and said:
‘I’m sorry, I have to take this call.’
He held the phone up to his ear.
‘Brother! To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?’
Karen caught a squeaky voice on the other side speaking loudly, but the words were unintelligible.
‘Is it serious?’ asked Ramelli. ‘Thank you, brother, I’ll keep on top of it while you head to Barranquilla. We’ll have to organise an emergency plan. No, not now. I’ll call you later, brother. But don’t worry, we’ll handle it.’ He hung up.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Karen.
The waiter came over and asked if they were ready to order.
Karen looked at the menu again, now a little anxious.
‘The hamburger, please,’ she said, handing the waiter the menu.
‘Would you like the bacon burger or the cheese burger?’ He said the names in English.
‘The bacon burger,’ she said. ‘Could I have that with cheese please? And no bacon?’
Eduardo smiled at her.
‘It would be our pleasure,’ replied the waiter, not correcting her.
Eduardo asked for the suckling pig spring rolls as an entrée and a BLT sandwich for the main. To drink, he wanted a gin and tonic. Karen asked for a Coca-Cola and then felt ridiculous for ordering as if she were a nine-year-old.
‘Do you like it here?’ asked Eduardo.
‘It’s elegant,’ said Karen shyly.
‘Isn’t it?’ said Ramelli. ‘The food is nothing special, but the idea is that you feel like you’re in a top cocktail bar, like the ones you see in London, New York or Paris, you know?’
Karen nodded. She looked at the vertical gardens on the rooftop. In the area out the back, there were leather couches and wooden tables and a bar lined with stools. The sky was the same blue as Ramelli’s eyes. For a moment, she imagined sharing a life with him; a life where there would be space for Emiliano, a house, a dog, and maybe a property in the lowlands where they could spend the weekends.
The waiter filled their glasses with water. Eduardo broke his silence:
‘Look. I barely know you. This must be, what, the sixth time I’ve seen you, but I feel like I’ve known you all my life.’
The waiter served the suckling pig spring rolls and Eduardo took a large bite. He concentrated on savouring the pastry-wrapped pork. His mouth still full, he said that it was perfectly cooked, before grumbling over the sweet-and-sour sauce. For Karen, this precise moment was just like that sauce, bittersweet. She wasn’t sure how to take Eduardo’s abrupt move from a declaration of love to the flavours of some rolls of meat. She maintained her smile and her silence. And Eduardo had forgotten her name, or at least he hadn’t pronounced it.
‘You know I call you Pocahontas out of affection, gorgeous,’ he said, winking at her.
After all, he was the Teacher, Karen told herself, wanting to think that everything he did had a deeper meaning, a logic that escaped her. The mains were served and Eduardo kept talking about food. Now he told her about the different places in Bogotá where you could eat Peking duck. The declaration of love had completely left his mind.
‘The best by far is Thai Ching Express,’ continued Ramelli.
She didn’t want to admit that she was starting to get bored. Eduardo went on about Chinese, Thai and Vietnamese food for a good quarter of an hour, and about the restaurants in Bogotá where that kind of food was available, as well as ranking them for price and quality.
The corpulent couple came over again. This time the woman had red eyes and her cheeks were rosier than before.
‘I didn’t want to leave without thanking you again, Teacher,’ she said to Ramelli. ‘Bumping into you here is a sign.’
The man next to her nodded vehemently.
The woman had a red coat and the same colour lipstick. She continued: ‘See, my baby proposed to me today’ – and on saying this she let out a deep sigh – ‘precisely today. Can you believe it?’
‘Unbelievable,’ said Eduardo, taking a long sip of his gin and tonic.
‘It’s a sign,’ insisted the woman, ‘a sign I never would have recognised if I hadn’t read your work. Dear Teacher, allow me to invite you to our wedding.’
‘It would be the greatest honour,’ chimed in the corpulent man; ‘but how rude of us … we haven’t introduced ourselves. Alfredo Largacha, proctologist at your service.’
He extended his hand.
Ramelli took it, after eyeing it more carefully than is usually appropriate.
‘Gloria Motta, bacteriologist,’ the woman said, holding out her hand too.
‘You two are made for each other,’ said Eduardo with the same tense smile.
After hearing that the wedding would take place in the Cachipay municipality, Ramelli promised to do everything he could to celebrate with them, but said he thought he remembered a trip around that date. Doctor Largacha gave him his card, ‘beca
use you never know when you’ll need a proctologist,’ and winked. Ramelli, in response, introduced Karen, who even out of the corner of his eye looked ravishing. On noting how the doctor ogled her, he couldn’t resist saying:
‘This is Karen, my girlfriend.’
Karen almost choked on a French fry. She felt very red and shy but managed to rise and shake the couple’s hands.
At the end of lunch, washing a fried ice cream down with a double espresso, Ramelli remembered his earlier pronouncement.
‘Where was I? Ah, yes … after living my life, not knowing where it was going, and always living each moment with no thought for the future, someone came along who took my breath away, and that someone is you …’
Eduardo kept talking as he repeated the rhythmic movement and soft squeeze of her hand, looking at her intensely.
Two days later, while Karen was on a bus, she recognised his words in Carlos Vives’s song ‘Aventurera’.
But for the time being she didn’t want to think of Ramelli as a fraud, she wanted to let herself get carried away by the romance, to feel like an enraptured fifteen-year-old girl. On the terrace of that nondescript restaurant Ramelli stroked her face and kissed her deeply, as if they were smitten teenagers.
Just before they stepped into the lift – Karen floating rather than walking, despite the eight-centimetre heels torturing her feet; he with his arm wrapped firmly around her waist so that she felt like a princess – they bumped into a man with an aquiline nose and chest hair.
‘Doctor, a pleasure to see you,’ said Eduardo.
‘Likewise, Teacher,’ replied the doctor.
‘This is my girlfriend,’ said Ramelli, and Karen greeted him, this time not blushing.
‘My pleasure. Karen Valdés.’
‘Roberto Venegas,’ the doctor said.
In the lift, Karen asked,‘Is that your doctor?’
‘No, darling. He’s one of my employees at Health Cross, the healthcare provider that my associate and I own.’
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