by Nina Darnton
Jennifer got up slowly and went to the bathroom to wash her face. Then she walked into the kitchen. Emma was sitting at the kitchen table drinking orange juice. Jennifer stared at her, her mind spinning but tossing out bits of remembered information that when pieced together with this latest revelation created a likely narrative. The Spanish cops had been right. Emma had known Rodrigo Pérez. She and Paco had set him up. He hadn’t tried to rape her; she had seduced him. Paco had come in, and they had robbed him. Maybe they had planned it. Maybe Emma even helped kill him. Her fingerprints were on the knife. Maybe she handed it to him when it dropped.
Jennifer didn’t know what to do. She didn’t even know if she should tell Mark. The person she wanted to talk to, to go to for counsel and comfort, was Roberto, but she knew she couldn’t do that. What did he think she should do, she wondered. Why had he sent it to her? Why couldn’t he have just left it alone?
Emma needed professional help; she had known that for a long time. But now she wondered if it would even do any good. She needed time to think. She needed advice, needed professional help herself. She stared again at Emma. Who was she? Did she feel any remorse at all? Was it possible something like this could happen again and by doing nothing to stop her now, she, Jennifer, would be responsible? But what could she do? What could she do?
“Mom, you’re freaking me out. Why are you staring like that?”
Jennifer turned away and busied herself at the stove.
“What do you want for breakfast?” she asked.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank several people in Seville, Spain, who gave so generously of their time to help an American author in need of background on the Spanish legal system. I used the factual information they supplied, drawing on it when appropriate. I hope they will forgive any fictional license I have taken. Any inaccuracies are entirely my own.
For their hospitality and for helping me create a world that has, hopefully, the aura of truth, I am grateful to Leticia Pérez Desena, my translator and guide; José Manuel de Paul Velasco, presiding magistrate of the Seville Court of Criminal Justice; José Luis Lledo González, another magistrate of the Provincial Court of Criminal Justice; Fernando Martinez Pérez, a prosecuting magistrate; Rafael Salvador Moreno, former chief of the Judicial Police Detectives; and José Manuel Sánchez del Águila Ballabriga, an attorney who graciously provided background material as well as access to his esteemed colleagues.
I also want to thank my dear friends Ana Westley and José Antonio Martínez Soler, who accompanied my husband and me to Seville, introduced us to the people named above, and made all of our time in Spain—both earlier, when we lived there and on this trip—so memorable. To my great friends Teresa Maravall and her husband, the late Juan Badosa, I send my eternal gratitude for teaching me to love their beautiful country.
In addition, I’d like to thank my friend, in-law, and editorial adviser, the incomparable Phyllis Grann; my dear friend and agent, Kathy Robbins; my publisher, Clare Ferraro, who inspired me to write this book over a delicious, lengthy lunch; my editor at Plume, Denise Roy; her assistant, Matthew Daddona, and my copy editor, Kym Surridge.
As always, in all my endeavors, I am deeply grateful for the love and support of my husband of forty-eight years, my hero, mentor, and muse, John Darnton, and for our family, Kyra, David, Liza, Jamie, Blythe, Zachary, Ella, Asher, and Adara, who fill my life with so much light and joy. I am blessed.