by David Sal
“What are you saying then, that Pedroza tripped and his head fell into the trophy?” suggested Edgar sarcastically.
“While anything’s possible, I don’t think so. Let’s say for a moment that Doris is absolutely not guilty. What other possibility is there? A third party?” suggested Lorenzo, opening his arms.
“Lorenzo, get your head out of the clouds. Forget about the ‘who’ and let’s think about the ‘how.’ There wasn’t anyone else here aside from them. They’re on the books, the witnesses…”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Coming here has made me see the matter in a different light. I’m really sorry, but…I don’t know,” confessed Edgar sadly.
“Well, for me, coming here has helped me understand something. Pedroza had something in common with me. He loved the sea, being so close to it,” said Lorenzo, stopping in front of the chair. “This house was designed and constructed with that in mind. Following his specific orders, without a doubt. Everything here is set up to be able to enjoy the sea. The outside patio in the center helps to steep the house in the smells and sounds of the beach. All of the rooms have crystal windowpanes with a view. What Pedroza must have enjoyed most was working or relaxing here, in his study facing the sea,” said Lorenzo, taking a few steps toward the window. “Every day his wife allowed him private time because she knew that it was something special and necessary for him. It was like a filter that left all of the impurities of his problems and worries outside, leaving as a result the husband and friend that she knew and loved. I now understand very well the contrast between the Pedroza at the office: a demanding tyrant, and the Pedroza at home: a loving husband, friend, and connoisseur of good wine.”
“I understand all of that, but…” said Edgar, trying to argue before being interrupted by Lorenzo.
“If I were Pedroza,” said Lorenzo, standing in front of the window, “and I could build the house of my dreams facing the sea, I wouldn’t settle for a study with just a view of the sea,” he said, pulling the curtain open with a tug, revealing that it was not a wall but several doors with windows that covered the space, just as they had seen in the foyer and the dining room. He opened one of them and stepped out onto a balcony with a roof. This balcony was next to the dining room terrace, where they had been previously. “This is where the third party entered,” asserted Lorenzo with certainty.
Teresa and Edgar walked out on the balcony, intrigued. Lorenzo asked her if the door was open or closed when they found the cadaver.
“It was closed,” she answered hesitantly. “But that was strange because he always had it open when he was home, without fail. Sometimes we even had to close it ourselves when he retired to his room,” added the young woman.
“Someone could have closed it when they left,” suggested Lorenzo.
“Who?” asked Edgar with a measure of disbelief. “Look, cameras,” he said, pointing to a security camera installed on the building’s wall, aimed at the pool. “See, there’s another one and yet another in the corner. If someone entered there, it would have been recorded.”
“Those cameras didn’t record anything that night,” clarified Teresa.
“Why not?” asked Lorenzo.
“They’re damaged. Pedroza ordered new equipment for the whole house, but it hadn’t arrived yet. They were supposed to be installed this week.”
“Or, in other words…” said Lorenzo, looking at Edgar with a scheming smile.
Then Lorenzo directed his attention to the dining room terrace, which projected some five feet further over than the study balcony. He guessed that there was about a four-foot distance between the two. Twelve feet separated the balconies from the solid ground next to the pool. Lorenzo put both hands on the concrete railing and scaled it in one leap.
“What are you doing?” asked Edgar nervously.
“Sir, that’s dangerous, you shouldn’t…” warned Teresa, uneasy.
“Is it possible to jump from here to there?” asked Lorenzo, trying to balance himself by stretching his arms out. It would be a diagonal jump of less than six feet in distance to land on the terrace and vice versa.
“I don’t know, but it’s possible that you’ll crack your head or something worse trying to find out,” answered Edgar, looking down over the railing.
The maid was visibly uncomfortable and nervous, grabbing her apron and twisting it as if wringing it out.
“If you don’t need me, I’ll leave you alone. I have work to do. Call me if you need anything,” she said, leaving the room as quickly as possible.
“Oh, great. Now she’s running away,” said Edgar. “I hope she’s not going to complain so they kick us out of here thanks to your dumb stunts.”
Lorenzo concluded that it was possible to jump there, although it would be an extremely difficult jump. Perhaps someone in excellent physical condition and with excellent athletic ability could do it. To Edgar’s relief, he decided to get down.
“I know what you’re thinking, Lorenzo, but that’s tough. Everyone else would have seen it,” said Edgar, referring to the possible theory that one of the guests had jumped over to commit the crime and then returned.
“Yes, that’s true. Or maybe the murderer was already waiting in the study when Pedroza entered with Doris,” returned Lorenzo with another possibility.
“But our suspect was out there,” said Edgar, signaling with an outstretched arm toward the main terrace. “And I can’t imagine that Irma defied gravity with death-defying leaps between balconies.”
“Of course not. But her hitman could’ve been here. She knew that Doris would show up because she’d invited her. She was pretty sure that Doris would do whatever possible to get her job back. Besides, she knew that Pedroza was in his own element. She could anticipate how he would react given Doris’ unexpected arrival. At the office he would have caused an unpleasant scene but not here in his own house.”
“It’s possible. And since we’re already on the topic, can I add the possibility that a Martian did it?” commented Edgar without getting the smile he wanted from Lorenzo. “No, seriously, let’s say there was a third party hidden in the study. How would he or she have gotten in there without being seen in the first place?” asked Edgar, putting Lorenzo’s theory to the test.
“I don’t know. They would’ve entered from the back. But that’s not important right now. We’ll find out in due time. What is important right now is to identify the person that Irma contracted to do her dirty work.”
“So, now it was a hitman? But let me ask you again, who?”
Lorenzo closed his eyes and slid his hand slowly over his forehead and down to his chin. He opened them to cast his gaze to a far-off point on the coast, a building that he identified as the Tropical Coast Hotel, the most frequented hotel in the area.
“I think I have a good idea of where we can find him,” said Lorenzo in a scheming voice, which told Edgar that their visit to the Seaside Manor had ended.
Chapter 15
With all of its rooms occupied, the hotel was bustling with activity. The pool was filled with swimmers, mostly children and adolescents. Their constant shouts and racket were only briefly interrupted by the lifeguards’ whistles, frequently calling everyone’s attention to some careless behavior or another. The beach, only a few steps from the complex, was packed with bodies in swimsuits, some lying stretched out on towels on the sand, others under multi-colored umbrellas. In the water, a mass of heads bobbed with the swaying of the waves. A music band contributed to the festive summertime atmosphere, belting out all types of tropical rhythms, from calypso to salsa, bachata, and merengue. They even threw in an occasional rock and roll classic to the delight of the veteran tourists.
The outside bar served all types of drinks to the clients who lined the seats. Sitting in one of them was Lorenzo. He had just sat down when the bartender asked what he would like to drink.
“A non-alcoholic piña colada, please,” asked Lorenzo in a loud voice, competing with the band’s musi
c.
Lorenzo had not just arrived at the hotel. He had been there for close to an hour, compiling information on one of the guests. Specifically, the man who he had seen meet Irma at the seaside resort. Lorenzo knew one of the hotel’s employees, a maid, who was able to identify the man by the description he gave her.
Lorenzo looked at his watch. It was only a few minutes to the hour when, according to the maid, the man always left his room and did not return for several hours. That would give Lorenzo more than enough time to undertake his proposition. Lorenzo could see the room in question from his seat at the bar. Located on the second floor of building number 3, it faced the pool. The building had four levels which could be accessed by climbing the open stairs on either side. Outdoor corridors with a view of the pool allowed access to each room’s door. Each floor had six rooms with adjacent doors. This arrangement helped the cleaning staff because they could park their carts with the cleaning equipment in front of each pair of doors, killing two birds with one stone.
Lily, the maid who Lorenzo knew, agreed to stand guard in front of the man’s room as soon as she saw him leave. Then she would open the door so that Lorenzo could enter.
Lorenzo knew it was a risky move and, to a certain degree, desperate, too. But at the same time, it was necessary if he was going to prove his theory that Irma was not only behind Doris’ dismissal but the crime, too. Lorenzo hoped to find something that linked the man to Irma and/or Pedroza’s murder.
After taking several sips from his drink, Lorenzo realized that it was doused in rum, not virgin like he had asked. Lorenzo started to feel a slight headache. He knew it would very quickly escalate to an unbearable level. His vision momentarily clouded over. But even so, he was able to focus on the maid, who moved quickly to the guest of interest’s door.
Lorenzo moved his gaze to the stairway the man was descending. It was time for action. Lorenzo felt his head clear up a bit when he started moving and climbing up the stairs in Lily’s direction. After just a few steps, he crossed paths with the man, who did not even notice him. Lorenzo stopped and waited for the subject to cross the foyer and head out to the parking lot. When he was out of sight, he ascended the stairway and walked to the hotel room door. Lily was working in the adjoining room to the left, allowing Lorenzo instant access to the room.
As soon as he closed the door and let go of the doorknob, Lorenzo gave the room a once-over. It was a typical hotel room. A queen-size bed, a chest of drawers with a mirror, a flat-screen television, a nightstand, and a sliding door with access to a balcony with no view of the sea.
Lorenzo examined the first chest of drawers. He found some loose papers and change on top. He opened a drawer but did not find anything interesting. He did the same with the rest of the drawers, same result. Immediately afterward, he entered the bathroom and turned on the light. He gave a quick glance around. Nothing. Nothing in the armoire, either.
He stopped for a minute in front of the bed. He bent down and looked underneath. “A suitcase!” He pulled it out and laid it on top of the bed. When he opened it, he rummaged through the contents being careful not to change its appearance or order. Nothing caught his attention. Clothes, shoes, etc.
Then, in one of the compartments, he found black leather gloves. Next to the gloves there was a small envelope with money and a passport. His name was Giuseppe Ponte, Italian passport. Lorenzo’s head hurt more when he tried to figure out what his discovery meant.
Suddenly, he felt a vibration on the bed. The movement felt familiar to him. A cellphone. Lifting one of the pillows he found a device announcing an incoming call. The name and picture of Irma were displayed on the screen. It occurred to Lorenzo that it would be a good idea to look at the pictures saved on the cellphone in case there were any of interest. He waited for the phone to stop vibrating to start his search.
If Lorenzo had been able to see what the maid, Lily, saw when she left the room she was cleaning, he would have gotten out of there without thinking twice. The man was on his way back and starting to climb the building’s stairs. If Lily had decided, in advance, what to do in this situation, she would not have stood there frozen stiff just before ducking into a room, shaking like Jell-O.
Lorenzo easily accessed the folder where the pictures were stored on the phone. They were very interesting photos of the man with his arms wrapped around Irma, both of them grinning from ear-to-ear. He sent them to his email and got ready to sniff around the phone’s electronic files a little more when he heard Lily dramatically greeting someone in a loud voice. Lorenzo dropped the phone on the bed and ran to the window next to the door. He moved the curtain over a few centimeters and was able to make out Giuseppe in front of the door, listening to what Lily was saying. A shiver ran down to his legs and his headache escalated to an unbearable level. Dizzy and with blurred vision he ran to the bed, closed the suitcase and returned it to where he had found it. He returned the cellphone to its place under the pillow when the doorknob turned and the door opened.
“Bisnes or pleshor?” asked Lily in broken English with a flirtatious smile, achieving the desired effect. The door stopped opening after only a few inches.
“Both, always both! But sorry. I´m in a hurry,” answered Giuseppe, mixing his English with an Italian accent. Immediately after, the door opened completely and he entered the room. He walked over to the bed and lifted the pillow covering the cellphone, which he grabbed and put in his pocket. He was getting ready to leave when something caught his eye. He took five steps forward until he was in front of the bathroom door, which was shut. Reaching out, he opened it. The light was on and the shower curtain was pulled shut. Motionless, he silently listened for a few seconds. He took another step forward and pulled the curtain open. Bending down, he noticed a small stream of water running from the faucet. He firmly shut it off, effectively cutting off the unwanted trickle. He left the room in a hurry as soon as he turned off the bathroom light.
The maid greeted him again as he left. She was immensely relieved that there had not been a scene or disturbance. But she wondered where Lorenzo could have hidden to avoid being seen. Her question was answered at that exact moment when she heard someone tapping on the sliding glass door of the room that she was cleaning. She ran to the back of the room and opened the door to let Lorenzo in, white as a ghost and apparently in shock. He had been able to get out of the room in time through the balcony door. To get to the room Lily was in, though, he had to try to jump from one balcony to the next. As his bad luck would have it, and as a consequence of his blurred vision, he had not properly calculated the distance and had ended up hanging off the balcony momentarily until he was able to hoist himself up and over to fall onto the other side.
“How did you get over here?” she asked.
“Risking my life,” answered Lorenzo, sparing her the shameful details.
Lorenzo thanked her for her help and said goodbye. He decided that it would be best to return home. He needed to lie down, rest, and try to clear his mind. Besides, he needed to give his headache time to go away.
While he was driving home, he thought about calling Alexis but decided not to. He did not want to waste any more of his time. First, he wanted to carefully analyze everything to be able to present it to him well-thought-out and easy to digest so there would not be any doubt. Except for the reasonable doubt he needed to cast a shadow of a doubt over Doris’ supposedly clear case.
Moments later, Lorenzo’s train of thought was cut off when he parked his car under his house. He struggled to climb the stairs, pushing forward only because he knew that he was just seconds away from much-needed rest.
That idea, however, flew out the window when he saw the door ajar and the lock broken. His house had been broken into. He picked up his pace and started to sweat profusely. He did not think twice before entering the house, where he found himself inside a dirt-covered room. Literally. There was dark soil everywhere. It was covering the floor, the furniture, and the kitchen cabinets and was even inside the
refrigerator.
He examined the rest of the rooms: the same. Even the bed was covered with a thin layer of dirt. On the mirror he found a message scribbled in lipstick, surely one that Doris kept in her drawer. It read: “Stop digging around.” He remembered the warning given by the men who had chased him and Edgar the other night.
Lorenzo did not know if he should be happy or scared. Evidently, someone was uncomfortable with his discoveries. He obviously could not be that far from the truth if someone was willing to pay some crooks to give him a scare. On the other hand, he was genuinely concerned that his findings would be the end of him and would take their toll. It would be ironic if in trying to save his family he actually put them in danger.
He thought about calling the police or his attorney Alexis again, but that had never had the expected results in the past. They only saw him as the desperate husband who was willing to do anything to free the future mother of his child from jail. Even filling his house with dirt. No, he could not afford that luxury. When he went to talk to someone it had to be all or nothing. He had to lay out all of the evidence he had in a logical and convincing manner. He just had to show that there was reasonable doubt, even though there was not, and he had to do so quickly. That was the priority; cleaning the house would have to wait.
•••••
The desk was filled with documents to look through and sign. Letters that were waiting to be read and answered formed another untouched pile in front of Jessica Ronda. She was in charge of Pedroza Enterprise’s Human Resources department and therefore had very little time to do much of anything. Payroll, contracts, medical plans, everything came through her office in one form or another. Nevertheless, her mind was not focused on the pile of work practically blocking her view of the other side of the desk.